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Produced by Laura McDonald (http://www.girlebooks.com) and
Marc D'Hooghe (http:www.freeliterature.org)
THE ADVENTURES OF ELIZABETH IN RUeGEN
BY
THE AUTHOR OF "ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN"
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1904
[Illustration: map of Ruegen]
CONTENTS
THE FIRST DAY--From Miltzow to Lauterbach
THE SECOND DAY--Lauterbach and Vilm
THE THIRD DAY--From Lauterbach to Goehren
THE FOURTH DAY--From Goehren to Thiessow
THE FOURTH DAY (continued)--At Thiessow
THE FIFTH DAY--From Thiessow to Sellin
THE FIFTH DAY (continued)--From Sellin to Binz
THE SIXTH DAY--The Jagdschloss
THE SIXTH DAY (continued)--The Granitz Woods, Schwarze See, and Kiekoewer
THE SEVENTH DAY--From Binz to Stubbenkammer
THE SEVENTH DAY (continued)--At Stubbenkammer
THE EIGHTH DAY--From Stubbenkammer to Glowe
THE NINTH DAY--From Glowe to Wiek
THE TENTH DAY--From Wiek to Hiddensee
THE ELEVENTH DAY--From Wiek Home
THE ADVENTURES OF ELIZABETH IN RUeGEN
THE FIRST DAY
FROM MILTZOW TO LAUTERBACH
Every one who has been to school and still remembers what he was taught
there, knows that Ruegen is the biggest island Germany possesses, and
that it lies in the Baltic Sea off the coast of Pomerania.
Round this island I wished to walk this summer, but no one would walk
with me. It is the perfect way of moving if you want to see into the
life of things. It is the one way of freedom. If you go to a place on
anything but your own feet you are taken there too fast, and miss a
thousand delicate joys that were waiting for you by the wayside. If you
drive you are bound by a variety of considerations, eight of the most
important being the horses' legs. If you bicycle--but who that loves to
get close to nature would bicycle? And as for motors, the object of a
journey like mine was not the getting to a place but the going there.
Successively did I invite the most likely of my women friends, numbering
at least a dozen, to walk with me. They one and all replied that it
would make them tired and that it would be dull; and when I tried to
remove the first objection by telling them how excellent it would be for
the German nation, especially those portions of it that are still to
come, if its women walked round Ruegen more often, they stared and
smiled; and when I tried to remove the second by explaining that by our
own spirits are we deified, they stared and smiled more than ever.
Walking, then, was out of the question, for I could not walk alone. The
grim monster Conventionality whose iron claws are for ever on my
shoulder, for ever pulling me back from the harmless and the wholesome,
put a stop to that even if I had not been afraid of tramps, which I was.
So I drove, and it was round Ruegen that I drove because one hot
afternoon when I was idling in the library, not reading but fingering
the books, taking out first one and then another, dipping into them,
deciding which I would read next, I came across Marianne North's
_Recollections of a Happy Life_, and hit upon the page where she begins
to talk of Ruegen. Immediately interested--for is not Ruegen nearer to me
than any other island?--I became absorbed in her description of the
bathing near a place called Putbus, of the deliciousness of it in a
sandy cove where the water was always calm, and of how you floated about
on its crystal surface, and beautiful jelly-fish, stars of purest
colours, floated with you. I threw down the book to ransack the shelves
for a guide to Ruegen. On the first page of the first one I found was
this remarkable paragraph:--
'Hearest thou the name Ruegen, so doth a wondrous spell come over thee.
Before thine eyes it rises as a dream of far-away, beauteous fairylands.
Images and figures of long ago beckon thee across to the marvellous
places where in grey prehistoric times they dwelt, and on which they
have left the shadow of their presence. And in thee stirs a mighty
desire to wander over the glorious, legend-surrounded island. Cord up,
then, thy light bundle, take to heart Shylock's advice to put money in
thy purse, and follow me without fear of the threatening sea-sickness
which may overtake thee on the short crossing, for it has never yet done
any one more harm than imposing on him a rapidly-passing discomfort.'
This seemed to me very irresistible. Surely a place that inspired such a
mingling of the lofty and the homely in its guide-books must be well
worth seeing? There was a drought just then going on at home. My eyes
were hot with watching a garden parch browner day by day beneath a sky
of brass. I felt that it only needed a little energy, and in a few hours
I too might be floating among those jelly-fish, in the shadow of the
cliffs of the legend-surrounded island. And even better than being
surrounded by legends those breathless days would it be to have the sea
all round me. Such a sea too! Did I not know it? Did I not know its
singular limpidity? The divineness of its blue where it was deep, the
clearness of its green where it was shallow, lying tideless along its
amber shores? The very words made me thirsty--amber shores; lazy waves
lapping them slowly; vast spaces for the eye to wander over; rocks, and
seaweed, and cool, gorgeous jelly-fish. The very map at the beginning of
the guide-book made me thirsty, the land was so succulently green, the
sea all round so bland a blue. And what a fascinating island it is on
the map--an island of twists and curves and inland seas called Bodden;
of lakes, and woods, and frequent ferries; with lesser islands dotted
about its coasts; with bays innumerable stretching their arms out into
the water; and with one huge forest, evidently magnificent, running
nearly the whole length of the east coast, following its curves, dipping
down to the sea in places, and in others climbing up chalk cliffs to
crown them with the peculiar splendour of beeches.
It does not take me long to make up my mind, still less to cord up my
light bundle, for somebody else does that; and I think it was only two
days after I first found Marianne North and the guide-book that my maid
Gertrud and I got out of a suffocating train into the freshness that
blows round ryefields near the sea, and began | 2,586.464801 |
2023-11-16 19:00:10.5002230 | 59 | 16 |
Produced by KD Weeks, Chris Curnow and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the | 2,586.520263 |
2023-11-16 19:00:10.5313760 | 131 | 18 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Dave Morgan and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE WENDIGO
Algernon Blackwood
1910
I
A considerable number of hunting parties were out that year without
finding so much as a fresh trail; for the moose were uncommonly shy, and
the various Nimrods returned to the bosoms of their respective families
with the best excuses the facts of their imaginations could suggest. Dr.
Cathcart, among others, came back without a trophy; but he brought
instead the memory of an experience which he declares was worth all the
bull | 2,586.551416 |
2023-11-16 19:00:10.7052970 | 4,541 | 28 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Google Print project.
THE STORY OF MY MIND
How I Became a Rationalist
By M. M. Mangasarian
1909
DEDICATION
To My Children
My Dear Children:--
You have often requested me to tell you how, having been brought up by
my parents as a Calvinist, I came to be a Rationalist. I propose now to
answer that question in a more connected and comprehensive way than I
have ever done before. One reason for waiting until now was, that you
were not old enough before, to appreciate fully the mental struggle
which culminated in my resignation from the Spring Garden Presbyterian
church of Philadelpha, in which, my dear Zabelle, you received your
baptism at the time I was its pastor. Your brother, Armand, and your
sister, Christine, were born after I had withdrawn from the Presbyterian
church, and they have therefore not been baptised. But you are, all
three of you, now sufficiently advanced in years, and in training, to
be interested in, and I trust also, to be benefited by, the story of my
religious evolution. I am going to put the story in writing that you may
have it with you when I am gone, to remind you of the aims and interests
for which I lived, as well as to acquaint you with the most earnest and
intimate period in my career as a teacher of men. If you should ever
become parents yourselves, and your children should feel inclined to
lend their support to dogma, I hope you will prevail upon them, first to
read the story of their grand-father, who fought his way out of the camp
of orthodoxy by grappling with each dogma, hand to hand and breast to
breast.
I have no fear that you yourselves will ever be drawn into the meshes of
orthodoxy, which cost me my youth and the best years of my life to break
through, or that you will permit motives of self-interest to estrange
you from the Cause of Rationalism with which my life has been so closely
identified. My assurance of your loyalty to freedom of thought in
religion is not based, nor do I desire it to be based, on considerations
of respect or affection which you may entertain for me as your father,
but on your ability and willingness to verify a proposition before
assenting to it. Do not believe me because I am your parent, but believe
what you have yourselves, by conscientious and earnest endeavor, found
to be worthy of belief. It will never be said of you, that you have
inherited your opinions from me, or borrowed them from your neighbors,
if you can give a reason for the faith that is in you.
I wish you also to know that during those years of storm and stress,
when everything seemed so discouraging, and when my resignation from
the church had left us exposed to many privations,--without money and
without help, your mother's sympathy with me in my combat with the
church--a lone man, and a mere youth, battling with the most powerfully
intrenched institution in all the world, was more than my daily bread
to me during the pain and travail of my second birth. My spirits, often
depressed from sheer weariness, were nursed to new life and ardor by her
patience and sympathy.
One word more: Nothing will give your parents greater satisfaction than
to see in you, increasing with the increase of years, a love for those
ideals which instead of dragging the world backward, or arresting its
progress, urge man's search to nobler issues. Co-operate with the
light. Be on the side of the dawn. It is not enough to profess
Rationalism--make it your religion. Devotedly,
M. M. Mangasarian.
CHAPTER I. In the Cradle of Christianity
I was a Christian because I was born one. My parents were Christians for
the same reason. It had never occurred to me, any more than it had to
my parents, to ask for any other reason for professing the Christian
religion. Never in the least did I entertain even the most remote
suspicion that being born in a religion was not enough, either to make
the religion true, or to justify my adherence to it.
My parents were members of the Congregational church, and when I was
only a few weeks old, they brought me, as I have often been told by
those who witnessed the ceremony, to the Rev. Mr. Richardson, to be
baptized and presented to the Lord. It was the vow of my mother, if she
ever had a son, to dedicate him to the service of God. As I advanced in
years, the one thought constantly instilled into my mind was that I did
not belong to myself but to God. Every attempt was made to wean me from
the world, and to suppress in me those hopes and ambitions which might
lead me to choose some other career than that of the ministry.
This constant surveillance over me, and the artificial sanctity
associated with the life of one set apart for God, was injurious to me
in many ways. Among other things it robbed me of my childhood. Instead
of playing, I began very early to pray. God, Christ, Bible, and the
dogmas of the faith monopolized my attention, and left me neither the
leisure nor the desire for the things that make childhood joyous. At the
age of eight years I was invited to lead the congregation in prayer, in
church, and could recite many parts of the New Testament by heart. One
of my favorite pastimes was "to play church." I would arrange the chairs
as I had seen them arranged at church, then mounting on one of the
chairs, I would improvise a sermon and follow it with an unctuous
prayer. All this pleased my mother very much, and led her to believe
that God had condescended to accept her offering.
My dear mother is still living, and is still a devout member of the
Congregational church. I have not concealed my Rationalism from her,
nor have I tried to make light of the change which has separated us
radically in the matter of religion. Needless to say that my withdrawal
from the Christian ministry, and the Christian religion, was a painful
disappointment to her. But like all loving mothers, she hopes and prays
that I may return to the faith she still holds, and in which I was
baptized. It is only natural that she should do so. At her age of life,
beliefs have become so crystallized that they can not yield to new
impressions. When my mother had convictions I was but a child, and
therefore I was like clay in her hands, but now that I can think for
myself my mother is too advanced in years for me to try to influence
her. She was more successful with me than I shall ever be with her.
That my mother had a great influence upon me, all my early life attests.
As soon as I was old enough I was sent to college with a view of
preparing myself for the ministry. Having finished college I went to the
Princeton Theological Seminary, where I received instruction from such
eminent theologians as Drs. A. A. Hodge, William H. Green, and Prof.
Francis L. Patton. At the age of twenty-three, I became pastor of the
Spring Garden Presbyterian church of Philadelphia.
It was the reading of Emerson and Theodore Parker which gave me my first
glimpse of things beyond the creed I was educated in. I was at this time
obstinately orthodox, and, hence, to free my mind from the Calvinistic
teaching which I had imbibed with my mother's milk, was a most painful
operation. Again and again, during the period of doubt, I returned to
the bosom of my early faith, just as the legendary dove, scared by the
waste of waters, returned to the ark. To dislodge the shot fired into
a wall is not nearly so difficult an operation as to tear one's self
forever from the early beliefs which cling closer to the soul than the
skin does to the bones.
While it was the reading of a new set of books which first opened my
eyes, these would have left no impression upon my mind had not certain
events in my own life, which I was unable to reconcile with the belief
in a "Heavenly Father", created in me a predisposition to inquire into
the foundations of my Faith.
An event, which happened when I was only a boy, gave me many anxious
thoughts about the truth of the beliefs my dear mother had so eloquently
instilled into me. The one thought I was imbued with from my youth was
that "the tender mercies of God are over all his children," I believed
myself to be a child of God, and counted confidently upon his special
providence. But when the opportunity came for providence to show his
interest in me, I was forsaken, and had to look elsewhere for help. My
first disappointment was a severe shock. I got over it at the time, but
when I came to read Rationalistic books, the full meaning of that early
experience, which I will now briefly relate, dawned upon me, and helped
to make my mind good soil for the new ideas.
In 1877 I was traveling in Asia Minor, going from the Euphrates to the
Bosphorus, accompanied by the driver of my horses, one of which I rode,
the other carrying my luggage. We had not proceeded very far when we
were overtaken by a young traveler on foot, who, for reasons of safety,
begged to join our little party. He was a Mohammedan, while my driver
and I professed the Christian religion.
For three days we traveled together, going at a rapid pace in order to
overtake the caravan. It need hardly be said that in that part of the
world it is considered unsafe to travel even with a caravan, but, to
go on a long journey, as we were doing, all by ourselves, was certainly
taking a great risk.
We were armed with only a rifle--one of those flint fire-arms which
frequently refused to go off. I forgot to say that my driver had also
hanging from his girdle a long and crooked knife sheathed in a
black canvas scabbard. Both the driver, who was a Christian, and the
Mohammedan, who had placed himself under our protection, were, I am
sorry to say, much given to boasting. They would tell how, on various
occasions, they had, single-handed, driven away the Kurdish brigands,
who outnumbered them, ten to one; how that rusty knife had disemboweled
one of the most renowned Kurdish chiefs, and how the silent and
meek-looking flint-gun had held at bay a pack of those "curs" who go
about scenting for human flesh. All this was reassuring to me--a lad of
seventeen, and I began to think that I was indebted to Providence for my
brave escort.
On the morning of the 18th of February, 1877, we reached the valley said
to be a veritable den of thieves, where many a traveler had lost his
life as well as his goods. A great fear fell upon us when we saw on
the wooden bridge which spanned the river at the base of the hills, two
Kurds riding in our direction. I was at once disillusioned as to the
boasted bravery of my comrades, and felt that it was all braggadocio
with which they had been regaling me. As I was the one supposed to have
money, I would naturally be the chief object of attack, which made
my position the more perilous. But this sudden fear which seemed to
paralyze me at first, was followed by a bracing resolve to cope with
these "devils" mentally.
As I look back now upon the events of that day, I am puzzled to know
how I got through it all without any serious harm to my person. I was
surprised also that I, who had been brought up to pray and to trust in
divine help, forgot in the hour of real peril, all about "other help"
and bent all my energies upon helping myself.
But why did I not pray? Why did I not fall upon my knees to commit
myself to God's keeping? Perhaps it was because I was too much
pre-occupied--too much in earnest to take the time to pray. Perhaps my
better instincts would not let me take refuge in words when something
stronger was wanted. We may ask the good Lord not to burn our house,
but when the house is actually on fire, water is better than prayer.
Perhaps, again, I did not pray because of an instinctive feeling that
this was a case of self-help or no help at all. Perhaps, again, there
was a feeling in me, that if all the prayers my mother and I had offered
did not save me from falling into the hands of thieves neither would any
new prayer that I might offer be of any help. But the fact is that in
the hour of positive and imminent peril--when face to face with death--I
was too busy to pray.
My mother, before I started on this journey, had made a bag for my
valuables--watch and chain, etc.--and sewed it on my underflannels, next
to my body. But my money (all in gold coins) was in a snuff-box, and
that again in a long silk purse. I was, of course, the better dressed
of the three--with long boots which reached higher than my knees, a
warm English broadcloth cloak reaching down to my ankles, and an Angora
collarette, soft and snow white, about my neck.
I rode ahead, and the others, with the baggage horse, followed me. When
the two Kurdish riders who were advancing in our direction reached me,
they saluted me very politely, saying, according to the custom of the
country, "God be with you," to which I timidly returned the customary
answer, "We are all in his keeping." At the time it did not occur to me
how absurd it was for both travelers and robbers to recommend each other
to God while carrying fire-arms--the ones for attack, the others for
defense.
Of course now I can see, though I could not at the time I am speaking
of, that God never interfered to save an _unarmed_ traveler from
brigands--I say never, for if he ever did, and could, he would do it
always. But as we know, alas, too well, that hundreds and thousands have
been robbed and cut to pieces by these Kurds, it would be reasonable to
infer that God is indifferent. Of course, the strongly-armed travelers,
as a rule, escape, thanks to their own courage and firearms. For, we ask
again, if the Lord can save one, why not all? And if he can save all,
but will not, does he not become as dangerous as the robbers? But really
if God could do anything in the matter, He would reform the Kurds out
of the land, or--out of the thieving business. If God is the unfailing
police force in Christian, lands, he is not that in Mohammedan
countries, at any rate.
As the two mounted Kurds passed by me, they scanned me very closely--my
costume, boots, furs, cap and so on. Then I heard them making inquiries
of my driver about me--who I was, where I was going, and why I was going
at all.
My driver answered these, inquiries as honestly as the circumstances
permitted. Wishing us all again the protection of Allah, the Kurds
spurred their horses and galloped away.
For a moment we began to breathe freely--but only for a moment, for as
our horses reached the bridge we saw that the Kurds had turned around
and were now following us. And before we reached the middle of the
bridge over the river, one of the Kurds galloping up close to me laid
his hand on my shoulders and, unceremoniously, pulled me out of my
saddle. At the same time he dismounted himself, while his partner
remained on horseback with his gun pointed squarely in my-face, and
threatening to kill me if I did not give him my money immediately.
I can never forget his savage grin when at last he found my purse, and
grabbing it, with another oath, pulled it out of its hiding place. I
have already described that my coins were all in a little box hid away
in my purse, hence, as soon as the robber had loosened the strings he
took out the box, held it in his left hand, while with his right he kept
searching in the inner folds of my long purse. While he was running his
fingers through the tortuous purse, I slipped mine into his left hand,
and, taking hold of the box, I emptied its contents into my pocket
in the twinkling of an eye and handed it back to the robber. The Kurd
incensed at finding nothing in the purse which he kept shaking and
fingering, snatched the box from my hand, opened it, and finding it as
empty as the purse, flung it away with an oath.
"Are you Moslems or Christians?" inquired one of the Kurds, to my
companions.
"We are all Moslems, by Allah," they answered.
In Turkey you are not supposed to speak the truth unless you say, "by
Allah," which means "_by God_."
Of course it was not true that I was a Mohammedan. My companions told
the Kurds a falsehood about me, to save my life. There was no doubt the
Kurds would have killed me, but for the lie _which I did not correct_.
When I reached my destination many of my co-religionists declared that I
had denied Christ by allowing the Kurds to think that I was a Moslem.
As I feel now, my conscience does not trouble me for helping, by my
silence, to deceive the Kurds about my religion. In withholding the
truth from these would-be assassins I was doing them no evil, but
protecting the most sacred rights of man, the Kurd's included. Here was
an instance in which silence was golden. But I would not hesitate,
any moment, to mislead a thief or a murderer, by speech, as well as
by silence. If it is right to kill the murderer in self-defense, it is
right to deny him also the truth.
But young as I was, what alarmed me at the time was that we should
have been led into the temptation of lying to save our lives. Why did a
"Heavenly Father" deliver us to the brigands? And of what help was God
to us, if, in real peril, we had to resort to fighting or falsehood for
self-protection? In what way would the world have been worse off without
a "Heavenly Father?"
About a month after I arrived at my destination, I received a letter
from my mother, to whom the driver, upon his return, had related my
adventure with the Kurds. Without paying the least thought to the fact
that we had to lie to save our lives, my mother claimed that it was her
prayers which had saved _me_ from the brigands. _Sancta Simplicitas!_
But my hospitality to new tendencies did not in the least diminish the
anguish and pain of the separation from the religion of my mother. Even
after I began to seriously doubt many of the beliefs I had once accepted
as divine, it seemed impossible to abandon them. Ten thousand obstacles
blocked my way, and as many voices seemed to caution me against sailing
forth upon an unknown sea. In a modest way, I was like Columbus,
separated from the new world I was seeking, by the dark and tempestuous
waste of waters. How often my heart sank within me! I was almost sure
of a better and larger world beyond Calvin, or Christ even, but the huge
sea rolled between and struck terror upon my mind.
But if there are difficulties, there is a way out of them. I am glad
that the difficulties, great and insurmountable as they seemed at
the time, did not succeed in holding me back. Between Calvinism and
Rationalism flowed the deep, dark sea of fear. I have crossed that sea.
Behind me is theology with its mysteries and dogmas; before me are the
sunny fields of science. Born in the world of John Calvin, baptised
in the name of the Holy Trinity, and set apart for the Christian
ministry,--I have become a Rationalist. The meaning of both these words,
Calvinist and Rationalist, will, I hope, become clear to all the readers
of this book. The difference between the Calvinist and the Rationalist
is not that | 2,586.725337 |
2023-11-16 19:00:11.0597400 | 1,841 | 23 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (the New York Public Library)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
https://books.google.com/books?id=h9ghAAAAMAAJ
(the New York Public Library)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
AGNES SOREL.
A Novel
BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.,
AUTHOR OF
"LIFE OF VICISSITUDES," "PEQUINILLO," "THE FATE," "AIMS AND
OBSTACLES," "HENRY SMEATON," "THE WOODMAN," &c., &c., &c.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
329 & 331 PEARL STREET,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1864.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight
hundred and fifty-three, by
GEORGE P. R. JAMES,
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the Southern
District of New York.
TO
MAUNSELL B. FIELD, ESQ.,
NOT ONLY AS THE COMPANION OF SOME OF MY LITERARY LABORS, BUT
AS MY DEAR FRIEND; NOT ONLY AS A GENTLEMAN AND A MAN
OF HONOR, BUT AS A MAN OF GENIUS AND OF FEELING;
NOT ONLY AS ONE WHO DOES HONOR TO HIS OWN
COUNTRY, BUT AS ONE WHO WOULD DO
HONOR TO ANY,
This Book is Dedicated, with sincere Regard,
BY G. P. R. JAMES.
AGNES SOREL.
CHAPTER I.
How strange the sensation would be, how marvelously interesting the
scene, were we to wake up from some quiet night's rest and find
ourselves suddenly transported four or five hundred years back--living
and moving among the men of a former age!
To pass from the British fortress of Gibraltar, with drums and fifes,
red coats and bayonets, in a few hours, to the coast of Africa, and
find one's self surrounded by Moors and male petticoats, turbans and
cimeters, is the greatest transition the world affords at present; but
it is nothing to that of which I speak. How marvelously interesting
would it be, also, not only to find one's self brought in close
contact with the customs, manners, and characteristics of a former
age, with all our modern notions strong about us, but to be met at
every turn by thoughts, feelings, views, principles, springing out of
a totally different state of society, which have all passed away, and
moldered, like the garments in which at that time men decorated
themselves.
Such, however, is the leap which I wish the reader to take at the
present moment; and--although I know it to be impossible for him to
divest himself of all those modern impressions which are a part of his
identity--to place himself with me in the midst of a former period,
and to see himself surrounded for a brief space with the people, and
the things, and the thoughts of the fifteenth century.
Let me premise, however, in this prefatory chapter, that the object of
an author, in the minute detail of local scenery and ancient customs,
which he is sometimes compelled to give, and which are often objected
to by the animals with long ears that browse on the borders of
Parnassus, is not so much to show his own learning in antiquarian
lore, as to imbue his reader with such thoughts and feelings as may
enable him to comprehend the motives of the persons acting before his
eyes, and the sensations, passions, and prejudices of ages passed
away. Were we to take an unsophisticated rustic, and baldly tell him,
without any previous intimation of the habits of the time, that the
son of a king of England one day went out alone--or, at best, with a
little boy in his company--all covered over with iron; that he betook
himself to a lone and desolate pass in the mountains, traversed by a
high road, and sat upon horseback by the hour together, with a spear
in his hand, challenging every body who passed to fight him, the
unsophisticated rustic would naturally conclude that the king's son
was mad, and would expect to hear of him next in Bedlam, rather than
on the throne of England. I let any one tell him previously of the
habits, manners, and customs of those days, and the rustic--though he
may very well believe that the whole age was mad--will understand and
appreciate the motives of the individual, saying to himself, "This man
was not a bit madder than the rest."
However, this book is not intended to be a mere painting of the
customs of the fifteenth century, but rather a picture of certain
characters of that period, dressed somewhat in the garb of the times,
and moved by those springs of action which influenced men in the age
to which I refer. It has been said, and justly, that human nature is
the same in all ages; but as a musical instrument will produce many
different tones, according to the hand which touches it, so will human
nature present many different aspects, according to the influences by
which it is affected. At all events, I claim a right to play my own
tune upon my violin, and what skills it if that tune be an air of the
olden times. No one need listen who does not like it.
CHAPTER II.
There was a small, square room, of a very plain, unostentatious
appearance, in the turret of a tall house in the city of Paris. The
walls were of hewn stone, without any decoration whatever, except
where at the four sides, and nearly in the centre of each, appeared a
long iron arm, or branch, with a socket at the end of it, curved and
twisted in a somewhat elaborate manner, and bearing some traces of
having been gilt in a former day. The ceiling was much more decorated
than the walls, and was formed by two groined arches of stone-work,
crossing each other in the middle, and thus forming, as it were, four
pointed arches, the intervals between one mass of stone-work and
another being filled up with dark- oak, much after the fashion
of a cap in a coronet. The spot where the arches crossed was
ornamented with a richly-carved pendant, or corbel, in the centre of
which was embedded a massive iron hook, probably intended to sustain a
large lamp, while the iron sockets protruding from the walls were
destined for flambeaux or lanterns. The floor was of stone, and a rude
mat of rushes was spread over about one eighth of the surface, toward
the middle of the room, where stood a table of no very large
dimensions, covered with a great pile of papers and a few manuscript
books. No lamp hung from the ceiling; no lantern or flambeau cast its
light from the walls as had undoubtedly been the case in earlier
times: the tall, quaint-shaped window, besides being encumbered by a
rich tracery of stone-work, could not admit even the moonbeams through
the thick coat of dust that covered its panes, and the only light
which that room received was afforded by a dull oil lamp upon the
table, without glass or shade. All the furniture looked dry and
withered, as it were, and though solid enough, being balkily formed of
dark oak, presented no ornament whatever. It was, in short, an
uncomfortable-looking apartment enough, having a ruinous and
dilapidated appearance, without any of the picturesqueness of decay.
Under the table lay a large, brindled, rough-haired dog, of the
stag-hound breed, but cruelly docked of his tail, in accordance with
some code of forest laws, which at that time were very numerous and
very various in different parts of France, but all equally unjust and
severe. Apparently he was sound asleep as dog could be; but we all
know that a dog's sleep is not as profound as a metaphysician's dream,
and from time to time he would raise his head a little from his
crossed paws, and look slightly up toward the legs of a person seated
at the table.
Now those | 2,587.07978 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Graeme Mackreth and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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Satanella
[Illustration: "His next stride brought him on his head." (Page 133.)
_Satanella._ _Frontispiece_]
Satanella
A Story of Punchestown
By
G.J. Whyte-Melville
Author of " | 2,587.160952 |
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Produced by Marcia Brooks, Stephen Hutcheson and the online
Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net
[Illustration: Haida Totem Poles
Indian genealogical trees
_From | 2,587.179655 |
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Produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net/
Myths of the Norsemen
From the Eddas and Sagas
By
H. A. Guerber
Author of "The Myths of Greece and Rome" etc.
London
George G. Harrap & Company
15 York Street Covent Garden
1909
Printed by Ballantyne & Co. Limited
Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
I. The Beginning 1
II. Odin 16
III. Frigga 42
IV. Thor 59
V. Tyr 85
VI. Bragi 95
VII. Idun 103
VIII. Nioerd 111
IX. Frey 117
X. Freya 131
XI. Uller 139
XII. Forseti 142
XIII. Heimdall 146
XIV. Hermod 154
XV. Vidar 158
XVI. Vali 162
XVII. The Norns 166
XVIII. The Valkyrs 173
XIX. Hel 180
XX. AEgir 185
XXI. Balder 197
XXII. Loki 216
XXIII. The Giants 230
XXIV. The Dwarfs 239
XXV. The Elves 246
XXVI. The Sigurd Saga 251
XXVII. The Frithiof Saga 298
XXVIII. The Twilight of the Gods 329
XXIX. Greek and Northern Mythologies--A Comparison 342
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Norsemen Landing in Iceland (Oscar Wergeland) Frontispiece
To face page
The Giant with the Flaming Sword (J. C. Dollman) 2
The Wolves Pursuing Sol and Mani (J. C. Dollman) 8
Odin (Sir E. Burne-Jones) 16
The Chosen Slain (K. Dielitz) 18
A Viking Foray (J. C. Dollman) 20
The Pied Piper of Hamelin (H. Kaulbach) 28
Odin (B. E. Fogelberg) 36
Frigga Spinning the Clouds (J. C. Dollman) 42
Tannhaeuser and Frau Venus (J. Wagrez) 52
Eastre (Jacques Reich) 54
Huldra's Nymphs (B. E. Ward) 58
Thor (B. E. Fogelberg) 60
Sif (J. C. Dollman) 64
Thor and the Mountain (J. C. Dollman) 72
A Foray (A. Malmstroem) 88
The Binding of Fenris (Dorothy Hardy) 92
Idun (B. E. Ward) 100
Loki and Thiassi (Dorothy Hardy) 104
Frey (Jacques Reich) 118
Freya (N. J. O. Blommer) 132
The Rainbow Bridge (H. Hendrich) 146
Heimdall (Dorothy Hardy) 148
Jarl (Albert Edelfelt) 152
The Norns (C. Ehrenberg) 166
The Dises (Dorothy Hardy) 170
The Swan-Maiden (Gertrude Demain Hammond, R.I.) 174
The Ride of the Valkyrs (J. C. Dollman) 176
Brunhild and Siegmund (J. Wagrez) 178
The Road to Valhalla (Severin Nilsson) 182
AEgir (J. P. Molin) 186
Ran (M. E. Winge) 190
The Neckan (J. P. Molin) 194
Loki and Hodur (C. G. Qvarnstroem) 202
The Death of Balder (Dorothy Hardy) 206
Hermod before Hela (J. C. Dollman) 210
Loki and Svadilfari (Dorothy Hardy) 222
Loki and Sigyn (M. E. Winge) 228
Thor and the Giants (M. E. Winge) 230
Torghatten 234
The Peaks of the Trolls 244
The Elf-Dance (N. J. O. Blommer) 246
The White Elves (Charles P. Sainton, R.I.) 248
Old Houses with Carved Posts 250
The Were-Wolves (J. C. Dollman) 260
A Hero's Farewell (M. E. Winge) 264
The Funeral Procession (H. Hendrich) 268
Sigurd and Fafnir (K. Dielitz) 274
Sigurd Finds Brunhild (J. Wagrez) 278
Odin and Brunhild (K. Dielitz) 280
Aslaug (Gertrude Demain Hammond, R.I.) 282
Sigurd and Gunnar (J. C. Dollman) 284
The Death of Siegfried (H. Hendrich) 288
The End of Brunhild (J. Wagrez) 290
Ingeborg (M. E. Winge) 304
Frithiof Cleaves the Shield of Helge (Knut Ekwall) 308
Ingeborg Watches her Lover Depart (Knut Ekwall) 312
Frithiof's Return to Framnaes (Knut Ekwall) 316
Frithiof at the Shrine of Balder (Knut Ekwall) 318
Frithiof at the Court of Ring (Knut Ekwall) 320
Frithiof Watches the Sleeping King (Knut Ekwall) 324
Odin and Fenris (Dorothy Hardy) 334
The Ride of the Valkyrs (H. Hendrich) 344
The Storm-Ride (Gilbert Bayes) 358
INTRODUCTION
The prime importance of the rude fragments of poetry preserved in
early Icelandic literature will now be disputed by none, but there
has been until recent times an extraordinary indifference to the
wealth of religious tradition and mythical lore which they contain.
The long neglect of these precious records of our heathen ancestors
is not the fault of the material in which all that survives of
their religious beliefs is enshrined, for it may safely be asserted
that the Edda is as rich in the essentials of national romance
and race-imagination, rugged though it be, as the more graceful
and idyllic mythology of the South. Neither is it due to anything
weak in the conception of the deities themselves, for although
they may not rise to great spiritual heights, foremost students of
Icelandic literature agree that they stand out rude and massive as the
Scandinavian mountains. They exhibit "a spirit of victory, superior
to brute force, superior to mere matter, a spirit that fights and
overcomes." [1] "Even were some part of the matter of their myths
taken from others, yet the Norsemen have given their gods a noble,
upright, great spirit, and placed them upon a high level that is all
their own." [2] "In fact these old Norse songs have a truth in them,
an inward perennial truth and greatness. It is a greatness not of
mere body and gigantic bulk, but a rude greatness of soul." [3]
The introduction of Christianity into the North brought with it the
influence of the Classical races, and this eventually supplanted the
native genius, so that the alien mythology and literature of Greece
and Rome have formed an increasing part of the mental equipment of the
northern peoples in proportion as the native literature and tradition
have been neglected.
Undoubtedly Northern mythology has exercised a deep influence upon
our customs, laws, and language, and there has been, therefore,
a great unconscious inspiration flowing from these into English
literature. The most distinctive traits of this mythology are a
peculiar grim humour, to be found in the religion of no other race,
and a dark thread of tragedy which runs throughout the whole woof,
and these characteristics, touching both extremes, are writ large
over English literature.
But of conscious influence, compared with the rich draught of Hellenic
inspiration, there is little to be found, and if we turn to modern
art the difference is even more apparent.
This indifference may be attributed to many causes, but it was due
first to the fact that the religious beliefs of our pagan ancestors
were not held with any real tenacity. Hence the success of the
more or less considered policy of the early Christian missionaries
to confuse the heathen beliefs, and merge them in the new faith,
an interesting example of which is to be seen in the transference
to the Christian festival of Easter of the attributes of the pagan
goddess Eastre, from whom it took even the name. Northern mythology
was in this way arrested ere it had attained its full development,
and the progress of Christianity eventually relegated it to the limbo
of forgotten things. Its comprehensive and intelligent scheme, however,
in strong contrast with the disconnected mythology of Greece and Rome,
formed the basis of a more or less rational faith which prepared the
Norseman to receive the teaching of Christianity, and so helped to
bring about its own undoing.
The religious beliefs of the North are not mirrored with any
exactitude in the Elder Edda. Indeed only a travesty of the faith of
our ancestors has been preserved in Norse literature. The early poet
loved allegory, and his imagination rioted among the conceptions of
his fertile muse. "His eye was fixed on the mountains till the snowy
peaks assumed human features and the giant of the rock or the ice
descended with heavy tread; or he would gaze at the splendour of the
spring, or of the summer fields, till Freya with the gleaming necklace
stepped forth, or Sif with the flowing locks of gold." [4]
We are told nothing as to sacrificial and religious rites, and
all else is omitted which does not provide material for artistic
treatment. The so-called Northern Mythology, therefore, may be regarded
as a precious relic of the beginning of Northern poetry, rather than
as a representation of the religious beliefs of the Scandinavians,
and these literary fragments bear many signs of the transitional stage
wherein the confusion of the old and new faiths is easily apparent.
But notwithstanding the limitations imposed by long neglect it is
possible to reconstruct in part a plan of the ancient Norse beliefs,
and the general reader will derive much profit from Carlyle's
illuminating study in "Heroes and Hero-worship." "A bewildering,
inextricable jungle of delusions, confusions, falsehoods and
absurdities, covering the whole field of Life!" he calls them,
with all good reason. But he goes on to show, with equal truth,
that at the soul of this crude worship of distorted nature was a
spiritual force seeking expression. What we probe without reverence
they viewed with awe, and not understanding it, straightway deified
it, as all children have been apt to do in all stages of the world's
history. Truly they were hero-worshippers after Carlyle's own heart,
and scepticism had no place in their simple philosophy.
It was the infancy of thought gazing upon a universe filled with
divinity, and believing heartily with all sincerity. A large-hearted
people reaching out in the dark towards ideals which were better than
they knew. Ragnarok was to undo their gods because they had stumbled
from their higher standards.
We have to thank a curious phenomenon for the preservation of so much
of the old lore as we still possess. While foreign influences were
corrupting the Norse language, it remained practically unaltered in
Iceland, which had been colonised from the mainland by the Norsemen
who had fled thither to escape the oppression of Harold Fairhair after
his crushing victory of Hafrsfirth. These people brought with them the
poetic genius which had already manifested itself, and it took fresh
root in that barren soil. Many of the old Norse poets were natives
of Iceland, and in the early part of the Christian era, a supreme
service was rendered to Norse literature by the Christian priest,
Saemund, who industriously brought together a large amount of pagan
poetry in a collection known as the Elder Edda, which is the chief
foundation of our present knowledge of the religion of our Norse
ancestors. Icelandic literature remained a sealed book, however,
until the end of the eighteenth century, and very slowly since that
time it has been winning its way in the teeth of indifference, until
there are now signs that it will eventually come into its own. "To
know the old Faith," says Carlyle, "brings us into closer and clearer
relation with the Past--with our own possessions in the Past. For
the whole Past is the possession of the Present; the Past had always
something true, and is a precious possession."
The weighty words of William Morris regarding the Volsunga Saga
may also be fitly quoted as an introduction to the whole of this
collection of "Myths of the Norsemen": "This is the great story of
the North, which should be to all our race what the Tale of Troy was
to the Greeks--to all our race first, and afterwards, when the change
of the world has made our race nothing more than a name of what has
been--a story too--then should it be to those that come after us no
less than the Tale of Troy has been to us."
CHAPTER I: THE BEGINNING
Myths of Creation
Although the Aryan inhabitants of Northern Europe are supposed by some
authorities to have come originally from the plateau of Iran, in the
heart of Asia, the climate and scenery of the countries where they
finally settled had great influence in shaping their early religious
beliefs, as well as in ordering their mode of living.
The grand and rugged landscapes of Northern Europe, the midnight
sun, the flashing rays of the aurora borealis, the ocean continually
lashing itself into fury against the great cliffs and icebergs of
the Arctic Circle, could not but impress the people as vividly as
the almost miraculous vegetation, the perpetual light, and the blue
seas and skies of their brief summer season. It is no great wonder,
therefore, that the Icelanders, for instance, to whom we owe the most
perfect records of this belief, fancied in looking about them that the
world was originally created from a strange mixture of fire and ice.
Northern mythology is grand and tragical. Its principal theme is the
perpetual struggle of the beneficent forces of Nature against the
injurious, and hence it is not graceful and idyllic in character,
like the religion of the sunny South, where the people could bask
in perpetual sunshine, and the fruits of the earth grew ready to
their hand.
It was very natural that the dangers incurred in hunting and fishing
under these inclement skies, and the suffering entailed by the long
cold winters when the sun never shines, made our ancestors contemplate
cold and ice as malevolent spirits; and it was with equal reason that
they invoked with special fervour the beneficent influences of heat
and light.
When questioned concerning the creation of the world, the Northern
scalds, or poets, whose songs | 2,587.208836 |
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Produced by Joshua Hutchinson and PG Distributed Proofreaders
THE TRESPASSER
By D. H. Lawrence
1912
_Chapter 1_
'Take off that mute, do!' cried Louisa, snatching her fingers from the
piano keys, and turning abruptly to the violinist.
Helena looked slowly from her music.
'My dear Louisa,' she replied, 'it would be simply unendurable.' She
stood tapping her white skirt with her bow in a kind of a pathetic
forbearance.
'But I can't understand it,' cried Louisa, bouncing on her chair with
the exaggeration of one who is indignant with a beloved. 'It is only
lately you would even submit to muting your violin. At one time you
would have refused flatly, and no doubt about it.'
'I have only lately submitted to many things,' replied Helena, who
seemed weary and stupefied, but still sententious. Louisa drooped from
her bristling defiance.
'At any rate,' she said, scolding in tones too naked with love, I don't
like it.'
'_Go on from Allegro_,' said Helena, pointing with her bow to the place
on Louisa's score of the Mozart sonata. Louisa obediently took the
chords, and the music continued.
A young man, reclining in one of the wicker arm-chairs by the fire,
turned luxuriously from the girls to watch the flames poise and dance
with the music. He was evidently at his ease, yet he seemed a stranger
in the room.
It was the sitting-room of a mean house standing in line with hundreds
of others of the same kind, along a wide road in South London. Now and
again the trams hummed by, but the room was foreign to the trams and to
the sound of the London traffic. It was Helena's room, for which she was
responsible. The walls were of the dead-green colour of August foliage;
the green carpet, with its border of polished floor, lay like a square
of grass in a setting of black loam. Ceiling and frieze and fireplace
were smooth white. There was no other colouring.
The furniture, excepting the piano, had a transitory look; two light
wicker arm-chairs by the fire, the two frail stands of dark, polished
wood, the couple of flimsy chairs, and the case of books in the
recess--all seemed uneasy, as if they might be tossed out to leave the
room clear, with its green floor and walls, and its white rim of
skirting-board, serene.
On the mantlepiece were white lustres, and a small soapstone Buddha from
China, grey, impassive, locked in his renunciation. Besides these, two
tablets of translucent stone beautifully clouded with rose and blood,
and carved with Chinese symbols; then a litter of mementoes,
rock-crystals, and shells and scraps of seaweed.
A stranger, entering, felt at a loss. He looked at the bare wall-spaces
of dark green, at the scanty furniture, and was assured of his
unwelcome. The only objects of sympathy in the room were the white lamp
that glowed on a stand near the wall, and the large, beautiful fern,
with narrow fronds, which ruffled its cloud of green within the gloom of
the window-bay. These only, with the fire, seemed friendly.
The three candles on the dark piano burned softly, the music fluttered
on, but, like numbed butterflies, stupidly. Helena played mechanically.
She broke the music beneath her bow, so that it came lifeless, very
hurting to hear. The young man frowned, and pondered. Uneasily, he
turned again to the players.
The | 2,587.259455 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Web Archive (University of Toronto)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Web Archive
https://archive.org/details/ticonderogastory00jameuoft
(University of Toronto)
[Book Cover: Ticonderoga By G. P. R. JAMES]
[Illustration By J. Watson Davis:
As a tall dark figure gilded into the room, Lord H---- drew Edith
suddenly back and placed himself before her. Page 99.
_Frontispiece_. --_Ticonderoga_]
-----------------------------------------------------
_A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley_
-----------------------------------------------------
_By G. P. R. JAMES_
_Author of "Darnley, A Romance of the times
of Henry VIII."; "Richelieu, A Tale of
France in the Reign of King Louis XIII_."
-----------------------------------------------------
A. L. BURT COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
-----------------------------------------------------
TICONDEROGA
CHAPTER I
The house was a neat, though a lowly one. It bore traces of newness,
for the bark on the trunks which supported the little veranda had not
yet mouldered away. Nevertheless, it was not built by the owner's own
hands; for when he came there he had much to learn in the rougher arts
of life; but with a carpenter from a village some nine miles off, he
had aided to raise the building and directed the construction by his
own taste. The result was satisfactory to him; and, what was more, in
his eyes, was satisfactory to the two whom he loved best--at least, it
seemed satisfactory to them, although those who knew them, even not so
well as he did, might have doubted, and yet loved them all the better.
The door of the house was open, and custom admitted every visitor
freely, whatever was his errand. It was a strange state of society
that, in which men, though taught by daily experience that precaution
was necessary, took none. They held themselves occasionally ready to
repel open assault, which was rare, and neglected every safeguard
against insidious attack, which was much more common.
It was the custom of the few who visited that secluded spot to enter
without ceremony, and to search in any or every room in the house for
some one of the inhabitants. But on this occasion the horse that came
up the road stopped at the gate of the little fence, and the traveler,
whoever he was, when he reached the door after dismounting, knocked
with his whip before he entered.
The master of the house rose and went to the door. He was somewhat
impatient of ceremony, but the aspect and demeanor of his visitor were
not of a kind to nourish any angry feeling. He was a young and very
handsome man, probably not more than thirty years of age, sinewy and
well formed in person, with a noble and commanding countenance, a
broad, high brow, and a keen but tranquil eye. His manner was
courteous, but grave, and he said, without waiting to have his errand
asked: "I know not, sir, whether I shall intrude upon you too far in
asking hospitality for the night, but the sun is going down, and I was
told by a lad whom I met in the woods just now that there is no other
house for ten miles farther; and, to say the truth, I am very ignorant
of the way."
"Come in," said the master of the cottage. "We never refuse to receive
a visitor here, and, indeed, have sometimes to accommodate more than
the house will well hold. We are alone, however, now, and you will not
have to put up with the inconveniences which our guests are sometimes
obliged to encounter. Stay! I will order your horse to be taken care
of."
Thus saying, he advanced a step or two beyond the door and called in a
loud voice for someone whom he named Agrippa. He had to shout more
than once, however, before a <DW64> appeared, blind in one eye, and
somewhat lame withal, but yet, apparently, both active and
intelligent. The necessary orders were soon given, and in a moment
after the traveler was seated with his host in the little parlor of
the cottage. The manner of the latter could not be called cordial,
though it was polite and courteous.
The other seemed to feel it in some degree, and a certain stateliness
appeared in his demeanor which was not likely to warm his host into
greater familiarity. But suddenly the chilly atmosphere of the room
was warmed in a moment, and a chain of sympathy established between
the two by the presence of youth. A boy of sixteen, and a girl a
little more than a year older, entered with gay and sunshiny looks,
and the cloud was dispelled in a moment.
"My daughter Edith--my son Walter," said the master of the house,
addressing the stranger, as the two young people bounded in; and then
he added, with a slight inclination of the head: "It was an ancient
and honorable custom in Scotland, when that country was almost as
uncivilized as this, and possessed all the uncivilized virtues, never
to inquire the name of a guest; and therefore I cannot introduce you
to my children; but doubtless they will soon acknowledge you as their
nameless friend."
"I am a friend of one of them already," answered the stranger, holding
out his hand to the lad. "This is the young gentleman who told me that
I should find the only house within ten miles about this spot, and his
father willing to receive me, though he did not say that I should find
a gem in the wilderness, and a gentleman in these wild woods."
"It has been a foolish fancy, perhaps," said the master of the house,
"to carry almost into the midst of savage life some remnants of
civilization. We keep the portraits of dead friends--a lock of hair--a
trinket--a garment of the loved and departed. The habits and the
ornaments of another state of society are to me like those friends,
and I long to have some of their relics near me."
"Oh, my dear father," said Edith, seating herself by him and leaning
her head upon his bosom, without timidity or restraint, "you could
never do without them. I remember when we were coming hither, now
three years ago, that you talked a great deal of free, unshackled
existence; but I knew quite well, even then, that you could not be
content till you had subdued the rough things around you to a more
refined state."
"What made you think so, Edith?" asked her father, looking down at her
with a smile.
"Because you never could bear the parson of the parish drinking punch
and smoking tobacco pipes," answered the beautiful girl, with a laugh;
"and I was quite sure that it was not more savage life you sought, but
greater refinement."
"Oh, yes, my father," added the lad; "and you often said, when we were
in England, that the red Indian had much more of the real gentleman in
him than many a peer."
"Dreams, dreams," said their father, with a melancholy smile; and
then, turning to the stranger, he added: "You see, sir, how keenly our
weaknesses are read by even children. But come, Edith, our friend must
be hungry with his long ride; see and hasten the supper. Our habits
are primeval here, sir, like our woods. We follow the sun to bed, and
wake with him in the morning."
"They are good habits," answered the stranger, "and such as I am
accustomed to follow much myself. But do not, I pray you, hasten your
supper for me. I am anything but a slave of times and seasons. I can
fast long, and fare scantily, without inconvenience."
"And yet you are an Englishman," answered the master of the house,
gravely, "a soldier, or I mistake; a man of station, I am sure; though
all three would generally infer, as the world goes at this present
time, a fondness for luxurious ease and an indulgence of all the
appetites."
A slight flush came into his young companion's cheek, and the other
hastened to add: "Believe me, I meant nothing discourteous. I spoke of
the Englishman, the soldier, and the man of rank and station
generally, not of yourself. I see it is far otherwise with you."
"You hit hard, my good friend," replied the stranger, "and there is
some truth in what you say. But perhaps I have seen as many lands as
you, and I boldly venture to pronounce that the fault is in the age,
not in the nation, the profession, or the class."
As he spoke he rose, walked thoughtfully to the window, and gazed out
for a moment or two in silence; and then, turning round, he said,
addressing his host's son: "How beautifully the setting sun shines
down yonder glade in the forest, pouring, as it were, in a golden mist
through the needle foliage of the pines. Runs there a road down
there?"
The boy answered in the affirmative, and drawing close to the
stranger's side pointed out to him, by the undulation of the ground
and the gaps in the tree tops, the wavy line that the road followed,
down the side of the gentle hill, saying: "By a white oak and a great
hemlock tree, there is a footpath to the left; at a clump of large
cedars on the edge of the swamp the road forks out to the right and
left, one leading eastward toward the river, and one out westward to
the hunting grounds."
The stranger seemed to listen to him with pleasure, often turning his
eyes to the lad's face as he spoke, rather than to the landscape to
which he pointed; and when he had done he laid his hand on his
shoulder, saying, "I wish I had such a guide as you, Walter, for my
onward journey."
"Will it be far?" asked the youth.
"Good faith, I cannot well tell," answered the other. "It may be as
far as Montreal, or even to Quebec, if I get not satisfaction soon."
"I could not guide you as far as that," replied the boy, "but I know
every step toward the lakes, as well as an Indian."
"With whom he is very fond of consorting," said his father, with a
smile.
But before the conversation could proceed farther, an elderly,
respectable woman servant entered the room and announced that supper
was on the table. Edith had not returned, but they found her in a
large, oblong chamber to which the master of the house led the way.
There was a long table in the midst, and four wooden chairs arranged
round one end, over which a snowy tablecloth was spread. The rest of
the table was bare, but there were a number of other seats and two or
three benches in the room, while at equal distances on either side,
touching the walls, lay a number of bear and buffalo skins, as if
spread out for beds.
The eye of the stranger glanced over them as he entered, but his host
replied to his thoughts, with a smile: "We will lodge you somewhat
better than that, sir. We have, just now, more than one room vacant;
but you must know there is no such thing as privacy in this land, and
when we have any invasion of our Indian friends those skins make them
supremely happy. I often smile to think how a redman would feel in
Holland sheets. I tried it once, but it did not succeed. He pulled the
blankets off the bed and slept upon the floor."
Seated at the table, the conversation turned to many subjects,
general, of course, but yet personally interesting to both the elder
members of the party.
More than an hour was beguiled at the table--a longer period than
ordinary--and then the bright purple hues which spread over the
eastern wall of the room, opposite the windows, told that the autumnal
sun had reached the horizon. The master of the house rose to lead the
way into another room again, but ere he moved from the table another
figure was added to the group around it, though the foot was so
noiseless that no one heard its entrance into the chamber.
The person who had joined the little party was a man of middle age, of
a tall, commanding figure, upright and dignified carriage, and fine,
but somewhat strongly marked features. The expression of his
countenance was grave and noble, but yet there was a certain
strangeness in it--a touch of wildness, perhaps I might call it--very
difficult to define. It was not in the eyes, for they were good, calm,
and steadfast, gazing straight at any object of contemplation, and
fixed full upon the face of anyone he addressed. It was not in the
lips, for, except when speaking, they were firm and motionless.
Perhaps it was in the eyebrow, which, thick and strongly marked, was
occasionally suddenly raised or depressed, without apparent cause.
His dress was very strange. He was evidently of European blood,
although his skin was embrowned by much exposure to sun and weather.
But yet he wore not altogether the European costume, the garb of the
American backwoodsman, or that of the Indian. There was a mixture of
all, which gave him a wild and fantastic appearance. His coat was
evidently English, and had straps of gold lace upon the shoulders; his
knee breeches and high riding boots would have looked English, also,
had not the latter been destitute of soles, properly so called; for
they were made somewhat like a stocking, and the part beneath the foot
was of the same leather as the rest. Over his shoulder was a belt of
rattlesnake skin, and round his waist a sort of girdle, formed from
the claws of the bear, from which depended a string of wampum, while
two or three knives and a small tomahawk appeared on either side. No
other weapons had he whatever. But under his left arm hung a common
powder flask, made of cow's horn, and beside it, a sort of wallet,
such as trappers commonly used for carrying their little store of
Indian corn. A round fur cap of bearskin, without any ornament
whatever, completed his habiliments.
It would seem that in that house he was well known, for its master
instantly held forth his hand to him, and the young people sprang
forward and greeted him warmly. A full minute elapsed before he spoke,
but nobody uttered a word till he did so, all seeming to understand
his habits.
"Well, Mr. Prevost," he said, at length, "I have been a stranger to
your wigwam for some time. How art thou, Walter? Not a man yet, in
spite of all thou canst do? Edith, my sweet lady, time deals
differently with thee from thy brother. He makes thee a woman against
thy will." Then turning suddenly to the stranger, he said: "Sir, I am
glad to see you. Were you ever at Kielmansegge?"
"Once," replied the stranger, laconically.
"Then we will confer presently," replied the newcomer. "How have you
been this many a day, Mr. Prevost? You must give me food, for I have
ridden far. I will have that bearskin, too, for my night's lodging
place, if it be not pre-engaged. No, not that one, the next. I have
told Agrippa to see to my horse, for I ever count upon your courtesy."
There was something extremely stately and dignified in his whole tone,
and with frank straightforwardness, but without any indecorous haste,
he seated himself at the table, drew toward him a large dish of cold
meat, and while Edith and her brother hastened to supply him with
everything else he needed, proceeded to help himself liberally | 2,587.35411 |
2023-11-16 19:00:11.4439410 | 4,273 | 28 |
Produced by Clare Graham & Joyce McDonald at
http://www.girlebooks.com - Marc D'Hooghe at
http://www.freeliterature.org
RUTLEDGE
By
MIRIAM COLES HARRIS
NEW YORK:
DERBY & JACKSON, 498 BROADWAY.
1860.
CHAPTER I.
"Heavily hangs the broad sunflower,
Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,
Heavily hangs the tiger lily."
TENNYSON.
It was the gloomy twilight of a gloomy November day; dark and leaden
clouds were fast shutting out every lingering ray of daylight; and the
wind, which moaned dismally around the house, was tossing into mad
antics the leaves which strewed the playground. The lamps were not
lighted yet; of visible fires the _pensionnat_ of St. Catharine's was
innocent; a dull black stove, more or less gigantic, according to the
size of the apartment, gloomed in every one, and affected favorably the
thermometer, if not the imagination. We paced untiringly up and down the
dim corridor--Nelly, Agnes and I--three children, who, by virtue of our
youth, ought to have been let off, one would have thought, for some
years yet, from the deep depression that was fast settling on our
spirits. In truth we were all three very miserable, we thought--Nelly
and Agnes, I am afraid, more so than I, who in common justice ought to
have participated deeply in, as I was the chief occasion of, their
grief.
My trunk was packed and strapped, and stood outside the door of my
dormitory, ready for the porter's attention. In it lay my school-books,
closed forever, as I hoped; and souvenirs innumerable of school
friendships and the undying love of the extremely young persons by whom
I was surrounded.
From them I was to be severed to-morrow, as was expected, and
"It might be for years, and it might be for ever,"
as Nelly had just said, choking up on the last sentence. I _did_ feel
unhappy, and very much like "choking up" too, when I passed the great
windows, that looked into the playground, and remembered all the mad
hours of frolic I had passed there; when I took down my shawl from the
peg where it had hung nightly for five years, and remembered, with a
thrill, it was "the last time;" when the lid of my empty desk fell down
with an echo that sounded drearily through the long school-room; when I
thought "where I might be this time to-morrow," and when Agnes' and
Nelly's arms twined about me, reminded me of the rapidly approaching
hour of separation from those who had represented the world to me for
five years--whom I had loved and hated, and by whom I had been loved and
hated, with all the fervor of sixteen. The hatreds now were softened
down by the nearness of the parting; all my ancient foes, (and they had
not been few), had "made up" and promised forgiveness and forgetfulness
entire; and all ancient feuds were dead. All my friends now loved me
with tenfold the ardor they had ever felt before; all the staff of
teachers, who had, I am afraid, a great deal to forgive, of impatient
self-will, mad spirits and thoughtless inattention, were good enough to
forget all, and remember only what they were pleased to call the truth
and honesty and courage, that in the years we had been together, they
had never known to fail.
They little knew how their unlooked for praise humbled me; and how far
more deeply than any reproach, it made me realize the waste of time and
talents that I had to look back upon.
So, most unexpectedly to myself, I found that I was going off with
flying colors; that all were joining to deplore my departure and laud my
good qualities; and that, from being rather a "limb" in the eyes of the
school, and a hopeless sinner in my own, I was promoted, temporarily, to
the dignity of heroine at St. Catharine's.
It was with a very full heart that I remembered all this; and deeper
feelings than I had known since my childhood were stirred by the
kindness I was certain was as undeserved as it was unexpected. But such
a future dawned before me, that tender regret struggled hard with giddy
hope for the mastery. In almost every girl's life, leaving school is a
marked and important event; and imagination has always a wide, and
generally well-cultivated field for its powers, even when home and
future are as certain as things mundane can be. But in my case there was
so much room for dreaming, so much raw material for fancy to work up,
that a tamer and less imaginative child than I was, would have been
tempted into castle-building. The sad event that five years before had
placed me, a stunned, bewildered, motherless child, in the midst of
strangers, had largely developed the turn for dreaming that such
children always possess. The sympathy and love that God provides for
every child that is born into the world, withdrawn, they turn "not
sullen, nor in scorn," but from an instinct He has himself implanted,
inward, for their sympathy and counsel. So it happened, that though
Nelly and Agnes, and a dozen merry girls beside, were my sworn friends
and very firmest allies, none of them knew anything of the keen wonder
and almost painful longing with which I pictured the future to myself.
They knew, of course, the simple facts, that as I had no father or
mother, I was to go and live with my aunt, who had been in Europe until
this summer and whom I had not seen since my mother died; that she had
three daughters, one older, two younger than myself; that she had sent
me some pretty things from Paris, and was, probably, very kind, and I
should have a very nice time.
They knew only these bare beams and framework of the gorgeous fabric I
had reared upon them; they little knew the hours of wakefulness in which
I wondered whether I should be happy or miserable in that new home;
whether my aunt would love me as I already most ardently loved her;
whether the new cousins were at all like Nelly and Agnes; and whether
they were prepared to value the wealth of affection I had in reserve for
them. But time would soon settle all this into certainty; and my aunt's
last letter, containing all the final arrangements for my journey, I at
present knew by heart. The only possible shade of uncertainty about my
starting, lay in the chance of the gentleman who was to be my escort,
being detained by business a day or two longer at C----, and not
arriving to-night, as had been considered probable.
Nelly built greatly upon this possibility, and as the twilight deepened,
and the moaning wind and growing darkness pressed more and more upon us,
we turned to that as our only chance of comfort. Nelly had said, for the
twentieth time, "I am sure he will not come till to-morrow, it is too
late for him now," when a sharp ring at the bell made us all start, and
sent the blood swiftly enough through _my_ veins, and, I suppose, no
less swiftly through my young companions'; for Nelly convulsively
clasped me round the neck and burst into tears, while Agnes said, in a
choking voice, "I'm certain of it!" And for three dreadful minutes of
suspense we stood motionless, holding our breath, and watching for the
first token of the approach of the messenger who should confirm or
confute our forebodings.
At last, steps echoed along the hall, and bearing a dim candle, which
blinked nervously at every step, appeared the Biddy who officiated as
waiter at St. Catharine's. She had a card in her hand, and our end of
the corridor seemed her destination, and our party the party she was in
search of.
"Well?" said Agnes, making a distracted effort to break the silence, as
Biddy groped stupidly and slowly toward us. "A gentleman," she said, "a
gentleman to see you, miss," and she handed me the card. "I knew it,"
said Agnes, with a deep sigh, as, per favor of the blinking candle, the
three heads, clustered over the card, made out the name, "Mr. Arthur
Rutledge."
"Oh, I am so frightened!" I said, sitting down on the lowest step of the
stairs. "Girls, what shall I do?"
Nelly shook her head; she did not wonder I was afraid; for five years I
had encountered no gentlemen more alarming than the professors, and no
strangers more intimidating than occasional new scholars; and knew no
more how to conduct myself on this occasion, than if I had not received
Miss Crowen's valuable instructions on deportment. I had been taught to
swim, theoretically, on shore, and now was to be pushed suddenly out
into deep water, to make the best use I could of my scientific
knowledge. As was to be supposed, I found myself not much the better for
it.
"He's not a young gentleman though," said Agnes, "and I shouldn't mind
it much if I were you."
"Oh, of course he's not young, or Aunt Edith would not have had me go
with him. He's as old as the hills, I know but that makes it so much the
worse; and then, he was abroad with my aunt and cousins, and knows them
all so well; and Aunt Edith calls him 'an accomplished gentleman of high
standing;' and oh! I am sure I shall blush and act like a fool, and
disgrace myself; and aunt is so particular."
Nelly condoled, Agnes counselled, and I stood shivering in an agony of
apprehension and dismay, when the heavy tread of Miss Crowen on the
stairs, gave an impetus to my faltering steps, and sent me parlor-wards
with emphasis.
"If you don't hurry," whispered Agnes. "Miss Crowen will drag you in,
and make one of her horrible speeches about educational advantages and
mental culture, and put you through a course of mathematical problems,
and make you show off on the piano, if not sing."
The wily Agnes had touched the right chord. Threatened with this new
horror, I grew reckless, and without a moment more of hesitation, bolted
into the parlor, and stood confronting the object of my terror, before I
had had time in the least to prepare my line of conduct. I stood for a
moment with burning cheeks and downcast eyes, unable to articulate a
word, and saw nothing, heard nothing, till I found myself seated on the
sofa, and being talked to in a kind manner by the dreaded stranger, who
sat beside me. If my "Yes sir," and "No sir," came in in the right
places, I can claim no sort of credit for it; for neither then nor now,
had or have I the faintest apprehension of anything he said. By and by,
however, under the influence of that steady unmoved voice, my alarm
began to subside, and my scared senses, after fluttering hopelessly
about, like a dislodged brood of swallows, began at last to collect
themselves again, and resume their proper functions. By degrees I began
to comprehend what he was talking about, and in process of time,
commanded my voice sufficiently to answer him audibly, and before the
interview was over, had the courage to raise my eyes, and satisfy myself
as to the personal appearance of this my destined protector in the three
days' journey we had in prospect.
And the result of this investigation was, the instant establishment,
upon a firm basis, of ease and confidence. For few men or women, much
less children or girls, ever looked into Mr. Rutledge's face, without
feeling that they saw their master, but withal so firm and kind a
master, that all thought of resistance to his will, or stubborn
maintenance of their own, together with all foolish vanity and
consciousness, vanished at once and forever, or returned but seldom, and
was soon conquered. If I had cherished any romantic hope that this
"accomplished gentleman" might prove anything out of which I could make
that dearest dream of schoolgirl's heart, a lover, I likewise
relinquished that most speedily, for nothing in the person before me,
gave encouragement to such an idea. Rather below than above the medium
size, and of a firm, well-proportioned figure, Mr. Rutledge gave one,
from his commanding and decided carriage, the impression of a much
larger man. His dark hair was slightly dashed with grey, his eyes were
keen and cold, the lines of care and thought about his brow were deep
and strong. If his face could be said to have an attraction, it lay in
the rare smile that sometimes changed the sternness of his mouth into
winning sweetness and grace. But this was so rare that it could hardly
be called a characteristic of his habitually cold stern face. That it
wore it that evening however, I knew then as now, was because I was a
child, and a miserable, frightened one besides. I never doubted that he
knew how I felt, and read me thoroughly.
The interview was, according to the prim little clock on the
mantelpiece, by no means a long one; and after introducing (with but
indifferent grace) Miss Crowen, who entered the room with elephantine
tread, to my visitor, he took leave, having arranged to come for me the
next morning at six.
That last evening, with its half-strange, excited novelty of
leave-taking, and last messages and last thoughts, is still distinct in
my memory; and the start with which I answered Biddy's call in the
darkness of the November morning, the dressing with cold hurried hands
that were not half equal to the task, the wild way in which everything
came dancing through my mind, as I tried to say my prayers, the utter
inability to taste a mouthful of the breakfast Miss Crowen herself had
superintended, the thrill with which I heard the carriage drive up to
the door, are as vivid as recollections can well be. And I am in no
danger, either of forgetting the moment, when, with half a dozen of my
schoolfellows who had been allowed to see me off, I descended the steps
toward the carriage, the door of which Mr. Rutledge was holding open.
The kind good bye of Miss Crowen, the warm embraces of the girls,
Nelly's tears, Agnes' wistful look, are memories I cannot part with if I
would.
The carriage door shut to with a snap, the horses started forward at a
brisk pace, and we were off, and I had left school and childhood behind
me forever. I did not cry at all, though I felt desperately like it; but
the consciousness that Mr. Rutledge looked sharply at me to see how I
took it, made me struggle harder to keep back my tears, and seem womanly
and composed. In this I succeeded beyond my hopes, and before half an
hour had passed, the bracing air of the fine autumn morning, the rapid
pace at which we rolled along, and the new delight to my cloistered
eyes, of farms, and villages, woods rich in the many colors of the fall,
and meadows and uplands basking in its sunshine, made me feel as if I
had been months away from school, and as if the melancholy of last night
were some strange distant dream. Seventeen never dreamed more fantastic
dreams than I did that morning, however, as I leaned back in the
carriage and idly watched the gay landscape past which we were hurrying.
It was quite a relief to me that my companion, after attending to my
comfort in every necessary way, settled himself in his corner of the
carriage, and taking a book from his valise, devoted himself to its
perusal, and left me to my own thoughts the entire morning. He did not
put it up till we reached the town where we were to dine and wait for
the cars.
Dinner did not prove a very animated meal; my companion, after asking me
about school, and whether I felt sorry to leave it, and a few more
questions of the same nature (such as people always put to school-girls,
and by which they unconsciously give great offence), seemed to consider
his conversational duty performed, and fell into a state of abstraction,
which made his face look harder and colder than ever; and as I
stealthily regarded him from under my eyelashes, some of last night's
alarm threatened to return. But I tried to overcome it, and endeavored
to reassure myself by remembering how kind he was when I was so much
embarrassed, and how well he had helped me through the interview that he
might have made so terrible; and that he did not talk to me--why,
certainly it was not strange that a gentleman of his age should not have
much in common with a girl of mine.
By and by the cars came tearing through the town with a whoop and a
shriek, that seemed to excite everybody wonderfully, considering the
frequency of the occurrence. Passengers, porters, newsboys, in one mad
crowd, rushed toward the depot, each emulating in his own proper person,
the noble rage of the snorting, impatient monster, upon whose energy we
were all depending. The only individual entirely unexcited, was my
escort, who never for a moment lost the appearance of sang froid and
indifference that an earthquake would not have startled him out of, I
was convinced. Though we did not hurry, we were, before many of our
fellow-voyagers, in possession of the best seats, and most commodiously,
because most deliberately, settled for the journey. Mr. Rutledge was
emphatically a good traveller, carrying the clear-sighted precision and
deliberation of his mind into all the details of travel, and thereby
securing himself from the petty annoyances that people often think
unworthy of attention, but which do more than they suspect, toward
marring pleasure and destroying comfort. I aptly followed his manner,
and was a marvel of unconcerned deliberation in the matter of securing
my seat and arranging my shawls, books and bags; which drew from him the
remark, with an approving glance, that he perceived I was used to
travelling. That observation, either from the fact of its being so
absurdly incorrect in its premises, or from the stronger fact of its
being the only one addressed to me until 7 P.M., when we stopped at
F---- for purposes of refreshment, impressed itself very much upon my
mind.
After the wretched meal, called by compliment tea, which we were allowed
twenty minutes to partake of, had been dispatched, and we were again
settled in the cars in which we were to travel all night, commenced the
trials of the journey--to me, at least, for I was an entire novice, not
having been twenty miles away from St. Catharine | 2,587.463981 |
2023-11-16 19:00:11.4440870 | 816 | 6 |
Produced by Al Haines.
*GREENACRE
GIRLS*
BY
IZOLA L. FORRESTER
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
CLEVELAND, O. NEW YORK, N.Y.
_Copyright, 1915, by
George W. Jacobs & Company
All rights reserved_
_Printed in the United States of America_
*CONTENTS*
CHAPTER
I The Finger of Providence
II The Motherbird and Her Robins
III Breakers Ahead
IV The Queen's Privy Council
V Kit Rebels
VI White Hyacinths
VII The Land o' Rest
VIII Spying the Promised Land
IX The Lady Managers Choose a Name
X Settling the Nest
XI Ma Parmelee's Chicks
XII Gilead's Girl Neighbors
XIII Cousin Roxy to the Rescue
XIV The Lawn Fete
XV Kit Pulls Anchor
XVI Guests and Ghosts
XVII Billie Meets Trespassers
XVIII Harvesting Hopes
XIX Ralph and Honey Take the Long Trail
XX Roxana's Romance
*GREENACRE GIRLS*
*CHAPTER I*
*THE FINGER OF PROVIDENCE*
"It does seem to me, folkses," said Kit warmly, "that when anyone is
trying to write, you might be a little quiet."
The three at the end of the room heeded not the admonition. Doris was
so interested that she had almost succeeded in reclining like a Roman
maiden on the library table, trying to see over Helen's shoulder. Jean
was drawing up the plan for action. The list of names lay before her,
and she tapped her pencil on her nose meditatively as she eyed it.
"Now, listen, Jean," Helen proposed. "This would really be a novelty.
Let's have a Cupid for postman and not give out our valentines until
after the games. And just when we've got them all seated for supper
have the bell ring, and a real postman's whistle blow, and enter Cupid!"
"It's too cold for wings," Doris interposed mildly.
"Oh, Dorrie, you goose. He'd be all dressed up beautifully. Buster
Phelps is going to be Cupid, only we were going to have him sit in front
of a Valentine box and just hand them out. We'll put a little white suit
on him with red hearts dangling all over him, and curl his hair
angelically."
"You'd better have red heart favors too, Helen," Jean added; "something
that opens and shuts, with something else inside for a surprise. And
we'll put red crepe shades on all the electric bulbs. Could we get
those, do you think, girls?"
"We can get anything if Dad and Mother are home by that time," answered
Helen. The rest were silent. Kit, sitting at her mother's desk beside
the wide bay window, looked up and frowned at the stuffed golden
pheasant on top of the nearest bookcase. Outside snow was falling
lightly. The view of the Sound was obscured. A pearly grayness seemed
to be settling around the big house as if it were being cut off from the
rest of the world by some magic spell.
"Hope Dad's feeling all right by now," Kit said suddenly, pushing back
her thick, dark curls restlessly. "They sail from Sanibel Island the
8th. Wasn't it the 8th, Jean?"
"Oh, they'll be home in plenty of time," Jean exclaimed. "Here we all
| 2,587.464127 |
2023-11-16 19:00:11.5101010 | 59 | 10 | (HAWAIIAN MYTHOLOGY)***
E-text prepared by Bryan Ness, Katie Hernandez, and the Online Distributed
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available by the Google Books Library Project (http://books.google.com)
| 2,587.530141 |
2023-11-16 19:00:11.5952410 | 93 | 10 |
Produced by Marc-AndrA(C) Seekamp, Ann Jury and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
AUTUMN IMPRESSIONS
OF THE GIRONDE
In Crown 8vo, Cloth Gilt. Price 6s.
RUSSIA OF TO-DAY
BY | 2,587.615281 |
2023-11-16 19:00:11.6611680 | 6,596 | 9 |
Produced by Lee Dawei, Seth Hadley, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
FRANCE AND ENGLAND IN NORTH AMERICA,
A SERIES OF HISTORICAL NARRATIVES, PART THIRD.
THE DISCOVERY OF THE GREAT WEST
BY FRANCIS PARKMAN
1870
TO THE CLASS OF 1844,
HARVARD COLLEGE,
THIS BOOK IS CORDIALLY DEDICATED
BY ONE OF THEIR NUMBER.
PREFACE.
The discovery of the "Great West," or the valleys of the Mississippi and
the Lakes, is a portion of our history hitherto very obscure. Those
magnificent regions were revealed to the world through a series of daring
enterprises, of which the motives and even the incidents have been but
partially and superficially known. The chief actor in them wrote much, but
printed nothing; and the published writings of his associates stand
wofully in need of interpretation from the unpublished documents which
exist, but which have not heretofore been used as material for history.
This volume attempts to supply the defect. Of the large amount of wholly
new material employed in it, by far the greater part is drawn from the
various public archives of France, and the rest from private sources. The
discovery of many of these documents is due to the indefatigable research
of M. Pierre Margry, assistant custodian of the Archives of the Marine and
Colonies at Paris, whose labors, as an investigator of the maritime and
colonial history of France can be appreciated only by those who have seen
their results. In the department of American colonial history, these
results have been invaluable; for, besides several private collections
made by him, he rendered important service in the collection of the French
portion of the Brodhead documents, selected and arranged the two great
series of colonial papers ordered by the Canadian government, and
prepared, with vast labor, analytical indexes of these and of
supplementary documents in the French archives, as well as a copious index
of the mass of papers relating to Louisiana. It is to be hoped that the
valuable publications on the maritime history of France which have
appeared from his pen are an earnest of more extended contributions in
future.
The late President Sparks, some time after the publication of his life of
La Salle, caused a collection to be made of documents relating to that
explorer, with the intention of incorporating them in a future edition.
This intention was never carried into effect, and the documents were never
used. With the liberality which always distinguished him, he placed them
at my disposal, and this privilege has been, kindly continued by Mrs.
Sparks.
Abbe Faillon, the learned author of "La Colonie Francaise en Canada," has
sent me copies of various documents found by him, including family papers
of La Salle. Among others who in various ways have aided my inquiries, are
Dr. John Paul, of Ottawa, Ill.; Count Adolphe de Circourt and M. Jules
Marcou, of Paris; M. A. Gerin Lajoie, Assistant Librarian of the Canadian
Parliament; M. J. M. Le Moine, of Quebec; General Dix, Minister of the
United States at the Court of France; O. H. Marshall, of Buffalo; J. G.
Shea, of New York; Buckingham Smith, of St. Augustine; and Colonel Thomas
Aspinwall, of Boston.
The map contained in the book is a portion of the great manuscript map of
Franquelin, of which an account will be found in the Appendix.
The next volume of the series will be devoted to the efforts of Monarchy
and Feudalism under Louis XIV. to establish a permanent power on this
continent, and to the stormy career of Louis de Buade, Count of Frontenac.
BOSTON, 16 September, 1869.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER I.
1643-1669.
CAVELIER DE LA SALLE.
The Youth of La Salle.--His Connection with the Jesuits.--He goes to
Canada.--His Character.--His Schemes.--His Seigniory at La
Chine.--His Expedition in Search of a Western Passage to India.
CHAPTER II.
1669-1671.
LA SALLE AND THE SULPITIANS.
The French in Western New York.--Louis Joliet.--The Sulpitians on
Lake Erie.--At Detroit.--At Saut Ste. Marie.--The Mystery of La
Salle.--He discovers the Ohio.--He descends the Illinois.--Did he
reach the Mississippi?
CHAPTER III.
1670-1672.
THE JESUITS ON THE LAKES.
The Old Missions and the New.--A Change of Spirit.--Lake Superior
and the Copper Mines.--Ste. Marie.--La Pointe.--Michillimackinac.--
Jesuits on Lake Michigan.--Allouez and Dablon.--The Jesuit
Fur-Trade.
CHAPTER IV.
1667-1672.
FRANCE TAKES POSSESSION OF THE WEST.
Talon.--St. Lusson.--Perrot.--The Ceremony at Saut Ste. Marie.--
The Speech of Allouez.--Count Frontenac.
CHAPTER V.
1672-1675.
THE DISCOVERY OF THE MISSISSIPPI.
Joliet sent to find the Mississippi.--Jacques Marquette.--Departure.--
Green Bay.--The Wisconsin.--The Mississippi.--Indians.--Manitous.
--The Arkansas.--The Illinois.--Joliet's Misfortune.--Marquette
at Chicago.--His Illness.--His Death.
CHAPTER VI.
1673-1678.
LA SALLE AND FRONTENAC.
Objects of La Salle.--His Difficulties.--Official Corruption in Canada.--
The Governor of Montreal.--Projects of Frontenac.--Cataraqui.--
Frontenac on Lake Ontario.--Fort Frontenac.--Success of La Salle.
CHAPTER VII.
1674-1678.
LA SALLE AND THE JESUITS.
The Abbe Fenelon.--He attacks the Governor.--The Enemies of La
Salle.--Aims of the Jesuits.--Their Hostility to La Salle.
CHAPTER VIII.
1678.
PARTY STRIFE.
La Salle and his Reporter.--Jesuit Ascendancy.--The Missions and the
Fur-Trade.--Female Inquisitors.--Plots against La Salle.--His
Brother the Priest.--Intrigues of the Jesuits.--La Salle poisoned.--
He exculpates the Jesuits.--Renewed Intrigues.
CHAPTER IX.
1677-1678.
THE GRAND ENTERPRISE.
La Salle at Fort Frontenac.--La Salle at Court.--His Plans approved.--
Henri de Tonty.--Preparation for Departure.
CHAPTER X.
1678-1679.
LA SALLE AT NIAGARA.
Father Louis Hennepin.--His Past Life; His Character.--Embarkation.
--Niagara Falls.--Indian Jealousy.--La Motte and the Senecas.--
A Disaster.--La Salle and his Followers.
CHAPTER XI.
1679.
THE LAUNCH OF THE "GRIFFIN."
The Niagara Portage.--A Vessel on the Stocks.--Suffering and
Discontent.--La Salle's Winter Journey.--The Vessel launched.--Fresh
Disasters.
CHAPTER XII.
1679.
LA SALLE ON THE UPPER LAKES.
The Voyage of the "Griffin."--Detroit.--A Storm.--St. Ignace of
Michillimackinac.--Rivals and Enemies--Lake Michigan.--Hardships.
--A Threatened Fight.--Fort Miami.--Tonty's Misfortunes.--
Forebodings.
CHAPTER XIII.
1679-1680
LA SALLE ON THE ILLINOIS.
The St. Joseph.--Adventure of La Salle.--The Prairies.--Famine.--
The Great Town of the Illinois.--Indians.--Intrigues.--Difficulties.
--Policy of La Salle.--Desertion.--Another Attempt to poison him.
CHAPTER XIV.
1680.
FORT CREVECOEUR.
Building of the Fort.--Loss of the "Griffin."--A Bold Resolution.--
Another Vessel.--Hennepin sent to the Mississippi.--Departure of
La Salle.
CHAPTER XV.
1680.
HARDIHOOD OF LA SALLE.
The Winter Journey.--The Deserted Town.--Starved Rock.--Lake
Michigan.--The Wilderness.--War Parties.--La Salle's Men give
out.--Ill Tidings.--Mutiny.--Chastisement of the Mutineers.
CHAPTER XVI.
1680.
INDIAN CONQUERORS.
The Enterprise renewed.--Attempt to rescue Tonty.--Buffalo.--A
Frightful Discovery.--Iroquois Fury.--The Ruined Town.--A Night
of Horror.--Traces of the Invaders.--No News of Tonty.
CHAPTER XVII.
1680.
TONTY AND THE IROQUOIS.
The Deserters.--The Iroquois War.--The Great Town of the Illinois.--
The Alarm.--Onset of the Iroquois.--Peril of Tonty.--A Treacherous
Truce.--Intrepidity of Tonty.--Murder of Ribourde.--War upon
the Dead.
CHAPTER XVIII.
1680.
THE ADVENTURES OF HENNEPIN.
Hennepin an Impostor.--His Pretended Discovery.--His Actual Discovery.
--Captured by the Sioux.--The Upper Mississippi.
CHAPTER XIX.
1680, 1681.
HENNEPIN AMONG THE SIOUX.
Signs of Danger.--Adoption.--Hennepin and his Indian Relatives.--The
Hunting-Party.--The Sioux Camp.--Falls of St. Anthony.--A
Vagabond Friar.--His Adventures on the Mississippi.--Greysolon
Du Lhut.--Return to Civilization.
CHAPTER XX.
1681.
LA SALLE BEGINS ANEW.
His Constancy.--His Plans.--His Savage Allies.--He becomes Snow-blind.
--Negotiations.--Grand Council.--La Salle's Oratory.--Meeting
with Tonty.--Preparation.--Departure.
CHAPTER XXI.
1681-1682.
SUCCESS OF LA SALLE.
His Followers.--The Chicago Portage.--Descent of the Mississippi.--The
Lost Hunter.--The Arkansas.--The Taensas.--The Natchez.--Hostility.--The
Mouth of the Mississippi.--Louis XIV. proclaimed Sovereign of the Great
West.
CHAPTER XXII.
1682-1683.
ST. LOUIS OF THE ILLINOIS.
Louisiana.--Illness of La Salle.--His Colony on the Illinois.--Fort St.
Louis.--Recall of Frontenac.--Le Fevre de la Barre.--Critical Position
of La Salle.--Hostility of the New Governor.--Triumph of the Adverse
Faction.--La Salle sails for France.
CHAPTER XXIII.
1684.
A NEW ENTERPRISE.
La Salle at Court.--His Proposals.--Occupation of Louisiana.--Invasion of
Mexico.--Royal Favor.--Preparation.--The Naval Commander.--His Jealousy of
La Salle.--Dissensions.
CHAPTER XXIV.
1684-1685.
LA SALLE IN TEXAS.
Departure.--Quarrels with Beaujeu.--St. Domingo.--La Salle attacked
with Fever.--His Desperate Condition.--The Gulf of Mexico.--A Fatal
Error.--Landing.--Wreck of the "Aimable."--Indian Attack.--Treachery
of Beaujeu.--Omens of Disaster.
CHAPTER XXV.
1685-1687.
ST. LOUIS OF TEXAS.
The Fort.--Misery and Dejection.--Energy of La Salle.--His Journey
of Exploration.--Duhaut.--Indian Massacre.--Return of La Salle.
--A New Calamity.--A Desperate Resolution.--Departure for
Canada.--Wreck of the "Belle."--Marriage.--Sedition.--Adventures
of La Salle's Party.--The Cenis.--The Camanches.--The Only Hope.--The
Last Farewell.
CHAPTER XXVI.
1687.
ASSASSINATION OF LA SALLE.
His Followers.--Prairie Travelling.--A Hunter's Quarrel.--The Murder
of Moranget.--The Conspiracy.--Death of La Salle.--His Character.
CHAPTER XXVII.
1687, 1688.
THE INNOCENT AND THE GUILTY.
Triumph of the Murderers.--Joutel among the Cenis.--White Savages.
--Insolence of Duhaut and his Accomplices.--Murder of Duhaut and
Liotot.--Hiens, the Buccaneer.--Joutel and his Party.--Their
Escape.--They reach the Arkansas.--Bravery and Devotion of
Tonty.--The Fugitives reach the Illinois.--Unworthy Conduct of
Cavelier.--He and his Companions return to France.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
1688-1689.
FATE OF THE TEXAN COLONY.
Tonty attempts to rescue the Colonists.--His Difficulties and Hardships.
--Spanish Hostility.--Expedition of Alonzo De Leon.--He reaches
Fort St. Louis.--A Scene of Havoc.--Destruction of the French.--The End.
APPENDIX.
I. Early unpublished Maps of the Mississippi and the Great Lakes.
II. The Eldorado of Mathieu Sagean.
INDEX
[Illustration: LA SALLE'S COLONY on the Illinois FROM THE MAP OF
FRANQUELIN, 1684.]
INTRODUCTION.
The Spaniards discovered the Mississippi. De Soto was buried beneath its
waters; and it was down its muddy current that his followers fled from the
Eldorado of their dreams, transformed to a dismal wilderness of misery and
death. The discovery was never used, and was well-nigh forgotten. On early
Spanish maps, the Mississippi is often indistinguishable from other
affluents of the Gulf. A century passed after De Soto's journeyings in the
South, before a French explorer reached a northern tributary of the great
river.
This was Jean Nicollet, interpreter at Three Rivers on the St. Lawrence.
He had been some twenty years in Canada, had lived among the savage
Algonquins of Allumette Island, and spent eight or nine years among the
Nipissings, on the lake which bears their name. Here he became an Indian
in all his habits, but remained, nevertheless, a zealous Catholic, and
returned to civilization at last because he could not live without the
sacraments. Strange stories were current among the Nipissings of a people
without hair and without beards, who came from the West to trade with a
tribe beyond the Great Lakes. Who could doubt that these strangers were
Chinese or Japanese? Such tales may well have excited Nicollet's
curiosity; and when, in or before the year 1639, he was sent as an
ambassador to the tribe in question, he would not have been surprised if
on arriving he had found a party of mandarins among them. Possibly it was
with a view to such a contingency that he provided himself, as a dress of
ceremony, with a robe of Chinese damask embroidered with birds and
flowers. The tribe to which he was sent was that of the Winnebagoes,
living near the head of the Green Bay of Lake Michigan. They had come to
blows with the Hurons, allies of the French; and Nicollet was charged to
negotiate a peace. When he approached the Winnebago town, he sent one of
his Indian attendants to announce his coming, put on his robe of damask,
and advanced to meet the expectant crowd with a pistol in each hand. The
squaws and children fled, screaming that it was a manito, or spirit, armed
with thunder and lightning; but the chiefs and warriors regaled him with
so bountiful a hospitality that a hundred and twenty beavers were devoured
at a single feast. From the Winnebagoes, he passed westward, ascended Fox
River, crossed to the Wisconsin, and descended it so far that, as he
reported on his return, in three days more he would have reached the sea.
The truth seems to be, that he mistook the meaning of his Indian guides,
and that the "great water" to which he was so near was not the sea, but
the Mississippi.
It has been affirmed that one Colonel Wood, of Virginia, reached a branch
of the Mississippi as early as the year 1654, and that, about 1670, a
certain Captain Bolton penetrated to the river itself. Neither statement
is improbable, but neither is sustained by sufficient evidence. Meanwhile,
French Jesuits and fur-traders pushed deeper and deeper into the
wilderness of the northern lakes. In 1641, Jogues and Raymbault preached
the
DISCOVERY OF THE GREAT WEST.
THE DISCOVERY OF THE GREAT WEST.
CHAPTER I.
1643-1669.
CAVELIER DE LA SALLE.
THE YOUTH OF LA SALLE.--HIS CONNECTION WITH THE JESUITS.--HE
GOES TO CANADA.--HIS CHARACTER.--HIS SCHEMES.--HIS SEIGNIORY
AT LA CHINE.--HIS EXPEDITION IN SEARCH OF A WESTERN PASSAGE
TO INDIA.
Among the burghers of Rouen was the old and rich family of the Caveliers.
Though citizens and not nobles, some of their connections held high
diplomatic posts and honorable employments at Court. They were destined to
find a better claim to distinction. In 1643 was born at Rouen Robert
Cavelier, better known by the designation of La Salle. [Footnote: The
following is the _acte de naissance_, discovered by Margry in the
_registres de l'etat civil_, Paroisse St. Herbland, Rouen. "Le vingt-
deuxieme jour de novembre 1643, a ete baptise Robert Cavelier, fils de
honorable homme Jean Cavelier et de Catherine Geest; ses parrain et
marraine honorables personnes Nicolas Geest et Marguerite Morice."]
La Salle's name in full was Rene-Robert Cavelier, Sieur de la Salle. La
Salle was the name of an estate near Rouen, belonging to the Caveliers.
The wealthy French burghers often distinguished the various members of
their families by designations borrowed from landed estates. Thus,
Francois Marie Arouet, son of an ex-notary, received the name of Voltaire,
which he made famous.] His father Jean and his uncle Henri were wealthy
merchants, living more like nobles than like burghers; and the boy
received an education answering to the marked traits of intellect and
character which he soon, began to display. He showed an inclination for
the exact sciences, and especially for the mathematics, in which he made
great proficiency. At an early age, it is said, he became connected with
the Jesuits; and though doubt has been expressed of the statement, it is
probably true. [Footnote: Margry, after investigations at Rouen, is
satisfied of its truth.--_Journal General de l'Instruction Publique_,
xxxi. 571. Family papers of the Caveliers, examined by the Abbe Faillon,
and copies of some of which he has sent to me, lead to the same
conclusion. We shall find several allusions hereafter to La Salle's having
in his youth taught in a school, which, in his position, could only have
been in connection with some religious community. The doubts alluded to
have proceeded from the failure of Father Felix Martin, S.J., to find the
name of _La Salle_ on the list of novices. If he had looked for the name
of _Robert Cavelier_, he would probably have found it. The companion of La
Salle, Hennepin, is very explicit with regard to this connection with the
Jesuits,--a point on which he had no motive for falsehood.]
La Salle was always an earnest Catholic; and yet, judging by the qualities
which his after life evinced, he was not very liable to religious
enthusiasm. It is nevertheless clear, that the Society of Jesus may have
had a powerful attraction for his youthful imagination. This great
organization, so complicated yet so harmonious, a mighty machine moved
from the centre by a single hand, was an image of regulated power, full of
fascination for a mind like his. But if it was likely that he would be
drawn into it, it was no less likely that he would soon wish to escape. To
find himself not at the centre of power, but at the circumference; not the
mover, but the moved; the passive instrument of another's will, taught to
walk in prescribed paths, to renounce his individuality and become a
component atom of a vast whole,--would have been intolerable to him.
Nature had shaped him for other uses than to teach a class of boys on the
benches of a Jesuit school. Nor, on his part, was he likely to please his
directors; for, self-controlled and self-contained as he was, he was far
too intractable a subject to serve their turn. A youth whose calm exterior
hid an inexhaustible fund of pride; whose inflexible purposes, nursed in
secret, the confessional and the "manifestation of conscience" could
hardly drag to the light; whose strong personality would not yield to the
shaping hand; and who, by a necessity of his nature, could obey no
initiative but his own,--was not after the model that Loyola had commended
to his followers.
La Salle left the Jesuits, parting with them, it is said, on good terms,
and with a reputation of excellent acquirements and unimpeachable morals.
This last is very credible. The cravings of a deep ambition, the hunger of
an insatiable intellect, the intense longing for action and achievement
subdued in him all other passions; and in his faults, the love of pleasure
had no part. He had an elder brother in Canada, the Abbe Jean Cavelier, a
priest of St. Sulpice. Apparently, it was this that shaped his destinies.
His connection with the Jesuits had deprived him, under the French law, of
the inheritance of his father, who had died not long before. An allowance
was made to him of three or, as is elsewhere stated, four hundred livres a
year, the capital of which was paid over to him, and with this pittance he
sailed for Canada, to seek his fortune, in the spring of 1666. [Footnote:
It does not appear what vows La Salle had taken. By a recent ordinance,
1666, persons entering religious orders could not take the final vows
before the age of twenty-five. By the family papers above mentioned, it
appears, however, that he had brought himself under the operation of the
law, which debarred those who, having entered religious orders, afterwards
withdrew, from claiming the inheritance of relatives who had died after
their entrance.]
Next, we find him at Montreal. In another volume, we have seen how an
association of enthusiastic devotees had made a settlement at this place.
[Footnote: "The Jesuits in North America," c. xv.] Having in some measure
accomplished its work, it was now dissolved; and the corporation of
priests, styled the Seminary of St. Sulpice, which had taken a prominent
part in the enterprise, and, indeed, had been created with a view to it,
was now the proprietor and the feudal lord of Montreal. It was destined to
retain its seignorial rights until the abolition of the feudal tenures of
Canada in our own day, and it still holds vast possessions in the city and
island. These worthy ecclesiastics, models of a discreet and sober
conservatism, were holding a post with which a band of veteran soldiers or
warlike frontiersmen would have been better matched. Montreal was perhaps
the most dangerous place in Canada. In time of war, which might have been
called the normal condition of the colony, it was exposed by its position
to incessant inroads of the Iroquois, or Five Nations, of New York; and no
man could venture into the forests or the fields without bearing his life
in his hand. The savage confederates had just received a sharp
chastisement at the hands of Courcelles, the governor; and the result was
a treaty of peace, which might at any moment be broken, but which was an
inexpressible relief while it lasted.
The priests of St. Sulpice were granting out their lands, on very easy
terms, to settlers. They wished to extend a thin line of settlements along
the front of their island, to form a sort of outpost, from which an alarm
could be given on any descent of the Iroquois. La Salle was the man for
such a purpose. Had the priests understood him,--which they evidently did
not, for some of them suspected him of levity, the last foible with which
he could be charged,--had they understood him, they would have seen in him
a young man in whom the fire of youth glowed not the less ardently for the
veil of reserve that covered it; who would shrink from no danger, but
would not court it in bravado; and who would cling with an invincible
tenacity of gripe to any purpose which he might espouse. There is good
reason to think that he had come to Canada with purposes already
conceived, and that he was ready to avail himself of any stepping-stone
which might help to realize them. Queylus, Superior of the Seminary, made
him a generous offer; and he accepted it. This was the gratuitous grant of
a large tract of land at the place now called La Chine, above the great
rapids of the same name, and eight or nine miles from Montreal. On one
hand, the place was greatly exposed to attack; and on the other, it was
favorably situated for the fur-trade. La Salle and his successors became
its feudal proprietors, on the sole condition of delivering to the
Seminary, on every change of ownership, a medal of fine silver, weighing
one mark. [Footnote: _Transport de la Seigneurie de St. Sulpice_, cited by
Faillon. La Salle called his new domain as above. Two or three years
later, it received the name of La Chine, for a reason which will appear.]
He entered on the improvement of his new domain, with what means he could
command, and began to grant out his land to such settlers as would join
him.
Approaching the shore where the city of Montreal now stands, one would
have seen a row of small compact dwellings, extending along a narrow
street, parallel to the river, and then, as now, called St. Paul Street.
On a hill at the right stood the windmill of the seigneurs, built of
stone, and pierced with loop-holes to serve, in time of need, as a place
of defence. On the left, in an angle formed by the junction of a rivulet
with the St. Lawrence, was a square bastioned fort of stone. Here lived
the military governor, appointed by the Seminary, and commanding a few
soldiers of the regiment of Carignan. In front, on the line of the street,
were the enclosure and buildings of the Seminary, and, nearly adjoining
them, those of the Hotel-Dieu, or Hospital, both provided for defence in
case of an Indian attack. In the hospital enclosure was a small church,
opening on the street, and, in the absence of any other, serving for the
whole settlement. [Footnote: A detailed plan of Montreal at this time is
preserved in the Archives de l'Empire, and has been reproduced by Faillon.
There is another, a few years later, and still more minute, of which a
fac-simile will be found in the Library of the Canadian Parliament.]
Landing, passing the fort, and walking southward along the shore, one
would soon have left the rough clearings, and entered the primeval forest.
Here, mile after mile, he would have journeyed on in solitude, when the
hoarse roar of the rapids, foaming in fury on his left, would have reached
his listening ear; and, at length, after a walk of some three hours, he
would have found the rude beginnings of a settlement. It was where the St.
Lawrence widens into the broad expanse called the Lake of St. Louis. Here,
La Salle had traced out the circuit of a palisaded village, and assigned
to each settler half an arpent, or about a third of an acre, within the
enclosure, for which he was to render to the young seigneur a yearly
acknowledgment of three capons, besides six deniers--that is, half a sou--
in money. To each was assigned, moreover, sixty arpents of land beyond the
limits of the village, with the perpetual rent of half a sou for each
arpent. He also set apart a common, two hundred arpents in extent, for the
use of the settlers, on condition of the payment by each of five sous a
year. He reserved four hundred and twenty arpents for his own personal
domain, and on this he began to clear the ground and erect buildings.
Similar to this were the beginnings of all the Canadian seigniories formed
at this troubled period. [Footnote: The above particulars have been
unearthed by the indefatigable Abbe Faillon. Some of La Salle's grants are
still preserved in the ancient records of Montreal.]
That La Salle came to Canada with objects distinctly in view, is probable
from the fact that he at once began to study the Indian languages, and
with such success that he is said, within two or three years, to have
mastered the Iroquois and seven or eight other languages and dialects.
[Footnote: _Papiers de Famille_, MSS. He is said to have made several
journeys into the forests, towards the North, in the years 1667 and 1668,
and to have satisfied himself that little | 2,587.681208 |
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THE VALLEY OF VISION
A Book Of Romance
And Some Half-Told Tales
By Henry Van <DW18>
_"Your old men shall dream dreams,
Your young men shall see visions."_
TO MY CHILDREN
AND CHILDREN'S CHILDREN
WHO MAY REMEMBER THESE TROUBLOUS TIMES WHEN WE ARE GONE ON NEW ADVENTURE
PREFACE
"Why do you choose such a title as _The Valley of Vision_ for
your book," said my friend; "do you mean that one can see farther
from the valley than from the mountain-top?"
This question set me thinking, as every honest question ought to
do. Here is the result of my thoughts, which you will take for what
it is worth, if you care to read the book.
The mountain-top is the place of outlook over the earth and the sea.
But it is in the valley of suffering, endurance, and self-sacrifice
that the deepest visions of the meaning of life come to us.
I take the outcome of this Twentieth Century War as a victory over
the mad illusion of world-dominion which the Germans saw from
the peak of their military power in 1914. The united force of the
Allies has grown, through valley-visions of right and justice and
human kindness, into an irresistible might before which the German
"will to power" has gone down in ruin.
There are some Half-Told Tales in the volume--fables, fantasies--mere
sketches, grave and gay, on the margin of the book of life,
"Where more is meant than meets the ear."
Dreams have a part in most of the longer stories. That is because
I believe dreams have a part in real life. Some of them we remember
as vividly as any actual experience. These belong to the imperfect
sleep. But others we do not remember, because they are given to
us in that perfect sleep in which the soul is liberated, and goes
visiting. Yet sometimes we get a trace of them, by a happy chance,
and often their influence remains with us in that spiritual refreshment
with which we awake from profound slumber. This is the meaning of
that verse in the old psalm: "He giveth to His beloved in sleep."
The final story in the book was written before the War of 1914
began, and it has to do with the Light of the World, leading us
through conflict and suffering towards Peace.
AVALON, November 24, 1918.
CONTENTS
A Remembered Dream
Antwerp Road
A City of Refuge
A Sanctuary of Trees
The King's High Way
HALF-TOLD TALES
The Traitor in the House
Justice of the Elements
Ashes of Vengeance
The Broken Soldier and the Maid of France
The Hearing Ear
Sketches of Quebec
A Classic Instance
HALF-TOLD TALES
The New Era and Carry On
The Primitive and His Sandals
Diana and the Lions
The Hero and Tin Soldiers
Salvage Point
The Boy of Nazareth Dreams
ILLUSTRATIONS
The sails and smoke-stacks of great shift were visible, all passing
out to sea
The cathedral spire... was swaying and rocking in the air like the
mast of a ship at sea
All were fugitives, anxious to be gone... and making no more speed
than a creeping snail's pace of unutterable fatigue
"I will ask you to choose between your old home and your new home
now"
"I'm going to carry you in,'spite of hell"
"I was a lumberjack"
"I am going to become a virtuous peasant, a son of the soil, a
primitive"
The Finding of Christ in the Temple
A REMEMBERED DREAM
This is the story of a dream that came to me some five-and-twenty
years ago. It is as vivid in memory as anything that I have ever
seen in the outward world, as distinct as any experience through
which I have ever passed. Not all dreams are thus remembered. But
some are. In the records of the mind, where the inner chronicle of
life is written, they are intensely clear and veridical. I shall
try to tell the story of this dream with an absolute faithfulness,
adding nothing and leaving nothing out, but writing the narrative
just as if the thing were real.
Perhaps it was. Who can say?
In the course of a journey, of the beginning and end of which
I know nothing, I had come to a great city, whose name, if it was
ever told me, I cannot recall.
It was evidently a very ancient place. The dwelling-houses and
larger buildings were gray and beautiful with age, and the streets
wound in and out among them wonderfully, like a maze.
This city lay beside a river or estuary--though that was something
that I did not find out until later | 2,587.721362 |
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http://www.pgdp.net
BIRDS AND NATURE.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.
Vol. XII. OCTOBER, 1902. No. 3.
CONTENTS.
AUTUMN WOODS. 97
THE PHILIPPINE SUN-BIRD. (_Cinnyris jugularis_.) 98
Fly, white butterflies, out to sea 98
THE ANIMALS’ FAIR. PART II—THE FAIR. 101
A DAY. 104
THE GREAT GRAY OWL. (_Scotiaptex cinerea_.) 107
MY SUMMER ACQUAINTANCES. 108
THE BIRD OF PEACE. 109
THE GREEN-CRESTED FLYCATCHER. (_Empidonax virescens_.) 110
CHARACTER IN BIRDS. 113
Frowning, the owl in the oak complained him 116
THE LOUISIANA WATER-THRUSH. (_Seiurus motacilla_.) 119
SOME DOGS. 120
PECULIAR MEXICAN BREAD. 121
NATURE’S GLORY. 121
LAPIS LAZULI, AMBER AND MALICHITE. 122
THE LEAF BUTTERFLY. (_Kallima paralekta_.) 131
IN AUTUMN. 132
BEAUTIFUL VINES TO BE FOUND IN OUR WILD WOODS. 133
SOME SNAILS OF THE OCEAN. 134
JOIN A SUNRISE CLUB. 140
THE TOMATO. (_Lycopersicum esculentum_.) 143
THE BROOK. 144
AUTUMN WOODS.
Ere, in the northern gale,
The summer tresses of the trees are gone,
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,
Have put their glory on.
The mountains that infold,
In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round,
Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold,
That guard the enchanted ground.
I roam the woods that crown
The uplands, where the mingled splendors glow,
Where the gay company of trees look down
On the green fields below.
My steps are not alone
In these bright walks; the sweet southwest, at play,
Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown
Along the winding way.
And far in heaven, the while,
The sun, that sends that gale to wander here,
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile—
The sweetest of the year.
—William Cullen Bryant.
THE PHILIPPINE SUN-BIRD.
(_Cinnyris jugularis_.)
Darlings of children and of bard,
Perfect kinds by vice unmarred,
All of worth and beauty set
Gems in Nature’s cabinet:
These the fables she esteems
Reality most like to dreams.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Nature.”
The sun-birds bear a similar relation to the oriental tropics that the
humming birds do to the warmer regions of the Western hemisphere. Both
have a remarkably brilliant plumage which is in harmony with the
gorgeous flowers that grow in the tropical fields. It is probable that
natives of Asia first gave the name sun-birds to these bright creatures
because of their splendid and shining plumage. By the Anglo-Indians they
have been called hummingbirds, but they are perching birds while the
hummingbirds are not. There are over one hundred species of these birds.
They are graceful in all their motions and very active in their habits.
Like the hummingbirds, they flit from flower to flower, feeding on the
minute insects which are attracted by the nectar, and probably to some
extent on the honey, for their tongues are fitted for gathering it.
However, their habit while gathering food is unlike that of the
hummingbird, for they do not hover over the flower, but perch upon it
while feeding. The plumage of the males nearly always differs very
strongly from that of the females. The brilliantly colored patches are
unlike those of the hummingbirds for they blend gradually and are not
sharply contrasted, though the iridescent character is just as marked.
The bills are long and slender, finely pointed and curved. The edges of
the mandibles are finely serrated.
The nests are beautiful structures suspended from the end of a bough or
even from the underside | 2,587.808522 |
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Produced by Turgut Dincer, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
WALKING ESSAYS
WALKING ESSAYS
BY
A. H. SIDGWICK
LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
1912
_All rights reserved_
_DEDICATION_
_COMITIBUS_
_O you who walked the ways with me
On hill and plain and hollow:
I ask your pardon, frank and free,
For all the things that follow.
Let me at least make one thing clear;
In these--I know no name for them--
These dreary talks on futile themes,
Dim visions from a dullards dreams,
At least you take no blame for them._
_You cheered my heart, made short the road,
And kept me philanthropic;
I only write this little ode
Which desecrates the topic.
You trode with me the mountain ridge
And clove the cloud wreaths over it;
I take the web of memories
We wove beneath the summer skies
And lo! the ink-spots cover it._
_How vain my effort, how absurd,
Considered as a symbol!
How lame and dull the written word
To you the swift and nimble!
How alien to the walkers mind,
Earth-deep, heaven-high, unfillable,
These petty snarls and jests ill-laid
And all the profitless parade
Of pompous polysyllable!_
_But yet, I feel, though weak my phrase,
My rhetoric though rotten,
At least our tale of Walks and Days
Should not go unforgotten;
At least some printed word should mark
The walker and his wanderings,
The strides which lay the miles behind
And lap the contemplative mind
In calm, unfathomed ponderings._
_And one rebuke I need not fear
From those of our profession,
That Walking Essays should appear
To be one long digression.
Let others take the hard high-road
And earn its gift, callosity:
For us the path that twists at will
Through wood and field, and up the hill
In easy tortuosity._
_Therefore, companions of the boot,
Joint-heirs of wind and weather,
In kindness take this little fruit
Of all our walks together.
For aught it has of wit or truth
I reckon you my creditors;
Its dulness, errors, want of taste,
Inconsequence, may all be placed
To my account, the editor’s._
_And haply you skim the work
In skilled eclectic hurry,
Some word may find the place where lurk
Your memories of Surrey;
Or, as you read and doze and droop
Well on the way to slumberland,
Before you some dim shapes will float,
Austere, magnificent, remote,
Their Majesties of Cumberland._
_Dream but awhile: and clouds will lift
To show the peaks at muster,
The driving shadows shape and shift
Before the hill-wind’s bluster:
Below far down the earth lies spread
With all its care and fretfulness,
But here the crumpled soul unfolds,
And every rock-strewn gully holds
The waters of Forgetfulness._
_So dream; and through your dreams shall roll
The rhythm of limbs free-striding,
Which moulds your being to a whole
And heals the worlds dividing;
So dream, and you shall be a man
Free on the open road again;
So dream the long night through, and wake
With better heart to rise and take
The burden of your load again._
PREFATORY NOTES
1. I have to thank two friends, who read or listened to large portions
of this work, for their sympathy, long-suffering, and good advice, and
to acquit them of all further complicity.
2. I must also thank a fellow-walker, who, on Maundy Thursday of 1910,
as we climbed the road out of Marlborough into Savernake Forest,
suggested to me the magnificent quotation from Cicero which heads the
essay on Walking and Music.
3. I have stolen the substance of one epigram from an _obiter dictum_ in
‘My System for Ladies,’ by J. P. Müller; but it was too good to miss.
4. None of the remarks about beer apply to Munich beer.
A. H. S.
_August 1912._
CONTENTS
PAGE
DEDICATION, v
I. WALKING AND CONVERSATION, 3
II. WALKER MILES, 43
III. WALKING AND MUSIC, WITH A DIGRESSION ON DANCING, 65
IV. WALKING, SPORT AND ATHLETICS, 109
V. WALKING AS A SOCIAL FORM, 147
VI. WALKING IN LITERATURE, 181
VII. WALKING EQUIPMENT, 215
VIII. WALKING ALONE, WITH A DIGRESSION ON LONDON WALKING, 249
EPILOGUE, 273
I
WALKING AND CONVERSATION
‘The heavenly bodies is philosophy, and the earthly bodies is
philosophy. If there’s a screw loose in a heavenly body, that’s
philosophy; and if there’s a screw loose in an earthly body, that’s
philosophy too; or it may be that sometimes there’s a little metaphysics
in it, but that’s not often. Philosophy’s the chap for me.’
I
WALKING AND CONVERSATION
About the year 1887 there was still in existence a nursery joke:--
‘King Charles walked and talked;
Half an hour after his head was cut off.’
This, pronounced as a consecutive sentence, gave the infant mind its
first experience of paradox. At the time we thought it funny. Later on,
in the last decade of Victorianism, when we were struggling with ‘post,’
‘postquam,’ and ‘postea,’ the joke appeared less funny. But later still,
in Edwardian times, a deep moral meaning began (as was customary in
those times) to appear underlying the joke. Take the two sentences as
they stand above: construe ‘walk’ and ‘talk’ in their strict sense:
generalise King Charles: convert the ‘post hoc’ into a ‘propter hoc’;
and you will have a motto to which all good walkers will add ‘ὣς
ἀπόλοιτο....’
I do not mean, of course, that any or all forms of walking and talking
are incompatible. It is possible, simultaneously, to stroll and to
babble, to stroll and to talk, to walk and to babble. Strolling, the
mere reflex action of the legs, is compatible with that sustained and
coherent activity of the mind which alone deserves the name of talking.
Babbling, the corresponding reflex action of the mind, is equally
compatible with that supreme activity of the whole being which men call
walking. But the attempt so often made to combine real walking with real
talking is disastrous. Better the man who babbles and strolls, who
trails his feet across country and his tongue across commonplace, than
the man who tries to ventilate fundamental things while his body is
braced to the conquest of | 2,587.880219 |
2023-11-16 19:00:11.8635280 | 804 | 15 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Into the Unknown, by Lawrence Fletcher.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
INTO THE UNKNOWN, BY LAWRENCE FLETCHER.
Into the Unknown--by Lawrence Fletcher
CHAPTER ONE.
THE GHOSTS' PASS.
"Well, old man, what do we do next?" The speaker, a fine young fellow
of some five-and-twenty summers, reclining on the rough grass, with
clouds of tobacco-smoke filtering through his lips, looked the picture
of comfort, his appearance belying in every way the discontent expressed
in his tones as he smoked his pipe in the welcome shade of a giant rock,
which protected him and his two companions from the mid-day glare of a
South African sun.
Alfred Leigh, second son of Lord Drelincourt, was certainly a handsome
man: powerfully and somewhat heavily built, his physique looked perfect,
and, as he gradually and lazily raised his huge frame from the rough
grass, he appeared--what he was, in truth--a splendid specimen of
nineteenth-century humanity, upwards of six feet high, and in the
perfection of health and spirits; a fine, clear-cut face, with blue eyes
and a fair, close-cropped beard, completed a _tout ensemble_ which was
English to a degree.
The person addressed was evidently related to the speaker, for, though
darker than his companion, and by no means so striking in face or
figure, he still had fair hair, which curled crisply on a well-shaped
head, and keen blue eyes which seemed incessantly on the watch and were
well matched by a resolute mouth and chin, and a broad-shouldered frame
which promised strength from its perfect lines. Dick Grenville,
_aetat._ thirty, and his cousin, Alf Leigh, were a pair which any three
ordinary mortals might well wish to be excused from taking on.
The third person--singular he certainly looked--was a magnificent
creature, a pure-blooded Zulu chief, descended from a race of warriors,
every line of his countenance grave and stern, with eyes that glistened
like fiery stars under a lowering cloud, the man having withal a general
"straightness" of appearance more easily detected than described. A
"Keshla," or ringed man, some six feet three inches high, of enormously
powerful physique, armed with a murderous-looking club and a brace of
broad-bladed spears, and you have a faithful picture of Myzukulwa, the
Zulu friend of the two cousins.
The scene is magnificently striking, but grand with a loneliness awful
beyond description, for, so far as the eye can reach, the fervid sun
beats upon nothing but towering mountain-peaks, whose grey and rugged
summits pierce the fleecy heat-clouds, and seem to lose themselves in a
hopeless attempt to fathom the unspeakable majesty beyond.
"Do next, old fellow?" The words came in cool, quiet tones. "Well, if
I were you, Alf, I should convey my carcass out of the line of fire from
yonder rifle, which has been pointed at each of our persons in
succession during the last two minutes;" and Grenville, with the stem of
his pipe, indicated a spot some three hundred yards away, where his keen
eye had detected the browned barrel of a rifle projected through a
fissure in the rock; then, in quick, incisive tones, suiting the action
to the word, "Lie down, man!" and not a moment too soon, as an angry
rifle-bullet sang over his head and flattened against the rock. In
another instant all | 2,587.883568 |
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Produced by Brian Coe, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
HOW RIFLEMAN BROWN
CAME TO VALHALLA
BY
GILBERT FRANKAU
NEW YORK
FEDERAL PRINTING COMPANY
1916
Copyright, 1916
Gilbert Frankau
_All rights reserved_
How Rifleman Brown Came to Valhalla
By GILBERT FRANKAU
To the lower Hall of Valhalla, to the heroes of no renown,
Relieved from his spell at the listening-post, came Rifleman Joseph Brown.
With never a rent in his khaki, nor smear of blood on his face,
He flung his pack from his shoulders and made for an empty place.
The Killer-men of Valhalla looked up from the banquet board
At the unfouled breech of his rifle, at the unfleshed | 2,587.883636 |
2023-11-16 19:00:11.8668430 | 219 | 48 |
Produced by Roger Frank, D Alexander and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
WITH ETHAN ALLEN AT TICONDEROGA
by
W. BERT FOSTER
Author of
"With Washington at Valley Forge" etc
Illustrated by F. A. Carter
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
MCMIV
Copyright 1903 by The Penn Publishing Company
With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga
[Illustration: "FORWARD!" HE SHOUTED]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Boy of the Wilderness 5
II Enoch Harding Feels Himself a Man 19
III The Ambush 31
IV 'Siah Bolderwood's Stratagem 45
V The Pioneer Home 60
VI The Stump Burning 76
VII A Night Attack 94
VIII The Tra | 2,587.886883 |
2023-11-16 19:00:12.0400320 | 2,725 | 17 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Brian Coe and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE DE ST. SIMON
Newly translated and edited by FRANCIS ARKWRIGHT.
_In six volumes, demy 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth gilt, with
illustrations in photogravure, 10/6 net each volume._
NAPOLEON IN EXILE AT ELBA (1814-1815)
By NORWOOD YOUNG, Author of "The Growth of Napoleon," etc.; with a
chapter on the Iconography by A. M. Broadley.
_Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with frontispiece and 50
illustrations_ (from the collection of A. M. Broadley), _21/- net_.
NAPOLEON IN EXILE AT ST. HELENA (1815-1821)
By NORWOOD YOUNG, Author of "Napoleon in Exile at Elba," "The Story
of Rome," etc.
_In two volumes, demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with two
frontispieces and one hundred illustrations_ (from the collection
of A. M. Broadley), _32/- net_.
JULIETTE DROUET'S LOVE-LETTERS TO VICTOR HUGO
Edited with a Biography of Juliette Drouet by LOUIS GUIMBAUD;
translated by Lady THEODORA DAVIDSON.
_Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with many illustrations, 10/6 net._
THE NEW FRANCE
=Being a History from the Accession of Louis Philippe in 1830 to
the Revolution of 1848, with Appendices.=
By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. Translated into English, with an introduction
and notes, by R. S. GARNETT.
_In two volumes, demy 8vo, cloth gilt, profusely illustrated with
a rare portrait of Dumas and other pictures after famous artists,
24/- net._
[Illustration: MEDALS AWARDED TO SERGEANT-MAJOR, LATER QUARTERMASTER,
CHARLES WOODEN, 17TH LANCERS, ONE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
_Frontispiece_]
WAR MEDALS
AND THEIR HISTORY
BY
W. AUGUSTUS STEWARD
OFFICIER D'ACADÉMIE
AUTHOR OF "FROM THE BREASTS OF THE BRAVE," ETC.
_With 258 Illustrations
in Half-tone and Line_
LONDON
STANLEY PAUL & CO
31 ESSEX STREET STRAND W.C.
_First published in 1915_
FOREWORDS
If any excuse were needed for penning this, it is to be found in the
exceeding interest which was taken in my monograph "Badges of the
Brave." Indeed, many readers have requested me to deal, at greater
length, with a subject which not only opens up a great historical
vista and awakens national sentiment, but, incidentally, serves an
educational mission to those who collect and those who sell the
metallic records of many a hard-fought field, which, when collated,
form an imperishable record of our island story.
The War Medal is a comparatively modern institution, otherwise we might
have learned the names of the common folk who fought so tenaciously in
the old wars, as, for instance, the Welsh infantry and Irish soldiers
who, with the English bowmen, comprised the army of 30,000 which at
Crécy routed an army of 120,000; the followers of the Black Prince
who captured the impetuous King John at Poitiers, or the English
archers whose deadly volleys made such havoc at Agincourt, on that
fateful day in October nearly five hundred years ago; the brave seamen
who, under Lord Howard, Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher, fought the
"Invincible Armada"; and those who, under Raleigh, vigorously pursued
the Spaniards on the high seas. We might have learned something of
the men who composed the Royal Scots and the 18th Royal Irish, and
helped to vindicate the reputation of the British soldier at Namur,
and covered themselves with glory at Blenheim; the gallant Coldstream
Guards who did such excellent service under Marlborough at Oudenarde
and Malplaquet, as well as the Gloucesters and Worcesters who fought
so well at Ramillies, or the Royal Welsh Fusiliers who served under
George II at Dettingen.
When, however, war medals were designed for distribution among
successful combatants, a means of decorating surviving soldiers and
sailors was established, and at the same time a sentimental and
substantial record of a man's labours for his country upon the field
of battle. So that, if the veterans of Drake's historic fleet, or
Marlborough's dauntless soldiers, were not possessed of badges to
distinguish them from the soldiers of industry, we, at any rate, may
hold in our hands the medals which were awarded to those who served
the immortal Nelson, and be proud to possess the medals which shone
upon the breasts of our great grandparents who defied the Conqueror
of Europe on that memorable Sunday, and made his sun to set upon the
battlefield of Waterloo.
Have you listened to the smart British veteran as he explains the
disposition of the troops on that historic occasion--how the French
cavalry "foamed itself away" in the face of those steady British
squares? How he makes the Welsh blood tingle as he records the glorious
deeds and death of Sir Thomas Picton, and the Scotsman's dance through
his veins as he explains how, with the cold steel of their terrible
bayonets, the Black Watch at Quatre Bras, and its second battalion, the
Perthshires, at Waterloo, waited for the charge of the cuirassiers; and
how Sergeant Ewart of the Scots Greys captured the Eagle of the 45th,
and then, with the rest of the Union Brigade (the English Royals and
the Irish Inniskillings), crashed through the ranks of the faltering
French, and scattered the veterans of Napoleon's army! Have you
seen how the mention of the Guards holding the Château of Hougomont
brightens the eye of the Englishman? Yes! Then just think what it is
to touch and possess the solid proofs of the deeds that those men did,
and to feel that you have in your possession the only recompense those
brave and daring men received from a grateful country.
=Historical Value.=--My collection of medals enables me to cover over a
hundred years of history; takes me back to the stirring times when men
yet met face to face in the Peninsula and at Waterloo; to the men who
founded our Indian Empire. It enables me to keep in touch with sailors
who fought in the battle of the Nile, at Trafalgar, and at Navarino,
that last of all naval battles in which we British took part--our
allies were then the French and Russians--until our battleships met
those of the Germans in the great war now waging. It reminds me of the
horsemen who made the world wonder ere, with deathless glory, they
passed their little day, and of that "thin red line" of Scots, whose
cool daring at Balaklava has only been bedimmed by the gallantry of the
Light Brigade. It enables me to think more intimately of the men I know
who faced the Russians in that terrible winter, and then, like heroes,
plodded through the inferno of the Mutiny. It brings back vividly to
my mind the days of the Zulu War and the heroism of Rorke's Drift. It
reminds me of the daring march to Kandahar and the frontier wars so
necessary to hold back the turbulent human surf which beats on the
shores of our great Eastern Empire. It enables me to keep closely in
touch with those who so quickly dealt with Arabi Pasha and later faced
the fanatical hordes of the Mahdi; the young men of this generation
who fought so stubbornly at the Modder River, and who stormed the
Tugela Heights. It enables me to keep in touch with those "handymen"
and scouts on the fringe of Empire who in Somaliland, Gambia, Benin,
Matabeleland, and Bechuanaland uphold the dignity of Britain.
We sometimes read of a man or woman who has shaken hands, sixty,
seventy, or eighty years ago, with some great person, or some one whose
deeds have made him or her a name in history. The possession of war
medals and decorations, or of medals of honour gained by brave deeds
in time of peace, brings us in close touch with those who honourably
gained them. That is an aspect of medal-collecting which appeals to
me, and should to every one who admires pluck, grit, daring, and the
willingness to personal sacrifice which these badges of the brave
denote.
Finally there is an exceptional feature in the collection of war
medals which will also appeal, for, as Sir James Yoxall has pointed
out in "The A B C About Collecting," the collector of war medals "has
concentrated upon a line which can be made complete." If, however,
his inclinations or his means will not permit of the acquisition of a
complete set he may specialise in either Military or Naval Medals, or
those awarded to special regiments or ships, or to men of his own name,
or those earned by boys or nurses.
In order to facilitate the search for bars issued with the various
medals, the names inscribed thereon are printed in the text in small
capitals: these, of course, must not be taken as representing the type
used on the official bars; reference must be made to the illustrations,
which, being the same size as the original medals, will materially
assist the reader in recognising official lettering.
In conclusion I have to express my sincere thanks for the help afforded
and the deep interest taken in my book by Dr. A. A. Payne, whose
kindness in providing photographs of examples in his unique collection
has enabled me to illustrate many interesting and rare medals; to G. K.
J. and F. W. G. for clerical assistance; G. T. F. for sketches; and to
Messrs. Heywood & Co., Ltd., for the loan of several of the blocks of
medals which had been used in monographs I had written for publication
by them.
W. AUGUSTUS STEWARD.
LONDON.
CONTENTS
MILITARY SECTION
PAGE
FIRST CAMPAIGN MEDALS 1
EARLY MEDALS GRANTED BY THE HONOURABLE EAST
INDIA COMPANY 9
FIRST MEDAL FOR EGYPT, 1801 16
THE MAHRATTA WAR 20
FIRST OFFICIAL MILITARY OFFICERS' MEDAL 25
THE PENINSULAR WAR 26
CONTINENTAL PENINSULAR WAR MEDALS 66
WATERLOO AND QUATRE BRAS 70
BRITISH AND CONTINENTAL WATERLOO MEDALS 81
NEPAUL, 1814-15 86
FIRST BURMESE WAR 90
FIRST AFGHAN WAR 94
FIRST CHINESE WAR 98
SECOND AFGHAN WAR 100
THE GWALIOR CAMPAIGN 109
THE SIKH WARS 111
SECOND PUNJAB CAMPAIGN 119
FIRST NEW ZEALAND WAR 124
MILITARY GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL GRANTED 128
INDIA GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL GRANTED 133
FIRST KAFFIR WARS 134
SECOND BURMESE WAR 137
THE CRIMEAN WAR 139
PERSIAN WAR 155
INDIAN MUTINY 156
SECOND CHINESE WAR | 2,588.060072 |
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Produced by David Newman in honor of Barbara Talmage Griffin (1918-2004),
great-granddaughter of the subject of this biography.
FORTY YEARS IN SOUTH CHINA
The Life of Rev. John Van Nest Talmage, D.D.
by
Rev. John Gerardus Fagg
Missionary of the American Reformed (Dutch) Church, at Amoy, China
1894
INTRODUCTION.
BY REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE, D.D.
Too near was I to the subject of this biography to write an impartial
introduction. When John Van Nest Talmage went, my last brother went.
Stunned until I staggered through the corridors of the hotel in London,
England, when the news came that John was dead. If I should say all that I
felt I would declare that since Paul the great apostle to the Gentiles, a
more faithful or consecrated man has not lifted his voice in the dark
places of heathenism. I said it while he was alive, and might as well say
it now that he is dead. "He was the hero of our family." He did not go to
a far-off land to preach because people in America did not want to hear him
preach. At the time of his first going to China he had a call to succeed
Rev. Dr. Brodhead, of Brooklyn, the Chrysostom of the American pulpit, a
call with a large salary, and there would not have been anything impossible
to him in the matters of religious work or Christian achievement had he
tarried in his native land. But nothing could detain him from the work to
which God called him years before he became a Christian. My reason for
writing that anomalous statement is that when a boy in Sabbath-school at
Boundbrook, New Jersey, he read a Library book, entitled "The Life of Henry
Martyn, the Missionary," and he said to our mother, "Mother! when I grow up
I am going to be a missionary!" The remark made no especial impression at
the time. Years passed on before his conversion. But when the grace of God
appeared to him, and he had begun his study for the ministry, he said one
day, "Mother! Do you remember that many years ago I said, 'I am going to be
a missionary'?" She replied, "Yes! I remember you said so." "Well," said
he, "I am going to keep my promise." And how well he kept it millions of
souls on earth and in heaven have long since heard. But his chief work is
yet to come. We get our chronology so twisted that we come to believe that
the white marble of the tomb is the mile-stone at which a good man stops,
when it is only a mile-stone on a journey, the most of the miles of which
are yet to be travelled.
The Dictionary which my brother prepared with more than two decades of
study, the religious literature he transferred from English into Chinese,
the hymns he wrote for others to sing, although himself could not sing at
all, (he and I monopolizing the musical incapacity of a family in which all
the rest could sing well), the missionary stations he planted, the life he
lived, will widen out, and deepen and intensify through all time and all
eternity.
I am glad that those competent to tell of his magnificent work have
undertaken it. You could get nothing about it from him at all. Ask him a
question trying to evoke what he had done for God and the church, and his
lips were as tightly shut as though they had never been opened. He was
animated enough when drawn out in discussion religious, educational, or
political, but he had great powers of silence. I once took him to see
General Grant, our reticent President. On that occasion they both seemed to
do their best in the art of quietude. The great military President with his
closed lips on one side of me, and my brother with his closed lips on the
other side of me, I felt there was more silence in the room than I ever
before knew to be crowded into the same space. It was the same kind of
reticence that always came upon John when you asked him about his work. But
the story has been gloriously told in the heavens by those who through his
instrumentality have already reached the City of Raptures. When the roll of
martyrs is called before the Throne of God, the name of John Van Nest
Talmage will be called. He worked himself to death in the cause of the
world's evangelization. His heart, his brain, his lungs, his hands, his
muscles, his nerves, all wrought for others until heart and brain, and
lungs and hands, and muscles and nerves could do no more.
He sleeps in the cemetery near Somerville, New Jersey, so near father and
mother that he will face them when he rises in the Resurrection of the
Just, and amid a crowd of kindred now slumbering on the right of him, and
on the left of him, he will feel the thrill of the Trumpet that wakes the
dead.
Allelujah! Amen!
BROOKLYN, June, 1894.
PREFACE.
The accompanying resolution of the Board of Foreign Missions of the
Reformed Church in America, November 16, 1892, explains the origin of this
| 2,588.065798 |
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Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
The author of this book is Metta Victoria Fuller Victor writing under the
Pen name of Walter T. Gray. But the Author's name is not given in the
original text.
The Table of Contents is not part of the original text.
THE BLUNDERS
OF A
BASHFUL MAN.
_By the Author of_
"A BAD BOY'S DIARY"
COPYRIGHT, 1881, BY STREET & SMITH.
NEW YORK:
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY.
57 ROSE STREET.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.
II. HE MAKES AN EVENING CALL.
III. GOES TO A TEA-PARTY.
IV. HE DOES HIS DUTY AS A CITIZEN.
V. HE COMMITS SUICIDE.
VI. HE IS DOOMED FOR WORSE ACCIDENTS.
VII. I MAKE A NARROW ESCAPE.
VIII. HE ENACTS THE PART OF GROOMSMAN.
IX. MEETS A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.
X. HE CATCHES A TROUT AND PRESENTS IT TO A LADY.
XI. HE GOES TO THE CIRCUS.
XII. A LEAP FOR LIFE.
XIII. ONE OF THE FAIR SEX COMES TO HIS RESCUE.
XIV. HIS DIFFIDENCE BRINGS ABOUT AN ACCIDENT.
XV. HE BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH A CHICAGO WIDOW.
XVI. AT LAST HE SECURES A TREASURE.
XVII. HE ENJOYS HIMSELF AT A BALL.
XVIII. HE OPENS THE WRONG DOOR.
XIX. DRIVEN FROM HIS LAST DEFENCE.
* * * * *
THE
BLUNDERS OF A BASHFUL MAN.
CHAPTER I.
HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.
I have been, am now, and shall always be, a bashful man. I have been
told that I am the only bashful man in the world. How that is I can
not say, but should not be sorry to believe that it is so, for I am of
too generous a nature to desire any other mortal to suffer the mishaps
which have come to me from this distressing complaint. A person can
have smallpox, scarlet fever, and measles but once each. He can even
become so inoculated with the poison of bees and mosquitoes as to make
their stings harmless; and he can gradually accustom himself to the
use of arsenic until he can take 444 grains safely; but for
bashfulness--like mine--there is no first and only attack, no becoming
hardened to the thousand petty stings, no saturation of one's being
with the poison until it loses its power.
I am a quiet, nice-enough, inoffensive young gentleman, now rapidly
approaching my twenty-sixth year. It is unnecessary to state that I am
unmarried. I should have been wedded a great many times, had not some
fresh attack of my malady invariably, and in some new shape, attacked
me in season to prevent the "consummation devoutly to be wished." When
I look back over twenty years of suffering through which I have
literally stumbled my way--over the long series of embarrassments and
mortifications which lie behind me--I wonder, with a mild and patient | 2,588.066032 |
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JEWISH LITERATURE
AND OTHER ESSAYS
JEWISH LITERATURE
AND
OTHER ESSAYS
BY
GUSTAV KARPELES
PHILADELPHIA THE JEWISH PUBLICATION SOCIETY OF AMERICA 1895
Copyright 1895, by
THE JEWISH PUBLICATION SOCIETY OF AMERICA
Press of
The Friedenwald Co.
Baltimore
PREFACE
The following essays were delivered during the last ten years, in the
form of addresses, before the largest associations in the great cities
of Germany. Each one is a dear and precious possession to me. As I once
more pass them in review, reminiscences fill my mind of solemn occasions
and impressive scenes, of excellent men and charming women. I feel as
though I were sending the best beloved children of my fancy out into the
world, and sadness seizes me when I realize that they no longer belong
to me alone--that they have become the property of strangers. The living
word falling upon the ear of the listener is one thing; quite another
the word staring from the cold, printed page. Will my thoughts be
accorded the same friendly welcome that greeted them when first they
were uttered?
I venture to hope that they may be kindly received; for these addresses
were born of devoted love to Judaism. The consciousness that Israel is
charged with a great historical mission, not yet accomplished, ushered
them into existence. Truth and sincerity stood sponsor to every word. Is
it presumptuous, then, to hope that they may find favor in the New
World? Brethren of my faith live there as here; our ancient watchword,
"Sh'ma Yisrael," resounds in their synagogues as in ours; the old
blood-stained flag, with its sublime inscription, "The Lord is my
banner!" floats over them; and Jewish hearts in America are loyal like
ours, and sustained by steadfast faith in the Messianic time when our
hopes and ideals, our aims and dreams, will be realized. There is but
one Judaism the world over, by the Jordan and the Tagus as by the
Vistula and the Mississippi. God bless and protect it, and lead it to
the goal of its glorious future!
To all Jewish hearts beyond the ocean, in free America, fraternal
greetings!
GUSTAV KARPELES
BERLIN, Pesach 5652/1892.
CONTENTS
A GLANCE AT JEWISH LITERATURE
THE TALMUD
THE JEW IN THE HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION
WOMEN IN JEWISH LITERATURE
MOSES MAIMONIDES
JEWISH TROUBADOURS AND MINNESINGERS
HUMOR AND LOVE IN JEWISH POETRY
THE JEWISH STAGE
THE JEW'S QUEST IN AFRICA
A JEWISH KING IN POLAND
JEWISH SOCIETY IN THE TIME OF MENDELSSOHN
LEOPOLD ZUNZ
HEINRICH HEINE AND JUDAISM
THE MUSIC OF THE SYNAGOGUE
A GLANCE AT JEWISH LITERATURE
In a well-known passage of the _Romanzero_, rebuking Jewish women for
their ignorance of the magnificent golden age of their nation's poetry,
Heine used unmeasured terms of condemnation. He was too severe, for the
sources from which he drew his own information were of a purely
scientific character, necessarily unintelligible to the ordinary reader.
The first truly popular presentation of the whole of Jewish literature
was made only a few years ago, and could not have existed in Heine's
time, as the most valuable treasures of that literature, a veritable
Hebrew Pompeii, have been unearthed from the mould and rubbish of the
libraries within this century. Investigations of the history of Jewish
literature have been possible, then, only during the last fifty years.
But in the course of this half-century, conscientious research has so
actively been prosecuted that we can now gain at least a bird's-eye view
of the whole course of our literature. Some stretches still lie in
shadow, and it is not astonishing that eminent scholars continue to
maintain that "there is no such thing as an organic history, a logical
development, of the gigantic neo-Hebraic literature"; while such as are
acquainted with the results of late research at best concede that
Hebrew literature has been permitted to garner a "tender aftermath."
Both verdicts are untrue and unfair. Jewish literature has developed
organically, and in the course of its evolution it has had its
spring-tide as well as its season of decay, this again followed by
vigorous rejuvenescence.
Such opinions are part and parcel of the vicissitudes of our literature,
in themselves sufficient matter for an interesting book. Strange it
certainly is that a people without a home, without a land, living under
repression and persecution, could produce so great a literature;
stranger still, that it should at first have been preserved and
disseminated, then forgotten, or treated with the disdain of prejudice,
and finally roused from torpid slumber into robust life by the breath of
the modern era. In the neighborhood of twenty-two thousand works are
known to us now. Fifty years ago bibliographers were ignorant of the
existence of half of these, and in the libraries of Italy, England, and
Germany an untold number awaits resurrection.
In fact, our literature has not yet been given a name that recommends
itself to universal acceptance. Some have called it "Rabbinical
Literature," because during the middle ages every Jew of learning bore
the title Rabbi; others, "Neo-Hebraic"; and a third party considers it
purely theological. These names are all inadequate. Perhaps the only one
sufficiently comprehensive is "Jewish Literature." That embraces, as it
should, the aggregate of writings produced by Jews from the earliest
days of their history up to the present time, regardless of form, of
language, and, in the middle ages at least, of subject-matter.
With this definition in mind, we are able to sketch the whole course of
our literature, though in the frame of an essay only in outline. We
shall learn, as Leopold Zunz, the Humboldt of Jewish science, well says,
that it is "intimately bound up with the culture of the ancient world,
with the origin and development of Christianity, and with the scientific
endeavors of the middle ages. Inasmuch as it shares the intellectual
aspirations of the past and the present, their conflicts and their
reverses, it is supplementary to general literature. Its peculiar
features, themselves falling under universal laws, are in turn helpful
in the interpretation of general characteristics. If the aggregate
results of mankind's intellectual activity can be likened unto a sea,
Jewish literature is one of the tributaries that feed it. Like other
literatures and like literature in general, it reveals to the student
what noble ideals the soul of man has cherished, and striven to realize,
and discloses the varied achievements of man's intellectual powers. If
we of to-day are the witnesses and the offspring of an eternal, creative
principle, then, in turn, the present is but the beginning of a future,
that is, the translation of knowledge into life. Spiritual ideals
consciously held by any portion of mankind lend freedom to thought,
grace to feeling, and by sailing up this one stream we may reach the
fountain-head whence have emanated all spiritual forces, and about
which, as a fixed pole, all spiritual currents eddy."[1]
The cornerstone of this Jewish literature is the Bible, or what we call
Old Testament literature--the oldest and at the same time the most
important of Jewish writings. It extends over the period ending with the
second century before the common era; is written, for the most part, in
Hebrew, and is the clearest and the most faithful reflection of the
original characteristics of the Jewish people. This biblical literature
has engaged the closest attention of all nations and every age. Until
the seventeenth century, biblical science was purely dogmatic, and only
since Herder pointed the way have its aesthetic elements been dwelt upon
along with, often in defiance of, dogmatic considerations. Up to this
time, Ernest Meier and Theodor Noeldeke have been the only ones to treat
of the Old Testament with reference to its place in the history of
literature.
Despite the dogmatic air clinging to the critical introductions to the
study of the Old Testament, their authors have not shrunk from treating
the book sacred to two religions with childish arbitrariness. Since the
days of Spinoza's essay at rationalistic explanation, Bible criticism
has been the wrestling-ground of the most extravagant exegesis, of bold
hypotheses, and hazardous conjectures. No Latin or Greek classic has
been so ruthlessly attacked and dissected; no mediaeval poetry so
arbitrarily interpreted. As a natural consequence, the aesthetic
elements were more and more pushed into the background. Only recently
have we begun to ridicule this craze for hypotheses, and returned to
more sober methods of inquiry. Bible criticism reached the climax of
absurdity, and the scorn was just which greeted one of the most
important works of the critical school, Hitzig's "Explanation of the
Psalms." A reviewer said: "We may entertain the fond hope that, in a
second edition of this clever writer's commentary, he will be in the
enviable position to tell us the day and the hour when each psalm was
composed."
The reaction began a few years ago with the recognition of the
inadequacy of Astruc's document hypothesis, until then the creed of all
Bible critics. Astruc, a celebrated French physician, in 1753 advanced
the theory that the Pentateuch--the five books of Moses--consists of two
parallel documents, called respectively Yahvistic and Elohistic, from
the name applied to God in each. On this basis, German science after him
raised a superstructure. No date was deemed too late to be assigned to
the composition of the Pentateuch. If the historian Flavius Josephus had
not existed, and if Jesus had not spoken of "the Law" and "the
prophets," and of the things "which were written in the Law of Moses,
and in the Prophets, and in the Psalms," critics would have been
disposed to transfer the redaction of the Bible to some period of the
Christian era. So wide is the divergence of opinions on the subject
that two learned critics, Ewald and Hitzig, differ in the date assigned
to a certain biblical passage by no less than a thousand years!
Bible archaeology, Bible exegesis, and discussions of grammatical
niceties, were confounded with the history of biblical literature, and
naturally it was the latter that suffered by the lack of
differentiation. Orthodoxy assumed a purely divine origin for the Bible,
while sceptics treated the holy book with greater levity than they would
dare display in criticising a modern novel. The one party raised a hue
and cry when Moses was spoken of as the first author; the other
discovered "obscene, rude, even cannibalistic traits"[2] in the sublime
narratives of the Bible. It should be the task of coming generations,
successors by one remove of credulous Bible lovers, and immediate heirs
of thorough-going rationalists, to reconcile and fuse in a higher
conception of the Bible the two divergent theories of its purely divine
and its purely human origin. Unfortunately, it must be admitted that
Ernest Meier is right, when he says, in his "History of the National
Poetry of the Hebrews," that this task wholly belongs to the future; at
present it is an unsolved problem.
The aesthetic is the only proper point of view for a full recognition of
the value of biblical literature. It certainly does not rob the sacred
Scriptures, the perennial source of spiritual comfort, of their exalted
character and divine worth to assume that legend, myth, and history
have combined to produce the perfect harmony which is their imperishable
distinction. The peasant dwelling on inaccessible mountain-heights, next
to the record of Abraham's shepherd life, inscribes the main events of
his own career, the anniversary dates sacred to his family. The young
count among their first impressions that of "the brown folio," and more
vividly than all else remember
"The maidens fair and true,
The sages and the heroes bold,
Whose tale by seers inspired
In our Book of books is told.
The simple life and faith
Of patriarchs of ancient day
Like angels hover near,
And guard, and lead them on the way."[3]
Above all, a whole nation has for centuries been living with, and only
by virtue of, this book. Surely this is abundant testimony to the
undying value of the great work, in which the simplest shepherd tales
and the naivest legends, profound moral saws and magnificent images, the
ideals of a Messianic future and the purest, the most humane conception
of life, alternate with sublime descriptions of nature and the sweet
strains of love-poems, with national songs breathing hope, or trembling
with anguish, and with the dull tones of despairing pessimism and the
divinely inspired hymns of an exalted theodicy--all blending to form
what the reverential love of men has named the Book of books.
It was natural that a book of this kind should become the basis of a
great literature. Whatever was produced in later times had to submit to
be judged by its exalted standard. It became the rule of conduct, the
prophetic mirror reflecting the future work of a nation whose fate was
inextricably bound up with its own. It is not known how and when the
biblical scriptures were welded into one book, a holy canon, but it is
probably correct to assume that it was done by the _Soferim_, the
Scribes, between 200 and 150 B.C.E. At all events, it is certain that
the three divisions of the Bible--the Pentateuch, the Prophets, and the
miscellaneous writings--were contained in the Greek version, the
Septuagint, so called from the seventy or seventy-two Alexandrians
supposed to have done the work of translation under Ptolemy
Philadelphus.
The Greek translation of the Bible marks the beginning of the second
period of Jewish literature, the Judaeo-Hellenic. Hebrew ceased to be the
language of the people; it was thenceforth used only by scholars and in
divine worship. Jewish for the first time met Greek intellect. Shem and
Japheth embraced fraternally. "But even while the teachings of Hellas
were pushing their way into subjugated Palestine, seducing Jewish
philosophy to apostasy, and seeking, by main force, to introduce
paganism, the Greek philosophers themselves stood awed by the majesty
and power of the Jewish prophets. Swords and words entered the lists as
champions of Judaism. The vernacular Aramaean, having suffered the Greek
to put its impress upon many of its substantives, refused to yield to
the influence of the Greek verb, and, in the end, Hebrew truth, in the
guise of the teachings of Jesus, undermined the proud structure of the
heathen." This is a most excellent characterization of that literary
period, which lasted about three centuries, ending between 100 and 150
C. E. Its influence upon Jewish literature can scarcely be said to have
been enduring. To it belong all the apocryphal writings which,
originally composed in the Greek language, were for that reason not
incorporated into the Holy Canon. The centre of intellectual life was no
longer in Palestine, but at Alexandria in Egypt, where three hundred
thousand Jews were then living, and thus this literature came to be
called Judaeo-Alexandrian. It includes among its writers the last of the
Neoplatonists, particularly Philo, the originator of the allegorical
interpretation of the Bible and of a Jewish philosophy of religion;
Aristeas, and pseudo-Phokylides. There were also Jewish _litterateurs_:
the dramatist Ezekielos; Jason; Philo the Elder; Arist | 2,588.092239 |
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Transcriber's Note: ae character | 2,588.122602 |
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Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed.
Words printed in italics are noted with underscores: _italics_.
The cover of this | 2,588.180981 |
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Transcriber's Notes.
Where no illustration caption appeared below the image, the
corresponding wording from the list of illustrations has been included
as a caption.
Italics are surrounded with _ _. The oe ligature has been replaced
in this version by the letters oe. Some words have been represented
in the print version as the first three letters of the word followed
by the last letter as a superscript and with a dot underneath. The
superscripted letters have been represented in this version as ^[.x].
On p. 59 of the original book, a presumed printer's error has been
corrected:
"She seems 'em now!" (as printed in the original) has been changed to
"She sees 'em now!" (in this version)
On p. 201, the date 1543 has been changed to 1534. This can be fairly
presumed to be the intended date based on historical occurrences
referred to and based on the continuity of entries.
THE
HOUSEHOLD OF
SIR THO^[.S] MORE
By the same Author
_In crown 8vo, cloth, gilt top, 6s._
Illustrated by JOHN JELLICOE and HERBERT RAILTON
The Old Chelsea Bun-Shop:
A Tale of the Last Century
Cherry & Violet:
A Tale of the Great Plague
The Maiden and Married Life of Mary
Powell, afterwards Mrs. Milton
_The many other interesting works of this author will be published from
time to time uniformly with the above._
[Illustration:
The Household of
SIR THO^[.S] MORE
_Illvstrations by_ John Jellicoe &
Herbert Railton
_Introdvction by_ The Rev^[.d] W. H. Hutton
LONDON
John C. NIMMO
MDCCCXCIX
]
[Illustration: LIBELLUS A MARGARETA MORE QVINDECIM ANNOS NATA CHELSELAE
INCEPTVS
_Nvlla dies sine linea_ ]
[Illustration: "Anon we sit down to rest and talk"]
THE
HOUSEHOLD OF
SIR THO^[.S] MORE
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
THE REV. W. H. HUTTON, B.D.
FELLOW OF S. JOHN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD
AND TWENTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY JOHN JELLICOE AND
HERBERT RAILTON
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
MDCCCXCIX
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_From Drawings by_ JOHN JELLICOE _and_ HERBERT RAILTON.
"ANON WE SIT DOWN TO REST AND TALK."
_Drawn by_ JOHN JELLICOE _and_ HERBERT RAILTON _Frontispiece_
PAGE
TITLE-PAGE.
_Designed by_ HERBERT RAILTON iii
MOTTO OF MARGARET MORE.
_Designed by_ HERBERT RAILTON iv
SIR THOMAS MORE'S HOUSE.
_Drawn by_ HERBERT RAILTON 1
ERASMUS AND THE PEACOCKS.
_Drawn by_ JOHN JELLICOE _To face_ 6
JACK AND CECY.
_Drawn by_ JOHN JELLICOE 26
MORE IN THE BARROW.
_ | 2,588.180992 |
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HTML file produced by David Widger
A JOURNAL OF THE PLAGUE YEAR
By Daniel Defoe
being observations or memorials of the most remarkable occurrences, as
well public as private, which happened in London during the last great
visitation in 1665. Written by a Citizen who continued all the while in
London. Never made public before
It was about the beginning of September, 1664, that I, among the rest of
my neighbours, heard in ordinary discourse that the plague was returned
again in Holland; for it had been very violent there, and particularly
at Amsterdam and Rotterdam, in the year 1663, whither, they say, it was
brought, some said from Italy, others from the Levant, among some goods
which were brought home by their Turkey fleet; others said it was
brought from Candia; others from Cyprus. It mattered not from whence it
came; but all agreed it was come into Holland again.
We had no such thing as printed newspapers in those days to spread
rumours and reports of things, and to improve them by the invention of
men, as I have lived to see practised since. But such things as these
were gathered from the letters of merchants and others who corresponded
abroad, and from them was handed about by word of mouth only; so that
things did not spread instantly over the whole nation, as they do now.
But it seems that the Government had a true account of it, and several
councils were held about ways to prevent its coming over; but all was
kept very private. Hence it was that this rumour died off again, and
people began to forget it as a thing we were very little concerned in,
and that we hoped was not true; till the latter end of November or the
beginning of December 1664 when two men, said to be Frenchmen, died of
the plague in Long Acre, or rather at the upper end of Drury Lane. The
family they were in endeavoured to conceal it as much as possible, but
as it had gotten some vent in the discourse of the neighbourhood, the
Secretaries of State got knowledge of it; and concerning themselves to
inquire about it, in order to be certain of the truth, two physicians
and a surgeon were ordered to go to the house and make inspection. This
they did; and finding evident tokens of the sickness upon both the
bodies that were dead, they gave their opinions publicly that they died
of the plague. Whereupon it was given in to the parish clerk, and he
also returned them to the Hall; and it was printed in the weekly bill of
mortality in the usual manner, thus--
Plague, 2. Parishes infected, 1.
The people showed a great concern at this, and began to be alarmed all
over the town, and the more, because in the last week in December 1664
another man died in the same house, and of the same distemper. And then
we were easy again for about six weeks, when none having died with any
marks of infection, it was said the distemper was gone; but after that,
I think it was about the 12th of February, another died in another
house, but in the same parish and in the same manner.
This turned the people's eyes pretty much towards that end of the town,
and the weekly bills showing an increase of burials in St Giles's parish
more than usual, it began to be suspected that the plague was among the
people at that end of the town, and that many had died of it, though
they had taken care to keep it as much from the knowledge of the public
as possible. This possessed the heads of the people very much, and few
cared to go through Drury Lane, or the other streets suspected, unless
they had extraordinary business that obliged them to it
This increase of the bills stood thus: the usual number of burials in a
week, in the parishes of St Giles-in-the-Fields and St Andrew's,
Holborn, were from twelve to seventeen or nineteen each, few more or
less; but from the time that the plague first began in St Giles's
parish, it was observed that the ordinary burials increased in number
considerably. For example:--
From December 27 to January 3 { St Giles's 16
" { St Andrew's 17
" January 3 " " 10 { St Giles's 12
" { St Andrew's 25
" January 10 " " 17 { St Giles's 18
" { St Andrew's 28
" January 17 " " 24 { St Giles's 23
" { St Andrew's 16
" January 24 " " 31 { St Giles's 24
" { St Andrew's 15
" January 30 " February 7 { St Giles's 21
" { St Andrew's 23
" February 7 " " 14 { St Giles's 24
The like increase of the bills was observed in the parishes of St
Bride's, adjoining on one side of Holborn parish, and in the parish of
St James, Clerkenwell, adjoining on the other side of Holborn; in both
which parishes the usual numbers that died weekly were from four to six
or eight, whereas at that time they were increased as follows:--
From December 20 to December 27 { St Bride's 0
" { St James's 8
" December 27 to January 3 { St Bride's 6
" { St James's 9
" January 3 " " 10 { St Bride's 11
" { St James's 7
" January 10 " " 17 { St Bride's 12
" { St James's 9
" January 17 " " 24 { St Bride's 9
" { St James's 15
" January 24 " " 31 { St Bride's 8
" { St James's 12
" January 31 " February 7 { St Bride's 13
" { St James's 5
" February 7 " " 14 { St Bride's 12
" { St James's 6
Besides this, it was observed with great uneasiness by the people that
the weekly bills in general increased very much during these weeks,
although it was at a time of the year when usually the bills are very
moderate.
The usual number of burials within the bills of mortality for a week was
from about 240 or thereabouts to 300. The last was esteemed a pretty
high bill; but after this we found the bills successively increasing as
follows:--
Buried. Increased.
December the 20th to the 27th 291 ...
" " 27th " 3rd January 349 58
January the 3rd " 10th " 394 45
" " 10th " 17th " 415 21
" " 17th " 24th " 474 59
This last bill was really frightful, being a higher number than had been
known to have been buried in one week since the preceding visitation of
1656.
However, all this went off again, and the weather proving cold, and the
frost, which began in December, still continuing very severe even till
near the end of February, attended with sharp though moderate winds, the
bills decreased again, and the city grew healthy, and everybody began to
look upon the danger as good as over; only that still the burials in St
Giles's continued high. From the beginning of April especially they
stood at twenty-five each week, till the week from the 18th to the 25th,
when there was buried in St Giles's parish thirty, whereof two of the
plague and eight of the spotted-fever, which was looked upon as the same
thing; likewise the number that died of the spotted-fever in the whole
increased, being eight the week before, and twelve the week above-named.
This alarmed us all again, and terrible apprehensions were among the
people, especially the weather being now changed and growing warm, and
the summer being at hand. However, the next week there seemed to be some
hopes again; the bills were low, the number of the dead in all was but
388, there was none of the plague, and but four of the spotted-fever.
But the following week it returned again, and the distemper was spread
into two or three other parishes, viz., St Andrew's, Holborn; St Clement
Danes; and, to the great affliction of the city, one died within the
walls, in the parish of St Mary Woolchurch, that is to say, in
Bearbinder Lane, near Stocks Market; in all there were nine of the
plague and six of the spotted-fever. It was, however, upon inquiry found
that this Frenchman who died in Bearbinder Lane was one who, having
lived in Long Acre, near the infected houses, had removed for fear of
the distemper, not knowing that he was already infected.
This was the beginning of May, yet the weather was temperate, variable,
and cool enough, and people had still some hopes. That which encouraged
them was that the city was healthy: the whole ninety-seven parishes
buried but fifty-four, and we began to hope that, as it was chiefly
among the people at that end of the town, it might go no farther; and
the rather, because the next week, which was from the 9th of May to the
16th, there died but three, of which not one within the whole city or
liberties; and St Andrew's buried but fifteen, which was very low. 'Tis
true St Giles's buried two-and-thirty, but still, as there was but one
of the plague, people began to be easy. The whole bill also was very
low, for the week before the bill was but 347, and the week above
mentioned but 343. We continued in these hopes for a few days, but it
was but for a few, for the people were no more to be deceived thus; they
searched the houses and found that the plague was really spread every
way, and that many died of it every day. So that now all our
extenuations abated, and it was no more to be concealed; nay, it quickly
appeared that the infection had spread itself beyond all hopes of
abatement. That in the parish of St Giles it was gotten into several
streets, and several families lay all sick together; and, accordingly,
in the weekly bill for the next week the thing began to show itself.
There was indeed but fourteen set down of the plague, but this was all
knavery and collusion, for in St Giles's parish they buried forty in
all, whereof it was certain most of them died of the plague, though they
were set down of other distempers; and though the number of all the
burials were not increased above thirty-two, and the whole bill being
but 385, yet there was fourteen of the spotted-fever, as well as
fourteen of the plague; and we took it for granted upon the whole that
there were fifty died that week of the plague.
The next bill was from the 23rd of May to the 30th, when the number of
the plague was seventeen. But the burials in St Giles's were fifty-
three--a frightful number!--of whom they set down but nine of the
plague; but on an examination more strictly by the justices of peace,
and at the Lord Mayor's request, it was found there were twenty more who
were really dead of the plague in that parish, but had been set down of
the spotted-fever or other distempers, besides others concealed.
But those were trifling things to what followed immediately after; for
now the weather set in hot, and from the first week in June the
infection spread in a dreadful manner, and the bills rose high; the
articles of the fever, spotted-fever, and teeth began to swell; for all
that could conceal their distempers did it, to prevent their neighbours
shunning and refusing to converse with them, and also to prevent
authority shutting up their houses; which, though it was not yet
practised, yet was threatened, and people were extremely terrified at
the thoughts of it.
The second week in June, the parish of St Giles, where still the weight
of the infection lay, buried 120, whereof though the bills said but
sixty-eight of the plague, everybody said there had been 100 at least,
calculating it from the usual number of funerals in that parish, as
above.
Till this week the city continued free, there having never any died,
except that one Frenchman whom I mentioned before, within the whole
ninety-seven parishes. Now there died four within the city, one in Wood
Street, one in Fenchurch Street, and two in Crooked Lane. Southwark was
entirely free, having not one yet died on that side of the water.
I lived without Aldgate, about midway between Aldgate Church and
Whitechappel Bars, on the left hand or north side of the street; and as
the distemper had not reached to that side of the city, our
neighbourhood continued very easy. But at the other end of the town
their consternation was very great: and the richer sort of people,
especially the nobility and gentry from the west part of the city,
thronged out of town with their families and servants in an unusual
manner; and this was more particularly seen in Whitechappel; that is to
say, the Broad Street where I lived; indeed, nothing was to be seen but
waggons and carts, with goods, women, servants, children, &c.; coaches
filled with people of the better sort and horsemen attending them, and
all hurrying away; then empty waggons and carts appeared, and spare
horses with servants, who, it was apparent, were returning or sent from
the countries to fetch more people; besides innumerable numbers of men
on horseback, some alone, others with servants, and, generally speaking,
all loaded with baggage and fitted out for travelling, as anyone might
perceive by their appearance.
This was a very terrible and melancholy thing to see, and as it was a
sight which I could not but look on from morning to night (for indeed
there was nothing else of moment to be seen), it filled me with very
serious thoughts of the misery that was coming upon the city, and the
unhappy condition of those that would be left in it.
This hurry of the people was such for some weeks that there was no
getting at the Lord Mayor's door without exceeding difficulty; there
were such pressing and crowding there to get passes and certificates of
health for such as travelled abroad, for without these there was no
being admitted to pass through the towns upon the road, or to lodge in
any inn. Now, as there had none died in the city for all this time, my
Lord Mayor gave certificates of health without any difficulty to all
those who lived in the ninety-seven parishes, and to those within the
liberties too for a while.
This hurry, I say, continued some weeks, that is to say, all the month
of May and June, and the more because it was rumoured that an order of
the Government was to be issued out to place turnpikes and barriers on
the road to prevent people travelling, and that the towns on the road
would not suffer people from London to pass for fear of bringing the
infection along with them, though neither of these rumours had any
foundation but in the imagination, especially at-first.
I now began to consider seriously with myself concerning my own case,
and how I should dispose of myself; that is to say, whether I should
resolve to stay in London or shut up my house and flee, as many of my
neighbours did. I have set this particular down so fully, because I know
not but it may be of moment to those who come after me, if they come to
be brought to the same distress, and to the same manner of making their
choice; and therefore I desire this account may pass with them rather
for a direction to themselves to act by than a history of my actings,
seeing it may not be of one farthing value to them to note what became
of me.
I had two important things before me: the one was the carrying on my
business and shop, which was considerable, and in which was embarked all
my effects in the world; and the other was the preservation of my life
in so dismal a calamity as I saw apparently was coming upon the whole
city, and which, however great it was, my fears perhaps, as well as
other people's, represented to be much greater than it could be.
The first consideration was of great moment to me; my trade was a
saddler, and as my dealings were chiefly not by a shop or chance trade,
but among the merchants trading to the English colonies in America, so
my effects lay very much in the hands of such. I was a single man, 'tis
true, but I had a family of servants whom I kept at my business; had a
house, shop, and warehouses filled with goods; and, in short, to leave
them all as things in such a case must be left (that is to say, without
any overseer or person fit to be trusted with them), had been to hazard
the loss not only of my trade, but of my goods, and indeed of all I had
in the world.
I had an elder brother at the same time in London, and not many years
before come over from Portugal: and advising with him, his answer was in
three words, the same that was given in another case quite different,
viz., 'Master, save thyself.' In a word, he was for my retiring into the
country, as he resolved to do himself with his family; telling me what
he had, it seems, heard abroad, that the best preparation for the plague
was to run away from it. As to my argument of losing my trade, my goods,
or debts, he quite confuted me. He told me the same thing which I argued
for my staying, viz., that I would trust God with my safety and health,
was the strongest repulse to my pretensions of losing my trade and my
goods; 'for', says he, 'is it not as reasonable that you should trust
God with the chance or risk of losing your trade, as that you should
stay in so eminent a point of danger, and trust Him with your life?'
I could not argue that I was in any strait as to a place where to go,
having several friends and relations in Northamptonshire, whence our
family first came from; and particularly, I had an only sister in
Lincolnshire, very willing to receive and entertain me.
My brother, who had already sent his wife and two children into
Bedfordshire, and resolved to follow them, pressed my going very
earnestly; and I had once resolved to comply with his desires, but at
that time could get no horse; for though it is true all the people did
not go out of the city of London, yet I may venture to say that in a
manner all the horses did; for there was hardly a horse to be bought or
hired in the whole city for some weeks. Once I resolved to travel on
foot with one servant, and, as many did, lie at no inn, but carry a
soldier's tent with us, and so lie in the fields, the weather being very
warm, and no danger from taking cold. I say, as many did, because
several did so at last, especially those who had been in the armies in
the war which had not been many years past; and I must needs say that,
speaking of second causes, had most of the people that travelled done
so, the plague had not been carried into so many country towns and
houses as it was, to the great damage, and indeed to the ruin, of
abundance of people.
But then my servant, whom I had intended to take down with me, deceived
me; and being frighted at the increase of the distemper, and not knowing
when I should go, he took other measures, and left me, so I was put off
for that time; and, one way or other, I always found that to appoint to
go away was always crossed by some accident or other, so as to
disappoint and put it off again; and this brings in a story which
otherwise might be thought a needless digression, viz., about these
disappointments being from Heaven.
I mention this story also as the best method I can advise any person to
take in such a case, especially if he be one that makes conscience of
his duty, and would be directed what to do in it, namely, that he should
keep his eye upon the particular providences which occur at that time,
and look upon them complexly, as they regard one another, and as all
together regard the question before him: and then, I think, he may
safely take them for intimations from Heaven of what is his unquestioned
duty to do in such a case; I mean as to going away from or staying in
the place where we dwell, when visited with an infectious distemper.
It came very warmly into my mind one morning, as I was musing on this
particular thing, that as nothing attended us without the direction or
permission of Divine Power, so these disappointments must have something
in them extraordinary; and I ought to consider whether it did not
evidently point out, or intimate to me, that it was the will of Heaven I
should not go. It immediately followed in my thoughts, that if it really
was from God that I should stay, He was able effectually to preserve me
in the midst of all the death and danger that would surround me; and
that if I attempted to secure myself by fleeing from my habitation, and
acted contrary to these intimations, which I believe to be Divine, it
was a kind of flying from God, and that He could cause His justice to
overtake me when and where He thought fit.
These thoughts quite turned my resolutions again, and when I came to
discourse with my brother again I told him that I inclined to stay and
take my lot in that station in which God had placed me, and that it
seemed to be made more especially my duty, on the account of what I have
said.
My brother, though a very religious man himself, laughed at all I had
suggested about its being an intimation from Heaven, and told me several
stories of such foolhardy people, as he called them, as I was; that I
ought indeed to submit to it as a work of Heaven if I had been any way
disabled by distempers or diseases, and that then not being able to go,
I ought to acquiesce in the direction of Him, who, having been my Maker,
had an undisputed right of sovereignty in disposing of me, and that then
there had been no difficulty to determine which was the call of His
providence and which was not; but that I should take it as an intimation
from Heaven that I should not go out of town, only because I could not
hire a horse to go, or my fellow was run away that was to attend me, was
ridiculous, since at the time I had my health and limbs, and other
servants, and might with ease travel a day or two on foot, and having a
good certificate of being in perfect health, might either hire a horse
or take post on the road, as I thought fit.
Then he proceeded to tell me of the mischievous consequences which
attended the presumption of the Turks and Mahometans in Asia and in
other places where he had been (for my brother, being a merchant, was a
few years before, as I have already observed, returned from abroad,
coming last from Lisbon), and how, presuming upon their professed
predestinating notions, and of every man's end being predetermined and
unalterably beforehand decreed, they would go unconcerned into infected
places and converse with infected persons, by which means they died at
the rate of ten or fifteen thousand a week, whereas the Europeans or
Christian merchants, who kept themselves retired and reserved, generally
escaped the contagion.
Upon these arguments my brother changed my resolutions again, and I
began to resolve to go, and accordingly made all things ready; for, in
short, the infection increased round me, and the bills were risen to
almost seven hundred a week, and my brother told me he would venture to
stay no longer. I desired him to let me consider of it but till the next
day, and I would resolve: and as I had already prepared everything as
well as I could as to MY business, and whom to entrust my affairs with,
I had little to do but to resolve.
I went home that evening greatly oppressed in my mind, irresolute, and
not knowing what to do. I had set the evening wholly--apart to consider
seriously about it, and was all alone; for already people had, as it
were by a general consent, taken up the custom of not going out of doors
after sunset; the reasons I shall have occasion to say more of by-and-
by.
In the retirement of this evening I endeavoured to resolve, first, what
was my duty to do, and I stated the arguments with which my brother had
pressed me to go into the country, and I set, against them the strong
impressions which I had on my mind for staying; the visible call I
seemed to have from the particular circumstance of my calling, and the
care due from me for the preservation of my effects, which were, as I
might say, my estate; also the intimations which I thought I had from
Heaven, that to me signified a kind of direction to venture; and it
occurred to me that if I had what I might call a direction to stay, I
ought to suppose it contained a promise of being preserved if I obeyed.
This lay close to me, and my mind seemed more and more encouraged to
stay than ever, and supported with a secret satisfaction that I should
be kept. Add to this, that, turning over the Bible which lay before me,
and while my thoughts were more than ordinarily serious upon the
question, I cried out, 'Well, I know not what to do; Lord, direct me!'
and the like; and at that juncture I happened to stop turning over the
book at the ninety-first Psalm, and casting my eye on the second verse, I read
on to the seventh verse exclusive, and after that included the tenth, as
follows: 'I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my
God, in Him will I trust. Surely He shall deliver thee from the snare of
the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with
His feathers, and under His wings shalt thou trust: His truth shall be
thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by
night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the pestilence that
walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A
thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but
it shall not come nigh thee. Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and
see the reward of the wicked. Because thou hast made the Lord, which is
my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation; there shall no evil
befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling,' &C.
I scarce need tell the reader that from that moment I resolved that I
would stay in the town, and casting myself entirely upon the goodness
and protection of the Almighty, would not seek any other shelter
whatever; and that, as my times were in His hands, He was as able to
keep me in a time of the infection as in a time of health; and if He did
not think fit to deliver me, still I was in His hands, and it was meet
He should do with me as should seem good to Him.
With this resolution I went to bed; and I was further confirmed in it
the next day by the woman being taken ill with whom I had intended to
entrust my house and all my affairs. But I had a further obligation laid
on me on the same side, for the next day I found myself very much out of
order also, so that if I would have gone away, I could not, and I
continued ill three or four days, and this entirely determined my stay;
so I took my leave of my brother, who went away to Dorking, in Surrey,
and afterwards fetched a round farther into Buckinghamshire or
Bedfordshire, to a retreat he had found out there for his family.
It was a very ill time to be sick in, for if any one complained, it was
immediately said he had the plague; and though I had indeed no symptom
of that distemper, yet being very ill, both in my head and in my
stomach, I was not without apprehension that I really was infected; but
in about three days I grew better; the third night I rested well,
sweated a little, and was much refreshed. The apprehensions of its being
the infection went also quite | 2,588.280518 |
2023-11-16 19:00:12.4368160 | 3,345 | 9 |
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| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in |
| this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of |
| this document. |
| |
| The children's letters on page 108 have been reproduced in |
| this text as diagrams. |
+------------------------------------------------------------+
ESSAY ON THE CREATIVE IMAGINATION
BY
TH. RIBOT
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
BY
ALBERT H. N. BARON
FELLOW IN CLARK UNIVERSITY
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LTD.
1906
COPYRIGHT BY
THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING CO.
CHICAGO, U. S. A.
1906
_All rights reserved._
TO THE MEMORY OF MY TEACHER
AND FRIEND,
Arthur Allin, Ph. D.,
PROFESSOR OF PSYCHOLOGY AND EDUCATION,
UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO,
WHO FIRST INTERESTED ME IN THE PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED, WITH REVERENCE
AND GRATITUDE, BY
THE TRANSLATOR.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
The name of Th. Ribot has been for many years well known in America, and
his works have gained wide popularity. The present translation of one of
his more recent works is an attempt to render available in English what
has been received as a classic exposition of a subject that is often
discussed, but rarely with any attempt to understand its true nature.
It is quite generally recognized that psychology has remained in the
semi-mythological, semi-scholastic period longer than most attempts at
scientific formulization. For a long time it has been the "spook
science" _per se_, and the imagination, now analyzed by M. Ribot in such
a masterly manner, has been one of the most persistent, apparently real,
though very indefinite, of psychological spooks. Whereas people have
been accustomed to speak of the imagination as an entity _sui generis_,
as a lofty something found only in long-haired, wild-eyed "geniuses,"
constituting indeed the center of a cult, our author, Prometheus-like,
has brought it down from the heavens, and has clearly shown that
_imagination is a function of mind common to all men in some degree_,
and that it is shown in as highly developed form in commercial leaders
and practical inventors as in the most bizarre of romantic idealists.
The only difference is that the manifestation is not the same.
That this view is not entirely original with M. Ribot is not to his
discredit--indeed, he does not claim any originality. We find the view
clearly expressed elsewhere, certainly as early as Aristotle, that the
greatest artist is he who actually embodies his vision and will in
permanent form, preferably in social institutions. This idea is so
clearly enunciated in the present monograph, which the author modestly
styles an essay, that when the end of the book is reached but little
remains of the great imagination-ghost, save the one great mystery
underlying all facts of mind.
That the present rendering falls far below the lucid French of the
original, the translator is well aware; he trusts, however, that the
indulgent reader will take into account the good intent as offsetting in
part, at least, the numerous shortcomings of this version.
I wish here to express my obligation to those friends who encouraged me
in the congenial task of translation.
A. H. N. B.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
Contemporary psychology has studied the purely reproductive imagination
with great eagerness and success. The works on the different
image-groups--visual, auditory, tactile, motor--are known to everyone,
and form a collection of inquiries solidly based on subjective and
objective observation, on pathological facts and laboratory experiments.
The study of the creative or constructive imagination, on the other
hand, has been almost entirely neglected. It would be easy to show that
the best, most complete, and most recent treatises on psychology devote
to it scarcely a page or two; often, indeed, do not even mention it. A
few articles, a few brief, scarce monographs, make up the sum of the
past twenty-five years' work on the subject. The subject does not,
however, at all deserve this indifferent or contemptuous attitude. Its
importance is unquestionable, and even though the study of the creative
imagination has hitherto remained almost inaccessible to experimentation
strictly so-called, there are yet other objective processes that permit
of our approaching it with some likelihood of success, and of continuing
the work of former psychologists, but with methods better adapted to
the requirements of contemporary thought.
The present work is offered to the reader as an essay or first attempt
only. It is not our intention here to undertake a complete monograph
that would require a thick volume, but only to seek the underlying
conditions of the creative imagination, showing that it has its
beginning and principal source in the natural tendency of images to
become objectified (or, more simply, in the motor elements inherent in
the image), and then following it in its development under its manifold
forms, whatever they may be. For I cannot but maintain that, at present,
the psychology of the imagination is concerned almost wholly with its
part in esthetic creation and in the sciences. We scarcely get beyond
that; its other manifestations have been occasionally mentioned--never
investigated. Yet invention in the fine arts and in the sciences is only
a special case, and possibly not the principal one. We hope to show that
in practical life, in mechanical, military, industrial, and commercial
inventions, in religious, social, and political institutions, the human
mind has expended and made permanent as much imagination as in all other
fields.
The constructive imagination is a faculty that in the course of ages has
undergone a reduction--or at least, some profound changes. So, for
reasons indicated later on, the mythic activity has been taken in this
work as the central point of our topic, as the primitive and typical
form out of which the greater number of the others have arisen. The
creative power is there shown entirely unconfined, freed from all
hindrance, careless of the possible and the impossible; in a pure state,
unadulterated by the opposing influence of imitation, of ratiocination,
of the knowledge of natural laws and their uniformity.
In the first or analytical part, we shall try to resolve the
constructive imagination into its constitutive factors, and study each
of them singly.
The second or genetic part will follow the imagination in its
development as a whole from the dimmest to the most complex forms.
Finally, the third or concrete part, will be no longer devoted to the
imagination, but to imaginative beings, to the principal types of
imagination that observation shows us.
May, 1900.
ANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
Translator's Preface v
Author's Preface vii
INTRODUCTION.
THE MOTOR NATURE OF THE CONSTRUCTIVE IMAGINATION.
Transition from the reproductive to the creative
imagination.--Do all representations contain motor
elements?--Unusual effects produced by images: vesication,
stigmata; their conditions; their meaning for our
subject.--The imagination is, on the intellectual side,
equivalent to will. Proof: Identity of development;
subjective, personal character of both; teleologic
character; analogy between the abortive forms of the
imagination and abulias. 3
FIRST PART.
ANALYSIS OF THE IMAGINATION.
CHAPTER I.
THE INTELLECTUAL FACTOR.
Dissociation, preparatory work.--Dissociation in complete,
incomplete and schematic images.--Dissociation in series.
Its principal causes: internal or subjective, external or
objective.--Association: its role reduced to a single
question, the formation of new combinations.--The principal
intellectual factor is thinking by analogy. Why it is an
almost inexhaustible source of creation. Its mechanism. Its
processes reducible to two, viz.: personification,
transformation. 15
CHAPTER II.
THE EMOTIONAL FACTOR.
The great importance of this element.--All forms of the
creative imagination imply affective elements. Proofs: All
affective conditions may influence the imagination. Proofs:
Association of ideas on an emotional basis; new combinations
under ordinary and extraordinary forms.--Association by
contrast.--The motor element in tendencies.--There is no
creative instinct; invention has not _a_ source, but
_sources_, and always arises from a need.--The work of the
imagination reduced to two great classes, themselves
reducible to special needs.--Reasons for the prejudice in
favor of a creative instinct. 31
CHAPTER III.
THE UNCONSCIOUS FACTOR.
Various views of the "inspired state." Its essential
characteristics; suddenness, impersonality.--Its relations
to unconscious activity.--Resemblances to hypermnesia, the
initial state of alcoholic intoxication and somnambulism on
waking.--Disagreements concerning the ultimate nature of
unconsciousness: two hypotheses.--The "inspired state" is
not a cause, but an index.--Associations in unconscious
form.--Mediate or latent association: recent experiments and
discussions on this subject.--"Constellation" the result of
a summation of predominant tendencies. Its mechanism. 50
CHAPTER IV.
THE ORGANIC CONDITIONS OF THE IMAGINATION.
Anatomical conditions: various hypotheses. Obscurity of the
question. Flechsig's theory.--Physiological conditions: are
they cause, effect, or accompaniment? Chief factor: change
in cerebral and local circulation.--Attempts at
experimentation.--The oddities of inventors brought under
two heads: the explicable and inexplicable. They are helpers
of inspiration.--Is there any analogy between physical and
psychic creation? A philosophical hypothesis on the
subject.--Limitation of the question. Impossibility of an
exact answer. 65
CHAPTER V.
THE PRINCIPLE OF UNITY.
Importance of the unifying principle. It is a fixed idea or
a fixed emotion.--Their equivalence.--Distinction between
the synthetic principle and the ideal, which is the
principle of unity in motion: the ideal is a construction in
images, merely outlined.--The principal forms of the
unifying principles: unstable, organic or middle, extreme or
semi-morbid.--Obsession of the inventor and the sick:
insufficiency of a purely psychological criterion. 79
SECOND PART.
THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE IMAGINATION.
CHAPTER I.
IMAGINATION IN ANIMALS.
Difficulties of the subject.--The degree of imagination in
animals.--Does creative synthesis exist in them? Affirmation
and denials.--The special form of animal imagination is
motor, and shows itself through play: its numerous
varieties.--Why the animal imagination must be above all
motor: lack of intellectual development.--Comparison with
young children, in whom the motor system predominates: the
roles of movements in infantile insanity. 93
CHAPTER II.
IMAGINATION IN THE CHILD.
Division of its development into four principal
periods.--Transition from passive to creative imagination:
perception and illusion.--Animating everything: analysis of
the elements constituting this moment: the role of
belief.--Creation in play: period of imitation, attempts at
invention.--Fanciful invention. 103
CHAPTER III.
PRIMITIVE MAN AND THE CREATION OF MYTHS.
The golden age of the creative imagination.--Myths:
hypotheses as to the origin: the myth is the <DW43>-physical
objectification of man in the phenomena that he perceives.
The role of imagination.--How myths are formed. The moment
of creation: two operations--animating everything,
qualifying everything. Romantic invention lacking in peoples
without imagination. The role of analogy and of association
through "constellation."--The evolution of myths: ascension,
acme, decline.--The explanatory myths undergo a radical
transformation: the work of depersonification of the myth.
Survivals.--The non-explanatory myths suffer a partial
transformation: Literature is a fallen and rationalized
mythology.--Popular imagination and legends: the legend is
to the myth what illusion is to hallucination.--Unconscious
processes that the imagination employs in order to create
legends: fusion, idealization. 118
CHAPTER IV.
THE HIGHER FORMS OF INVENTION.
Is a psychology of great inventors possible? Pathological
and physiological theories of genius.--General characters of
great inventors. Precocity: chronological order of the
development of the creative power. Psychological reasons
for this order. Why the creator commences by
imitating.--Necessity or fatalism of vocation.--The
representative character of great creators. Discussion as to
the origin of this character--is it in the individual or in
the environment?--Mechanism of creation. Two principal
processes--complete, abridged. Their three phases; their
resemblances and differences.--The role of chance in
invention: it supposes the meeting of two factors--one
internal, the other external.--Chance is an occasion for,
not an agent of, creation. 140
CHAPTER V.
LAW OF THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE IMAGINATION.
Is the creative imagination, in its evolution, subject to
any law?--It passes through two stages separated by a
critical phase.--Period of autonomy; critical period; period
of definite constitution. Two cases: decay or transformation
through logical form, through deviation.--Subsidiary law of
increasing complexity.--Historical verification. 167
THIRD PART.
THE PRINCIPAL TYPES OF IMAGINATION.
PRELIMINARY.
The need of a concrete study.--The varieties of the creative
imagination, analogous to the varieties of character. 179
CHAPTER I.
THE PLASTIC IMAGINATION.
It makes use of clear images, well determined in space, and
of associations of objective relations.--Its external
character.--Inferiority of the affective element.--Its
principal manifestations: in the arts dealing with form; in
poetry (transformation of sonorous into visual images); in
myths with clear outline; in mechanical invention.--The dry
and rational imagination its elements. 184
CHAPTER II.
THE DIFFLUENT IMAGINATION.
It makes use of vague images linked according to the least
rigorous modes of association. Emotional abstractions; their
nature.--Its characteristic of inwardness.--Its principal
manifestations: revery, the romantic spirit, the chimerical
spirit; myths and religious conceptions, literature and the
fine arts (the symbolists), the class of the marvelous and
fantastic.--Varieties of the diffluent imagination: first,
numerical imagination; its nature; two principal forms,
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Bold text is indicated with =equals signs=. Italic text is indicated
with _underscores_.
Further transcriber's notes may be found at the end of the book.
QUEENS OF THE
RENAISSANCE
BY
M. BERESFORD RYLEY
WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published in 1907_
[Illustration: BEATRICE AND LUDOVICO KNEELING
ALTAR-PIECE BY ZENALE]
To B----
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE ix
CATHERINE OF SIENA 1
BEATRICE D'ESTE 53
ANNE OF BRITTANY 104
LUCREZIA BORGIA 150
MARGARET D'ANGOULÊME 202
RENÉE, DUCHESS OF FERRARA 251
PREFACE
There are no two people who see with the same kind of vision. It is
for this reason that, though twenty lives of the six women chosen for
this book had been written previously, there would still, it seems to
me, be room for a twenty-first. For though the facts might remain
identical, there is no possible reiteration of another mind's exact
outlook. Hence I have not scrupled to add these six character studies
to the many volumes similar in scope and subject.
The book is called "Queens of the Renaissance," but Catherine of Siena
lived before the Renaissance surged into being, and Anne of Brittany,
though her two husbands brought its spirit into France, had not
herself a hint of its lovely, penetrating eagerness. They are included
because they help, nevertheless, to create continuity and coherence of
impression, and the six leading, as they do naturally, one to the
other, convey, in the mass, some co-ordinated notion of the
Renaissance spirit.
The main object, perhaps, in writing at all lies in the intrinsic
interest of any real life lived before us. For every existence is a
_parti pris_ towards existence; every character is a personal opinion
upon the value of character, feeling, virtue, many things. No
personality repeats another, no human drama renews just the same
intricate complications of other dramas. In every life and in every
person there is some element of uniqueness, some touch of speciality.
Because of this even the dullest individuality becomes quickening in
biography. It has, if no more, the pathos of its dulness, the didactic
warnings of its refusals, the surprise of its individualizing
blunders.
All the following lives convey inevitably and unconsciously some
statement concerning the opportunity offered by existence. To one, it
seemed a place for an ecstasy of joy, success, gratification; to
another, a great educational establishment for the soul; to a third,
an admirable groundwork for practical domestic arrangements and
routine; to Renée of Ferrara, a bewildering, weary accumulation of
difficulties and distress; to her more charming relative, an enigma
shadowed always by the still greater and grimmer enigma of mortality.
And lastly, for the strange, elusive Lucrezia, it is difficult to
conceive what it must have meant at all, unless a sequence of
circumstances never, under any conditions, to be dwelt upon in their
annihilating entirety, but just to be taken piecemeal day by day,
reduced and simplified by the littleness of separate hours and
moments.
In a book of this kind, where the intention is mainly concerned with
character, and for which the reading was inevitably full of bypaths
and excursions, a complete bibliography would merely fill many pages,
while seeming to a great extent to touch but remotely upon the ladies
referred to, but among recent authors a deep debt of gratitude for
information received is due to the following: Jacob Burckhardt, Julia
Cartwright, Augusta Drane, Ferdinand Gregorovius, R. Luzio, E. Renier,
E. Rodoconarchi, and J. Addington Symonds.
Finally, in reference to the portraits included in the life of
Beatrice D'Este, a brief statement is necessary. For not only that of
Bianca, wife of Giangaleazzo, but also those of Il Moro's two
mistresses, Cecilia Gallerani and Lucrezia Crivelli, are regrettably
dubious. The picture of Bianca, however, by Ambrogio da Predis, is
more than likely genuinely that of Bianca, though some writers still
regard it as a likeness of Beatrice herself. It is to be wished that
it were; her prettiness then would have been incontestable and
delicious. But in reality there is no hope. One has but to look at the
other known portraits of Beatrice to see that her face was podgy, or
nearly so, and that her charm came entirely and illusively from
personal intelligence. It evaporated the moment one came to fix her
appearance in sculpture or on canvas. Nature had not really done much
for her. There was no outline, no striking feature, no ravishing
freshness of colouring. On a stupid woman Beatrice's face would have
been absolutely ugly. But she, through sheer "aliveness," sheer
buoyant trickery of expression, conveyed in actuality the equivalent
of prettiness. But it was all unconscious conjuring,--in reality
Beatrice was a plain woman, with sufficient delightfulness to seem a
pretty one, while the portrait of Bianca is unmistakably and lovingly
good-looking.
As regards the portraits, again, of Il Moro's two mistresses, Cecilia
Gallerani and Lucrezia Crivelli, there is no absolute certainty. The
portrait facing page 6 in the life of Beatrice has been recently
discovered in the collection of the Right Hon. the Earl of Roden, and
in an article published by the _Burlington Magazine_ it has been
tentatively looked upon as that of Lucrezia Crivelli. This does not,
however, appear probable, because Lucrezia, at the time of Il Moro's
infatuation, was a young girl, and the picture by Ambrogio da Predis
is certainly that of a woman, and a woman, moreover, whose experiences
have brought her perilously near the verge of cynicism.
At the same time, the portrait is not only beyond doubt that of a
woman loved by Il Moro, but was presumably painted while his affection
for her still continued, as not only are the little heart-shaped
ornaments holding together the webs of her net thought to represent Il
Moro's badge of a mulberry-leaf, but painted exquisitely in a space of
⅜ by ⅝ inch upon the plaque at the waistbelt is a Moor's head,
another of Ludovico's badges, while the letters L. O. are placed on
either side of it, and the two Sforza S. S. at the back. A discarded
mistress, if Ambrogio--one of Il Moro's court painters--had painted
her at all, would have had the discretion not to wear symbols
obviously intended only for one beloved at that moment.
There seems--speculatively--every reason to suppose that the picture
represents Cecilia Gallerani, who was already beyond the charm of
youth before Ludovico reluctantly discarded her, and whom he not only
cared for very greatly, but for quite a number of years. Cecilia
Gallerani, besides, to strengthen the supposition, was an
exceptionally intellectual woman, and the portrait in the possession
of the Earl of Roden expresses above everything to an almost
disheartened intelligence. To think deeply while in the position of
_any_ man's mistress must leave embittering traces, and Cecilia became
famous less even for physical attractions than because her mind was so
intensely rich and receptive.
The other two--the pictures of "La Belle Ferronière" and the "Woman
with the Weasel,"--by Leonardo da Vinci, have both a contested
identity. But since the first is now almost universally looked upon as
being the portrait of Lucrezia Crivelli, the second must surely
represent her also. For in both there is the same beautiful oval, the
same youth, the same unfathomable eyes and gentle deceit of
expression. Both, besides, represent to perfection the kind of
beautiful girl likely to have drawn Ludovico into passionate
admiration. He was no longer young when he cared for Lucrezia, and if
Leonardo's paintings are really portraits of her, she was like some
emblematical figure of perfect youthfulness,--unique and unrepeatable.
M. B. R.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
TO FACE PAGE
BEATRICE AND LUDOVICO KNEELING. ALTAR PIECE BY
ZENALE AT BRERA _Frontispiece_
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Anderson_
STATUE IN WOOD OF ST. CATHERINE, BY NEROCCIO LANDI 2
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Lombardi_
ST. CATHERINE'S HOUSE AT SIENA 16
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Lombardi_
CATHERINE PRAYING AT AN EXECUTION. FRESCO BY SODOMA 18
THE BRIDGE AT PAVIA 61
BEATRICE D'ESTE. BUST IN THE LOUVRE 64
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Levy_
PORTRAIT, PROBABLY OF CECILIA GALLERANI, SAID TO BE BY
AMBROGIO DA PREDIS 90
_From the Collection of the Earl of Roden_
LUCREZIA CRIVELLI, BY LEONARDO DA VINCI 96
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Mansell_
PROBABLE PORTRAIT OF BIANCA SFORZA, WIFE OF GALEAZZO
SANSEVERINO 98
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Mansell_
CHURCH OF ST. MARIA DELLE GRAZIE AT MILAN 100
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Brogi_
EFFIGY OF BEATRICE D'ESTE AT SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM 102
FROM THE CALENDRIER, IN ANNE'S BOOK OF HOURS IN THE
BIBLIOTHÈQUE NATIONALE, PARIS 120
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Berthaud_
ANNE KNEELING. FROM THE BOOK OF HOURS IN THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE
NATIONALE 128
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Berthaud_
ST. URSULA. FROM ANNE'S BOOK OF HOURS IN THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE
NATIONALE 140
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Berthaud_
PROBABLE PORTRAIT OF LUCREZIA IN "ST. CATHERINE AND THE
ELDERS," BY PINTORRICCHIO 152
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Brogi_
VIRGIN AND CHILD, BY PINTORRICCHIO, IN THE HALL OF ARTS
AT THE VATICAN 159
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Anderson_
THE ANNUNCIATION. FROM THE SERIES OF FRESCOES PAINTED
BY PINTORRICCHIO AT THE VATICAN 171
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Anderson_
SUSANNAH AND THE ELDERS. FROM THE SERIES OF FRESCOES
PAINTED BY PINTORRICCHIO AT THE VATICAN 188
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Anderson_
HEAD OF GASTON DE FOIX 206
_From the Monument at Milan_
CHARLES V. 226
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Giraudon_
MARGARET D'ANGOULÊME. FROM A DRAWING AFTER CORNEILLE
DE LYON 248
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Giraudon_
RENÉE OF FERRARA, AGED FIFTEEN, BY CORNEILLE DE LYON 254
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Giraudon_
THE CASTELLO AT FERRARA 260
RENÉE, DUCHESS OF FERRARA. FROM A DRAWING AT THE
BIBLIOTHÈQUE NATIONALE 294
_From a Photograph by Messrs. Giraudon_
QUEENS OF THE RENAISSANCE
CATHERINE OF SIENA
1347-1380
Catherine of Siena does not actually belong to the Renaissance. At the
same time she played an indirect part in furthering it, and she
represented a strain of feeling which continued to the extreme limits
of its duration. During the best period of the desire for culture, a
successor--and imitator--of Catherine's, Sister Lucia, became a craze
in certain parts of Italy. Duke Ercole of Ferrara, then old and
troubled about his soul, took as deep and personal an interest in
enticing her to Ferrara as he did in the details of his son's marriage
to Lucrezia Borgia, just then being negotiated. The atmosphere
Catherine created is never absent from the Renaissance. She fills out
what is one-sided in the impression conveyed by the women who follow.
She was also the contemporary of Petrarch and Boccaccio, the
acknowledged forerunners of the intellectual awakening that came after
them, and being so, is well within the dawn, faint though it still
was, of the coming Renaissance day. Finally, in her own person she
contained so much power and fascination that to omit her, when there
exists the least excuse for inclusion, would be wilfully to neglect
one of the most enchanting characters among the women of Italian
history.
The daughter of a well-to-do tradesman, Giacomo Benincasa, Catherine
was born in Siena in 1347. Her father possessed several pleasant
qualities, and a great reserve of speech, hating inherently all
licence of expression. Catherine's mother, Lapa, on the other hand,
belonged to an ordinary type of working woman--laborious, but
irritable and narrow. She brought twenty-five children into the world,
and her irascibility may have been not unconnected with this heroic
achievement. The sons also, after their marriages, continued to live,
with their wives--it being the custom at that time--under the parental
roof. Even a sociable temperament would easily have found such a
community difficult always to handle cordially.
[Illustration: STATUE IN WOOD OF ST. CATHERINE
BY NEROCCIO LANDI]
Catherine was Benincasa's youngest child. As a baby she proved
extraordinarily attractive. She was, in fact, so sweet and radiant
that the neighbours nicknamed her Euphrosyne, and her little person
was much enticed and humoured. Unfortunately, like all children of
that period, she became bewilderingly precocious, and with the first
development of intelligence, the religious passion revealed itself.
With Catherine the desire for spirituality was inborn. At five years
old she formed the habit of going upstairs on her knees, reciting the
"Hail, Mary," at every step. She delighted in being taken to churches
and places of devotion, and at the age of six years her deliberate and
piteous self-martyrdom commenced.
The child, during an errand on which she was sent, believed herself to
have seen a holy vision. The incident had nothing extraordinary, for
her imagination was keen, and her temperament nervous. In a later
century, fed upon fairy stories, she would have seen gnomes, sprites,
or golden-haired princesses. Instead, saturated in religious legends,
she perceived Jesus Christ in magnificent robes, and with a tiara on
His head, while on each side of Him stood a saint, and several nuns in
white garments. This unchallenged vision produced colossal
consequences. The child went home convinced that God Himself had come
to call her to a better life; proud, frightened, and exultant, she set
her mind to find out, therefore, how she might best become as good as
God wanted her to be.
This beginning of Catherine's religious life is painful to remember.
She decided primarily that she must give up childish amusements; in
addition, she determined to eat the least possible amount of food, and
to fill up her life with penances in the manner of the grown-up holy
men and women about her. She also procured some cord, and, having
knotted it into a miniature scourge, formed the habit of secretly
scourging herself until her back was lined with weals. Describing
these first spiritual struggles of a child of six years old,
Cafferini, her contemporary and biographer, says, "Moreover, by a
secret instinct of grace, she understood that she had now entered on a
warfare with nature, which demanded the mortification of every sense.
She resolved, therefore, to add fasting and watching to her other
penances, and in particular to abstain entirely from meat, so that
when any was placed before her, she either gave it to her brother
Stephen, who sat beside her, or threw it under the table to the cats,
in such a manner as to avoid notice."
This pitiable "warfare with nature" continued until she reached the
age of twelve. Her parents | 2,588.463633 |
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Transcriber's Note
A number of typographical errors have been maintained in this version of
this book. They have been marked with a [TN-#], which refers to a
description in the complete list found at the end of the text.
Inconsistent spelling, hyphenation, and capitalization have been
maintained. A list of inconsistently spelled words is found at the end
of the text.
THE
BATTLE AND THE RUINS
OF CINTLA
BY
DANIEL G. BRINTON, M. D., LL. D., D. Sc.
PROFESSOR OF
AMERICAN ARCHAEOLOGY AND LINGUISTICS IN THE UNIVERSITY
OF PENNSYLVANIA
[REPRINTED FROM THE _AMERICAN ANTIQUARIAN_, SEPTEMBER, 1896]
CHICAGO
1896
THE BATTLE AND THE RUINS OF CINTLA.
BY DANIEL G. BRINTON, M. D.
The first battle on the American continent in which horses were used was
that of Cintla in Tabasco, March, 1519, the European troops being under
the leadership of Hernando Cortes.
This fact attaches something more than an ordinary historic interest to
the engagement, at least enough to make it desirable to ascertain its
precise locality and its proper name. Both of these are in doubt, as
well as the ethnic stock to which the native tribe belonged which
opposed the Spanish soldiery on the occasion. I propose to submit these
questions to a re-examination, and also to describe from unpublished
material the ruins which,--as I believe--, mark the spot of this first
important encounter of the two races on American soil.
The engagement itself has been described by all the historians of
Cortes' famous conquest of Mexico, as it was the first brilliant
incident of that adventure. We have at least four accounts of it from
participants. One prepared under the eye of Cortes himself, one by the
anonymous historian of his expedition, a third by Cortes'
companion-in-arms, the redoubtable Bernal Diaz del Castillo, and a
fourth by Andres de Tapia.[3-1]
The most satisfactory narrative, however, is given by the chaplain of
Cortes, Francisco de Gomara, and I shall briefly rehearse his story,
adding a few points from other contemporary writers.[3-2]
Cortes with his armada cast anchor at the mouth of the River Grijalva in
March, 1519. The current being strong and the bar shallow, he with about
eighty men proceeded in boats up the river for about two miles, when
they descried on the bank a large Indian village. It was surrounded with
a wooden palisade, having turrets and loopholes from which to hurl
stones and darts. The houses within were built of tiles laid in mortar,
or of sun-dried brick (adobes), and were roofed with straw or split
trees. The chief temple had spacious rooms, and its dependences
surrounded a court yard.
The interpreter Aguilar, a Spaniard who had lived with the Mayas in
Yucatan, could readily speak the tongue of the village, which was
therefore a Mayan dialect. The natives told him that the town was named
Potonchan, which Aguilar translated "the place that smells or stinks,"
an etymology probably correct in a general way.
The natives were distrustful, and opposed the landing of the Europeans
rather with words and gestures than with blows. Their warriors
approached Cortes in large boats, called in their tongue _tahucup_, and
refused him permission to land.
After some parleying, Cortes withdrew to an island in the river near by,
and as night drew on, he sent to the ships for reinforcements, and
despatched some of the troops to look for a ford from the island to the
mainland; which they easily found.
The next morning he landed some of his men by the boats, and attacked
the village on the water side, while another detachment crossed the ford
and making a circuit assaulted it in the rear. The Indians were
prepared, having sent their women and children away. They were in number
about four hundred, and made at first a brisk resistance, but being
surprised by the rear assault, soon fled in dismay. No Spaniard was
killed, though many were wounded.
Cortes established himself in the village and landed most of his troops
and ten out of his thirteen horses. When his men were rested and the
injured had had their wounds dressed with fat taken from dead
Indians[4-1] (!) he sent out three detachments on foot to reconnoitre.
After | 2,588.465315 |
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(This file was produced from images generously made
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THE
LAST WORDS OF DISTINGUISHED
MEN AND WOMEN
THE LAST WORDS
(REAL AND TRADITIONAL)
OF DISTINGUISHED
MEN AND WOMEN
COLLECTED FROM VARIOUS SOURCES
BY
FREDERIC ROWLAND MARVIN
The tongues of dying men
Enforce attention like deep harmony;
Where words are scarce they're seldom spent in vain,
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
--_Shakspeare_
NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
1901
Copyright 1901
by
FREDERIC ROWLAND MARVIN
(June)
To my Wife
this Book is most Lovingly
Dedicated
Neither is there anything of which I am so inquisitive, and delight
to inform myself, as the manner of men's deaths, their words, looks,
and bearing; nor any places in history I am so intent upon; and it
is manifest enough, by my crowding in examples of this kind, that I
have a particular fancy for that subject. If I were a writer of
books, I would compile a register, with a comment, of the various
deaths of men: he who should teach men to die, would at the same
time teach them to live.--MONTAIGNE.
Last Words of Distinguished Men and Women.
ADAM (Alexander, Dr., headmaster at the High School in Edinburgh, and
the author of "Roman Antiquities"), 1741-1809. "_It grows dark, boys.
You may go._"
"It grows dark, boys. You may go."
(Thus the master gently said,
Just before, in accents low,
Circling friends moaned, "He is dead.")
Unto him, a setting sun
Tells the school's dismissal hour,
Deeming not that he alone
Deals with evening's dark'ning power.
All his thought is with the boys,
Taught by him in light to grow;
Light withdrawn, and hushed the noise,
Fall the passwords, "You may go."
Go, boys, go, and take your rest;
Weary is the book-worn brain:
Day sinks idly in the west,
Tired of glory, tired of gain.
Careless are the shades that creep
O'er the twilight, to and fro;
Dusk is lost in shadows deep:
_It grows dark, boys. You may go._
_Mary B. Dodge._
ABD-ER-RAHMAN III. (surnamed An-Nasir-Lideen-Illah or Lidinillah, that
is to say, "the defender of the religion of God," eighth Sultan and
first Caliph of Cordova. Under Abd-er-Rahman III. the Mohammedan empire
in Spain attained the height of its glory), 886-961. "_Fifty years have
passed since I became Caliph. Riches, honors, pleasures--I have enjoyed
all. In this long time of seeming happiness I have numbered the days on
which I have been happy. Fourteen._" Though these sad words correctly
express the spirit of the man who is reported to have spoken them, they
are purely traditional.
ADAMS (John, second President of the United States), 1735-1826.
"_Independence forever!_"
He died on the Fourth of July, the anniversary of the Declaration of
Independence; and it is thought that his last words were suggested by
the noise of the celebration. Some say his last words were, "Jefferson
survives;" if so, he was mistaken, for Jefferson passed away at an
earlier hour the same day.
ADAMS (John Quincy, sixth President of the United States), 1767-1848.
"_It is the last of earth! I am content!_" On the twenty-first of
February, 1848, while in his seat in the Capitol, he was struck with
paralysis, and died two days later.
ADDISON (Joseph, poet and essayist), 1672-1719. "_See in what peace a
Christian can die!_" These words were addressed to Lord Warwick, an
accomplished but dissolute youth, to whom Addison was nearly related.
ADRIAN or HADRIAN (Publius AElius, the Roman Emperor), 76-138. "_O my
poor soul, whither art thou going?_"
Adrian wrote both in Greek and Latin. Among his Latin poems (preserved
by Spartianus, who wrote his life), are these lines addressed to his own
soul:
Animula vagula blandula,
Hospes comesque corporis,
Quae nunc abibis in loca?
Pallidula, rigida, nudula,
Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos.
Soul of me! floating and flitting, and fond!
Thou and this body were house-mates together;
Wilt thou begone now, and whither?
Pallid, and naked, and cold;
Not to laugh, nor be glad, as of old.
Adrian is known in history as one of the greatest of the Roman Emperors.
It is hardly too much to say that, by his progress through all the
provinces and his policy of peace, he was the consolidater of the empire
founded a century and a half before by Augustus. He was the author of
the Roman Wall between England and Scotland; he beautified the city of
Athens; he founded the modern Adrianople; he built for his own mausoleum
what is now the Castle of St. Anglo at Rome. He was also a patron of
the fine arts and of literature.
Of the famous lines, "The Dying Adrian's Address to His Soul," no fewer
than one hundred and sixteen translations into English have been
collected, the translators including Pope, Prior, Byron, Dean Merivale,
and the late Earl of Carnarvon. It should be added that Pope's familiar
version, beginning "Vital spark of heav'nly flame," is a paraphrase
rather than a translation. I quote Prior's version:
"Poor little, quivering, fluttering thing,
Must we no longer live together?
And dost thou prune thy trembling wing,
To take thy flight thou know'st not whither?
"Thy humorous vein, thy pleasing folly
Lie all neglected, all forgot:
And pensive, wavering, melancholy,
Thou dread'st and hop'st thou know'st not what."
This is the only certain composition of Adrian that has been preserved,
though he is reported to have attempted many forms of literature. The
authenticity of a letter ascribed to him with a reference to the
Christians, is open to grave doubt. But now the sands of Egypt, which
are daily yielding up so many secrets of antiquity, have given us what
purports to be a private letter addressed by the Emperor Adrian to his
successor, Antoninus Pius, and--what is more interesting--it is written,
like the address to his soul, in view of his approaching death.
Unfortunately the papyrus is very fragmentary, but its general meaning
seems clear. We have evidently only the commencement of an elaborate
epistle. After the assertion that his death is neither unexpected, nor
lamentable, nor unreasonable, he says that he is prepared to die, though
he misses his correspondent's presence and loving care. He goes on:
"I do not intend to give the conventional reasons of philosophy for this
attitude, but to make a plain statement of facts.... My father by birth
died at the age of forty, a private person, so that I have lived more
than half as long again as my father, and have reached about the same
age as that of my mother when she died."
All this accords with the known facts about Adrian. He died at the age
of sixty-two, after a long illness, during which he was assiduously
tended by Antoninus. Just before the end he withdrew to Baiae, leaving
Antoninus in charge at Rome. His father had died when his son was ten
years old; of his mother we know nothing. _Prima facie_, there is no
improbability that letters of Adrian should be in circulation in Egypt,
which he visited at least once. His freedman Phlegon is reported to have
published a collection of them after his death.
On the other hand, it should be frankly admitted that some suspicious
circumstances attach to the letter. Of the antiquity of the papyrus
there is no doubt, for the handwriting cannot be later than the end of
the second century A. D., bringing it within sixty years (at farthest)
from Adrian's death. But it is written as a school exercise on the back
of a taxing-list, which naturally gives rise to the suspicion that it
may be merely the composition of the schoolmaster. The actual form of
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MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, 1566-1574, Complete
THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
VOLUME 2, Book 1., 1566
1566 [CHAPTER VIII.]
Secret policy of the government--Berghen and Montigny in Spain--
Debates at Segovia--Correspondence of the Duchess with Philip--
Procrastination and dissimulation of the King--Secret communication
to the Pope--Effect in the provinces of the King's letters to the
government--Secret instructions to the Duchess--Desponding
statements of Margaret--Her misrepresentations concerning Orange,
Egmont, and others--Wrath and duplicity of Philip--Egmont's
exertions in Flanders--Orange returns to Antwerp--His tolerant
spirit--Agreement of 2d September--Horn at Tournay--Excavations in
the Cathedral--Almost universal attendance at the preaching--
Building of temples commenced--Difficult position of Horn--Preaching
in the Clothiers' Hall--Horn recalled--Noircarmes at Tournay--
Friendly correspondence of Margaret with Orange, Egmont, Horn, and
Hoogstraaten--Her secret defamation of these persons.
Egmont in Flanders, Orange at Antwerp, Horn at Tournay; Hoogstraaten at
Mechlin, were exerting themselves to suppress insurrection and to avert
ruin. What, meanwhile, was the policy of the government? The secret
course pursued both at Brussels and at Madrid may be condensed into the
usual formula--dissimulation, procrastination, and again dissimulation.
It is at this point necessary to take a rapid survey of the open and the
secret proceedings of the King and his representatives from the moment at
which Berghen and Montigny arrived in Madrid. Those ill-fated gentlemen
had been received with apparent cordiality, and admitted to frequent, but
unmeaning, interviews with his Majesty. The current upon which they were
embarked was deep and treacherous, but it was smooth and very slow. They
assured the King that his letters, ordering the rigorous execution of the
inquisition and edicts, had engendered all the evils under which the
provinces were laboring. They told him that Spaniards and tools of
Spaniards had attempted to govern the country, to the exclusion of native
citizens and nobles, but that it would soon be found that Netherlanders
were not to be trodden upon like the abject inhabitants of Milan, Naples,
and Sicily. Such words as these struck with an unaccustomed sound upon
the royal ear, but the envoys, who were both Catholic and loyal, had no
idea, in thus expressing their opinions, according to their sense of
duty, and in obedience to the King's desire, upon the causes of the
discontent, that they were committing an act of high treason.
When the news of the public preaching reached Spain, there were almost
daily consultations at the grove of Segovia. The eminent personages who
composed the royal council were the Duke of Alva, the Count de Feria, Don
Antonio de Toledo, Don Juan Manrique de Lara, Ruy Gomez, Quixada,
Councillor Tisnacq, recently appointed President of the State Council,
and Councillor Hopper. Six Spaniards and two Netherlanders, one of whom,
too, a man of dull intellect and thoroughly subservient character, to
deal with the local affairs of the Netherlands in a time of intense
excitement! The instructions of the envoys had been to represent the
necessity of according three great points--abolition of the inquisition,
moderation of the edicts, according to the draft prepared in Brussels,
and an ample pardon for past transactions. There was much debate upon all
these propositions. Philip said little, but he listened attentively to
the long discourses in council, and he took an incredible quantity of
notes. It was the general opinion that this last demand on the part of
the Netherlanders was the fourth link in the chain of treason. The first
had been the cabal by which Granvelle had been expelled; the second, the
mission of Egmont, the main object of which had been to procure a
modification of the state council, in order to bring that body under the
control of a few haughty and rebellious nobles; the third had been the
presentation of the insolent and seditious Request; and now, to crown the
whole, came a proposition embodying the three points--abolition of the
inquisition, revocation of the edicts, and a pardon to criminals, for
whom death was the only sufficient punishment.
With regard to these three points, it was, after much wrangling, decided
to grant them under certain restrictions. To abolish the inquisition
would be to remove the only instrument by which the Church had been
accustomed to regulate the consciences and the doctrines of its subjects.
It would be equivalent to a concession of religious freedom, at least to
individuals within their own domiciles, than which no concession could be
more pernicious. Nevertheless, it might be advisable to permit the
temporary cessation of the papal inquisition, now that the episcopal
inquisition had been so much enlarged and strengthened in the
Netherlands, on the condition that this branch of the institution should
be maintained in energetic condition. With regard to the Moderation, it
was thought better to defer that matter till, the proposed visit of his
Majesty to the provinces. If, however, the Regent should think it
absolutely necessary to make a change, she must cause a new draft to be
made, as that which had been sent was not found admissible. Touching the
pardon general, it would be necessary to make many conditions and
restrictions before it could be granted. Provided these were sufficiently
minute to exclude all persons whom it might be found desirable to
chastise, the amnesty was possible. Otherwise it was quite out of the
question.
Meantime, Margaret of Parma had been urging her brother to come to a
decision, painting the distracted condition of the country in the
liveliest colors, and insisting, although perfectly aware of Philip's
private sentiments, upon a favorable decision as to the three points
demanded by the envoys. Especially she urged her incapacity to resist any
rebellion, and demanded succor of men and money in case the "Moderation"
were not accepted by his Majesty.
It was the last day of July before the King wrote at all, to communicate
his decisions upon the crisis which had occurred in the first week of
April. The disorder for which he had finally prepared a prescription had,
before his letter arrived, already passed through its subsequent stages
of the field-preaching and the image-breaking. Of course these fresh
symptoms would require much consultation, pondering, and note-taking
before they could be dealt with. In the mean time they would be
considered as not yet having happened. This was the masterly
procrastination of the sovereign, when his provinces were in a blaze.
His masterly dissimulation was employed in the direction suggested by his
councillors. Philip never originated a thought, nor laid down a plan, but
he was ever true to the falsehood of his nature, and was indefatigable in
following out the suggestions of others. No greater mistake can be made
than to ascribe talent to this plodding and pedantic monarch. The man's
intellect was contemptible, but malignity and duplicity, almost
superhuman; have effectually lifted his character out of the regions of
the common-place. He wrote accordingly to say that the pardon, under
certain conditions, might be granted, and that the papal inquisition
might cease--the bishops now being present in such numbers, "to take care
of their flocks," and the episcopal inquisition being, therefore
established upon so secure a basis. He added, that if a moderation of the
edicts were still desired, a new project might be sent to Madrid, as the
one brought by Berghen and Montigny was not satisfactory. In arranging
this wonderful scheme for composing the tumults of the country, which had
grown out of a determined rebellion to the inquisition in any form, he
followed not only the advice, but adopted the exact language of his
councillors.
Certainly, here was not much encouragement for patriotic hearts in the
Netherlands. A pardon, so restricted that none were likely to be forgiven
save those who had done no wrong; an episcopal inquisition stimulated to
renewed exertions, on the ground that the papal functionaries were to be
discharged; and a promise that, although the proposed Moderation of the
edicts seemed too mild for the monarch's acceptance, yet at some future
period another project would be matured for settling the matter to
universal satisfaction--such were the propositions of the Crown.
Nevertheless, Philip thought he had gone too far, even in administering
this meagre amount of mercy, and that he had been too frank in employing
so slender a deception, as in the scheme thus sketched. He therefore
summoned a notary, before whom, in presence of the Duke of Alva, the
Licentiate Menchaca and Dr. Velasco, he declared that, although he had
just authorized Margaret of Parma, by force of circumstances, to grant
pardon to all those who had been compromised in the late disturbances of
the Netherlands, yet as he had not done this spontaneously nor freely, he
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
OLIVER TWIST,
Or, The Parish Boy's Progress
By Charles Dickens
CONTENTS
I TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE
CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH
II TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST'S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD
III RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE WHICH
WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE
IV OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY INTO
PUBLIC LIFE
V OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A FUNERAL FOR THE
FIRST TIME, HE FORMS AN UNFAVOURABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER'S
BUSINESS
VI OLIVER, BEING GOADED BY THE TAUNTS OF NOAH, ROUSES INTO ACTION,
AND RATHER ASTONISHES HIM
VII OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY
VIII OLIVER WALKS TO LONDON. HE ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD A STRANGE
SORT OF YOUNG GENTLEMAN
IX CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD
GENTLEMAN, AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS
X OLIVER BECOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHARACTERS OF HIS NEW
ASSOCIATES; AND PURCHASES EXPERIENCE AT A HIGH PRICE. BEING A
SHORT, BUT VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER, IN THIS HISTORY
XI TREATS OF MR. FANG THE POLICE MAGISTRATE; AND FURNISHES A
SLIGHT SPECIMEN OF HIS MODE OF ADMINISTERING JUSTICE
XII IN WHICH OLIVER IS TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THAN HE EVER WAS
BEFORE. AND IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE REVERTS TO THE MERRY OLD
GENTLEMAN AND HIS YOUTHFUL FRIENDS.
XIII SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE INTELLIGENT READER,
CONNECTED WITH WHOM VARIOUS PLEASANT MATTERS ARE RELATED,
APPERTAINING TO THIS HISTORY
XIV COMPRISING FURTHER PARTICULARS OF OLIVER'S STAY AT MR.
BROWNLOW'S, WITH THE REMARKABLE PREDICTION WHICH ONE MR. GRIMWIG
UTTERED CONCERNING HIM, WHEN HE WENT OUT ON AN ERRAND
XV SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND
MISS NANCY WERE
XVI RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN CLAIMED
BY NANCY
XVII OLIVER'S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN TO
LONDON TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION
XVIII HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME IN THE IMPROVING SOCIETY OF HIS
REPUTABLE FRIENDS
XIX IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN IS DISCUSSED AND DETERMINED ON
XX WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED OVER TO MR. WILLIAM SIKES
XXI THE EXPEDITION
XXII THE BURGLARY
XXIII WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION BETWEEN
MR. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE MAY BE
SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME POINTS
XXIV TREATS ON A VERY POOR SUBJECT. BUT IS A SHORT ONE, AND MAY BE
FOUND OF IMPORTANCE IN THIS HISTORY
XXV WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO MR. FAGIN AND COMPANY
XXVI IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE; AND MANY
THINGS, INSEPARABLE FROM THIS HISTORY, ARE DONE AND PERFORMED
XXVII ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER; WHICH DESERTED
A LADY, MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY
XXVIII LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES
XXIX HAS AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE INMATES OF THE HOUSE, TO
WHICH OLIVER RESORTED
XXX RELATES WHAT OLIVER'S NEW VISITORS THOUGHT OF HIM
XXXI INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION
XXXII OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND FRIENDS
XXXIII WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPERIENCES A
SUDDEN CHECK
XXXIV CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO A YOUNG
GENTLEMAN WHO NOW ARRIVES UPON THE SCENE; AND A NEW ADVENTURE
WHICH HAPPENED TO OLIVER
XXXV CONTAINING THE UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER'S ADVENTURE; AND
A CONVERSATION OF SOME IMPORTANCE BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND ROSE
XXXVI IS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN
ITS PLACE, BUT IT SHOULD BE READ NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL
TO THE LAST, AND A KEY TO ONE THAT WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME
ARRIVES
XXXVII IN WHICH THE READER MAY PERCEIVE A CONTRAST, NOT UNCOMMON IN
MATRIMONIAL CASES
XXXVIII CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR. AND MRS.
BUMBLE, AND MR. MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNAL INTERVIEW
XXXIX INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE CHARACTERS WITH WHOM THE READER IS
ALREADY ACQUAINTED, AND SHOWS HOW MONKS AND THE JEW LAID THEIR
WORTHY HEADS TOGETHER
XL A STRANGE INTERVIEW, WHICH IS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST CHAMBER
XLI CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT SUPRISES, LIKE
MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE
XLII AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER'S, EXHIBITING DECIDED MARKS OF
GENIUS, BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER IN THE METROPOLIS
XLIII WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO TROUBLE
XLIV THE TIME ARRIVES FOR NANCY TO REDEEM HER PLEDGE TO ROSE MAYLIE.
SHE FAILS.
XLV NOAH CLAYPOLE IS EMPLOYED BY FAGIN ON A SECRET MISSION
XLVI THE APPOINTMENT KEPT
XLVII FATAL CONSEQUENCES
XLVIII THE FLIGHT OF SIKES
XLIX MONKS AND MR. BROWNLOW AT LENGTH MEET. THEIR CONVERSATION,
AND THE INTELLIGENCE THAT INTERRUPTS IT
L THE PURSUIT AND ESCAPE
LI AFFORDING AN EXPLANATION OF MORE MYSTERIES THAN ONE, AND
COMPREHENDING A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE WITH NO WORD OF SETTLEMENT
OR PIN-MONEY
LII FAGIN'S LAST NIGHT ALIVE
LIII AND LAST
CHAPTER I -- TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF
THE CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH
Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many
reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which
I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common
to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this
workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble
myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence
to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item
of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter.
For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and
trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable
doubt whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in
which case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs
would never have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised
within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the inestimable
merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography,
extant in the literature of any age or country.
Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a
workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance
that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in
this particular instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist
that could by possibility have occurred. The fact is, that there was
considerable difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon himself the
office of respiration,--a troublesome practice, but one which custom
has rendered necessary to our easy existence; and for some time
he lay gasping on a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised
between this world and the next: the balance being decidedly in
favour of the latter. Now, if, during this brief period, Oliver had
been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced
nurses, and doctors of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably
and indubitably have been killed in no time. There being nobody by,
however, but a pauper old woman, who was rendered rather misty by
an unwonted allowance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such
matters by contract; Oliver and Nature fought out the point between
them. The result was, that, after a few struggles, Oliver breathed,
sneezed, and proceeded to advertise to the inmates of the workhouse
the fact of a new burden having been imposed upon the parish, by
setting up as loud a cry as could reasonably have been expected
from a male infant who had not been possessed of that very useful
appendage, a voice, for a much longer space of time than three
minutes and a quarter.
As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of his
lungs, the patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung over the
iron bedstead, rustled; the pale face of a young woman was raised
feebly from the pillow; and a faint voice imperfectly articulated
the words, 'Let me see the child, and die.'
The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the fire:
giving the palms of his hands a warm and a rub alternately. As the
young woman spoke, he rose, and advancing to the bed's head, said,
with more kindness than might have been expected of him:
'Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.'
'Lor bless her dear heart, no!' interposed the nurse, hastily
depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of which
she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction.
'Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have,
sir, and had thirteen children of her own, and all on 'em dead
except two, and them in the wurkus with me, she'll know better than
to take on in that way, bless her dear heart! Think what it is to be
a mother, there's a dear young lamb do.'
Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother's prospects
failed in producing its due effect. The patient shook her head, and
stretched out her hand towards the child.
The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold white
lips passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over her face;
gazed wildly round; shuddered; fell back--and died. They chafed her
breast, hands, and temples; but the blood had stopped forever. They
talked of hope and comfort. They had been strangers too long.
'It's all over, Mrs. Thingummy!' said the surgeon at last.
'Ah, poor dear, so it is!' said the nurse, picking up the cork of
the green bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, as she stooped
to take up the child. 'Poor dear!'
'You needn't mind sending up to me, if the child cries, nurse,' said
the surgeon, putting on his gloves with great deliberation. 'It's
very likely it _will_ be troublesome. Give it a little gruel if it
is.' He put on his hat, and, pausing by the bed-side on his way to
the door, added, 'She was a good-looking girl, too; where did she
come from?'
'She was brought here last night,' replied the old woman, 'by the
overseer's order. She was found lying in the street. She had walked
some distance, for her shoes were worn to pieces; but where she came
from, or where she was going to, nobody knows.'
The surgeon leaned over the body, and raised the left hand. 'The
old story,' he said, shaking his head: 'no wedding-ring, I see. Ah!
Good-night!'
The medical gentleman walked away to dinner; and the nurse, having
once more applied herself to the green bottle, sat down on a low
chair before the fire, and proceeded to dress the infant.
What an excellent example of the power of dress, young Oliver Twist
was! Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his only
covering, he might have been the child of a nobleman or a beggar;
it would have been hard for the haughtiest stranger to have assigned
him his proper station in society. But now that he was enveloped in
the old calico robes which had grown yellow in the same service, he
was badged and ticketed, and fell into his place at once--a
parish child--the orphan of a workhouse--the humble, half-starved
drudge--to be cuffed and buffeted through the world--despised by
all, and pitied by none.
Oliver cried lustily. If he could have known that he was an orphan,
left to the tender mercies of church-wardens and overseers, perhaps
he would have cried the louder.
CHAPTER II -- TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST'S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD
For the next eight or ten months, Oliver was the victim of a
systematic course of treachery and deception. He was brought up by
hand. The hungry and destitute situation of the infant orphan
was duly reported by the workhouse authorities to the parish
authorities. The parish authorities inquired with dignity of the
workhouse authorities, whether there was no female then domiciled
in 'the house' who was in a situation to impart to Oliver Twist, the
consolation and nourishment of which he stood in need. The workhouse
authorities replied with humility, that there was not. Upon this,
the parish authorities magnanimously and humanely resolved, that
Oliver should be 'farmed,' or, in other words, that he should be
dispatched to a branch-workhouse some three miles off, where twenty
or thirty other juvenile offenders against the poor-laws, rolled
about the floor all day, without the inconvenience of too much
food or too much clothing, under the parental superintendence of
an elderly female, who received the culprits at and for the
consideration of sevenpence-halfpenny per small head per week.
Sevenpence-halfpenny's worth per week is a good round diet for
a child; a great deal may be got for sevenpence-halfpenny, quite
enough to overload its stomach, and make it uncomfortable. The
elderly female was a woman of wisdom and experience; she knew what
was good for children; and she had a very accurate perception of
what was good for herself. So, she appropriated the greater part
of the weekly stipend to her own use, and consigned the rising
parochial generation to even a shorter allowance than was originally
provided for them. Thereby finding in the lowest depth a deeper
still; and proving herself a very great experimental philosopher.
Everybody knows the story of another experimental philosopher who
had a great theory about a horse being able to live without eating,
and who demonstrated it so well, that he had got his own horse down
to a straw a day, and would unquestionably have rendered him a very
spirited and rampacious animal on nothing at all, if he had not
died, four-and-twenty hours before he was to have had his first
comfortable bait of air. Unfortunately for, the experimental
philosophy of the female to whose protecting care Oliver Twist was
delivered over, a similar result usually attended the operation of
_her_ system; for at the very moment when the child had contrived
to exist upon the smallest possible portion of the weakest possible
food, it did perversely happen in eight and a half cases out of ten,
either that it sickened from want and cold, or fell into the fire
from neglect, or got half-smothered by accident; in any one of which
cases, the miserable little being was usually summoned into another
world, and there gathered to the fathers it had never known in this.
Occasionally, when there was some more than usually interesting
inquest upon a parish child who had been overlooked in turning up a
bedstead, or inadvertently scalded to death when there happened to
be a washing--though the latter accident was very scarce, anything
approaching to a washing being of rare occurrence in the farm--the
jury would take it into their heads to ask troublesome questions,
or the parishioners would rebelliously affix their signatures to a
remonstrance. But these impertinences were speedily checked by the
evidence of the surgeon, and the testimony of the beadle; the former
of whom had always opened the body and found nothing inside (which
was very probable indeed), and the latter of whom invariably swore
whatever the parish wanted; which was very self-devotional. Besides,
the board made periodical pilgrimages to the farm, and always sent
the beadle the day before, to say they were going. The children were
neat and clean to behold, when _they_ went; and what more would the
people have!
It cannot be expected that this system of farming would produce any
very extraordinary or luxuriant crop. Oliver Twist's ninth birthday
found him a pale thin child, somewhat diminutive in stature, and
decidedly small in circumference. But nature or inheritance had
implanted a good sturdy spirit in Oliver's breast. It had had plenty
of room to expand, thanks to the spare diet of the establishment;
and perhaps to this circumstance may be attributed his having any
ninth birth-day at all. Be this as it may, however, it was his ninth
birthday; and he was keeping it in the coal-cellar with a select
party of two other young gentleman, who, after participating
with him in a sound thrashing, had been locked up for atrociously
presuming to be hungry, when Mrs. Mann, the good lady of the house,
was unexpectedly startled by the apparition of Mr. Bumble, the
beadle, striving to undo the wicket of the garden-gate.
'Goodness gracious! Is that you, Mr. Bumble, sir?' said Mrs. Mann,
thrusting her head out of the window in well-affected ecstasies of
joy. '(Susan, take Oliver and them two brats upstairs, and wash 'em
directly.)--My heart alive! Mr. Bumble, how glad I am to see you,
sure-ly!'
Now, Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric; so, instead of
responding to this open-hearted salutation in a kindred spirit, he
gave the little wicket a tremendous shake, and then bestowed upon it
a kick which could have emanated from no leg but a beadle's.
'Lor, only think,' said Mrs. Mann, running out,--for the three boys
had been removed by this time,--'only think of that! That I should
have forgotten that the gate was bolted on the inside, on account
of them dear children! Walk in sir; walk in, pray, Mr. Bumble, do,
sir.'
Although this invitation was accompanied with a curtsey that might
have softened the heart of a church-warden, it by no means mollified
the beadle.
'Do you think this respectful or proper conduct, Mrs. Mann,'
inquired Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane, 'to keep the parish officers
a waiting at your garden-gate, when they come here upon porochial
business with the porochial orphans? Are you aweer, Mrs. Mann, that
you are, as I may say, a porochial delegate, and a stipendiary?'
'I'm sure Mr. Bumble, that I was only a telling one or two of the
dear children as is so fond of you, that it was you a coming,'
replied Mrs. Mann with great humility.
Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical powers and his
importance. He had displayed the one, and vindicated the other. He
relaxed.
'Well, well, Mrs. Mann,' he replied in a calmer tone; 'it may be
as you say; it may be. Lead the way in, Mrs. Mann, for I come on
business, and have something to say.'
Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlour with a brick
floor; placed a seat for him; and officiously deposited his cocked
hat and cane on the table before him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his
forehead the perspiration which his walk had engendered, glanced
complacently at the cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled. Beadles
are but men: and Mr. Bumble smiled.
'Now don't you be offended at what I'm a going to say,' observed
Mrs. Mann, with captivating sweetness. 'You've had a long walk, you
know, or I wouldn't mention it. Now, will you take a little drop of
somethink, Mr. Bumble?'
'Not a drop. Nor a drop,' said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in
a dignified, but placid manner.
'I think you will,' said Mrs. Mann, who had noticed the tone of the
refusal, and the gesture that had accompanied it. 'Just a leetle
drop, with a little cold water, and a lump of sugar.'
Mr. Bumble coughed.
'Now, just a leetle drop,' said Mrs. Mann persuasively.
'What is it?' inquired the beadle.
'Why, it's what I'm obliged to keep a little of in the house, to put
into the blessed infants' Daffy, when they ain't well, Mr. Bumble,'
replied Mrs. Mann as she opened a corner cupboard, and took down a
bottle and glass. 'It's gin. I'll not deceive you, Mr. B. It's gin.'
'Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann?' inquired Bumble,
following with his eyes the interesting process of mixing.
'Ah, bless 'em, that I do, dear as it is,' replied the nurse. 'I
couldn't see 'em suffer before my very eyes, you know sir.'
'No'; said Mr. Bumble approvingly; 'no, you could not. You are a
humane woman, Mrs. Mann.' (Here she set down the glass.) 'I shall
take a early opportunity of mentioning it to the board, Mrs. Mann.'
(He drew it towards him.) 'You feel as a mother, Mrs. Mann.'
(He stirred the gin-and-water.) 'I--I drink your health with
cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann'; and he swallowed half of it.
'And now about business,' said the beadle, taking out a leathern
pocket-book. 'The child that was half-baptized Oliver Twist, is nine
year old to-day.'
'Bless him!' interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the
corner of her apron.
'And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which was
afterwards increased to twenty pound. Notwithstanding the most
superlative, and, I may say, supernat'ral exertions on the part of
this parish,' said Bumble, 'we have never been able to discover
who is his father, or what was his mother's settlement, name, or
condition.'
Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a
moment's reflection, 'How comes he to have any name at all, then?'
The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, 'I inwented
it.'
'You, Mr. Bumble!'
'I, Mrs. Mann. We name our fondlings in alphabetical order. The last
was a S,--Swubble, I named him. This was a T,--Twist, I named _him_.
The next one comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got
names ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through
it again, when we come to Z.'
'Why, you're quite a literary character, sir!' said Mrs. Mann.
'Well, well,' said the beadle, evidently gratified with the
compliment; 'perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann.' He
finished the gin-and-water, and added, 'Oliver being now too old
to remain here, the board have determined to have him back into the
house. I have come out myself to take him there. So let me see him
at once.'
'I'll fetch him directly,' said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for that
purpose. Oliver, having had by this time as much of the outer coat
of dirt which encrusted his face and hands, removed, as could be
scrubbed off in one washing, was led into the room by his benevolent
protectress.
'Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,' said Mrs. Mann.
Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the
chair, and the cocked hat on the table.
'Will you go along with me, Oliver?' said Mr. Bumble, in a majestic
voice.
Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with
great readiness, when, glancing upward, he caught sight of Mrs.
Mann, who had got behind the beadle's chair, and was shaking her
fist at him with a furious countenance. He took the hint at once,
for the fist had been too often impressed upon his body not to be
deeply impressed upon his recollection.
'Will she go with me?' inquired poor Oliver.
'No, she can't,' replied Mr. Bumble. 'But she'll come and see you
sometimes.'
This was no very great consolation to the child. Young as he was,
however, he had sense enough to make a feint of feeling great regret
at going away. It was no very difficult matter for the boy to
call tears into his eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are great
assistants if you want to cry; and Oliver cried very naturally
indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a thousand embraces, and what Oliver
wanted a great deal more, a piece of bread and butter, less he
should seem too hungry when he got to the workhouse. With the slice
of bread in his hand, and the little brown-cloth parish cap on his
head, Oliver was then led away by Mr. Bumble from the wretched
home where one kind word or look had never lighted the gloom of his
infant years. And yet | 2,588.87907 |
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CORLEONE
THE NOVELS OF F. MARION CRAWFORD.
_New Uniform Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. each._
MR. ISAACS: A Tale of Modern India.
DOCTOR CLAUDIUS: A True Story.
ROMAN SINGER.
ZOROASTER.
TALE OF A LONELY PARISH.
KHALED: A Tale of Arabia.
WITCH OF PRAGUE.
THREE FATES.
MARION DARCHE: A Story without Comment.
CHILDREN OF THE KING.
KATHERINE LAUDERDALE.
MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX.
PAUL PATOFF.
WITH THE IMMORTALS.
GREIFENSTEIN.
SANT' ILARIO.
CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE.
PIETRO GHISLERI.
DON ORSINO.
RALSTONS.
CASA BRACCIO.
ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON.
ROSE OF YESTERDAY.
TAQUISARA. A Novel.
CORLEONE.
VIA CRUCIS. A Romance of the Second Crusade. Crown 8vo. 6s.
IN THE PALACE OF THE KING. Crown 8vo. 6s.
MARIETTA: A Maid of Venice. Crown 8vo. 6s.
WHOSOEVER SHALL OFFEND. Crown 8vo. 6s.
THE HEART OF ROME: A Tale of the "Lost Water." Crown 8vo. 6s.
CECILIA: A Story of Modern Rome. Crown 8vo. 6s.
LOVE IN IDLENESS. A Bar Harbour Tale. Fcap. 8vo. 2s.
MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON.
CORLEONE
A Tale of Sicily
BY F. MARION CRAWFORD
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1905
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT
1896
BY
F. MARION CRAWFORD
_First Edition (2 Vols. Globe 8vo) 1897_
_Second Edition (Crown 8vo) 1898_
_Reprinted 1902, 1905_
CHAPTER I
'If you never mean to marry, you might as well turn priest, too,' said
Ippolito Saracinesca to his elder brother, Orsino, with a laugh.
'Why?' asked Orsino, without a smile. 'It would be as sensible to say
that a man who had never seen some particular thing, about which he has
heard much, might as well put out his eyes.'
The young priest laughed again, took up the cigar he had laid upon the
edge of the piano, puffed at it till it burned freely, and then struck
two or three chords of a modulation. A sheet of ruled paper on which
several staves of music were roughly jotted down in pencil stood on the
rack of the instrument.
Orsino stretched out his long legs, leaned back in his low chair, and
stared at the old gilded rosettes in the square divisions of the carved
ceiling. He was a discontented man, and knew it, which made his
discontent a matter for self-reproach, especially as it was quite clear
to him that the cause of it lay in himself.
He had made two great mistakes at the beginning of life, when barely of
age, and though neither of them had ultimately produced any serious
material consequences, they had affected his naturally melancholic
temper and had brought out his inherited hardness of disposition. At the
time of the great building speculations in Rome, several years earlier,
he had foolishly involved himself with his father's old enemy, Ugo del
Ferice, and had found himself at last altogether in the latter's power,
though not in reality his debtor. At the same time, he had fallen very
much in love with a young widow, who, loving him very sincerely in her
turn, but believing, for many reasons, that if she married him she would
be doing him an irreparable injury, had sacrificed herself by marrying
Del Ferice instead, selling herself to the banker for Orsino's release,
without the latter's knowledge. When it was all over, Orsino had found
himself a disappointed man at an age when most young fellows are little
more than inexperienced boys, and the serious disposition which he
inherited from his mother made it impossible for him to throw off the
impression received, and claim the youth, so to speak, which was still
his.
Since that time, he had been attracted by women, but never charmed; and
those that attracted him were for the most part not marriageable, any
more than the few things which sometimes interested and amused him were
in any sense profitable. He spent a good deal of money in a careless
way, for his father was generous; but his rather bitter experience when
he had attempted to occupy himself with business had made him cool and
clear-headed, so that he never did anything at all ruinous. The hot
temper which he had inherited from his father and grandfather now
rarely, if ever, showed itself, and it seemed as though nothing could
break through the quiet indifference which had become a second outward
nature to him. He had travelled much, of late years, and when he made an
effort his conversation was not uninteresting, though the habit of
looking at both sides of every question made it cold and unenthusiastic.
Perhaps it was a hopeful sign that he generally had a definite opinion
as to which of two views he preferred, though he would not take any
trouble to convince others that he was right.
In his own family, he liked the company of Ippolito best. The latter was
about two years younger than he, and very different from him in almost
every way. Orsino was tall, strongly built, extremely dark; Ippolito was
of medium height, delicately made, and almost fair by comparison. Orsino
had lean brown hands, well knit at the base, and broad at the knuckles;
Ippolito's were slender and white, and rather nervous, with blue veins
at the joints, the tips of the fingers pointed, the thumb unusually
delicate and long, the nails naturally polished. The elder brother's
face, with its large and energetic lines, its gravely indifferent
expression and dusky olive hue, contrasted at every point with the
features of the young priest, soft in outline, modelled in wax rather
than chiselled in bronze, pale and a little transparent, instead of
swarthy,--feminine, perhaps, in the best sense of the word, as it can be
applied to a man. Ippolito had the clear, soft brown eyes which very
gifted people so often have, especially musicians and painters of more
talent than power. But about the fine, even, and rather pale lips there
was the unmistakable stamp of the ascetic temperament, together with an
equally sure indication of a witty humour which could be keen, but would
rather be gentle. Ippolito was said to resemble his mother's mother, and
was notably different in appearance and manner from the rest of the
numerous family to which he belonged.
He was a priest by vocation rather than by choice. Had he chosen
deliberately a profession congenial to his gifts, he would certainly
have devoted himself altogether to music, though he would probably never
have become famous as a composer; for he lacked the rough creative power
which hews out great conceptions, though he possessed in a high degree
the taste and skill which can lightly and lovingly and wisely impart
fine detail to the broad beauty of a well-planned whole. But by vocation
he was a priest, and the strength of the conviction of his conscience
left the gifts of his artistic intelligence no power to choose. He was a
churchman with all his soul, and a musician with all his heart.
Between the two brothers there was that sort of close friendship which
sometimes exists between persons who are too wholly different to
understand each other, but whose non-understanding is a constant
stimulant of interest on both sides. In the midst of the large and
peaceable patriarchal establishment in which they lived, and in which
each member made for himself or herself an existence which had in it a
certain subdued individuality, Orsino and Ippolito were particularly
associated, and the priest, when he was at home, was generally to be
found in his elder brother's sitting-room, and kept a good many of his
possessions there.
It was a big room, with an old carved and gilded ceiling, three tall
windows opening to the floor, two doors, a marble fireplace, a thick old
carpet, and a great deal of furniture of many old and new designs,
arranged with no regard to anything except usefulness, since Orsino was
not afflicted with artistic tastes, nor with any undue appreciation of
useless objects. Ippolito's short grand piano occupied a prominent
position near the middle window, and not far from it was Orsino's deep
chair, beside which stood a low table covered with books and reviews.
For, like most discontented and disappointed people who have no real
object in life, Orsino Saracinesca read a good deal, and hankered after
interest in fiction because he found none in reality. Ippolito, on the
contrary, read little, and thought much.
After Orsino had answered his remark about marriage, the priest busied
himself for some time with his music, while his brother stared at the
ceiling in silence, listening to the modulations and the fragments of
tentative melody and experimental harmony, without in the least
understanding what the younger man was trying to express. He was fond of
any musical sound, in an undefined way, as most Italians are, and he
knew by experience that if he let Ippolito alone something pleasant to
hear would before long be evolved. But Ippolito stopped suddenly and
turned half round on the piano stool, with a quick movement habitual to
him. He leaned forward towards Orsino, tapping the ends of his fingers
lightly against one another, as his wrists rested on his knees.
'It is absurd to suppose that in all Rome, or in all Europe, for that
matter, there is nobody whom you would be willing to marry.'
'Quite absurd, I suppose,' answered Orsino, not looking at his brother.
'Then you have not really looked about you for a wife. That is clear.'
'Perfectly clear. I do not argue the point. Why should I? There is
plenty of time, and besides, there is no reason in the world why I
should ever marry at all, any more than you. There are our two younger
brothers. Let them take wives and continue the name.'
'Most people think that marriage may be regarded as a means of
happiness,' observed Ippolito.
'Most people are imbeciles,' answered Orsino gloomily.
Ippolito laughed, watching his brother's face, but he said nothing in
reply.
'As a general rule,' Orsino continued presently, 'talking is a question
of height and not of intelligence. The shorter men and women are, the
more they talk; the taller they are, the more silent they are, in nine
cases out of ten. Of course there are exceptions, but you can generally
tell at a glance whether any particular person is a great talker. Brains
are certainly not measurable by inches. Therefore conversation has
nothing to do with brains. Therefore most people are fools.'
'Do you call that an argument?' asked the priest, still smiling.
'No. It is an observation.'
'And what do you deduce from it?'
'From it, and from a great many other things, I deduce and conclude that
what we call society is a degrading farce. It encourages talking, when
no one has anything to say. It encourages marriage, without love. It
sets up fashion against taste, taste against sense, and sense against
heart. It is a machinery for promoting emotion among the unfeeling. It
is a--'
Orsino stopped, hesitating.
'Is it anything else?' asked Ippolito mildly.
'It is a hell on earth.'
'That is exactly what most of the prophets and saints have said since
David,' remarked the priest, moving again in order to find his
half-smoked cigar, and then carefully relighting it. 'Since that is your
opinion, why not take orders? You might become a prophet or a saint, you
know. The first step towards sanctity is to despise the pomps and
vanities of this wicked world. You seem to have taken the first step at
a jump, with both feet. And it is the first step that costs the most,
they say. Courage! You may go far.'
'I am thinking of going further before long,' said Orsino gravely, as
though his brother had spoken in earnest. 'At all events, I mean to get
away from all this,' he added, as though correcting himself.
'Do you mean to travel again?' inquired Ippolito.
'I mean to find something to do. Provided it is respectable, I do not
care what it is. If I had talent, like you, I would be a musician, but I
would not be an amateur, or I would be an artist, or a literary man. But
I have no talent for anything except building tenement houses, and I
shall not try that again. I would even be an actor, if I had the gift.
Perhaps I should make a good farmer, but our father will not trust me
now, for he is afraid that I should make ruinous experiments if he gave
me the management of an estate. This is certainly not the time for
experiments. Half the people we know are ruined, and the country is
almost bankrupt. I do not wish to try experiments. I would work, and
they tell me to marry. You cannot understand. You are only an amateur
yourself, after all, Ippolito.'
'An amateur musician--yes.'
'No. You are an amateur priest. You support your sensitive soul on a
sort of religious ambrosia, with a good deal of musical nectar. | 2,588.881369 |
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GRADED MEMORY SELECTIONS
Arranged by
S. D. WATERMAN,
Superintendent of Schools, Berkeley, Cal.
J. W. McCLYMONDS,
Superintendent of Schools, Oakland, Cal.
C. C. HUGHES,
Superintendent of Schools, Alameda, Cal.
Educational Publishing Company
Boston
New York Chicago San Francisco
Copyrighted
by Educational Publishing Company
1903.
PREFACE.
It is unfortunately true that the terms education and culture are not
synonymous. Too often we find that the children in our public schools,
while possessed of the one, are signally lacking in the other. This is
a state of things that cannot be remedied by teaching mere facts. The
Greeks, many years ago, found the true method of imparting the latter
grace and we shall probably not be able to discover a better one
to-day. Their youths learned Homer and the other great poets as a part
of their daily tasks, and by thus constantly dwelling upon and storing
in their minds the noblest and most beautifully expressed thought in
their literature, their own mental life became at once refined and
strong.
The basis of all culture lies in a pure and elevated moral nature, and
so noted an authority as President Eliot, of Harvard University, has
said that the short memory gems which he learned as a boy in school,
have done him more good in the hour of temptation than all the sermons
he ever heard preached. A fine thought or beautiful image, once stored
in the mind, even if at first it is received indifferently and with
little understanding, is bound to recur again and again, and its
companionship will have a sure, if unconscious, influence. The mind
that has been filled in youth with many such thoughts and images will
surely bear fruit in fine and gracious actions.
To the teachers who are persuaded of this truth, the present
collection of poems has much to recommend it. The selections have been
chosen both for their moral influence and for their permanent value as
literature. They have been carefully graded to suit the needs of every
class from the primary to the high school. Either the whole poem or a
sufficiently long quotation has been inserted to give the child a
complete mental picture.
The teacher will thus escape the difficulty of choosing among a too
great abundance of riches, or the still greater one of finding for
herself, with few resources, what serves her purpose. This volume has
a further advantage over other books of selections. It is so moderate
in price that it will be possible to place it in the hands of the
children themselves.
The compilers desire to thank Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Charles
Scribner's Sons, Bowen, Merrill & Co., Whittaker & Ray Co., and
Doubleday & McClure Co., for their kindness in permitting the use of
copyrighted material.
S. D. WATERMAN.
CONTENTS.
FIRST GRADE.
The Baby _George Macdonald_
The Little Plant _Anon._
Sleep, Baby, Sleep _E. Prentiss_
One, Two, Three _Margaret Johnson_
Three Little Bugs in a Basket _Alice Cary_
Whenever a Little Child is Born _Agnes L. Carter_
Sweet and Low _Alfred Tennyson_
The Ferry for Shadowtown _Anon._
My Shadow _R. L. Stevenson_
Quite Like a Stocking _Anon._
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat _Edward Lear_
Forget-me-not _Anon._
Who Stole the Bird's Nest? _Anon._
Two Little Hands _Anon._
The Dandelion _Anon._
A Million Little Diamonds _M. Butts_
Daisy Nurses _Anon._
At Little Virgil's Window _Edwin Markham_
Dandelions _Anon._
Memory Gems _Selected_
SECOND GRADE.
Seven Times One _Jean Ingelow_
Christmas Eve _Anon._
Morning Song _Alfred Tennyson_
Suppose, My Little Lady _Phoebe Cary_
The Day's Eye _Anon._
The Night Wind _Eugene Field_
The Blue-bird's Song _Anon._
Suppose _Anon._
Autumn Leaves _Anon._
If I Were a Sunbeam _Lucy Larcom_
Meadow Talk | 2,588.918484 |
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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 19. No. 547.] SATURDAY, MAY 19, 1832 [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
WILTON CASTLE.
[Illustration: Wilton Castle.]
Here is one of the ivy-mantled relics that lend even a charm to romantic
nature on the banks of the Wye. Its shattered tower and crumbling wall,
combine with her wild luxuriance, to form a scene of great picturesque
beauty, though, as Gilpin observes, "the scene wants accompaniments to
give it grandeur."
These ruins stand opposite to Ross, on the western bank of the Wye. The
Castle was for several centuries the baronial residence of the Greys of
the south, who derived from it their first title, and who became owners
in the time of Edward the First. It may therefore be presumed to have
been one of the strongholds, in the great struggles for feudal
superiority with Wales, which were commenced by Edward, whose "active
and splendid reign may be considered as an attempt to subject the whole
island of Great Britain to his sway."[1] Or, in earlier times, being
situated on the ancient barrier between England and Wales, it may have
been a station of some importance, from its contiguity to Hereford,
which city was destroyed by the Welsh, but rebuilt and fortified by
Harold, who also strengthened the castle. The whole district is of
antiquarian interest, since, at the period of the Roman invasion,
Herefordshire was inhabited by the Silures, who also occupied the
adjacent counties of Radnor, Monmouth, and Glamorgan, together with that
part of Gloucestershire which lies westward of the Severn. The Silures,
in conjunction with the Ordovices, or inhabitants of North Wales,
retarded, for a considerable period, the progress of the Roman victors,
whose grand object seems to have been the conquest of these nations, who
had chosen the gallant Caractacus as their chieftain, and resolutely
exhausted every effort in defence of the independence of their country.
[1] Mackintosh's Hist. England, vol. i, p. 247.
The present demolished state of the Castle is referred to the Royalist
Governors of Hereford, by whose orders it was burnt to the bare walls
during the reign of Charles I. in the absence of its then possessor, Sir
J. Brydges.
The scenery of the WYE, at this point is thus described by tourists:
"From Hereford to Ross, its features occasionally assume greater
boldness; though more frequently their aspect is placid; but at the
latter town wholly emerging from its state of repose," it resumes the
brightness and rapidity of its primitive character, as it forms the
admired curve which the churchyard of Ross commands. The celebrated
spire of Ross church, peeping over a noble row of elms, here fronts the
ruined Castle of Wilton, beneath the arches of whose bridge, the Wye
flows through a charming succession of meadows, encircling at last the
lofty and well-wooded hill, crowned with the majestic fragments of
Gooderich Castle, and opposed by the waving eminences of the forest of
Dean. The mighty pile, or peninsula, of Symonds' Rock succeeds, round
which the river flows in a circuit of seven miles, though the opposite
points of the isthmus are only one mile asunder. Shortly afterwards, the
Wye quits the county, and enters Monmouthshire at the New Wear.
The Rev. Mr. Gilpin, in his charming little volume on Picturesque
Beauty,[2] has a few appropriate observations: after passing Wilton--
[2] Observations on the River Wye, &c. By William Gilpin,
M.A.--Fifth Edition.
"We met with nothing for some time during our voyage but grand, woody
banks, one rising behind another; appearing and vanishing by turns, as
we doubled the several capes. But though no particular objects
characterized these different scenes, yet they afforded great variety of
pleasing views, both as we wound round the several promontories, which
discovered new beauties as each scene opened, and when we kept the same
scene a longer time in view, stretching along some lengthened reach,
where the river is formed into an irregular vista by hills shooting out
beyond each other and going off in perspective."
We ought not to forget to mention Ross, and its association with one of
the noblest works of GOD--honest John Kyrle, celebrated as the Man of
Ross. Pope, during his visits at Holm-Lacey, in the vicinity, obtained
sufficient knowledge of his beneficence, to render due homage to his
worth in one of the brightest pages of the records of human character.
* * * * *
"MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS"--EGGS.
(_For the Mirror._)
In a paper on the _Superstitions of the Sea_, a few years ago,[3] I
slightly alluded to the nautical belief that the appearance of the
Stormy Petrel, and other marine birds at sea, was often considered to be
the forerunner of peril and disaster; and as your excellent
correspondent, _M.L.B._, in a recent number, expresses a wish to know
the origin of the _soubriquet_ of _Mother Carey's Chickens_, which the
former birds have obtained, I now give it with all the brevity which is
consistent with so important a narration. It appears that a certain
outward-bound Indiaman, called the _Tiger_, (but in what year I am
unable to state,) had encountered one continued series of storms, during
her whole passage; till on nearing the Cape of Good Hope, she was almost
reduced to a wreck. Here, however, the winds and waves seemed bent on
her destruction; in the midst of the storm, flocks of strange looking
birds were seen hovering and wheeling in the air around the devoted
ship, and one of the passengers, a woman called "Mother Carey," was
observed by the glare of the lightning to laugh and smile when she
looked at these foul-weather visitants; on which she was not only set
down as a witch, but it was also thought that they were her familiars,
whom she had invoked from the _Red Sea_; and "all hands" were seriously
considering on the propriety of getting rid of the old beldam, (as is
usual in such cases,) by setting her afloat, when she saved them the
trouble, and at that moment jumped overboard, surrounded by flames; on
which the birds vanished, the storm cleared away, and the tempest-tossed
_Tiger_ went peacefully on her course! Ever since the occurrence of this
"astounding yarn," the birds have been called "Mother Carey's Chickens,"
and are considered by our sailors to be the most unlucky of all the
feathered visitants at sea.
[3] See Mirror, No. 205, vol. xi.
To turn by a not unnatural transition from _birds_ to _eggs_, permit me
to inform your Scottish correspondent, _S.S._ (see No. 536,) where he
asserts that the plan of rubbing eggs with grease in order to preserve
them, "is not so much as known in our own boasted land of stale eggs and
bundlewood;" that the said _discovery_ has long been known and practised
in many parts of old England; and that the repeated experience of
several friends warrants me in giving a decided negative to his
assertion that eggs so prepared "_will keep any length of time perfectly
fresh_." If kept for a considerable period, though they do not become
absolutely bad, yet they turn _very stale_. I happen to know something
of Scotland, and was never before aware that the raw clime of our
northern neighbours was so celebrated for its poultry. _M.L.B._ is
certainly misinformed in speaking of the trade in _Scotch_ eggs to
_America_. The importation of eggs from the continent into England is
very extensive: the duty in 1827 amounted at the rate of 10_d_. per 120,
to 23,062_l_. 19_s_. 1_d_.; since which period there has, we believe,
been an increase. The importation of eggs from Ireland is also very
large. If _S.S._ resides in London, he may have occasion to sneer at
"our boasted land of stale eggs;" but he should rather sneer at the
preserved French eggs, with which the London dealers are principally
supplied.
VYVYAN.
* * * * *
THE CURFEW BELL.
(To the Editor.)
In addition to the remarks made by _Reginald_, in No. 543, and by
_M.D._, and _G.C._, in No. 545 of _The Mirror_, let me add that the
Curfew is rung every night at eight, in my native town, (Winchester,)
and the bell, a large one, weighing 12 cwt., is appropriated for the
purpose, (not belonging to a church) but affixed in the tower of the
Guildhall, and used only for this occasion, or on an alarm of fire.
In that city the Curfew was first established under the command of the
Conqueror, and the practice has continued to the present day. I have
been assured by many old residents, that it formerly was the custom to
ring the bell every morning at four o'clock, but the practice being
found annoying to persons living near, the Corporation ordered it to be
discontinued.
To such of your readers who, like myself, are fond of a solitary ramble
along the sea shore by moonlight, I would say, go to Southampton or the
Isle of Wight; take an evening walk from Itchen through the fields to
Netley, thence to the Abbey and Fort ruins, under woods that for a
considerable distance skirt the coast; or on the opposite side, through
the Forest of Oaks, from Eling to Dibden, and onwards over the meadows
to Hythe: there they may, in either, find ample food for reflection,
connected with the Curfew Bell.
Seated on a fragment of the towers of Netley Abbey, whose pinnacles were
so often hailed by seamen as well known landmarks, but whose Curfew has
for centuries been quiet, the spectator may see before him the crumbling
remains of a fort, erected hundreds of years ago. On the left is an
expanse of water as far as the eye can reach, and in his front the
celebrated New Forest,--
Majestic woods of ever vigorous green,
Stage above stage, high waving o'er the bills;
Or to the far horizon wide diffus'd,
A boundless deep immensity of shade--
the scene of William's tyranny and atrocity, the spot where his children
met their untimely end, and where may be seen the _tumuli_ erected over
the remains of the Britons who fell in defence of their country.
In the deep recesses of a wood in the south-east prospect, the eye may
faintly distinguish the mouldering remains of the Abbey of Beaulieu,
famed in days of yore for its Sanctuary, the name of which is now only
recorded in history. Even the site of the tower is unknown, whose Curfew
has long ceased to warn the seamen, or draw the deep curse from the
forester.
There they may
"On a plat of rising ground,
Hear the far off Curfew sound,
Over the wide watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar."
The Curfew is rung at Southampton, Downton, Ringwood, and many other
towns in the west, every night at eight.
P.Q.
* * * * *
THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF _NEW WORKS_.
* * * * *
SPANISH SCENERY.
The following is from the delightful pencil of Washington Irving: it
will be seen to bear all the polish of his best style:--
"Many are apt to picture Spain to their imaginations as a soft southern
region, decked out with all the luxuriant charms of voluptuous Italy. On
the contrary, though there are exceptions in some of the maritime
provinces, yet, for the greater part, it is a stern, melancholy country,
with rugged mountains, and long sweeping plains, destitute of trees, and
indescribably silent and lonesome, partaking of the savage and solitary
character of Africa. What adds to this silence and loneliness, is the
absence of singing-birds, a natural consequence of the want of groves
and hedges. The vulture and the eagle are seen wheeling about the
mountain-cliffs, and soaring over the plains, and groups of shy bustards
stalk about the heaths; but the myriads of smaller birds, which animate
the whole face of other countries are met with in but few provinces in
Spain, and in those chiefly among the orchards and gardens which
surround the habitations of man.
"In the interior provinces the traveller occasionally traverses great
tracts cultivated with grain as far as the eye can reach, waving at
times with verdure, at other times naked and sunburnt, but he looks
round in vain for the hand that has tilled the soil. At length, he
perceives some village on a steep hill, or rugged crag, with mouldering
battlements and ruined watch tower; a stronghold, in old times, against
civil war, or Moorish inroad; for the custom among the peasantry of
congregating together for mutual protection, is still kept up in most
parts of Spain, in consequence of the maraudings of roving freebooters.
"But though a great part of Spain is deficient in the garniture of
groves and forests, and the softer charms of ornamental cultivation, yet
its scenery has something of a high and lofty character to compensate
the want. It partakes something of the attributes of its people; and I
think that I better understand the proud, hardy, frugal, and abstemious
Spaniard, his manly defiance of hardships, and contempt of effeminate
indulgences, since I have seen the country he inhabits.
"There is something, too, in the sternly simple features of the Spanish
landscape, that impresses on the soul a feeling of sublimity. The
immense plains of the Castiles and of La Mancha, extending as far as the
eye can reach, derive an interest from their very nakedness and
immensity, and have something of the solemn grandeur of the ocean. In
ranging over these boundless wastes, the eye catches sight here and
there of a straggling herd of cattle attended by a lonely herdsman,
motionless as a statue, with his long, slender pike tapering up like a
lance into the air; or, beholds a long train of mules slowly moving
along the waste like a train of camels in the desert; or, a single
herdsman, armed with blunderbuss and stiletto, and prowling over the
plain. Thus the country, the habits, the very looks of the people, have
something of the Arabian character. The general insecurity of the
country is evinced in the universal use of weapons. The herdsman in the
field, the shepherd in the plain, has his musket and his knife. The
wealthy villager rarely ventures to the market-town without his trabuco,
and, perhaps, a servant on foot with a blunderbuss on his shoulder; and
the most petty journey is undertaken with the preparation of a warlike
enterprise.
"The dangers of the road produce also a mode of travelling, resembling,
on a diminutive scale, the caravans of the east. The arrieros, or
carriers, congregate in convoys, and set off in large and well-armed
trains on appointed days; while additional travellers swell their
number, and contribute to their strength. In this primitive way is the
commerce of the country carried on. The muleteer is the general medium
of traffic, and the legitimate traverser of the land, crossing the
peninsula from the Pyrenees and the Asturias to the Alpuxarras, the
Serrania de Ronda, and even to the gates of Gibraltar. He lives frugally
and hardily: his alforjas of coarse cloth hold his scanty stock of
provisions; a leathern bottle, hanging at his saddle-bow, contains wine
or water, for a supply across barren mountains and thirsty plains. A
mule-cloth spread upon the ground, is his bed at night, and his
pack-saddle is his pillow. His low, but clean-limbed and sinewy form
betokens strength; his complexion is dark and sunburnt; his eye
resolute, but quiet in its expression, except when kindled by sudden
emotion; his demeanour is frank, manly, and courteous, and he never
passes you without a grave salutation: 'Dios guarde a usted!' 'Va usted
con Dios, Caballero!' 'God guard you! God be with you, Cavalier!'
"As these men have often their whole fortune at stake upon the burthen
of their mule, they have their weapons at hand, slung to their saddles,
and ready to be snatched out for desperate defence. But their united
numbers render them secure against petty bands of marauders, and the
solitary bandolero, armed to the teeth, and mounted on his Andalusian
steed, hovers about them, like a pirate about a merchant convoy, without
daring to make an assault.
"The Spanish muleteer has an inexhaustible stock of songs and ballads,
with which to beguile his incessant wayfaring. The airs are rude and
simple, consisting of but few inflexions. These he chants forth with a
loud voice, and long, drawling cadence, seated sideways on his mule, who
seems to listen with infinite gravity, and to keep time, with his paces,
to the tune. The couplets thus chanted, are often old traditional
romances about the Moors, or some legend of a saint, or some love-ditty;
or what is still more frequent, some ballad about a bold contrabandista,
or hardy bandolero, for the smuggler and the robber are poetical heroes
among the common people of Spain. Often the song of the muleteer is
composed at the instant, and relates to some local scenes or some
incident of the journey. This talent of singing and improvising is
frequent in Spain, and is said to have been inherited from the Moors.
There is something wildly pleasing in listening to these ditties among
the rude and lonely scenes that they illustrate; accompanied, as they
are, by the occasional jingle of the mule-bell.
"It has a most picturesque effect also to meet a train of muleteers in
some mountain-pass. First you hear the bells of the leading mules,
breaking with their simple melody the stillness of the airy height; or,
perhaps, the voice of the muleteer admonishing some tardy or wandering
animal, or chanting, at the full stretch of his lungs, some traditionary
ballad. At length you see the mules slowly winding along the cragged
defile, sometimes descending precipitous cliffs, so as to present
themselves in full relief against the sky, sometimes toiling up the deep
arid chasms below you. As they approach, you descry their gay
decorations of worsted tufts, tassels, and saddle-cloths, while, as they
pass by, the ever-ready trabuco slung behind the packs and saddles,
gives a hint of the insecurity of the road.
"The ancient kingdom of Granada, into which we are about to penetrate,
is one of the most mountainous regions of Spain. Vast sierras, or chains
of mountains, destitute of shrub or tree, and mottled with variegated
marbles and granites, elevate their sun-burnt summits against a
deep-blue sky; yet in their rugged bosoms lie engulfed the most verdant
and fertile valley, where the desert and the garden strain for mastery,
and the very rock is, as it were, compelled to yield the fig, the
orange, and the citron, and to blossom with the myrtle and the rose.
"In the wild passes of these mountains the sight of walled towns and
villages, built like eagles' nests among the cliffs, and surrounded by
Moorish battlements, or of ruined watch-towers perched on lofty peaks,
carries the mind back to the chivalric days of Christian and Moslem
warfare, and to the romantic struggle for the conquest of Granada. In
traversing these lofty sierras the traveller is often obliged to alight
and lead his horse up and down the steep and jagged ascents and
descents, resembling the broken steps of a staircase. Sometimes the road
winds along dizzy precipices, without parapet to guard him from the
gulfs below, and then will plunge down steep, and dark, and dangerous
declivities. Sometimes it straggles through rugged barrancos, or
ravines, worn by winter torrents, the obscure path of the
contrabandista; while, ever and anon, the ominous cross, the monument of
robbery and murder, erected on a mound of stones at some lonely part of
the road, admonishes the traveller that he is among the haunts of
banditti, perhaps at that very moment under the eye of some lurking
bandolero. Sometimes, in winding through the narrow valleys, he is
startled by a hoarse bellowing, and beholds above him on some green fold
of the mountain side a herd of fierce Andalusian bulls, destined for the
combat of the arena. There is something awful in the contemplation of
these terrific animals, clothed with tremendous strength, and ranging
their native pastures in untamed wildness, strangers almost to the face
of man: they know no one but the solitary herdsman who attends upon
them, and even he at times dares not venture to approach them. The low
bellowing of these bulls, and their menacing aspect as they look down
from their rocky height, give additional wildness to the savage scenery
around."
(From _The Alhambra_, or _New Sketch Book_, to which we propose to
return in a _Supplement_ in a fortnight.)
* * * * *
ANECDOTE GALLERY.
* * * * *
THE UNLUCKY PRESENT: A TALE.
A Lanarkshire minister (who died within the present century) was one of
those unhappy persons, who, to use the words of a well known Scottish
adage, "can never see green cheese but their een reels." He was
_extremely covetous_ and that not only of nice articles of food, but of
many other things which do not generally excite the cupidity of the
human heart. The following story is in corroboration of this
assertion:--Being on a visit one day at the house of one of his
parishioners, a poor lonely widow, living in a moorland part of the
parish, he became fascinated by the charms of a little cast-iron pot,
which happened at the time to be lying on the hearth, full of potatoes
for the poor woman's dinner, and that of her children. He had never in
his life seen such a nice little pot--it was a perfect conceit of a
thing--it was a gem--no pot on earth could match it in symmetry--it was
an object altogether perfectly lovely. "Dear sake! minister," said the
widow, quite overpowered by the reverend man's commendations of her pot;
"if ye like the pot sae weel as a' that, I beg ye'll let me send it to
the manse. It's a kind o' orra (_superfluous_) pot wi' us; for we've a
bigger ane, that we use for ordinar, and that's mair convenient every
way for us. Sae ye'll just tak a present o't. I'll send it ower the morn
wi' Jamie, when he gangs to the schule." "Oh!" said the minister, "I can
by no means permit you to be at so much trouble. Since you are so good
as to give me the pot, I'll just carry it home with me in my hand. I'm
so much taken with it, indeed, that I would really prefer carrying it
myself." After much altercation between the minister and the widow, on
this delicate point of politeness, it was agreed that he should carry
home the pot himself.
Off then he trudged, bearing this curious little culinary article,
alternately in his hand and under his arm, as seemed most convenient to
him. Unfortunately the day was warm, the way long, and the minister fat;
so that he became heartily tired of his burden before he got half-way
home. Under these distressing circumstances, it struck him, that, if,
instead of carrying the pot awkwardly at one side of his person, he were
to carry it on his head, the burden would be greatly lightened; the
principles of natural philosophy, which he had learned at college,
informing him, that when a load presses directly and immediately upon
any object, it is far less onerous than when it hangs at the remote end
of a lever. Accordingly, doffing his hat, which he resolved to carry
home in his band, and having applied his handkerchief to his brow, he
clapped the pot, in inverted fashion, upon his head, where, as the
reader may suppose, it figured much like Mambrino's helmet upon the
crazed capital of Don Quixote, only a great deal more magnificent in
shape and dimensions. There was, at first, much relief and much comfort
in this new mode of carrying the pot; but mark the result. The
unfortunate minister having taken a by-path, to escape observation,
found himself, when still a good way from home, under the necessity of
leaping over a ditch, which intercepted him, in passing from one field
to another. He jumped; but surely no jump was ever taken so completely
_in_, or, at least _into_, the dark as this. The concussion given to his
person in descending caused the helmet to become a hood; the pot slipped
down over his face, and resting with the rim upon his neck, stuck fast
there; enclosing his whole head as completely as ever that of a new born
child was enclosed by the filmy bag, with which nature, as an indication
of future good fortune, sometimes invests the noddles of her favourite
offspring. What was worst of all, the nose, which had permitted the pot
to slip down over it, withstood every desperate attempt, on the part of
its proprietor, to make it slip back again; the contracted part, or
neck, of the _patera_, being of such a peculiar formation as to cling
fast to the base of the nose, although it had found no difficulty in
gliding along its hypothenuse. Was ever minister in a worse plight? Was
there ever _contretemps_ so unlucky? Did ever any man--did ever any
minister, so effectually hoodwink himself, or so thoroughly shut his
eyes, to the plain light of nature? What was to be done? The place was
lonely; the way difficult and dangerous; human relief was remote, almost
beyond reach. It was impossible even to cry for help; or, if a cry could
be uttered, it might reach, in deafening reverberation, the ear of the
utterer, but it would not travel twelve inches farther in any direction.
To add to the distresses of the case, the unhappy sufferer soon found
great difficulty in breathing. What with the heat occasioned by the
beating of the sun on the metal, and what with the frequent return of
the same heated air to his lungs, he was in the utmost danger of
suffocation. Every thing considered, it seemed likely that, if he did
not chance to be relieved by some accidental wayfarer, there would soon
be _death in the pot_.
The instinctive love of life, however, is omni-prevalent; and even very
stupid people have been found, when put to the push by strong and
imminent peril, to exhibit a degree of presence of mind, and exert a
degree of energy, far above what might have been expected from them, or
what they were ever known to exhibit, or exert, under ordinary
circumstances. So it was with the pot-ensconced minister. Pressed by the
urgency of his distresses, he fortunately recollected that there was a
smith's shop at the distance of about a mile across the fields, where,
if he could reach it before the period of suffocation, he might possibly
find relief. Deprived of his eyesight, he acted only as a man of
feeling, and went on as cautiously as he could, with his hat in his
hand. Half crawling, half sliding, over ridge and furrow, ditch and
hedge, somewhat like Satan floundering over chaos, the unhappy minister
travelled with all possible speed, as nearly as he could guess, in the
direction of the place of refuge. I leave it to the reader to conceive
the surprise, the mirth, the infinite amusement of the smith, and all
the hangers-on of the _smiddy_, when, at length, torn and worn, faint
and exhausted, blind and breathless, the unfortunate man arrived at the
place, and let them know (rather by signs than by words) the
circumstances of his case. In the words of an old Scottish song,
"Out cam the gudeman, and high he shouted;
Out cam the gudewife, and low she louted;
And a' the town neighbours were gathered about it:
And there was he, I trow."
The merriment of the company, however, soon gave way to considerations
of humanity. Ludicrous as was the minister, with such an object where
his head should have been, and with the feet of the pot pointing
upwards, like the horns of the great Enemy, it was, nevertheless,
necessary that he should be speedily restored to his ordinary condition,
if it were for no other reason than that he might continue to live. He
was accordingly, at his own request led into the smithy, multitudes
flocking around to tender him their kindest offices, or to witness the
process of release; and, having laid down his head upon the anvil, the
smith lost no time in seizing and poising his goodly forehammer. "Will I
come sair on, minister?" exclaimed the considerate man of iron, in at
the brink of the pot. "As sair as ye like," was the minister's answer;
"better a chap i' the chafts than die for want of breath." Thus
permitted, the man let fall a blow, which fortunately broke the pot in
pieces, without hurting the head which it enclosed, as the cook-maid
breaks the shell of the lobster, without bruising the delicate food
within. A few minutes of the clear air, and a glass from the gudewife's
bottle, restored the unfortunate man of prayer; but, assuredly, the
incident is one which will long live in the memory of the parishioners
of C----.--_Chambers' Edinburgh Journal._
* * * * *
THE NATURALIST.
* * * * *
LOUDON'S MAGAZINE OF NATURAL HISTORY.
Sundry and manifold are our obligations to this delightful Journal. From
the Number (26) for the present month we glean the following:
_The Gurnard and Sprat._
Mr. J. Couch, in an interesting paper on the fishes of Cornwall, has the
following notes:
"Ray observes that the word gurnard, which may be regarded as the
English term, is derived _a grunnitu_, from grunting like a hog. In
this, however, I venture to think this eminent naturalist mistaken.
Pengurn is the ancient Cornu-British name for these fishes, and
signifies hard head; and its English translation is now sometimes given
to the grey gurnard. From the Cornish word _gurn_ (hard), I therefore
derive the name, as descriptive of the head of these species. This is a
common fish at all seasons; but in December and January it sometimes
abounds to such a degree, that, as they are not much esteemed, I have
known them sold at thirty for a penny. It keeps near the bottom
commonly, at no great distance from land; but sometimes multitudes will
mount together to the surface; and move along with the first dorsal fin
above the water: they will even quit their native element, and spring to
the distance of a yard; thus imitating the flying gurnard, though not to
the same extent. In summer they are found basking in the sun, perhaps
asleep, as they will at times display no signs of animation, until an
attempt is made to seize them.
"In reference to some observations by Mr. Yarrell, in the _Zoological
Journal | 2,589.057655 |
2023-11-16 19:00:13.0378790 | 2,250 | 7 |
Produced by RichardW and the Online Distributed Proofreading
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HOCUS POCUS; OR THE WHOLE ART OF LEGERDEMAIN, IN PERFECTION. BY HENRY
DEAN.
[Illustration:
Strange feats are herein taught by slight of hand,
With which you may amuse yourself and friend,
The like in print was never seen before,
And so you’ll say when once you’ve read it o’er.
]
HOCUS POCUS;
OR THE WHOLE ART OF
_LEGERDEMAIN_,
IN PERFECTION.
By which the meaneſt capacity may perform the
whole without the help of a teacher.
_Together with the Uſe of all the Inſtruments_
_belonging thereto._
TO WHICH IS NOW ADDED,
Abundance of New and Rare Inventions.
BY HENRY DEAN.
_The ELEVENTH EDITION, with large_
_Additions and Amendments._
PHILADELPHIA:
PRINTED FOR MATHEW CAREY, NO. 118,
MARKET-STREET.
1795.
THE PREFACE TO THE READER.
KIND READER,
Having _in my former_ book _of_ LEGERDEMAIN, _promiſed you farther
improvements, accordingly I have diſcovered herein to you the greateſt
and moſt wonderful ſecrets of this_ ART, _never written or publiſhed
by any man before: therefore I do not doubt but herein you will find
pleaſure to your full ſatisfaction; which is all my deſire_.
HENRY DEAN.
The Whole ART of LEGERDEMAIN; OR, HOCUS POCUS IN PERFECTION, &c.
Legerdemain is an operation whereby one may seem to work wonderful,
impossible, and incredible things, by agility, nimbleness, and slight
of hand. The parts of this ingenious art, are principally four.
First, In conveyance of balls.
Secondly, In conveyance of money.
Thirdly, In cards,
Fourthly, In confederacy.
_A Description of the Operation._
1. He must be one of a bold and undaunted resolution, so as to set a
good face upon the matter.
2. He must have strange terms, and emphatical words, to grace and adorn
his actions; and the more to amaze and astonish the beholders.
3. And lastly, He must use such gestures of body, as may take off the
spectators eyes from a strict and diligent beholding his manner of
performance.
_How to pass the Balls through the Cups._
You must place yourself at the farther end of the table, and then you
must provide yourself three cups, made of tin, and then you must have
your black sticks of magic to shew your wonders withal; then you must
provide four small cork balls to play with; but do not let more than
three of them be seen upon the table.
Note. Always conceal one ball in the right hand, between your middle
finger and ring finger: and be sure make yourself perfect to hold it
there, for, by this means, all the tricks of the cups are done.
Then say as followeth.
_Gentlemen, three cups—’tis true_
_They are but tin, the reason why,_
_Silver is something dear._
_I’ll turn them in gold, if I live, &c._
_No equivocation at all:_
_But if your eyes are not as quick as my hands_
_I shall deceive you all._
_View them within,_
_View them all round about,_
_Where there is nothing in,_
_There’s nothing can come out._
Then take your four balls privately between your fingers, and so sling
one of them upon the table, and say thus,
_The first trick that e’er learn’d to do,_
_Was, out of one ball to make it into two:_
_Ah! since it cannot better be,_
_One of these two, I’ll divide them into three,_
_Which is call’d the first trick of dexterity._
So then you have three balls on the table to play with, and one left
between the fingers of your right hand.
_The Operation of the Cups is thus._
[Illustration]
Lay your three balls on the table, then say, Gentlemen, you see here
are three balls, and here are three cups, that is, a cup for each ball,
and a ball for each cup. Then, taking that ball that you had in your
right hand, (which you are always to keep private) and clapping it
under the first cup, then taking up one of the three balls, with your
right hand, seeming to put it into your left hand, but retain it still
in your right, shutting your left hand in due time, then say, _Presto,
be gone_.
[Illustration]
Then taking the second cup up, say, Gentlemen, you see there is nothing
under my cup; so clap the ball that you have in your right hand under
it, and then take the second ball up with your right hand, and seem to
put it into your left, but retain it in your right hand, shutting your
left in due time, as before, saying, _Verda, be gone_.
[Illustration]
Then take the third cup, saying, Gentlemen, you see there is nothing
under my last cup; then clapping the ball you have in your right hand
under it, then take the third ball up with your right hand, and seeming
to put it into your left hand, but retain it in your right; shutting
your left hand in due time, as before, saying, _Presto, make haste_; so
you have your three balls come under your three cups, as thus: and so
lay your three cups down on the table.
[Illustration]
Then with your right hand take up the first cup, and there clap that
ball under, that you have in your right hand; then saying, Gentlemen,
this being the first ball, I will put it into my pocket; but that you
must still keep in your hand to play withal.
[Illustration]
So take up the second cup with your right hand, and clap that ball you
have concealed under it, and then take up the second ball with your
right hand, and say, this likewise, I take and put into my pocket.
[Illustration]
Likewise, take up the third cup, and clapping the cup down again,
convey that ball you have in your right hand under the cup, then taking
the third ball, say, Gentlemen, this being the last ball, I take and
put this into my pocket. Afterwards say to the company, Gentlemen, by
a little of my fine powder of experience, I will command these balls
under the cups again. As thus,
[Illustration]
So lay them all along upon the table to the admiration of all the
beholders.
Then take up the first cup, and clap the ball you have in your right
hand under it, then taking the first ball up with your right hand, seem
to put the same into your left hand, but retain it still in your right,
then say, _Vade, quick be gone when I bid you, and run under the cup_.
[Illustration]
Then taking that cup up again, and flinging that you have in your
right hand under it, you must take up the second ball, and seem to
put it into your left hand, but retain it in your right hand, saying,
Gentlemen, see how the ball runs on the table.
So seemingly fling it away, and it will appear as thus.
[Illustration]
So taking the same cup again, then clapping the ball under again, as
before, then taking the third ball in your right hand, and seem to put
it under your left, but still retain it in your right, then with your
left hand seem to fling it in the cup, and it will appear thus; all the
three balls to be under one cup.
[Illustration]
And if you can perform these actions with the cups, you may change the
balls into apples pears, or plumbs, or to living birds, to what your
fancy leads you to. I would have given you more examples, but I think
these are sufficient for the ingenious, so that, by these means, you
may perform all manner of actions with the cups.
Note. The artificial cups cannot well be described by words, but you
may have them of me, for they are accounted the greatest secrets in
this art: therefore, I advise you to keep them as such, for this was
never known to the world before.
_How to shew the wonderful_ Magic Lanthorn.
This is the magic lanthorn that has made so much wonder in the world,
and that which Friar Bacon used to shew all his magical wonders withal.
This lanthorn is called magic, with respect to the formidable
apparitions that by virtue of light it shews upon the white wall of a
dark room. The body of it is generally made of tin, and of a shape of
the lamp; towards the back part, is a concave looking glass of metal,
which may either be spherical or parabolical, and which, by a grove
made in the bottom of the lanthorn, may either be advanced nearer or
put farther back from the lamp, in which is oil or spirit of wine, and
the match ought to be a little thick, that when it is lighted, it may
cast a good light that may easily reflect from the glass to the fore
part of the lanthorn, where there is an aperture with the perspective
in it, composed of two glasses that make the rays converge and magnify
the object.
When you mean to make use of this admirable machine, light the lamp,
the light of which will be much augmented by the looking glass at a
reasonable distance. Between the fore-part of the lanthorn, and the
perspective glass, you have a trough, made on purpose, in which you are
to run a long, flat thin frame with different figures, painted with
transparent colours upon glass; then all these little figures | 2,589.057919 |
2023-11-16 19:00:13.0449020 | 860 | 21 |
Produced by Michael Wooff
The Legend of Sister Beatrix
Charles Nodier (1780-1844)
Not far from the highest peak in the Jura, but descending a
little down its <DW72> facing west, one could still see, going
on for half a century ago, a mass of ruins that had belonged
to the church and the convent of Our Lady of the Flowering Thorns.
It is at one end of a deep and narrow gorge, much more sheltered
to the north, which produces each year, thanks to its favourable
aspect, the rarest flowers of that region. Half a league from
there, from the opposite end of the gorge, the debris of an
ancient manor house is visible which has itself disappeared
like the house of God. We only know that it used to be lived
in by a family renowned for its feats of arms and that the last
of the noble knights to bear its name died in winning back the
tomb of Jesus Christ for Christians without an heir to propagate
his line. His inconsolable widow would not abandon a place so
conducive to the upkeep of her melancholy, but the rumour of
her piety spread far and wide as did her works of charity and
a glorious tradition has perpetuated her memory for future
generations of Christians. The people, who have forgotten all
her other names, still call her THE SAINT.
On one of those days when winter, coming to an end, suddenly
relaxes its rigour under the influence of a temperate sky, THE
SAINT was walking, as usual, down the long driveway leading to
her castle, her mind given over to pious meditations. She came
in this way to the thorny bushes that still mark its end, and
saw, with no little surprise, that one of these shrubs had
taken on already all its springtime finery. She hastened to
get nearer to it in order to assure herself that this semblance
was not produced by a remnant of snow that had failed to melt,
and, delighted to see it crowned, in effect, by an innumerable
multitude of beautiful little white stars with rays of crimson,
she carefully detached a branch to hang it in her oratory before
a picture of the Virgin Mary she had held in great reverence
since childhood, and went back joyfully to take to her this
innocent offering. Whether this modest tribute really pleased
the divine mother of Jesus or whether a special pleasure, which
it is difficult to define, is reserved for the least outpouring
of a tender heart to the object of its affection, never had the
soul of the chatelaine been as open to more ineffable emotions
than those she felt that mild evening. She promised herself,
with a joy that was ingenuous, to go back every day to the bush
in bloom in order to daily bring back a fresh garland. We may
well believe that she was faithful to that promise.
One day, however, when her care for the poor and sick had kept
her busy longer than usual, it was in vain that she hurried to
reach her wild flowerbed. Night got there before her, and it is
said that she started to regret having let herself be taken over
quite so much by this solitary place, when a clarity calm and
pure, like that which comes to us with daylight, suddenly showed
her all her flowering thorns. She stopped walking for a moment,
struck by the thought that this light might emanate from a camp
fire made by bandits, for it was impossible to imagine it having
been produced by myriads of glow-worms, hatched before their time.
The year was not far gone enough for the warm and peaceful nights
of summer. Nevertheless, her self-imposed obligation came to mind
and gave her courage. She walked lightly, holding her breath,
towards the bush with the white flowers, seized in a trembling hand
a branch which seemed to | 2,589.064942 |
2023-11-16 19:00:13.1201740 | 728 | 13 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
THE DOCTOR'S CHRISTMAS EVE
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE DOCTOR'S CHRISTMAS EVE
_Secretum meum mihi_
FRANCIS OF ASSISI
BY
JAMES LANE ALLEN
AUTHOR OF "THE BRIDE OF THE MISTLETOE," "THE CHOIR
INVISIBLE," "A SUMMER IN ARCADY," ETC.
=New York=
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1910
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1910,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
* * * * *
Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1910.
=Norwood Press=
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
TO THE SOWER
PREFACE
THIS work now published under the title of "The Doctor's Christmas Eve"
is the one earlier announced for publication under the title of "A Brood
of the Eagle."
"The Doctor, Herbert and Elsie's father, our nearest neighbor,
your closest friend now in middle life--do you ever tire of the
Doctor and wish him away?"
"The longer I know him, the more I like him, honor him, trust
him."
--_The Bride of the Mistletoe._
CONTENTS
PART FIRST
I
PAGE
THE CHILDREN OF DESIRE 1
II
WHEN A SON FINDS OUT ABOUT HIS FATHER 32
III
THE BOOKS OF THE YEAR 69
IV
THE BOOK OF THE YEARS 107
V
EVERGREEN AND THORN TREE 195
PART SECOND
I
TWO OTHER WINTER SNOWBIRDS AT A WINDOW 213
II
FOUR IN A CAGE 233
III
THE REALM OF MIDNIGHT 258
IV
TIME-SPIRIT AND ETERNAL SPIRIT 271
V
WHEN A FATHER FINDS OUT ABOUT A SON 285
VI
LIVING OUT THE YEARS 297
PART I
THE DOCTOR'S CHRISTMAS EVE
I
THE CHILDREN OF DESIRE
THE morning of the twenty-fourth of December a quarter of a century ago
opened upon the vast plateau of central Kentucky as a brilliant but
bitter day--with a wind like the gales of March.
Out in a neighborhood of one of the wealthiest and most thickly settled
counties, toward the middle of the forenoon, two stumpy figures with
movements full of health and glee appeared on a hilltop of the tree | 2,589.140214 |
2023-11-16 19:00:13.1382620 | 3,333 | 7 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive.)
3
THE RECONSTRUCTION OF GEORGIA
STUDIES IN HISTORY, ECONOMICS AND PUBLIC LAW
EDITED BY THE FACULTY OF POLITICAL SCIENCE OF
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
VOLUME XIII] [NUMBER 3
THE RECONSTRUCTION OF GEORGIA
BY EDWIN C. WOOLLEY, Ph.D.
New York
THE COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, AGENTS
LONDON: P. S. KING & SON
1901
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
Presidential Reconstruction 9
CHAPTER II
The Johnson Government 16
CHAPTER III
Congress and the Johnson Governments--The Reconstruction
Acts of 1867 24
CHAPTER IV
The Administrations of Pope and Meade 38
CHAPTER V
The Supposed Restoration of 1868 49
CHAPTER VI
The Expulsion of the <DW64>s from the Legislature and
the Uses to which this Event was applied 56
CHAPTER VII
Congressional Action Regarding Georgia from December,
1868, to December, 1869 63
CHAPTER VIII
The Execution of the Act of December 22, 1869, and the
Final Restoration 72
CHAPTER IX
Reconstruction and the State Government 87
CHAPTER X
Conclusion 109
Bibliography 111
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS
A. A. C. = American Annual Cyclopaedia.
B. A. = Address of Bullock to the people of Georgia, a pamphlet dated
1872.
B. L. = Letter from Bullock to the chairman of the Ku Klux Committee,
published in Atlanta in 1871.
C. G. = Congressional Globe.
C. R. = Report of the State Comptroller.
E. D. = United States Executive Documents.
E. M. = Executive Minutes (of Georgia).
G. O. D. S. = General Orders issued in the Department of the South.
G. O. H. = General Orders issued from the headquarters of the army.
G. O. M. D. G. = General Orders issued in the Military District of
Georgia.
G. O. T. M. D. = General Orders issued in the Third Military District.
H. J. = Journal of the Georgia House of Representatives.
H. M. D. = United States House Miscellaneous Documents.
J. C., 1865 = Journal of the Georgia Constitutional Convention of 1865.
J. C., 1867-8 = Journal of the Georgia Constitutional Convention of
1867-8.
K. K. R. = Ku Klux Report (Report of the Joint Committee of Congress on
the Conditions in the Late Insurrectionary States, submitted at the 2d
session of the 42d Congress, 1872).
M. C. U. = Milledgeville _Confederate Union_.
M. F. U. = Milledgeville _Federal Union_.
R. C. = Reports of Committees of the United States House of
Representatives.
R. S. W. = Report of the Secretary of War.
S. D. = United States Senate Documents.
S. J. = Journal of the Georgia Senate.
S. L. = Session Laws of Georgia.
S. R. = United States Senate Reports.
S. O. M. D. G. = Special Orders issued in the Military District of
Georgia.
S. O. T. M. D. = Special Orders issued in the Third Military District.
U. S. L. = United States Statutes at Large.
CHAPTER I
PRESIDENTIAL RECONSTRUCTION
The question, what political disposition should be made of the Confederate
States after the destruction of their military power, began to be
prominent in public discussion in December, 1863. It was then that
President Lincoln announced his policy upon the subject, which was to
restore each state to its former position in the Union as soon as
one-tenth of its population had taken the oath of allegiance prescribed in
his amnesty proclamation and had organized a state government pledged to
abolish slavery. This policy Lincoln applied to those states which were
subdued by the federal forces during his administration, viz., Tennessee,
Arkansas and Louisiana. When the remaining states of the Confederacy
surrendered in 1865, President Johnson applied the same policy, with some
modifications, to each of them (except Virginia, where he simply
recognized the Pierpont government).
Before this policy was put into operation, however, an effort was made by
some of the leaders of the Confederacy to secure the restoration of those
states to the Union without the reconstruction and the pledge required by
the President. After the surrender of Lee's army (April 9, 1865), General
J. E. Johnston, acting under the authority of Jefferson Davis and with the
advice of Breckenridge, the Confederate Secretary of War, and Reagan, the
Confederate Postmaster General, proposed to General Sherman the surrender
of all the Confederate armies then in existence on certain conditions.
Among these was the condition that the executive of the United States
should recognize the lately hostile state governments upon the renewal by
their officers of their oath of allegiance to the federal Constitution,
and that the people of the states so recognized should be guaranteed, so
far as this lay in the power of the executive, their political rights as
defined by the federal Constitution. Sherman signed a convention with
Johnston agreeing to these terms, on April 18. That he intended by the
agreement to commit the federal government to any permanent policy is
doubtful. But when the convention was communicated for ratification to his
superiors at headquarters, they showed the most decided opposition to
granting the terms proposed even temporarily. The convention was
emphatically disavowed, and on April 26 Sherman had to content himself
with the surrender of Johnston's army only, agreed to on purely military
terms.[1]
Georgia formed a part of the district under the command of General
Johnston. As soon, therefore, as the news of the surrender could reach
that state, hostilities there ceased. On May 3, Governor Brown issued a
summons for a meeting of the state legislature to take place on May 22, in
order that measures might be taken "to prevent anarchy, restore and
preserve order, and save what [could be saved] of liberty and
civilization."[2] At a time of general consternation, when military
operations had displaced local government and closed the courts in many
places, when the whole population was in want[3] through the devastation
of the war or through the collapse of the Confederate currency which
followed the collapse of the Confederate army,[4] the need of such
measures was apparent.
The calling of the legislature incurred the disapproval of the federal
authorities for two reasons. First, they regarded it as an attempt to
prepare for further hostilities, and they accordingly arrested Brown,
carried him to Washington, and put him in prison.[5] Second, in any case,
as the disavowal of the convention of April 18 had shown, they did not
intend to allow the state governments of the South to resume their regular
activities at once, and accordingly the commander of the Department of the
South issued orders on May 15, declaring void the proclamation of Joseph
E. Brown, "styling himself Governor of Georgia," and forbidding obedience
thereto.[6]
The federal army now took control of the entire state government.
Detachments were stationed in all the principal towns and county seats,
and the commanders sometimes removed the civil officers and appointed
others, sometimes allowed them to remain, subject to their direction.
Military orders were issued regarding a wide range of civil affairs, such
as school administration, sanitary provisions, the regulation of trade,
the fixing of prices at which commodities should be sold, etc.[7] The
provost marshal's courts were further useful, to some extent, as
substitutes for the state courts, whose operations were largely
interrupted.[8] Directions to the officers of the Department admonished
them that "the military authority should sustain, not assume the functions
of, civil authority," except when the latter course was necessary to
preserve the peace.[9] This admonition from headquarters, issued after the
President's plan for reinstating Georgia in the Union had been put into
operation, reflects his desire for a quick restoration of normal
government.
President Johnson announced his policy toward the seceded states in his
proclamation of May 29, 1865, regarding North Carolina. By it a
provisional governor was appointed for that state, with the duty of making
the necessary arrangements for the meeting of a constitutional convention,
to be composed of and elected by men who had taken the oath of allegiance
prescribed by, the President's amnesty proclamation of the same date, and
who were qualified voters according to the laws of the state in force
before the war. The proclamation did not state what the President would
require of the convention, but we may mention by way of anticipation that
his requirements were the revocation of the ordinance of secession, the
construction of a new state government in place of the rebel government,
the repudiation of the rebel debt, and the abolition of slavery within the
state. The provisional governor was further authorized to do whatever was
"necessary and proper to enable [the] loyal people of the state of North
Carolina to restore said state to its constitutional relations to the
federal government."[10]
For each of the states subdued in 1865, except Virginia, a provisional
governor was appointed by a similar proclamation. On June 17, James
Johnson, a citizen of Georgia, was appointed to the position in that
state.[11] On July 13th, he issued a proclamation providing for the
election of the convention. Delegates were distributed on the basis of the
legislature of 1860; the first Wednesday in October was set for the
election, and the fourth Wednesday in the same month for the meeting of
the convention.[12] Next, the provisional governor undertook the task of
securing popular support to the programme of restoration. To encourage
subscription to the amnesty oath (a prerequisite to voting for delegates
to the convention) he removed the disagreeable necessity of taking it
before the military authorities by directing the ordinary and the clerk of
the Superior Court of each county to administer it.[13] He made many
speeches throughout the state urging the citizens to take the amnesty
oath, to enter earnestly into the election of the convention, and to
submit quietly to the conditions imposed by the President.
His efforts were very successful. This was partly due to the place he held
in public estimation. He was a lawyer widely known and universally
respected. It was also partly due to the attitude of Governor Brown.
Brown, after a confinement of several weeks in prison at Washington,
secured an interview with President Johnson, and satisfied the President
that his object in calling the legislature was simply public relief, that
he had no intention to prolong the war, but calmly submitted to the fact
that his side was defeated.[14] This explanation and the spirit displayed
were so satisfactory to Johnson that Brown was released, and permitted to
return to Georgia. His return, remarked Johnson, "can be turned to good
account. He will at once go to work and do all he can in restoring the
state."[15] This prediction proved correct. The war governor of Georgia
became the type of those Secessionists who practised and counseled quiet
acceptance of the terms imposed by the conqueror, as the most sensible and
advantageous course. On June 29th he issued an address to the people of
Georgia, resigning the governorship, and advising acquiescence in the
abolition of slavery and active participation in the reorganization of the
state government according to the President's wishes.[16] The assumption
of this attitude by Brown grieved and offended some of his fellow
Secessionists. But the majority shared his opinion. The provisional
governor was welcomed, and his speeches approved on all sides.[17] The
result was that the convention which met on October 25th was a body
distinguished for the reputation and ability of its members.
The convention was called to order by the provisional governor, and chose
as permanent chairman Herschel V. Johnson.[18] Then a message from the
provisional governor was read, suggesting certain measures of finance and
other state business requiring immediate action, suggesting also certain
alterations in the state judiciary, but especially pointing out the chief
objects of the convention, viz., the passage of those acts requisite for
the restoration of the state.[19] These measures the convention quickly
proceeded to pass. On October 26th it repealed the ordinance of secession
and the ordinance ratifying the Confederate constitution;[20] by paragraph
20 of article I. of the new constitution it abolished slavery in the
state; and on November 8th, the last day of the session, it declared the
state debt contracted to aid the Confederacy void.[21] The convention
provided for a general state election on the following November 15th, and
to expedite complete restoration, anticipated the regular work of the
legislature by creating congressional districts, in order that Georgia's
representatives might be chosen at that election.[22]
One thing now remained to be done before the President would withdraw
federal power and leave the state to its own government, viz.,
ratification of the Thirteenth Amendment. The legislature elected on
November 15th assembled on December 4th.[23] The provisional governor,
according to the President's directions,[24] laid the Thirteenth Amendment
before it. The Amendment was ratified on December 9th.[25] After this the
provisional governor was relieved, the governor elect was inaugurated
(December 14th), and the President sent a courteous message of recognition
to the latter.[26]
Thus the President, having reconstructed the state government, had
restored Georgia to statehood so far as its internal government was
concerned. There remained only the admission of its representatives to
Congress to complete the restoration.
CHAPTER II
THE JOHNSON GOVERNMENT
From the conduct of the state governments formed in Georgia and the other
southern states under the direction of President Johnson, the public
opinion of the North drew conclusions regarding three things; the
disposition of the people represented by those governments toward the
emancipated slaves, their attitude toward the cause for which they had
fought, and their feeling toward the power which had subdued them. This
chapter treats the Johnson government of Georgia from the same points of
view.
Whatever may have been the prevailing disposition of the white people
toward the slaves while slavery flourished, shortly before the close of
the war that disposition was characterized by benevolence and gratitude.
In spite of the opportunities of escape, and of plunder and other
violence, offered by the times, the slaves had acted with singular
faithfulness and devotion.[27] The gratitude of their masters even went so
far as to propose plans for the general education of the <DW64>s.[28]
The close of the war and the | 2,589.158302 |
2023-11-16 19:00:13.2371950 | 1,062 | 72 |
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[Illustration: THE
KING OF ROOT VALLEY
A FAIRY TALE]
[Illustration]
THE
KING OF ROOT VALLEY
AND HIS CURIOUS DAUGHTER.
A Fairy Tale.
BY
R. REINICK.
With Eight Illustrations, by T. Von Oer and R. Reinick.
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1856.
PRINTED BY
JOHN EDWARD TAYLOR, LITTLE QUEEN STREET,
LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS.
Contents.
CHAPTER THE FIRST.
PAGE
THE ROOT-VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS.--THE STORY-TELLING
GUESTS.--THE KING OF ROOT-VALLEY AND HIS CURIOUS
DAUGHTER.--THE AERIAL CHARIOT.--FESTIVITIES IN THE
TOWN.--RETURN THROUGH THE AIR FROM THE ROOF OF THE
TOWN-HOUSE.--WHIMS OF THE PRINCESS 1
CHAPTER THE SECOND.
THE SPRING FESTIVAL IN ROOT-VALLEY.--THE NUT-FIELD.--THE
MIGRATING BIRDS.--A STRANGE PEOPLE MAKE THEIR
APPEARANCE.--NUTCRACKER AND HARLEQUIN.--THE PRINCESS
FALLS INTO RAPTURES 7
CHAPTER THE THIRD.
THE WONDERFUL BROOK.--THE OVERTURNED CARRIER'S
WAGGON.--NUTCRACKER AND HARLEQUIN COME TO LIFE.--THE
THREE WISHES.--THE BOX OF NUREMBERG TOYS.--THE
WANDERING RATS.--HOW HARLEQUIN BRINGS TO LIFE A WHOLE
NATION AND ARMY.--BATTLE WITH THE
RATS.--HOMAGE.--PROCESSION TO THE ROOT-VALLEY 11
CHAPTER THE FOURTH.
NUTCRACKER IS BETROTHED TO THE PRINCESS OF ROOT-VALLEY, AND
TAKES POSSESSION OF THE NUTFIELD.--THE BIRDS
DEPART.--WHAT ILL COMES OF IT.--WEDDING AND PARTING 19
CHAPTER THE FIFTH.
THE PUPPET-KINGDOM IS SET IN ORDER.--HAUGHTINESS OF
NUTCRACKER, HIS WIFE, AND SUBJECTS.--ANTIPATHY OF THE
TWO PEOPLES.--THE ROOT-KING ABDICATES HIS
CROWN.--NUTCRACKER A TYRANT.--PREPARATIONS FOR WAR IN
ROOT-VALLEY.--THE WAR.--HARLEQUIN'S DEATH.--FLIGHT AND
DESTRUCTION OF THE PUPPET-KINGDOM.--NUTCRACKER'S
DEATH.--THE PRINCESS SAVED 22
CHAPTER THE SIXTH.
THE BIRDCATCHER AND HIS FAMILY.--HOW THE CHILDREN RETURN
HOME WITH RARE TREASURES.--NUTCRACKER'S DEAD BODY.--THE
LITTLE MAIDEN IN THE STORK'S NEST, AND WHO SHE
WAS.--AFFECTING RECONCILIATION ON THE
NUTFIELD.--THREATENING DANGER TO THE
ROOTMEN.--EMIGRATION OF THE ROOTMEN 28
[Illustration: First Chapter.]
The King of Root Valley
AND
His Curious Daughter.
CHAPTER THE FIRST.
THE ROOT-VALLEY AND ITS INHABITANTS.--THE STORY-TELLING
GUESTS.--THE KING OF ROOT-VALLEY AND HIS CURIOUS
DAUGHTER.--THE AERIAL CHARIOT.--FESTIVITIES IN THE
TOWN.--RETURN THROUGH THE AIR FROM THE ROOF OF THE
TOWN-HOUSE.--WHIMS OF THE PRINCESS.
The road between Nuremberg and Leipsic ran in former times, in one
part, along the edge of a dark forest, which stretched into the
country far over the mountains. In the middle of this forest the
rocks enclosed a deep green valley, bordered by almost impenetrable
hedges, so that neither man nor beast could enter it. Here dwelt at
that time the merry little people of the Rootmen. They were pretty
little creatures, in form and look like human beings,--the tallest
about six inches high, and the smallest as long as your little
finger. In summer they lived in mossy bowers and under the leaves
of the tall fern; in winter they nestled among the roots of trees,
in the holes of some gnarled old trunk, and crept into the clefts
in the rocks. Their dress was fine | 2,589.257235 |
2023-11-16 19:00:13.2390760 | 2,354 | 8 |
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FAMOUS FROSTS AND FROST FAIRS.
_Number 389_
_Of Four-Hundred Copies printed._
[Illustration: FROST FAIR ON THE RIVER THAMES, IN 1814.]
FAMOUS FROSTS
AND
FROST FAIRS
IN
GREAT BRITAIN.
Chronicled from the Earliest to
the Present Time.
BY
_WILLIAM ANDREWS, F.R.H.S._,
Author of “Historic Romance,” “Modern Yorkshire Poets,” etc.
LONDON:
GEORGE REDWAY, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1887.
PREFACE.
The aim of this book is to furnish a reliable account of remarkable
frosts occurring in this country from the earliest period in our Annals
to the present time. In many instances, I have given particulars as
presented by contemporary writers of the scenes and circumstances
described.
In the compilation of this Chronology, several hundred books, magazines,
and newspapers, have been consulted, and a complete list would fill
several pages. I must not, however, omit to state that I have derived
much valuable information from a scarce book printed on the Ice of
the River Thames, in the year 1814, and published under the title of
“Frostiana.” I have gleaned information from the late Mr. Cornelius
Walford’s “Famines of the World,” which includes a carefully prepared
summary of “The Great Frosts of History.” Some of the poems in my pages,
bibliographical notes and facts, are culled from Dr. Rimbault’s “Old
Ballads Illustrating the Great Frost of 1683-4,” issued by the Percy
Society. It will be also observed that I have drawn curious information
from Parish Registers and old Parish Accounts.
Several ladies and gentlemen have rendered me great assistance, and
amongst the number must be named, with gratitude, Mrs. George Linnæus
Banks, author of “The Manchester Man;” Mr. Jesse Quail, F.S.S., editor
of the _Northern Daily Telegraph_; Mr. C. H. Stephenson, actor, author,
and antiquary; Mr W. H. K. Wright, F.R.H.S., editor of the _Western
Antiquary_; Mr. W. G. B. Page, of the Hull Subscription Library;
Mr. Frederick Ross, F.R.H.S., and Mr. Ernest E. Baker, editor of the
“Somersetshire Reprints.” Mr. E. H. Coleman kindly prepared for me a long
list of books and magazines containing articles on this subject. I have
to thank Mr. Mason Jackson, the author of “The Pictorial Press,” for
kindly presenting to me the quaint cut which appears on page 29 of my
work.
In 1881, the greater part of the matter contained in this book appeared
in the _Bradford Times_, a well-conducted journal, under the able
editorship of Mr. W. H. Hatton, F.R.H.S. The articles attracted more than
local attention, and I was pressed to reproduce them in a volume, but
owing to various circumstances, I have not been able to comply with the
request until now. The record is now brought up to date, and many facts
and particulars, gleaned since the articles appeared, have been added.
WILLIAM ANDREWS.
Rose Cottage, Hessle, Hull,
January, 1887.
[Illustration]
Famous Frosts and Frost Fairs in Great Britain.
[Sidenote: A.D.]
[Sidenote: 134]
Thames frozen over for two months.
[Sidenote: 153]
Very severe frost, lasting nearly three months. English rivers frozen,
including the Thames.
[Sidenote: 173]
A frost lasted three months, and was followed by a dearth.
[Sidenote: 220]
A continuous frost of five months in Britain.
[Sidenote: 250]
Thames frozen for nine weeks.
[Sidenote: 290-91]
Severe frost lasted six weeks. English rivers frozen.
[Sidenote: 359]
The frost very severe in England and Scotland. It lasted fourteen weeks
in the latter country.
[Sidenote: 474]
Four months’ frost, and great snow.
[Sidenote: 507-8]
Frost lasted two months: rivers frozen.
[Sidenote: 525]
Thames frozen for six weeks.
[Sidenote: 604]
A frost lasting four months, followed by dearth in Scotland: also very
severe in England.
[Sidenote: 670]
“A fatal frost.”--SHORT.
[Sidenote: 695]
Thames frozen for six weeks, and booths erected on the ice.
[Sidenote: 759-60]
Frost from October 1st, 759, to February 26th, 760.
[Sidenote: 821]
Great frost after two or three weeks’ rain.
[Sidenote: 827]
Thames frozen for nine weeks.
[Sidenote: 908]
The greater part of the English rivers frozen for two months.
[Sidenote: 923]
Thames frozen for thirteen weeks.
[Sidenote: 962]
The frost this year was so great as to cause a famine.
[Sidenote: 975]
Severe frost.
[Sidenote: 987]
This year is notable for a frost lasting one hundred and twenty days.
[Sidenote: 998]
Thames frozen for five weeks.
[Sidenote: 1020]
Very severe frost.
[Sidenote: 1035]
Short says: “Frost on Midsummer day; all grass and grain and fruit
destroyed; a dearth.”
[Sidenote: 1059]
Great frost, followed by a severe plague and famine.
[Sidenote: 1061]
Thames frozen for seven weeks.
[Sidenote: 1063]
Fourteen weeks’ frost: Thames frozen.
[Sidenote: 1076-7]
Frost lasted from 1st November, 1076, to 15th April, 1077. It is recorded
in the “Harleian Miscellany,” iii, page 167, that: “In the tenth year
of his [William the Conqueror] reign, the cold of winter was exceeding
memorable, both for sharpness and for continuance; for the earth remained
hard from the beginning of November until the midst of April then
ensuing.”
[Sidenote: 1086]
According to Walford’s “Insurance Cyclopædia,” “The weather was so
inclement that in the unusual efforts made to warm the houses, nearly all
the chief cities of the kingdom were destroyed by fire, including a great
part of London and St. Paul’s.”
[Sidenote: 1092]
In this year occurred a famous frost, and it is stated, in the quaint
language of an old chronicler, that “the great streams [of England] were
congealed in such a manner that they could draw two hundred horsemen and
carriages over them; whilst at their thawing, many bridges, both of wood
and stone, were borne down, and divers water-mills were broken up and
carried away.”
[Sidenote: 1095-99]
Very severe winters.
[Sidenote: 1114-15]
The following is from an “Old Chronicle:” “Great frost; timber bridges
broken down by weight of ice. This year was the winter so severe with
snow and frost, that no man who was then living ever remembered one more
severe; in consequence of which there was great destruction of cattle.”
[Sidenote: 1121-22]
A severe frost killed the grain crops. A famine followed.
[Sidenote: 1128]
Very severe frost.
[Sidenote: 1149-50]
Frost lasted from 10th December to 19th February.
[Sidenote: 1154]
A great frost.
[Sidenote: 1176]
A frost lasted from Christmas to Candlemas.
[Sidenote: 1205]
In Stow’s “Chronicle,” it is recorded that on the 14th day of January,
1205, “began a frost which continued till the 20th day of March, so that
no ground could be tilled; whereof it came to passe that, in the summer
following, a quarter of wheat was sold for a mark of silver in many
places of England, which for the most part, in the days of King Henry
II., was sold for twelve pence; a quarter of oats for forty pence, that
were wont to be sold for fourpence. Also the money was so sore clipped
that there was no remedy but to have it renewed.” Short states, “Frozen
ale and wine sold by weight.”
[Sidenote: 1207]
Fifteen weeks’ frost.
[Sidenote: 1209]
A long and hard winter followed by dearth.
[Sidenote: 1221]
Severe frost.
[Sidenote: 1226]
Severe frost and snow.
[Sidenote: 1233]
Frost lasted until Candlemas.
[Sidenote: 1234-35]
Penkethman gives the following particulars of this frost: “18 Henry
III. was a great frost at Christmasse, which destroyed the corne in
the ground, and the roots and hearbs in the gardens, continuing till
Candlemasse without any snow, so that no man could plough the ground,
and all the yeare after was unseasonable weather, so that barrenesse of
all things ensued, and many poor folks died for the want of victualls,
the rich being so bewitched with avarice that they could yield them no
reliefe.”
[Sidenote: 1241]
A great frost after a heavy fall of snow.
[Sidenote: 1250]
Very severe frost.
[Sidenote: 1254]
A severe frost from 1st January to 14th March.
[Sidenote: 1263]
On St. Nicholas’s Day a month’s hard frost set in.
[Sidenote: 1269]
A frost lasted from 30th November to the 2nd February.
[Sidenote: 1281-2]
“From Christmas to the Purification of Our Lady, there was such a frost
and snow as no man living could remember the like: where, through five
arches of London Bridge, and all Rochester Bridge, were borne downe and
carried away by the streame; and the like hapned to many other bridges
in England. And, not long after, men passed over the Thames between
Westminster and Lambeth dryshod.”--Stow, | 2,589.259116 |
2023-11-16 19:00:13.2391760 | 1,653 | 31 |
[Illustration: "MR. LOFTUS DEACON LAY IN A POOL OF BLOOD" (_p. 209_).]
THE DORRINGTON DEED-BOX
THE
DORRINGTON DEED-BOX
BY
ARTHUR MORRISON
AUTHOR OF
"A CHILD OF THE JAGO," "TALES OF MEAN STREETS,"
"MARTIN HEWITT: INVESTIGATOR," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_.
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED,
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. THE NARRATIVE OF MR. JAMES RIGBY 1
II. THE CASE OF JANISSARY 53
III. THE CASE OF THE "MIRROR OF PORTUGAL" 101
IV. THE AFFAIR OF THE "AVALANCHE BICYCLE AND TYRE CO., LIMITED" 151
V. THE CASE OF MR. LOFTUS DEACON 199
VI. OLD CATER'S MONEY 255
_THE NARRATIVE OF MR. JAMES RIGBY_
THE DORRINGTON DEED-BOX
I
The Narrative of Mr. James Rigby
I shall here set down in language as simple and straightforward as I
can command, the events which followed my recent return to England;
and I shall leave it to others to judge whether or not my conduct has
been characterised by foolish fear and ill-considered credulity. At
the same time I have my own opinion as to what would have been the
behaviour of any other man of average intelligence and courage in the
same circumstances; more especially a man of my exceptional upbringing
and retired habits.
I was born in Australia, and I have lived there all my life till quite
recently, save for a single trip to Europe as a boy, in company with
my father and mother. It was then that I lost my father. I was less
than nine years old at the time, but my memory of the events of that
European trip is singularly vivid.
My father had emigrated to Australia at the time of his marriage, and
had become a rich man by singularly fortunate speculations in land in
and about Sydney. As a family we were most uncommonly self-centred and
isolated. From my parents I never heard a word as to their relatives
in England; indeed to this day I do not as much as know what was
the Christian name of my grandfather. I have often supposed that
some serious family quarrel or great misfortune must have preceded
or accompanied my father's marriage. Be that as it may, I was never
able to learn anything of my relatives, either on my mother's or my
father's side. Both parents, however, were educated people, and indeed
I fancy that their habit of seclusion must first have arisen from
this circumstance, since the colonists about them in the early days,
excellent people as they were, were not as a class distinguished for
extreme intellectual culture. My father had his library stocked from
England, and added to by fresh arrivals from time to time; and among
his books he would pass most of his days, taking, however, now and
again an excursion with a gun in search of some new specimen to add to
his museum of natural history, which occupied three long rooms in our
house by the Lane Cove river.
I was, as I have said, eight years of age when I started with my
parents on a European tour, and it was in the year 1873. We stayed but
a short while in England at first arrival, intending to make a longer
stay on our return from the Continent. We made our tour, taking Italy
last, and it was here that my father encountered a dangerous adventure.
We were at Naples, and my father had taken an odd fancy for a
picturesque-looking ruffian who had attracted his attention by a
complexion unusually fair for an Italian, and in whom he professed to
recognise a likeness to Tasso the poet. This man became his guide in
excursions about the neighbourhood of Naples, though he was not one
of the regular corps of guides, and indeed seemed to have no regular
occupation of a definite sort. "Tasso," as my father always called him,
seemed a civil fellow enough, and was fairly intelligent; but my mother
disliked him extremely from the first, without being able to offer any
very distinct reason for her aversion. In the event her instinct was
proved true.
[Illustration: HIS ASSAILANT FELL DEAD.]
"Tasso"--his correct name, by the way, was Tommaso Marino--persuaded
my father that something interesting was to be seen at the Astroni
crater, four miles west of the city, or thereabout; persuaded him,
moreover, to make the journey on foot; and the two accordingly set
out. All went well enough till the crater was reached, and then, in
a lonely and broken part of the hill, the guide suddenly turned and
attacked my father with a knife, his intention, without a doubt, being
murder and the acquisition of the Englishman's valuables. Fortunately
my father had a hip-pocket with a revolver in it, for he had been
warned of the danger a stranger might at that time run wandering in
the country about Naples. He received a wound in the flesh of his
left arm in an attempt to ward off a stab, and fired, at wrestling
distance, with the result that his assailant fell dead on the spot. He
left the place with all speed, tying up his arm as he went, sought the
British consul at Naples, and informed him of the whole circumstances.
From the authorities there was no great difficulty. An examination or
two, a few signatures, some particular exertions on the part of
the consul, and my father was free, so far as the officers of the law
were concerned. But while these formalities were in progress no less
than three attempts were made on his life--two by the knife and one by
shooting--and in each his escape was little short of miraculous. For
the dead ruffian, Marino, had been a member of the dreaded Camorra, and
the Camorristi were eager to avenge his death. To anybody acquainted
with the internal history of Italy--more particularly the history of
the old kingdom of Naples--the name of the Camorra will be familiar
enough. It was one of the worst and most powerful of the many powerful
and evil secret societies of Italy, and had none of the excuses for
existence which have been from time to time put forward on behalf of
the others. It was a gigantic club for the commission of crime and
the extortion of money. So powerful was it that it actually imposed a
regular tax on all food material entering Naples--a tax collected and
paid with far more regularity than were any of the taxes due to the
lawful Government of the country. The carrying of smuggled goods was
a monopoly of the Camorra, a perfect organisation existing for the
purpose throughout the kingdom. The whole population was terrorised
by this detestable society, which had no less than twelve centres in
the city of Naples alone. It contracted for the commission of crime
just as systematically and calmly as a railway company contracts
for the carriage of merchandise. A murder was so much, according
to circumstances, with extras for disposing of the body; arson was
dealt in profitably | 2,589.259216 |
2023-11-16 19:00:13.2416410 | 1,832 | 20 |
E-text prepared by Nicole Apostola, Charles Franks, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
HARRY HEATHCOTE OF GANGOIL
A Tale of Australian Bush-Life.
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE,
Author of
"The Warden", "Barchester Towers," "Orley Farm," "The Small House at
Arlington", "The Eustace Diamonds," &c., &c.
Illustrated.
HARRY HEATHCOTE
CHAPTER I.
GANGOIL.
Just a fortnight before Christmas, 1871, a young man, twenty-four
years of age, returned home to his dinner about eight o'clock in the
evening. He was married, and with him and his wife lived his wife's
sister. At that somewhat late hour he walked in among the two young
women, and another much older woman who was preparing the table for
dinner. The wife and the wife's sister each had a child in her lap,
the elder having seen some fifteen months of its existence, and the
younger three months. "He has been out since seven, and I don't think
he's had a mouthful," the wife had just said. "Oh, Harry, you must be
half starved," she exclaimed, jumping up to greet him, and throwing
her arm round his bare neck.
"I'm about whole melted," he said, as he kissed her. "In the name of
charity give me a nobbler. I did get a bit of damper and a pannikin
of tea up at the German's hut; but I never was so hot or so thirsty
in my life. We're going to have it in earnest this time. Old Bates
says that when the gum leaves crackle, as they do now, before
Christmas, there won't be a blade of grass by the end of February."
"I hate Old Bates," said the wife. "He always prophesies evil, and
complains about his rations."
"He knows more about sheep than any man this side of the Mary," said
her husband. From all this I trust the reader will understand that
the Christmas to which he is introduced is not the Christmas with
which he is intimate on this side of the equator--a Christmas of
blazing fires in-doors, and of sleet arid snow and frost outside--but
the Christmas of Australia, in which happy land the Christmas fires
are apt to be lighted--or to light themselves--when they are by no
means needed.
The young man who had just returned home had on a flannel shirt, a
pair of mole-skin trowsers, and an old straw hat, battered nearly out
of all shape. He had no coat, no waistcoat, no braces, and nothing
round his neck. Round his waist there was a strap or belt, from the
front of which hung a small pouch, and, behind, a knife in a case.
And stuck into a loop in the belt, made for the purpose, there was a
small brier-wood pipe. As he dashed his hat off, wiped his brow, and
threw himself into a rocking-chair, he certainly was rough to look
at, but by all who understood Australian life he would have been
taken to be a gentleman. He was a young squatter, well known west of
the Mary River, in Queensland. Harry Heathcote of Gangoil, who owned
30,000 sheep of his own, was a magistrate in those parts, and able to
hold his own among his neighbors, whether rough or gentle; and some
neighbors he had, very rough, who made it almost necessary that a man
should be able to be rough also, on occasions, if he desired to live
among them without injury. Heathcote of Gangoil could do all that.
Men said of him that he was too imperious, too masterful, too much
inclined to think that all things should be made to go as he would
have them. Young as he was, he had been altogether his own master
since he was of age--and not only his own master, but the master also
of all with whom he was brought into contact from day to day. In his
life he conversed but seldom with any but those who were dependent on
him, nor had he done so for the last three years. At an age at which
young men at home are still subject to pastors and masters, he had
sprung at once into patriarchal power, and, being a man determined to
thrive, had become laborious and thoughtful beyond his years.
Harry Heathcote had been left an orphan, with a small fortune in
money, when he was fourteen. For two years after that he had
consented to remain quietly at school, but at sixteen he declared his
purpose of emigrating. Boys less than himself in stature got above
him at school, and he had not liked it. For a twelvemonth he was
opposed by his guardian; but at the end of the year he was fitted
forth for the colony. The guardian was not sorry to be quit of him,
but prophesied that he would be home again before a year was over.
The lad had not returned, and it was now a settled conviction among
all who knew him that he would make or mar his fortune in the new
land that he had chosen.
He was a tall, well-made young fellow, with fair hair and a
good-humored smile, but ever carrying in his countenance marks of what
his enemies called pig-headedness, his acquaintances obstinacy, and
those who loved him firmness. His acquaintances were, perhaps, right,
for he certainly was obstinate. He would take no man's advice, he
would submit himself to no man, and in the conduct of his own business
preferred to trust to his own insight than to the experience of
others. It would sometimes occur that he had to pay heavily for his
obstinacy. But, on the other hand, the lessons which he learned he
learned thoroughly. And he was kept right in his trade by his own
indefatigable industry. That trade was the growth of wool. He was a
breeder of sheep on a Queensland sheep-run, and his flocks ran far
afield over a vast territory of which he was the only lord. His house
was near the river Mary, and beyond the river his domain did not
extend; but around him on his own side of the river he could ride for
ten miles in each direction without getting off his own pastures. He
was master, as far as his mastership went, of 120,000 acres--almost
an English county--and it was the pride of his heart to put his foot
off his own territory as seldom as possible. He sent his wool
annually down to Brisbane, and received his stores, tea and sugar,
flour and brandy, boots, clothes, tobacco, etc., once or twice a year
from thence. But the traffic did not require his own presence at the
city. So self-contained was the working of the establishment that he
was never called away by his business, unless he went to see some lot
of highly bred sheep which he might feel disposed to buy; and as for
pleasure, it had come to be altogether beyond the purpose of his life
to go in quest of that. When the work of the day was over, he would
lie at his length upon rugs in the veranda, with a pipe in his mouth,
while his wife sat over him reading a play of Shakspeare or the last
novel that had come to them from England.
He had married a fair girl, the orphan daughter of a bankrupt
squatter whom he had met in Sydney, and had brought her and her
sister into the Queensland bush with him. His wife idolized him. His
sister-in-law, Kate Daly, loved him dearly--as she had cause to do,
for he had proved himself to be a very brother to her; but she feared
him also somewhat. The people about the Mary said that she was fairer
and sweeter to look at even than the elder sister. Mrs. Heathcote was
the taller of the two, and the larger-featured. She certainly was the
higher in intellect, and the fittest to be the mistress of such an
establishment as that at Gangoil.
When he had washed his hands and face, and had swallowed the very
copious but weak allowance of brandy-and-water which his wife mixed
for him, he took | 2,589.261681 |
2023-11-16 19:00:13.2426240 | 7,435 | 77 |
Produced by Emmy and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
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_FLAXIE FRIZZLE STORIES._
LITTLE PITCHERS.
BY
SOPHIE MAY,
AUTHOR OF “LITTLE PRUDY STORIES,” “DOTTY DIMPLE STORIES,”
“LITTLE PRUDY’S FLYAWAY STORIES,” “FLAXIE
FRIZZLE,” “DOCTOR PAPA,” ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED._
BOSTON 1895
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
10 MILK STREET NEXT “THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE”
COPYRIGHT, 1878,
BY LEE AND SHEPARD
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. POLLIO AND POSY 9
II. GOING TO SCHOOL 26
III. “THE FINNY-CASTICS” 40
IV. NOT THE END OF IT 61
V. ON ALL-FOURS 79
VI. BEPPO TALKING 94
VII. THE LAKE OF LILIES 113
VIII. POSY’S ROSEBUD 127
IX. GOING VISITING 143
X. THE QUAKER MEETING 157
XI. POLLIO MAKES UP HIS MIND 175
XII. HOP-CLOVER’S HOME 190
LITTLE PITCHERS.
CHAPTER I.
POLLIO AND POSY.
THERE were seven Pitchers in the family,—Judge Pitcher and his wife and
five children; but, as the twins were the youngest of all, they were
often called “the Little Pitchers.”
They were Flaxie Frizzle’s cousins; and the more I think about them,
the more I think I will try to put them into a story. They lived so far
away from New York, that Flaxie had never seen, and had scarcely ever
heard of them. Their home was in a town we will call Rosewood, on the
banks of a beautiful river, and so high up that the air was very pure
and cool; only it did not seem like living on a hill, for, as far as
you could see, the whole country looked nearly as flat as a table.
The twins were four years old. I don’t mean that was always their age;
but they were four when our story begins. If you had looked in the
great gilt-edged family Bible on the parlor-table, you would have seen
that their whole names were Napoleon Bonaparte Pitcher, and Josephine
Bonaparte Pitcher; but it did no great harm, for nobody called them any
thing worse than Pollio and Posy.
“_I_ don’t fink we’re twins,” said Pollio, the boy; “I fink we’re
_odds_. We don’t look any bit alike.”
And they didn’t. Strangers often asked if Pollio belonged to the
family; for he looked like a French boy, with his straight dark hair,
brown eyes, and brown skin. Posy’s hair fell in golden curls; her eyes
were blue, and her face very fair. Pollio was so homely and funny that
it made you laugh; and she was so beautiful that it made you smile.
They had two high chairs exactly alike; only Pollio had rubbed the arms
of his with his elbows, and scratched them sadly with his fork.
They had each a fur cap and tippet to wear in the winter; only Posy
kept hers on a nail, and Pollio threw his down wherever he happened to
be.
No, they were not “any bit alike;” but what loving little friends they
were, and how gayly they did trudge about the grounds at home, and
up and down the village street, with their arms around each other’s
waists! The neighbors came to the windows of their houses as the little
couple passed by, saying, “See those little Pitchers! Don’t they look
like Tom Thumb and his wife?” When people spoke to them, Posy dropped
her eyes, and blushed; but Pollio held up his head, and made answer for
both.
Once, in the winter, when they were going out walking, and Posy was
half stifled with her fur cap and a big comforter wound twice round her
neck, Pollio said,—
“She wants to walk _sturbously_ free, and not be mumbled up.”
“Sturbously” was one of his big words that mamma had to guess at; but
she unwound the comforter, and Pollio said,—
“Fank you. It’s awful mild, and she fought she’d choke. Good-by now:
we’re going.”
“Posy would never have complained of the comforter; but she has a
brother who is always ready to scold for her,” said mamma, looking
fondly after her darlings.
“Don’t you be afraid; there sha’n’t any dogs hurt _you_,” she heard him
say to his timid little sister, as Dr. Field’s Fido barked at their
heels.
He often promised to protect his mother and his aunt Ann from the same
dog, and from all the horses in town; for Pollio was a very brave boy.
“Good-morning, General Pollio! Good-morning, Mrs. _Posio_! Guess what
I’ve got in my jug,” called out Bobby Thatcher.
So of course the children followed him; and when they came home from
their walk, instead of being “mumbled up,” Pollio had left his ulster
at Mrs. Thatcher’s, and his jacket was sticky with maple-sirup.
“What _did_ you wipe your hands on?” asked aunt Ann.
“On my apron.” But looking down, and seeing he wore none, he added
promptly, “_If I’d had one on._”
Aunt Ann laughed, and “hoped he had not been teasing the neighbors for
something to eat.”
“What you s’pose?” cried Pollio indignantly. “I only told Mrs. Fatcher,
‘Oh, _dear_, we’re so hunger-y!’”
Mrs. Thatcher spoiled the twins a little; and so, I fear, did most of
the neighbors, as well as the family at home; but they _did_ have such
a good time in this bright, fresh, beautiful world! Pollio had what his
uncle Rufus called “a strong sense of the funny,” and could imitate all
sorts of noises. He could crow, bark, and mew, and even bray like a
donkey. Teddy, the boy next older, was handsomer and behaved better;
but Posy thought the sun never shone on a boy so bright as “her Pollio.”
Their papa was gone from home a great deal, attending court. The twins
had no idea what a court might be; but Pollio “fought” it was some kind
of a store, for papa always came home from it with his pockets full of
presents. He was a great fleshy man, a little gray and a little bald,
with the most winning smile around the corners of his mouth.
He liked to see his children all about him when he was at home; so he
would not stay up stairs in his study, but wrote every evening at the
parlor-table between the two front-windows. Nunky—that was uncle Rufus
Gilman—sat in the corner, reading; Nanty—that was aunt Ann Pitcher—sat
by a little basket-table, sewing; Edith and Dick—the older brother and
sister—pretended to study; and mamma—well, mamma spent half her time
keeping the three youngest children away from papa’s inkstand.
One evening Pollio got down on all-fours, put up his back, and hissed
like a cat. His father only laughed till he hit the table and upset the
inkstand, and then he had to be sent out of the room. Posy begged to go
too: she always wanted to be punished with Pollio.
Eliza Potter, the cook, was washing dishes when they came into the
kitchen.
“O you little witch, quit that!” said she to Pollio, as he began to
build houses with the knives and forks.
It always amused him to hear her say “Quit that!” and to see her wink
her eyelashes. The more she scolded, the faster she winked.
Next evening Pollio was noisy again in the parlor; but nobody minded it
till he said,—
“Don’t you see I’m naughty, mamma? Why don’t you send me out in the
kitchen?”
He wanted to tease Eliza again; but his mother punished him this time
by sending him to bed. It seemed pretty hard; for he was very wide
awake, and, though not afraid, found it rather lonesome without his
bed-fellow, Teddy. In a few moments he was heard screaming, and his
mother ran up to see what was the matter.
“O Lord! I’m a poor little boy all alone in the dark. Do send me a
la-amp, a la-amp, a _la-amp_!”
“Pollio!” exclaimed his mother as soon as she could reach his chamber.
“Why, mamma,” said he, looking up in her face very innocently, “I was
only _praying_! You want me to pray, don’t you?”
Mamma told Nunky afterwards that she did not know what to say to her
queer little boy. He and Posy both had such strange ideas about God,
that she wished Nunky would talk with them some time and try to make
them understand who He is and why we should pray to Him.
Nunky said, perhaps they were too young; but he would do the best he
could. He was like a father to them when their own father was gone. He
was quite a young man, and an artist. And here I will stop a moment,
and tell you more about him.
He had a room at the very top of the house, called a studio; and you
climbed some crooked stairs to reach it. He spent all his mornings in
this room, with the door locked but once or twice the twins had peeped
in and seen him sitting before a great easel painting pictures. He wore
a gray dressing gown, and velvet cap with a tassel; and the sun poured
straight down on his head through a hole in the roof.
“Ho yo! that’s jolly!” shouted Pollio.
Instantly the door was shut in his face. So unkind of Nunky! The twins
wouldn’t have meddled with his paints, of course: hadn’t they _told_
him they wouldn’t meddle?
“If we once got in, he’d want us to stay: he finks _everyfing_ of us,”
said Pollio to Posy.
“Let’s get in,” said she.
So one day they crept up stairs and knocked. Posy had her doll, and
Pollio his drum; for they meant to make it very pleasant for Nunky.
Knock! knock!
“We won’t be _sturbous_!” said Pollio.
“Can’t we come in a tinty minute?” pleaded Posy, fumbling at the
keyhole; while Pollio’s drum tumbled down stairs, rattlety bang.
Instead of answering, Nunky growled like a bear, and roared like a
lion; and they were obliged to go at last; for they might have stood
all day without getting in. Nunky was a man that couldn’t be coaxed.
But that very evening, when his work was done, he was perfectly lovely,
and played for them on his flute. The tune Pollio liked best was “The
Shepherd’s Pipe upon the Mountain.” He thought it was a meerschaum like
papa’s, and the shepherd was smoking it as he drove his sheep along.
Nunky forgot to say he was making his flute sound like a _bagpipe_.
But the tune Posy liked best was “The Mother’s Prayer,” low and faint
at first, then growing clearer and sweeter.
“Well, darling, what does it make you think of?” said Nunky as she sat
on his knee, her wee hands folded, and her eyes raised to his face.
“Makes me fink of the heaven-folks,” replied she solemnly. “I wish
little Alice would come down here and live again. Me and Pollio, we’d
be very glad.”
Alice was a little sister she had never seen.
“I’ve asked God to send her down,” said Pollio; “but He won’t. I
sha’n’t pray to God any more. _You_ may if you want to, Posy; but _I_
sha’n’t. I keep a-talkin’, and He don’t say a word.”
Now was the time for Nunky to tell them something about God; but what
should he say? What could they understand?
“God does speak to you, Pollio: not in words; but he speaks to your
_heart_.”
“Oh! does He? I know where my heart is,—right here under my jag-knife
pocket.”
“Well, there is a voice in there sometimes, that tells you when you do
wrong.”
“Is there?—-Put your ear down, Posy. Can you hear anyfing?”
“No, no,” said Nunky, trying not to smile: “the voice isn’t heard; it
is _felt_. Tell me, little ones, don’t you _feel_ sorry when you do
wrong?”
“When I get sent to bed I do,” said Pollio.
“Once I felt awful bad when I fell down cellar,” remarked Posy.
Nunky smiled outright then, and had a great mind not to say any more;
but he did so wish to plant a seed of truth in these little minds!
“Was it right, Pollio, to take those tarts yesterday without leave?”
The little boy hung his head, and wondered how Nunky knew about that.
“Didn’t something tell you it was wrong?”
“Yes, sir,” whispered Pollio faintly.
“Well, that was God’s voice. He spoke to your heart then.”
“Oh!”
Pollio began to understand.
“That is the way He speaks. Now, I don’t want to hear you say again, ‘I
keep a-talkin’ and a-talkin’, and He don’t say a word.’”
“No, I won’t,” said Pollio, his brown face lighting up. “He whispers
right under your pocket. I’m going to pray some more now: I’d just as
lief pray as not.”
“So’d I,” said Posy. “But I sha’n’t ask him to ‘bless papa and mamma,
and _everybody_,’ ’cause I don’t want him to bless the naughty Indians;
do _you_, Nunky?”
“Ask him to make them good,” replied Nunky, stroking the little golden
head, and wondering how much Posy understood of what he had been saying.
“Well, I will. I love God and the angels better’n I do you, Nunky. Of
course I _ought_ to love the heaven-folks best.”
“Does God do just what you ask him to when you pray?” said Pollio, who
had been for some moments lost in thought.
“Yes, if He thinks it best, he does.”
“Well, then, I sha’n’t say, ‘Accept me through thy Son;’ for the _sun_
is too hot: I’d rather go through the _moon_.”
Nunky had to turn his head away to laugh. He did not try in the least
to explain any thing more to Pollio that evening, and he really thought
all his words had been thrown away. But this was a mistake. A new idea
had entered the children’s minds,—an idea they would never forget.
Nunky found this out a long while afterward, and was very glad he had
taken so much pains.
But just now he had talked long enough; so he dropped the children from
his knee suddenly, pretending he hadn’t known they were there.
“What! _you_ here, little Pitchers? Off with you this minute!—Oh, no!
come back: you haven’t thanked me for the music.”
Nunky was careful of their manners; but I think, too, he had “a strong
sense of the funny” as well as Pollio, and enjoyed seeing his nephew
pull his front-hair and make a bow; while Posy dropped a deep, deep
courtesy, and they both lisped out,—
“Fank you, Nunky.”
You know, Pollio’s hair was uncommonly straight and black, and he
twitched it as if he were pulling a bell-rope; and Posy, being rather
fat, bounced up and down like a rubber ball.
I am sure their uncle made them say “Fank you” when there wasn’t the
least need of it, just to see how comical they looked.
CHAPTER II.
GOING TO SCHOOL.
WHEN the twins were five years old, they began to go to school.
As they were trudging along with Teddy and the dog on the first
morning, feeling very happy and very important, Edith called aunt Ann
to see how cunning they looked,—Posy in a white frock and sun-bonnet;
and Pollio all in blue, with a white sailor-hat. Posy had curled some
dandelion-stems, and Teddy had tied them to the dog’s ears; so Beppo
was as fine as the twins.
Dr. Field met the merry party on the street.
“Good-morning, little _twimlings_! Going to school? Well, don’t be
_sturbous_, my dears.”
Pollio pulled Posy along with a jerk.
“Oh! give my regards to the family when you go home, and tell your
mamma I disapprove of your studying too hard.”
Pollio ran faster yet. He never could see the least fun in the doctor’s
jokes.
The schoolhouse was a large brick building, half a mile away; and the
teacher seemed very glad to see the twins (of course they knew she
would be), and she let them sit together. They liked it extremely, till
Pollio happened to observe that he was one boy in the midst of forty
girls: whereupon he stalked out to Miss Chase, and said with great
dignity,—
“If you’ll scuse me, I want to sit the way the other folks do.”
Miss Chase smiled, and seated him beside Jamie Cushing (a boy of
eight), and Posy beside a lame girl of seven. Pollio liked Jamie,
because he had a pop-gun in his desk, and promised to show him at
recess how to fire it off. Posy liked _her_ seat-mate, because she had
a very sweet face, and because she hopped on one foot, and dragged the
other as a tired bird does; but her clothes were very ragged.
“I know who you are: you are Posy Pitcher.”
Posy nodded.
“And I’m Lucinda Outhouse.”
“Oh! are you? And does your mamma know you have such big holes in your
clo’es, _Lucy-vindy_?”
“Oh! this woman I live with isn’t my mamma: my mamma’s dead.”
Posy looked sorry.
“My papa died first, and my mamma married me another papa; and then my
mamma died, and _he_ married me another _mamma_. But _she_ don’t belong
to me, and _he_ don’t belong to me; and I haven’t any papa and mamma.”
Posy could not understand.
“Don’t you live anywhere?”
“Yes, they let me live with ’em; but they don’t like me. Don’t cry,
darling,” added _Lucy-vindy_ with a smile and nod: “God’ll take care o’
_me_.”
“Oh, yes! He’s one o’ that kind that don’t have anyfing to do but take
care o’ folks,” said Posy, her face brightening.
And then her class was called. How her little heart beat under her
white frock! and how the blushes came in her soft cheeks! She could
hardly read above her breath; but Pollio, who had never been to school
before any more than she had, and didn’t know quite so much, poked her
with his elbow, and whispered, “What you ’fraid of?” And, when his turn
came, he read so loud, you could have heard him in the street.
“Well, how do you like it, my dears?” asked papa at night.
“Oh, she’s the best teacher _I_ ever had!” said Pollio promptly.
“Indeed! Have you learned any thing to-day?”
“Yes, sir,” said Posy, eager to speak: “_the world walks!_”
“You know what she means; ‘the earth moves,’” laughed Teddy. “She heard
’em say that in the jography-class.”
Posy could see no difference between walking and moving; but she did
wish Teddy wouldn’t laugh at every thing she said.
Papa shook his head at Teddy, and went on questioning Posy, who sat on
his knee.
“Did my little girl whisper in school?”
“Yes, sir: once or twice or _three_.”
“Oh my! I should think”—
“Hush, Teddy! Did you carry your slate, Pollio?”
“Yes, sir; and I can make pictures better’n any of ’em.”
His father presumed this was true; for Pollio’s drawings were rather
remarkable for a small child.
“And I draw horses for the fellow that sits with me. He’s a jolly
boy,—fires ’tatoes out of a gun.”
“Well, the girl with me hops lame,” said Posy, determined not to be
outdone by Pollio. “She’s a _hypocrite_.”
“_Cripple!_” explained Teddy.
“I think it must be the little girl I meet on the street so often,”
said Nunky. “I call her ‘Hop-clover.’ She has a very sweet face.”
“Her father’s an awful drunkard,” remarked Teddy.
“Well, he isn’t her truly papa, and she hasn’t any truly mamma. Her
name’s _Lucy-vindy_, and she hasn’t anybody to take care of her but
just God. I wish I could give her my pink dress,” begged Posy.
“We will see about that,” said mamma.
Next day it “rained so hard, the water couldn’t catch its breath;”
but the little Pitchers were so eager for school, that their mother
let them go. They marched off very proudly under an umbrella; while
Teddy walked before them with the books, and Beppo behind with the
dinner-pail.
“Hop-clover” carried her dinner too; but at noon, when she saw Posy
giving Beppo a piece of cold lamb, she thought,—
“I ’most wish I was Posy Pitcher’s dog, so she’d give _me_ some meat.”
“Where’s your dinner?” said Posy.
“Hop-clover” spread it out then on her desk, looking ashamed as she did
so; for it was nothing but dry bread and _very_ dried apple-pie. Posy
thought that was what came of having such a queer mother that _wasn’t_
a mother; and offered her new friend an orange.
“Oh, thank you ever so much!” said Hop-clover, her sad eyes sparkling.
“I’ve seen oranges lots of times, but I never ate one before.”
Posy looked up in surprise.
“What a baby that is!” thought Jimmy Cushing, spying Posy’s innocent
face just then as he came along, swinging his arms, and whistling.
“Guess I’ll plague her a little.”
“Oh! is that you, Posy Pitcher?” said he aloud. “Well, I’ve got
something for you.”
She blushed and smiled.
“Put out your hand,” said he, offering her a clam. “There, just feel of
that: isn’t it smooth? Put your fingers inside.”
She knew no better than to do as he said; and the clam, which was
alive, knew no better than to seize her little hand with a dreadful
grip. Dear little Posy screamed fearfully, and some of the larger boys
had to come in and break the clam-shell with a hammer before her hand
was set free.
Pollio knew nothing about it till it was all over, and he found her
drying her eyes on Addie Thatcher’s neck.
“Hurt you bad, dear?” asked he tenderly.
“Yes, it did; and that boy _saw_ how I cried. Why, I cried awf’lly!”
The angry brother clinched his fists, and ran to find Jimmy. He did
not stop to think of Jimmy’s age and size, but rushed at him wildly,
exclaiming, “Take _that_ for ’busing my sister!”
It was the last sentence Pollio spoke for five minutes. How _could_ he
speak, with Jimmy’s foot on his back, and his own face close to the
earth, eating dirt? It was as much as _he_ could do to breathe.
“Want to whip me _again_, my son? I’m ready for you!” called out that
dreadful Jimmy with a gay laugh.
Wasn’t it hateful, when Pollio couldn’t hurt him any more than a fly at
the best of times, and needed both hands now to stop the nose-bleed?
Pollio ran home in a fever of rage; but when the rain had cooled him
a little he dreaded to see his mother, and let her know he had been
quarrelling.
His aunt Ann met him at the door with a look of amazement; for he had
no umbrella, his clothes were soaking with water, and the handkerchief
he held to his nose was red with blood.
“Fought I’d come home,” stammered he, darting into the entry. “Dr.
Field sent his ’gards to you, Nanty.”
“You didn’t come home in the rain to tell me that? How _did_ you get
hurt so, my child?”
Pollio wondered how she knew he was hurt, when he hadn’t told her a
word.
“Dr. Field _did_ sent his ’gards to you, Nanty.”
“Yes, yes.”
“And he sent his ’gards to Nunky, and he sent ’em to the whole
fam-i-ly.”
The last word ended in a wail. His nose did ache so! and—oh, dear!—it
was bleeding again.
Aunt Ann screamed for his mother. He had taken away the handkerchief,
and revealed the worst-looking nose you ever saw on a human boy. She
thought it was broken, but it was not.
“Jimmy Cushion did that,—the boy I liked that had a pop-gun,” said
Pollio after his mother had bathed his face with arnica, and asked him
fifty questions.
“What! that large boy?”
“Yes: he’ll be nine years old ’fore I am,” said little Pollio.
“Several years before. Of course, my dear, you had done something to
Jimmy?”
“No, mamma. You see, I tried to; but I couldn’t!”
“Tried to! What made you try, my son?”
“Why, you s’pose I’m going to let him ’buse my little sister,—nipping
up her hands like a pair o’ tongs with a pair o’ clams?”
“Oh! was that it?”
Mrs. Pitcher couldn’t help hugging Pollio; for he didn’t seem to mind
his own sufferings when he thought of his precious Posy.
“Well, my son, if Jimmy pinched her, that was wrong. I like to see you
so ready to protect your sister; but you needn’t fly at anybody like a
little savage. I _can’t_ have my darling boy fight!”
Pollio buried his aching nose in his mother’s bosom. He didn’t want to
fight again that day, you may be sure.
It was a whole week before he could go to school again; for his nose
was hideous. It was red, blue, green, and yellow; and Nunky said nobody
could get an education who looked like that.
Posy would not go without her brother, and mourned very much because
people laughed at him.
“Don’t cry about _me_,” said Pollio: “I’m only a boy! If ’twas a girl,
’twould be awful!”
CHAPTER III.
“THE FINNY-CASTICS.”
POLLIO didn’t learn much during his first term at school, except
mischief. He learned to whoop like a wild Indian, and stand on his head
like the clown at a circus. Eliza said that whoop was “enough to split
her ears in two,” and he never entered the house without it.
But it was midsummer now, and vacation had begun. Fourth of July was
coming; and Judge Pitcher, before going away to attend court, had
bought Teddy and Pollio a good supply of pin-wheels and fire-crackers.
Posy did not fancy such noisy playthings, and he had given _her_ some
money to buy “Hop-clover” a dress.
It would not be the Fourth till to-morrow; but Pollio had fired off
nearly all his crackers, and was now frightening Posy by climbing the
ridge-pole of the barn. While she was running back and forth, clasping
her hands, and begging him to come down, their kind old Quaker friend,
Mr. Littlefield, drove up to the gate.
“Hurry, hurry!” cried Posy: “the _Earthquake’s_ coming.”
The Quaker laughed to hear himself called an _earthquake_: though
he did shake the floor a little when he walked; for he was a fleshy
man,—as large as Judge Pitcher.
“How does thee do, Josephine?” said he, patting her curls as he entered
the yard. “Where’s thy little brother?”
Then, spying him on the roof of the barn, he exclaimed, “Napoleon,
Napoleon, come down here! Thee shouldn’t play the monkey like that!”
“Napoleon” obeyed quickly.
“Now tell me what makes thee climb such high places? Thee’ll break thy
neck yet.”
“Oh! I told Posy I was going to; and you wouldn’t have me tell her a
lie, would you?” replied Pollio with a very serious face.
The Quaker would not allow himself to smile at this. “Is thy mother
willing to have thee do so?”
Pollio knew she was not; and he hung his head, and began to beat the
dirt in the road with a stick. He was very fond of Mr. Littlefield, and
did not like to have the good man know he ever did wrong.
“Stop, my son! Is it possible thee kills snakes?”
For Pollio was crushing a little snake with his stick.
“No, sir: ’twas dead in the first place, and I just killed it a little
more.”
The Quaker smiled, and went into the house with the children. He
staid to tea; and at the table he observed once or twice that Pollio
did not obey his mother the very moment she spoke, and he feared his
little pet was growing naughty. “Napoleon,” said he, as the little boy
came skipping out after supper to see him mount his horse. (He would
never call him Pollio, though he disliked his real name, for “Napoleon
Bonaparte was a fighting-man.”) “Napoleon!”
“Sir?” said Pollio.
“Thee is a great favorite of mine, Napoleon; but I have a | 2,589.262664 |
2023-11-16 19:00:13.3412890 | 4,574 | 34 |
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[Illustration: THE VERY RUDE YOUNG ROBINS. _Page 100_]
DOORYARD STORIES
by
CLARA DILLINGHAM PIERSON
Author of "Among the Forest People," "Night People," etc.
Illustrated by F. C. Gordon
New York
E. P. Dutton And Company
31 West Twenty-Third Street
Copyright, 1903
by E. P. Dutton & Co.
Published Sept., 1903
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
To
MY FATHER
WHO FIRST TAUGHT ME TO LOVE MY DOORYARD FRIENDS
PREFACE
MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS:--These stories are of things which I have seen
with my own eyes in my own yard, and the people of whom I write are my
friends and near neighbors. Some of them, indeed, live under my roof,
and Silvertip has long been a member of our family. So, you see, I
have not had to do like some writers--sit down and think and think how
to make the people act in their stories. These tales are of things
which have really happened, and all I have done is to write them down
for you.
Many of them have been told over and over again to my own little boy,
and because he never tires of hearing of the time when Silvertip was a
Kitten, and about the Wasps who built inside my shutters, I think you
may care to hear also. He wants me to be sure to tell how the baby
Swift tumbled down the chimney into his bedroom, and wishes you might
have seen it in the little nest we made. When I tell these tales to
him, I have great trouble in ending them, for there is never a time
when he does not ask: "And what did he do then Mother?" But I am
telling you as much as I can of how everything happened, and if there
was more which I did not see and cannot describe, you will have to
make up the rest to suit yourselves.
Besides, you know, there is always much which one cannot see or hear,
but which one knows is happening somewhere in this beautiful great
world. The birds do not stop living and working and loving when they
leave us for the sunny south, and above us, around us, and even under
our feet many things are done which we cannot see. As we become
better acquainted with the little people who live in our dooryards, we
shall see more and more interesting things, and I wish you might all
grow to be like my little boy, who is never lonely or in need of a
playmate so long as a Caterpillar or a Grasshopper is in sight.
See how many tiny neighbors you have around you, and how much you can
learn about them. Then you will find your own dooryard as interesting
as mine and know that there are playmates everywhere.
Your friend,
CLARA D. PIERSON.
STANTON, MICHIGAN,
_October 30, 1902_.
CONTENTS
PAGE
SILVERTIP 1
THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD-HOUSE 12
THE FIR-TREE NEIGHBORS 22
THE INDUSTRIOUS FLICKERS 36
PLUCKY MRS. POLISTES 48
SILVERTIP STOPS A QUARREL 68
A YOUNG SWIFT TUMBLES 78
THE VERY RUDE YOUNG ROBINS 96
THE SYSTEMATIC YELLOW-BILLED CUCKOO 108
THE HELPFUL TUMBLE-BUGS 121
SILVERTIP LEARNS A LESSON 132
THE ROBINS' DOUBLE BROOD 145
THE SPARROWS INSIDE THE EAVES 158
A RAINY DAY ON THE LAWN 173
THE PERSISTENT PHOEBE 183
THE SAD STORY OF THE HOG CATERPILLAR 199
THE CAT AND THE CATBIRD 210
THE FRIENDLY BLACKBIRDS 222
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE KITTEN LAPPED UP HIS MILK 6
THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD HOUSE 18
A RED SQUIRREL ATE THEM 34
A VERY CRUEL THING TO DO 38
THE CHIMNEY-SWIFT'S HOME 78
THE VERY RUDE YOUNG ROBINS 100
STUFFED IT DOWN THE WIDE-OPEN BILL 116
MR. CHIPMUNK ON THE WOODPILE 142
"O MOTHER, IT IS RAINING!" 175
"YOU DESERVE TO BE EATEN" 218
SILVERTIP
A very small, wet, and hungry Kitten pattered up and down a board walk
one cold and rainy night. His fur was so soaked that it dripped water
when he moved, and his poor little pink-cushioned paws splashed more
water up from the puddly boards every time he stepped. His tail looked
like a wet wisp of fur, and his little round face was very sad.
"Meouw!" said he. "Meouw! Meouw!"
He heard somebody coming up the street. "I will follow that
Gentleman," he thought, "and I will cry so that he will be sorry for
me and give me a home."
When this person came nearer he saw that it was not a Gentleman at
all, but a Lady who could hardly keep from being blown away. He could
not have seen her except that Cat's eyes can see in the dark. "Meouw!"
said the Kitten. "Meouw! Meouw!"
"Poor little Pussy!" said a voice above him. "Poor little Pussy! But
you must not come with me."
"Meouw!" answered he, and trotted right along after her. He was a
Kitten who was not easily discouraged. He rubbed up against her foot
and made her stop for fear of stepping on him. Then he felt himself
gently lifted up and put aside. He scrambled back and rubbed against
her other foot. And so it was for more than two blocks. The Lady, as
he always called her afterward, kept pushing him gently to one side
and he kept scrambling back. Sometimes she even had to stand quite
still for fear of stepping on him.
"Meouw!" said the Kitten, and he made up his mind that anybody who
spoke so kindly to strange Kittens would be a good mistress. "I will
stick to her," he said to himself. "I don't care how many times she
pushes me away, I _will_ scramble back."
When they turned in at a gate he saw a big house ahead of him with
many windows brightly lighted and another light on the porch. "I like
that home," he said to himself. "I will slip through the door when she
opens it."
But after she had turned the key in the door she pushed him back and
closed the screen between them. Then he heard her say: "Poor little
Pussy! I want to take you in, but we have agreed not to adopt another
Cat." Then she closed the door.
He wanted to explain that he was not really a Cat, only a little
Kitten, but he had no chance to say anything, so he waited outside and
thought and cried. He did not know that the Lady and her husband
feared that Cats would eat the many birds who nested in the trees on
the lawn. He thought it very hard luck for a tiny Kitten to be left
out in the cold rain while the Lady was reading by a blazing grate
fire. He did not know that as she sat by the fire she thought about
him instead of her book, for she loved little Kittens, and found it
hard to leave any out in the street alone.
While he was thinking and crying, a tall Gentleman with a black beard
and twinkling brown eyes came striding up to the brightly lighted
porch. "Well, Pussy-cat!" said the Gentleman, and took a bunch of
shining, jingling things out of his pocket and stuck one of them into
a little hole in the door and turned it. Then the door swung open, and
the Gentleman, who was trying to close his umbrella and shake off the
rain, called first to the Lady and then to the kitten. "O Clara!" he
cried. "Come to see this poor little Kitten. Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!
I know you want to see him. Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty! I should have
thought you would have heard him crying. Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!"
The Lady came running out and was laughing. "Yes, John," she said, "I
have had the pleasure of meeting him before. He was under my feet most
of the way home from church to-night, and I could hardly bear to leave
him outside. But you know what we promised each other, that we would
not adopt another Cat, on account of the birds."
The Gentleman sat down upon the stairs and wiped the Kitten off with
his handkerchief. "Y-yes, I know," he said weakly, "but Clara, look at
this poor little fellow. He couldn't catch a Chipping Sparrow."
"Not now," answered the Lady, "yet he will grow, if he is like most
Kittens, and you know what we said. If we don't stick to it we will
soon have as many Cats as we did a few years ago."
The Kitten saw that if he wanted to stay in this home he must insist
upon it and be very firm indeed with these people. So he kept on
crying and stuck his sharp claws into the Gentleman's sleeve. The
Gentleman said "Ouch!" and lifted him on to his coat lapel. There he
clung and shook and cried.
"Well, I suppose we mustn't keep him then," said he; "but we will give
him a warm supper anyway." So they got some milk and heated it, and
set it in a shallow dish before the grate. How that Kitten did eat!
The Lady sat on the floor beside him, and the Gentleman drew his chair
up close, and they said that it seemed hard to turn him out, but that
they would have to do it because they had promised each other.
The Kitten lapped up his milk with a soft click-clicking of his
little pink tongue, and then turned his head this way and that until
he had licked all the corners clean. He was so full of warm milk that
his sides bulged out, and his fur had begun to dry and stuck up in
pointed wisps all over him. He pretended to lap milk long after it was
gone. This was partly to show them how well he could wash dishes, and
partly to put off the time when he should be thrust out of doors.
[Illustration: THE KITTEN LAPPED UP HIS MILK. _Page 6_]
When he really could not make believe any longer, his tongue being so
tired, he began to cry and rub against these two people. The Gentleman
was the first to speak. "I cannot stand this," he said. "If he has to
go, I want to get it over." He picked up the Kitten and took him to
the door. As fast as he loosened one of the Kitten's claws from his
coat he stuck another one in, and at last the Lady had to help get him
free. "He is a regular Rough Rider," said the Gentleman. "There is no
shaking him off."
The Kitten didn't understand what a Rough Rider was, but it did not
sound like finding a home, so he cried some more. Then the door was
shut behind him and he was alone in the porch. "Well," he said, "I
like that house and those people, even if they did put me out. I think
I will make them adopt me." So he cuddled down in a sheltered, dry
corner, put his four feet all close together, and curled his tail, as
far as it would go, around them. And there he stayed all night.
In the morning, when the rain had stopped and the sun was shining
brightly, he trotted around the house and cried. He went up on to
another porch, rubbed against the door and cried. The Maid opened the
door and put out some milk for him. He could see into the warm kitchen
and smell the breakfast cooking on the range. When she came out to
get the empty dish, he slipped in through the open door. She said
"Whish!" and "Scat!" and "Shoo!" and tried to drive him out, but he
pretended not to understand and cuddled quietly down in a corner where
she could not easily reach him. Just then some food began to burn on
the range and the Maid let him alone. The Kitten did not cry now. He
had other work to do, and began licking himself all over and
scratching his ears with his hind feet.
When he heard the Gentleman and the Lady talking in the dining-room,
he watched his chance and slipped in. He decided to pay the most
attention to the Gentleman, for he had been the first to take him up.
They were laughing and talking and saying how glad they were that the
rain had stopped falling. "I believe, John," the Lady said, "that if
it had not been for me, you would really have kept that Kitten last
night."
"Oh, no," answered the Gentleman. "We ought not to keep Cats. I think
that if it had not been for me _you_ would have kept him."
Just at that minute the Kitten began climbing up his trousers leg and
crying. "Poor little Pussy," said the Gentleman. "Clara, can't we
spare some of this cream?" He reached for the pitcher. The Kitten
began to feel more sure of a home.
"O John, not here?" began the Lady, and the Maid came in to explain
how it all happened. The Kitten stuck his claws into the Gentleman's
coat and would not let go. Then he cried some more and waved his tail.
He had a very beautiful tail, marked just like that of a Raccoon, and
he turned it toward the Lady. He had heard somewhere about putting the
best foot forward, and thought that a tail might do just as well.
While he was waving his tail at the Lady he rubbed his head against
the Gentleman's black beard.
"If we _should_ keep him, John," said the Lady, "we ought to call him
Silvertip, because he has such a pretty white tip to his tail." The
Kitten waved it again and began to purr.
"If you knew what a strong and fearless fellow he is, you would call
him Teddy," answered the Gentleman, turning over a paper which said in
big black letters, "Our Teddy Wins."
"Call him Teddy Silvertip then," said the Lady, as she reached for the
bell. When the Maid came in answer to her ring, she said, "Belle,
please take our Kitten into the kitchen and feed him." Then the Kitten
let go and was carried away happy, for he had found a home. He had
also learned how to manage the Lady and the Gentleman, and he was
always _very_ firm with them after that.
THE FIGHT FOR THE BIRD-HOUSE
Under the cornice of the tool-house was an old cigar-box with a tiny
doorway cut in one end and a small board nailed in front of it for a
porch. This had been put up for a bird-house, and year after year a
pair of Wrens had nested there, until they began to think it really
their own. When they left it in the fall to fly south, they always
looked back lovingly at it, and talked over their plans for the next
summer.
"I think we might better leave this nest inside all winter," Mrs. Wren
always said. "It will seem so much more home-like when we return, and
it will not be much trouble to clear it out afterward."
"An excellent plan, my dear," her cheerful little husband would reply.
"You remember we did so last season. Besides," he always added, "that
will show other birds that Wrens have lived here, and they will know
that we are expecting to return, since that is the custom in our
family."
"And then do you think they will leave it for us?" Mrs. Wren would
ask. "You know they might want it for themselves."
"What if they did want it?" Mr. Wren had said. "They could go
somewhere else, couldn't they? Do you suppose I would ever steal
another bird's nesting-place if I knew it?"
"N-no," said Mrs. Wren, "but not everybody is as unselfish as you."
And she looked at him tenderly.
The Wrens were a most devoted couple,--all in all, about the nicest
birds on the place. And that was saying a great deal, for there were
many nesting there and others who came to find food on the broad
lawn. They were small birds, wearing dark brown feathers on the upper
parts of their bodies and lighter grayish ones underneath. Even their
bills were marked in the same way, with the upper half dark and the
lower half light. Their wings were short and blunt, and they had a
habit of holding their tails well up in the air.
People said that Mrs. Wren was very fussy, and perhaps it was true,
but even then she was not a cross person. Besides, if she wished to do
a thing over five times in order to make it suit her, she certainly
had a perfect right to do so. It was she who always chose the
nesting-place and settled all the plans for the family. Mr. Wren was
quite content to have it so, since that was the custom among Wrens,
and it saved him much work. Mr. Wren was not lazy. He simply wanted to
save time for singing, which he considered his own particular
business. Besides, he never forgot what had happened to a cousin of
his, a young fellow who found fault with his wife and insisted on
changing to another nesting-place. It had ended in his going, and her
staying there and marrying another Wren. So he had lost both his home
and his wife by finding fault.
Now the April days had come, with their warm showers and green growing
grass. A pair of English Sparrows, who had nested in the woodbine the
summer before and raised several large | 2,589.364921 |
2023-11-16 19:00:13.4358120 | 4,713 | 9 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Steven Brown and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: Colour plate of book cover]
[Illustration: Byron portrait plate]
PARADISE LOST. BK. XII. _Painting by S. Meteyard._
"They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way."
(_Paradise Lost. Bk. XII._)
[Illustration: Paradise lost plate]
A DAY WITH
JOHN MILTON
BY MAY BYRON
[Illustration: "Angel" plate]
HODDER & STOUGHTON
_In the same Series._
_Tennyson._
_Browning._
_E. B. Browning._
_Burns._
_Byron._
_Longfellow._
_Whittier._
_Rossetti._
_Shelley._
_Scott._
_Coleridge._
_Morris._
_Wordsworth._
_Whitman._
_Keats._
_Shakespeare._
A DAY WITH JOHN MILTON
About four o'clock on a September morning of 1665,--when the sun was
not yet shining upon his windows facing the Artillery Fields, and the
autumnal dew lay wet upon his garden leaves,--John Milton awoke with
his customary punctuality, and, true to his austere and abstemious mode
of life, wasted no time over comfortable indolence. He rose and
proceeded to dress, with the help of his manservant Greene. For,
although he was but fifty-four years in age, his hands were partly
crippled with gout and chalkstones, and his eyes, clear, bright and blue
as they had always been to outward seeming, were both stone-blind.
Milton still retained much of that personal comeliness which had won
him, at Cambridge, the nickname of "Lady of Christ's College." His
original red and white had now become a uniform pallor; his thick,
light brown hair, parted at the top, and curling richly on his
shoulders--(no close-cropt Roundhead this!)--was beginning to fade
towards grey. But his features were noble and symmetrical; he was
well-built and well-proportioned; and he was justified in priding
himself upon a personal appearance which he had never neglected or
despised. In his own words, he was "neither large nor small: at no time
had he been considered ugly; and in youth, with a sword by his side, he
had never feared the bravest."
Such was the man who now, neatly dressed in black, was led into his
study, upon the same floor as his bedroom,--a small chamber hung with
rusty green,--and there, seated in a large old elbow-chair, received the
morning salutations of his three daughters.
One after another they entered the room, and each bestowed a
characteristic greeting upon her father. Anne, the eldest, a handsome
girl of twenty, was lame, and had a slight impediment in her speech. She
bade him good-morning with a stammering carelessness, enquired casually
as to his night's rest, and stared out of window, palpably bored at the
commencement of another monotonous, irksome day. Mary, the second,
--dark, impetuous, and impatient,--was in a state of smouldering
rebellion. She addressed him in a tone of almost insolent mock-civility,
--he must needs have been deaf as well as blind not to detect the
unfilial dislike beneath her words. Ten-year-old Deborah, the most
affectionate of the three, ventured to kiss her father, even to stroke
his long, beautiful hair, and to re-tie the tassels of his collar.
"Mary will read to me this morning," said Milton, gravely inclining his
head in acknowledgment of Deborah's attentions. The dark girl, with a
mutinous shrug of her shoulders, sat down and began to read aloud, in a
hard, uninterested voice, out of the great leather-bound Hebrew Old
Testament which lay upon the table. And not one single sentence did she
understand--not one word of what she was reading.
John Milton's theories of education, which he had expounded at length in
pamphlets, were a curious blend of the practical and the ideal. Vastly
in advance of his time in his demand for a practical training, he had
evolved that "fine definition which has never been improved upon,"--"I
call a complete and generous education that which fits a man to perform,
justly, skilfully and magnanimously, all the offices, both private and
public, of peace and war." But he made no allowances for slowness or
stupidity: all his schemes were based upon the existence of scholars
equally gifted with himself. And he entirely left out of all
calculations, much as a Mahommedan might, that complex organism the
female mind. He wished it, one must conjecture, to remain a blank. So
his daughters had received no systematic schooling, only some sort of
home-instruction from a governess. And he had himself trained them to
read aloud in five or six languages,--French, Italian, Latin, Greek,
Hebrew and even Syriac,--in total ignorance of the meaning.
"One tongue," observed Milton brusquely, almost brutally, "is enough
for any woman."
Mary read on, steadily, stolidly, sullenly, for a full hour. The others
had left the room and were busy upon household tasks. At the conclusion
of two chapters, "Leave me," commanded Milton, "I would be alone now for
contemplation,"--and Mary willingly escaped to breakfast.
The great poet reclined in his chair,--wrapt in such solemn and
melancholy meditation as might have served as the model for his own
_Penseroso_. A severe composure suffused his fine features, a serious
sadness looked out of his unclouded eyes; his entire expression was
"that of English intrepidity mixed with unutterable sorrow." For Milton
was a bitterly disappointed man.
It was not merely his comparative poverty,--because the Restoration,
besides depriving him of his post as Latin or Foreign Secretary to the
Commonwealth Council of State, had reduced his means from various
sources almost to vanishing point.
Nor was his melancholy mainly the result of his affliction; that he had
deliberately incurred, and was as deliberately enduring. Constant
headaches, late study, and perpetual recourse to one nostrum after
another, had eventuated in the certainty of total blindness if he
persisted in his mode of work.
"The choice lay before me between dereliction of a supreme duty and
loss of eyesight;... and I therefore concluded to employ the
little remaining eyesight I was to enjoy in doing this, the
greatest service to the common weal it was in my power to render."
No: it was not a personal matter which could sadden John Milton to the
very roots of his stern, ambitious, courageous soul. It was the
contravention of all that he held most dear in life,--the frustration,
as he conceived it, of that liberty which was his very heart's blood by
the Restoration of the Stuart monarchy. He had resolved, in his own
words, to transfer into the struggle for liberty "all my genius and all
the strength of my industry." It appeared that he had flung away both
in vain. The Stuart monarchy, to him, lay monstrously black,
overshadowing all the land, like his own conception of Satan.
The Restoration was not merely the political defeat of his party, it was
the total defeat of the principles, of the religious and social ideals,
with which Milton's life was bound up. He had always stood aloof from
the other salient men of the time. Of Cromwell he had practically no
personal knowledge: with the bulk of the Presbyterians he was openly at
enmity. "Shut away behind a barrier of his own ideas," he did not care
to associate with men of less lofty intellectual standing. But now he
was even more isolated. Since the downfall of the Puritan regime, he of
necessity "stood alone, and became the party himself." And he presented,
in his _Samson Agonistes_, "the intensest utterance of the most intense
of English poets--the agonised cry of the beaten party," condensed into
the expression of one unflinching and heroic soul.
Upon the mysterious and inscrutable decrees of Providence, which had
laid in the dust what seemed to him the very cause of God, Milton sat
and pondered, in a despondency so profound, a disappointment so
poignant, that his own great lines had sought in vain to voice it:
"... I feel my genial spirits droop,
My hopes all flat: Nature within me seems
In all her functions weary of herself;
My race of glory run, and race of shame,
And I shall shortly be with them that rest."
(_Samson Agonistes_).
Yet his indomitable spirit was by no means quenched in despair: and an
outlet was now open to him at last, which for eighteen years he had
foregone,--the outlet of poetic expression. He was conscious of his
capacity to travel and to traverse the regions which none had dared
explore save Dante. And with that tremendous chief of pioneers he was
measuring himself, man to man.
He was able, above the turmoil of faction and the tumult of conflicting
troubles, to weigh
"... his spread wings, at leisure to behold
Far off the empyreal Heaven, extended wide
In circuit, undetermined square or round,
With opal towers and battlements adorned
Of living sapphire, once his native seat."
(_Paradise Lost_).
That Milton had been silent for so long a period was due, firstly to his
preoccupation with political and polemical questions, into which he had
thrown the whole weight of his mind; and, secondly, to the effect of his
own firm resolve that the great epic, which, he had always secretly
intended, should be the outcome of matured and ripened powers: the
apotheosis of all that was worthiest in him: the full fruit of his
strenuous life. He had long since arrived at that conclusion, never
surpassed in its terseness and truth, that true poetry must be "simple,
sensuous, impassioned,"--words which might serve as the text and
touchstone of art. "And long it was not after" when he
"was confirmed in this opinion, that he who would not be frustrate of
his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things, ought himself to
be a true poem."
For poetry, to John Milton, was no sounding brass or tinkling cymbal; in
his hand "the thing became a trumpet," apt to seraphic usages and the
rallying of celestial cohorts.
Therefore, when he ceased to touch the "tender stops of various quills"
that trembled into silence in _Lycidas_, it was not as one discomfited
of his attainment. Rather it was as one convinced of a mighty purpose,
and patiently awaiting the just time of its fulfilment. The "woodnotes
wild" of _Comus_, the exquisitely stippled _genre_ painting of
_Allegro_ and _Penseroso_, were mere childish attempts compared with
that monumental work to which Milton firmly proposed to devote the
fruition of his genius. And now, having become a man through mental and
physical experience even more than through the passage of years, he had
put away childish things. He had resolved at last upon, and had at last
undertaken, the one subject most congenial to his taste, and most
suitable to his style and diction. _Paradise Lost_ was the triumphant
offspring of his brain. It had sprung, like light, from chaos. Out of
the darkness of poverty, blindness and defeat arose the poem which was
to set him on the pinnacles of Parnassus.
"You make many enquiries as to what I am about" he wrote in bygone years to
his old schoolfellow, Charles Diodati. "What am I thinking of? Why with
God's help, of immortality! Forgive the word, I only whisper it in your
ear. Yes, I am pluming my wings for a flight." Nor was this the idle
boasting of an egotist, the empty imagination of a dreamer.
Consumed by "the desire of honour and repute and universal fame,
seated," as he put it, "in the breast of every true scholar," Milton
sedulously and assiduously had prepared himself for the achievement of
his aims. That he should "strictly meditate the thankless Muse" required
a certain self-control. "To scorn delights and live laborious days" is
not the customary delight of a handsome young scholar, expert in
swordsmanship as in languages. To equip himself for his self-chosen
task, still a misty, undefined prospect in the remotest future, required
strenuous and disciplined study; and necessitated his forgoing too
frequently the scenes of rustic happiness which he had pictured so
charmingly in _L'Allegro_,--absenting himself from "The groves and
ruins, and the beloved village elms... where I too, among rural scenes
and remote forests, seemed as if I could have grown and vegetated
through a hidden eternity."
And this, though Milton had neither the eye nor the ear of a born
nature-lover, was in itself a sufficient deprivation and sacrifice. For
beauty appealed to him with a most earnest insistence,--and the purer,
the more abstract form it took, the more urgent was that appeal. "God
has instilled into me, at all events," he declared, "a vehement love of
the beautiful. Not with so much labour is Ceres said to have sought
Proserpine, as I am wont, day and night, to search for the idea of the
beautiful through all forms and faces of things, and to follow it
leading me on with certain assured traces."
Yet not alone among "forms and faces" was he predestined to discover
that Absolute Beauty. The passionate love of music, so frequently
characteristic of a great linguist, which led him into sound-worlds as
well as sight-worlds, was fated to remain with him, an incalculable
consolation, when "forms and faces" could be no more seen. And into the
vocabulary of _Paradise Lost_, that incomparably rich vocabulary, with
its infallible ear for rhythm, for phrase, for magnificent consonantal
effects and the magic of great names that reverberate through open
vowels,--into this he poured forth his whole sense of beautiful sound,
"as the wakeful bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid,
Tunes her nocturnal note."
_Paradise Lost_ remains, as has been observed, "The elaborated outcome
of all the best words of all antecedent poetry--the language of one who
lives in the companionship of the great and the wise of all past time,
equally magnificent in verbiage, whether describing man, or God, or the
Arch-Enemy visiting" this pendent world, when
Thither, full fraught with mischievous revenge,
Accursed, and in a cursed hour, he lives.
At seven o'clock the body-servant Greene re-entered, followed by Mrs.
Milton, the poet's third wife, and by Mary Fisher, their maid-servant,
bringing in his breakfast, a light, slight repast. Mrs. Milton, _nee_
Elizabeth Minshull, of Nantwich, was a comely, active, capable woman,
"of a peaceful and agreeable humour," so far at least as her husband was
concerned: for she shared the traditional destiny of a stepmother in not
"hitting it off" with the first wife's daughters. Her golden hair and
calm commonsense were in striking contrast, alike with the dark beauty
and petulant spirit of Mary Powell, and with the fragile sweetness of
Catherine Woodcock, Milton's former spouses. If she did not in her heart
confirm her husband's celebrated theory of the relative position of man
and wife,--"He for God only, she for God in him,"--(which, it has been
said, "condenses every fallacy about woman's true relation to her
husband and to her Maker"), she managed very adroitly to convey an
impression of entire acquiescence in the will of her lord. And at least
she was entirely adequate as a housewife.
Had Milton ever encountered that "not impossible She" whom he portrayed
in his ideal Eve? or was this latter a mere visionary abstract of great
qualities, "to show us how divine a thing a woman may be made"? Neither
of his three wives, nor yet that "very handsome and witty gentlewoman,"
Miss Davis, to whom he had at one time paid his addresses, conformed to
this description: one cannot even conjecture that it was a _pasticcio_
of their respective fine attributes.
Mrs. Milton, third of that name, as she bustled and busied herself about
the study, was by no means a new Eve. She regarded her husband's
ambitions and achievements with that good natured tolerance so
characteristic of the materially-minded. Only genius can appreciate
genius; and the man who shut himself away from his _confreres_ in
scholarship and literature was not likely to unbosom himself to his
housewifely, provincial wife.
COMUS. _Painting by S. Meteyard._
Sabrina rises attended by water nymphs,
"By the rushy-fringed bank,
Where grows the willow and the osier dank,"
(_Comus_).
[Illustration: Comus colour plate]
The manservant Greene, breakfast being concluded, read aloud, or wrote
to his master's dictation for some hours. This had formerly been the
girls' daily office, but they were revolting more and more,--the whole
position was becoming untenable, for they resented the presence of their
stepmother as much as they disliked the duties which fettered them to
their father's side, and forced them to parrot-like, futile drudgery in
unknown tongues. To-day, however, Greene was relieved of the task, for
which he was manifestly but ill-fitted, by the entrance of Milton's two
favourite visitors.
No celebrity ever had fewer friends. From all who might have called
themselves such, he was separated by hostility of party, rancour of
sect or by that almost repellent isolation of character to which
reference has already been made. When at the highest of his political
fame, he had almost boasted himself of this "splendid isolation,"--"I
have very little acquaintance with those in power, inasmuch as I keep
very much to my own house, and prefer to do so." At heart a Republican
beyond the conception of any Roundhead,--cherishing a form of religion
so recondite that it could be classed under no heading, since he ignored
both public worship and family prayer,--having given offence to all and
sundry by his outspoken theories upon divorce and divine right,--Milton
presented to most men a dangerous personality. And most of all now, when
the wits of the Restoration roues could be sharpened upon him, and when
the heathen, as he considered them, roistered and ruffled it through the
city that had "returned to her wallowing in the mire."
Yet those who had sat at his feet as pupils, retained a singular
affection for their former master. For all such young folk as adopted
the disciple's attitude, the stern self-contained man had a very soft
spot in his heart. With such, he was not only instructive, but genial,
almost cheerful; and they alone could move him to the only utterances
which were neither "solemn, serious or sad." Chief among his former
pupils were those who now made entrance--Henry Lawrence and Cyriac
Skinner.
It may be guessed, therefore, with what pleasure the blind poet received
these loyal and affectionate men. His pensive face became transformed
with interest and animation, as with gentle courtesy and unfeigned
delight he turned his sightless eyes from one speaker to another. Upon
every subject he had a ready flow of easy, colloquial conversation,
seasoned with shrewd satire: his deep and musical voice ran up and down
the whole gamut of worthy topics. Sometimes he fell into the stately,
almost stilted diction of his great prose pamphlets,--sometimes he spoke
in racy English vernacular,--sometimes, warming to his subject, he
assumed an almost fiery eloquence. But when, at twelve o'clock, he was
escorted downstairs to dinner in the parlour, the metamorphosis was
complete. This was no longer the brooding introspective man of the early
morning, but one "extreme pleasant in his conversation," almost merry in
society so congenial,--the life of the party | 2,589.455852 |
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* * * * *
[Illustration: THE VALENTINE.
Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine by W. E. Tucker.]
* * * * *
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXVI. February, 1850. No. 2.
Table of Contents
Fiction, Literature and Articles
February
Patrick O’Brien
The Young Artist
Love’s Influence
The Two Portraits
Myrrah Of Tangiers
The Wilkinsons
Fanny Day’s Presentiment
Gems From Moore’s Irish Melodies. No. II.—The Last
Rose of Summer
The Revealings of a Heart
Life of General Joseph Warren
Editor’s Table
Review of New Books
Poetry, Music, and Fashion
Wit And Beauty
A Household Dirge
The Pirate
Sonnets.—at Twilight
Song
Night Thoughts
Ballads of the Campaign in Mexico
A Spanish Romance
To A. R.
The Pale Thinker
The Evil Eye
Fancies About a Portrait
The Dream of Youth
Le Follet
Wissahikon Waltz
Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
* * * * *
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXVI. PHILADELPHIA, February, 1850. NO. 2.
* * * * *
FEBRUARY.
The flowers which cold in prison kept
Now laugh the frost to scorn.
RICHARD EDWARDS. 1523.
AMONG the ancient manuscripts in the British Museum there is one of
Saxon origin, written by Ethelgar, a writer of some note in the tenth
century. Commenting on the months, he speaks of February, which he calls
_Sprout kele_, because colewort, a kind of cabbage, which was the chief
sustenance of the husbandmen in those days, began to yield wholesome
young sprouts during this month. Some centuries after, this name was
modernized by the Romans, who offered their expiatory sacrifices at this
season of the year, and called _Februalia_. Frequently during this month
the cold is abated for a short time, and fine days and hasty thaws take
the place of rigid frost. From this peculiarity, this month has often
been called by ancient writers by the expressive name of “_February fill
dike_.”
Clare’s verses are sweetly descriptive of this changing season—
The snow has left the cottage top;
The thatch moss grows in brighter green;
And eaves in quick succession drop,
Where pinning icicles have been;
Pitpatting with a pleasant noise,
In tubs set by the cottage door;
While ducks and geese, with happy joys,
Plunge in the yard-pond brimming o’er.
The sun peeps through the window pane;
Which children mark with laughing eye:
And in the wet street steal again,
To tell each other Spring is nigh:
Then, as young Hope the past recalls,
In playing groups they often draw,
To build beside the sunny walls
Their spring-time huts of sticks and straw.
And oft in pleasure’s dreams they hie
Round homesteads by the village side,
Scratching the hedgerow mosses by,
Where painted pooty shells abide;
Mistaking oft the ivy spray
For leaves that come with budding Spring,
And wondering in their search for play
Why birds delay to build and sing.
The mavis-thrush with wild delight
Upon the orchard’s dripping tree,
Mutters, to see the day so bright,
Fragments of young Hope’s poesy:
And dame oft stops her buzzing wheel
To hear the robin’s note once more,
Who tootles while he pecks his meal
From sweet-briar hips beside the door.
The frost often returns after a few days, and binds Nature with his iron
hand. In Great Britain, where the Spring is much earlier than with us,
February is remarkable | 2,590.15567 |
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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_.
THE DECORATION OF HOUSES
Charles Scribner's
Sons
New York
1914
The
Decoration of
Houses
By
Edith Wharton
and
Ogden Codman Jr.
Copyright, 1897, by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
"_Une forme doit etre belle en elle-meme et on ne doit jamais compter
sur le decor applique pour en sauver les imperfections._"
HENRI MAYEUX: _La Composition Decorative_.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION xix
I THE HISTORICAL TRADITION 1
II ROOMS IN GENERAL 17
III WALLS 31
IV DOORS 48
V WINDOWS 64
VI FIREPLACES 74
VII CEILINGS AND FLOORS 89
VIII ENTRANCE AND VESTIBULE 103
IX HALL AND STAIRS 106
X THE DRAWING-ROOM, BOUDOIR, AND MORNING-ROOM 122
XI GALA ROOMS: BALL-ROOM, SALOON, MUSIC-ROOM, GALLERY 134
XII THE LIBRARY, SMOKING-ROOM, AND "DEN" 145
XIII THE DINING-ROOM 155
XIV BEDROOMS 162
XV THE SCHOOL-ROOM AND NURSERIES 173
XVI BRIC-A-BRAC 184
CONCLUSION 196
INDEX 199
LIST OF PLATES
FACING PAGE
I ITALIAN GOTHIC CHEST 1
II FRENCH ARM-CHAIRS, XV AND XVI CENTURIES 6
III FRENCH _Armoire_, XVI CENTURY 10
IV FRENCH SOFA AND ARM-CHAIR, LOUIS XIV PERIOD 12
V ROOM IN THE GRAND TRIANON, VERSAILLES 14
VI FRENCH ARM-CHAIR, LOUIS XV PERIOD 16
VII FRENCH _Bergere_, LOUIS XVI PERIOD 20
VIII FRENCH _Bergere_, LOUIS XVI PERIOD 24
IX FRENCH SOFA, LOUIS XV PERIOD 28
X FRENCH MARQUETRY TABLE, LOUIS XVI PERIOD 30
XI DRAWING-ROOM, HOUSE IN BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON 34
XII ROOM IN THE VILLA VERTEMATI 38
XIII DRAWING-ROOM AT EASTON NESTON HALL 42
XIV DOORWAY, DUCAL PALACE, MANTUA 48
XV SALA DEI CAVALLI, PALAZZO DEL T 54
XVI DOOR IN THE SALA DELLO ZODIACO, DUCAL PALACE,
MANTUA 58
XVII EXAMPLES OF MODERN FRENCH LOCKSMITHS' WORK 60
XVIII CARVED DOOR, PALACE OF VERSAILLES 62
XIX SALON DES MALACHITES, GRAND TRIANON, VERSAILLES 68
XX MANTELPIECE, DUCAL PALACE, URBINO 74
XXI MANTELPIECE, VILLA GIACOMELLI 78
XXII FRENCH FIRE-SCREEN, LOUIS XIV PERIOD 86
XXIII CARVED WOODEN CEILING, VILLA VERTEMATI 90
XXIV CEILING IN PALAIS DE JUSTICE, RENNES 92
XXV CEILING OF THE SALA DEGLI SPOSI, DUCAL PALACE,
MANTUA 96
XXVI CEILING IN THE STYLE OF BERAIN 100
XXVII CEILING IN THE CHATEAU OF CHANTILLY 102
XXVIII ANTECHAMBER, VILLA CAMBIASO, GENOA 104
XXIX ANTECHAMBER, DURAZZO PALACE, GENOA 106
XXX STAIRCASE, PARODI PALACE, GENOA 108
XXXI STAIRCASE, HOTEL DE VILLE, NANCY 112
XXXII STAIRCASE, PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU 116
XXXIII FRENCH _Armoire_, LOUIS XIV PERIOD 120
XXXIV SALA DELLA MADDALENA, ROYAL PALACE, GENOA 122
XXXV CONSOLE IN PETIT TRIANON, VERSAILLES 124
XXXVI SALON, PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU 126
XXXVII ROOM IN THE PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU 128
XXXVIII _Lit de Repos_, EARLY LOUIS XV PERIOD 130
XXXIX _Lit de Repos_, LOUIS XV PERIOD 130
XL PAINTED WALL-PANEL AND DOOR, CHANTILLY 132
XLI FRENCH BOUDOIR, LOUIS XVI PERIOD 132
XLII _Salon a l'italienne_ 136
XLIII BALL-ROOM, ROYAL PALACE, GENOA 138
XLIV SALOON, VILLA VERTEMATI 140
XLV SALA DELLO ZODIACO, DUCAL PALACE, MANTUA 140
XLVI FRENCH TABLE, TRANSITION BETWEEN LOUIS XIV AND
LOUIS XV PERIODS 142
XLVII LIBRARY OF LOUIS XVI, PALACE OF VERSAILLES 144
XLVIII SMALL LIBRARY, AUDLEY END 146
XLIX FRENCH WRITING-CHAIR, LOUIS XV PERIOD 150
L DINING-ROOM, PALACE OF COMPIEGNE 154
LI DINING-ROOM FOUNTAIN, PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU 156
LII FRENCH DINING-CHAIR, LOUIS XIV PERIOD 158
LIII FRENCH DINING-CHAIR, LOUIS XVI PERIOD 158
LIV BEDROOM, PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU 162
LV BATH-ROOM, PITTI PALACE, FLORENCE 168
LVI BRONZE ANDIRON, XVI CENTURY 184
BOOKS CONSULTED
FRENCH
ANDROUET DU CERCEAU, JACQUES.
Les Plus Excellents Batiments de France. _Paris, 1607._
LE MUET, PIERRE.
Maniere de Bien Batir pour toutes sortes de Personnes.
OPPENORD, GILLES MARIE.
Oeuvres. _1750._
MARIETTE, PIERRE JEAN.
L'Architecture Francoise. _1727._
BRISEUX, CHARLES ETIENNE.
L'Art de Batir les Maisons de Campagne. _Paris, 1743._
LALONDE, FRANCOIS RICHARD DE.
Recueil de ses Oeuvres.
AVILER, C. A. D'.
Cours d'Architecture. _1760._
BLONDEL, JACQUES FRANCOIS.
Architecture Francoise. _Paris, 1752._
Cours d'Architecture. _Paris, 1771-77._
De la Distribution des Maisons de Plaisance et de la
Decoration des Edifices. _Paris, 1737._
ROUBO, A. J., FILS.
L'Art du Menuisier.
HERE DE CORNY, EMMANUEL.
Recueil des Plans, Elevations et Coupes des Chateaux,
Jardins et Dependances que le Roi de Pologne occupe en
Lorraine. _Paris, n. d._
PERCIER ET FONTAINE.
Choix des plus Celebres Maisons de Plaisance de Rome et de
ses Environs. _Paris, 1809._
Palais, Maisons, et autres Edifices Modernes dessines a
Rome. _Paris, 1798._
Residences des Souverains. _Paris, 1833._
KRAFFT ET RANSONNETTE.
Plans, Coupes, et Elevations des plus belles Maisons et
Hotels construits a Paris et dans les Environs. _Paris,
1801._
DURAND, JEAN NICOLAS LOUIS.
Recueil et Parallele des Edifices de tout Genre. _Paris,
1800._
Precis des Lecons d'Architecture donnees a l'Ecole Royale
Polytechnique. _Paris, 1823._
QUATREMERE DE QUINCY, A. C.
Histoire de la Vie et des Ouvrages des plus Celebres
Architectes du XIe siecle jusqu'a la fin du XVIII siecle.
_Paris, 1830._
PELLASSY DE L'OUSLE.
Histoire du Palais de Compiegne. _Paris, n. d._
LETAROUILLY, PAUL MARIE.
Edifices de Rome Moderne. _Paris, 1825-57._
RAMEE, DANIEL.
Histoire Generale de l'Architecture. _Paris, 1862._
Meubles Religieux et Civils Conserves dans les principaux
Monuments et Musees de l'Europe.
VIOLLET LE D | 2,590.263032 |
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A MANUAL OF SHOEMAKING
[Illustration: An Old-Fashioned Shoemaker. _Frontispiece._]
A MANUAL
OF
SHOEMAKING
AND
LEATHER AND RUBBER
PRODUCTS
BY
WILLIAM H. DOOLEY
PRINCIPAL OF THE LOWELL INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL
_ILLUSTRATED_
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1912
_Copyright, 1912_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
Published, September, 1912.
PREFACE
The author was asked in 1908 by the Lynn Commission on Industrial
Education to make an investigation of European shoe schools and to assist
the Commission in preparing a course of study for the proposed shoe
school in the city of Lynn. A close investigation showed that there were
several textbooks on shoemaking published in Europe, but that no general
textbook on shoemaking had been issued in this country adapted to meet
the needs of industrial, trade, and commercial schools or those who have
just entered the rubber, shoe, and leather trades. This book is written
to meet this need. Others may find it of interest.
The author is under obligations to the following persons and firms for
information and assistance in preparing the book, and for permission
to reproduce photographs and information from their publications: Mr.
J. H. Finn, Mr. Frank L. West, Head of Shoemaking Department, Tuskegee,
Ala., Mr. Louis Fleming, Mr. F. Garrison, President of _Shoe and Leather
Gazette_, Mr. Arthur L. Evans, _The Shoeman_, Mr. Charles F. Cahill,
United Shoe Machinery Company, Hood Rubber Company, Bliss Shoe Company,
American Hide and Leather Company, Regal Shoe Company, the publishers of
_Hide and Leather_, _American Shoemaking_, _Shoe Repairing_, _Boot and
Shoe Recorder_, _The Weekly Bulletin_, and the New York Leather Belting
Company.
In addition, the author desires to acknowledge his indebtedness to the
great body of foreign literature on the different subjects from which
information has been obtained.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE v
CHAPTER
I. FUNDAMENTAL SHOE TERMS 1
II. HIDES AND THEIR TREATMENT 4
III. PROCESSES OF TANNING 21
IV. THE ANATOMY OF THE FOOT 77
V. HOW SHOE STYLES ARE MADE 93
VI. DEPARTMENTS OF A SHOE FACTORY 103
VII. MCKAY AND TURNED SHOES 144
VIII. OLD-FASHIONED SHOEMAKING AND REPAIRING 162
IX. LEATHER AND SHOEMAKING TERMS 177
X. LEATHER PRODUCTS MANUFACTURE 218
XI. RUBBER SHOE MANUFACTURE AND TERMS 228
XII. HISTORY OF FOOTWEAR 250
INDEX 281
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
An Old-fashioned Shoemaker _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Names of the Different Parts of Foot Wear 2
Green-salted Calfskin 12
Tanning Process 24
Tanning Process, showing Rotating Drums 28
Sole Leather Offal 34
Bones and Joints of the Human Foot 78
The Different Parts of the Foot and Ankle 78
A Last in Three Stages of Manufacture 98
A Modern Shoe Factory 104
A Skin Divided before Cutting 112
Cutting Leather 116
Goodyear Stitching 116
Stock Fitting Room 120
Lasting 124
Welting 124
Rough Rounding 128
Edge Trimming 128
Leveling 132
Heeling 132
Sole Scouring 136
Heel Shaping 136
Ironing 140
Packing 140
Cross Sections of Welt Shoe and McKay Sewed Shoe 144
Stitching 148
Tacking 148
Cross Section of Standard Screwed Shoe 160
Side of Leather divided as to Quality 168
Cross Section of McKay Sewed Shoe 200
Cross Section of Goodyear Welt Shoe 200
Crude Rubber 228
Washing and Drying 232
Calender Room 234
Cutting Room 236
Putting together the Parts of a Rubber Shoe 240
Heel-making Department 242
Parts of a Rubber Boot 248
Insole for Hand-sewed Shoe 264
Hand-sewed Shoe 264
Stitching Room of a German Shoe Factory 276
SHOEMAKING
CHAPTER ONE
FUNDAMENTAL SHOE TERMS
Before explaining the manufacture of shoes, it is necessary to fix
definitely in our minds the names of their different parts. Examine your
shoes and note the parts that are here described.
The bottom of the shoe is called the sole. The part above the sole is
called the upper. The top of the shoe is that part measured by the lacing
which covers the ankle and the instep. The vamp is that section which
covers the sides of the foot and the toes. The shank is that part of
the sole of the shoe between the heel and the ball. This name is often
applied to a piece of metal or other substance in that part of the sole,
intended to give support to the arch of the foot. The throat of the vamp
is that part which curves around the lower edge of the top, where the
lacing starts.
Backstay is a term used to denote a strip of leather covering and
strengthening the back seam of the shoe. Quarter is a term used mostly in
low shoes to denote the rear part of the upper when a full vamp is not
used. Button fly is the portion of the upper containing the buttonholes
of a button shoe. Tip is the toe piece of a shoe, stitched to the vamp
and outside of it. The lace stay is a term used to denote a strip of
leather reënforcing the eyelet holes. Tongue denotes a narrow strip of
leather used on all lace shoes to protect the instep from the lacing and
weather.
[Illustration: Names of the Different Parts of Foot Wear. _Page 2._]
Foxing is the name applied to leather of the upper that extends from the
sole to the laces in front, and to about the height of the counter in the
back, being the length of the upper. It may be in one or more pieces, and
is often cut down to the shank in circular form. If in two pieces, that
part covering the counter is called a heel fox. Overlay is a term applied
to leather attached to the upper part of the vamp of a slipper. The
breast of the heel is the inner part of the heel, that is, the section
nearest the shank.
CHAPTER TWO
HIDES AND THEIR TREATMENT
If we examine our shoes, we will find that the different parts are
composed of material called leather. The bottom of the shoe is of hard
leather, while the part above the sole is of a softer, more pliable
leather. This leather is nothing more than the hides of different animals
treated in such a way as to remove the fat and the hair.
After the hides have been taken from the dead body of the animal, they
are quite heavily salted to preserve them from spoiling. In this salted
condition they are shipped to the tanneries.
The process or series of processes by which the hides and skins of
animals are converted into leather is called tanning. The process may be
divided into three groups of subprocesses as follows:--
Beamhouse process, which removes the hair from the hides and prepares
them for the actual process of the tanning or conversion into leather;
tanning, which converts the raw hide into leather; and finishing, which
involves a number of operations, the objects of which are to give the
leather the color that may be desired and also to make it of uniform
thickness, and impart to it the softness and the finish that is required
for a particular purpose.
Hides are divided roughly in the tannery, according to the size, into
three general classes:--
(1) Hides, skins from fully grown animals, as cows, oxen, horses,
buffaloes, walrus, etc. These are thick, heavy leather, used for shoe
soles, large machinery belting, trunks, etc., where stiffness, strength,
and wearing qualities are desired. The untanned hides weigh from
twenty-five to sixty pounds.
(2) Kips, skins of the undersized animals of the above group, weighing
between fifteen and twenty-five pounds.
(3) Skins from small animals, such as calves, sheep, goats, dogs, etc.
This last group gives a light, but strong and pliable leather, which may
be used for a great many purposes, such as men’s shoes and the heavier
grades of women’s shoes.
The hides, kips, and skins are divided into various grades, according to
their weight, size, condition, and quality.
The quality of the hides not only depends upon the kind of animal, but
also upon its fodder and mode of living. The hides of wild cattle yield a
more compact and stronger leather than those of our domesticated beasts.
Among these latter the stall-fed have better hides than the meadow-fed,
or grazing cattle. The thickness of the hide varies considerably on
different animals and on the parts of the body, the thickest part of the
bull being near the head and the middle of the back, while at the belly
the hide is thinnest. These differences are less conspicuous in sheep,
goats, and calves. As regards sheep, it would appear that their skin is
generally thinnest where their wool is longest.
In the raw, untanned state, and with the hair still on, the hides are
termed “green” or “fresh.” Fresh, or green hides are supplied to the
tanners by the packers or the butchers, or are imported, either dry or
salted.
Hides are obtained either from the regular packing houses or from farmers
who kill their own stock, and do not skin the animal as scientifically as
the regular packing houses, in which case they are called country hides.
There are different grades of hides and leather, and these different
grades are divided in the commercial world into the five following
grades:--
I. NATIVE HIDES
Native Steers
Native Cows, heavy
Native Cows, light
Branded Cows
Butts
Colorado Steers
Texas Steers, heavy
Texas Steers, light
Texas Steers, ex-light
Native Bulls
Branded Bulls
II. COUNTRY HIDES
Ohio Buffs
Ohio Ex.
Southerns
III. DRY HIDES
(Raised on plain. Rough side suitable for soles.)
Buenos Ayres
IV. CALFSKINS
(Green salted)
Chicago City
V. PARIS CITY CALFSKINS
Light
Medium
Heavy
Hides obtained from steers raised on Western farms are known as native
steer hides.
Native cowhide (heavy) is hide weighing from fifty-five to sixty-five
pounds, obtained from cows.
Native cowhide (light) is cowhide weighing under fifty-five pounds.
Branded cowhide is hide obtained from cows that are branded on the face
of the hide.
Butts is a term applied to the part of the hide remaining after cutting
off the head, shoulders, and strip of the belly.
Colorado steer hide is from Colorado steers, which are very light.
Texas steer hide comes in three grades, heavy, light, and extra light.
The heavy grade is very heavy because the animal is allowed to graze on
the plains. That is the reason why it is heavier than the Colorado steer
hide, which is raised on the farm.
Bull hide is divided into two classes, the regular hide and the branded
grade. The branded grade usually is one cent a pound less than the
regular.
Country hides are of three grades, Ohio Buffs, Ohio Ex., and Southern.
The Ohio Buffs weigh from forty to sixty pounds. The Ohio Ex. weighs from
twenty to forty pounds. Southern hides have spots without hair and other
blemishes on them, due to the sting of insects. This makes the Southern
hide inferior to the Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, and Chicago hides that have
no such blemishes. Ohio Butt hides are the best, because in Ohio they
kill a great many young calves, while in Chicago young cows (that have
calved) are killed, causing the hide to be flanky.
The season of the year in which cattle are slaughtered has considerable
influence upon both the weight and condition of the hide. During the
winter months, by reason of the hair being longer and thicker, the hide
is heavier, ranging from seventy-five to eighty pounds, and gradually
decreasing in weight as the season becomes warmer and the coat is shed,
until in June and July it weighs from seventy down to fifty-five pounds,
the hair then being thin and short. The best hides of the year are
October hides, and short-haired hides are better for leather purposes
than long-haired ones.
A thick hide which is to be used for upper leather is cut into sides
before the tanning process is completed. This is performed by passing
it between rollers where it comes in contact with a sharp knife-edge,
which splits it into two or more sheets. Great care must be exercised in
cutting the leather in order to have good “splits” (sheets of leather). A
split from a heavy hide is not as good as a whole of a lighter leather.
Butts and backs are selected from the stoutest and heaviest oxhides. The
butt is formed by cutting off the head, the shoulder, and the strip of
the belly. The butt or back of oxhide forms the stoutest and heaviest
leather, such as is used for soles of boots, harness, etc.
[Illustration: Green-Salted Calfskin. _Page 12._]
Hides and skins are received at the tannery in one of three conditions,
viz. green-salted, dry, or dry-salted. Very few hides are received by
tanners in fresh or unsalted condition, salt being necessary to preserve
them from decay. Green-salted hides are those that have been salted in
fresh condition, tied up in bundles, and shipped to the tanner. Dry
hides are those that were taken from the carcass and dried without being
salted; these are usually stiff and hard. Dry-salted hides are hides that
were heavily salted while they were fresh, and then dried. The hides
and skins that are received from the slaughterhouses of this country
are almost invariably green-salted; those from foreign countries are
green-salted, dry, and dry-salted.
It does not matter in what condition the hides are received or the kind
of leather into which they are to be tanned; they all require soaking in
water before any attempt is made to remove the hair or to tan them. The
object of the soaking process, as it is called, is to thoroughly soften
the hides and to remove from them all salt, dirt, blood, etc. Ordinary
hides are usually soaked from twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Dry hides
require much longer. The water should be changed once or twice during the
process, since dirty water may injure the hides. Soft water is better
than hard for this process. Where the water is hard, it is customary for
the tanner to add a quantity of borax to it to increase its cleansing
power and to hasten the softening of the hides.
When dry hides have become soft enough to bend without cracking, they are
put into a machine and beaten and rolled, then soaked again until they
are soft and pliable. It is very important that all the salt and dirt are
removed during the process of soaking, as they injure the quality of the
leather if they are not removed before the hides are unhaired. When the
soaking process is completed, the lumps of fat and flesh that may have
been left on by the butcher are removed by hand or by a machine, and the
hides are then in condition to be passed along into the next process. The
parts that cannot be made into leather, such as tails, teats, etc., are
trimmed off before the hides are soaked. Large hides are cut into two
pieces or halves, called “sides,” after they have been soaked.
For the purpose of taking the hair from the hides and skins, lime,
sulphide of sodium, and red arsenic are used. Lime is sometimes used
alone, but usually one of the other two chemicals is mixed with it. The
lime is dissolved in hot water, a quantity of either sulphide of sodium
or red arsenic is added to it, and the solution is then mixed with water
in a vat, the hides being immersed in this liquor until the hair can be
easily removed. The action of the unhairing liquor is to swell the hides,
then to dissolve the perishable animal portion and loosen the hair so
that it can be rubbed or pulled off.
There are several different processes of unhairing the hides. Each tanner
uses the process that will help to give the leather the qualities that it
should have, such as softness and pliability for shoe and glove leather,
or firmness and solidity for sole and belting leather. This is one of the
most important in the series of tannery processes, and if the hides are
not unhaired properly and not prepared for tanning as they should be, the
leather will not be right when it is tanned and finished.
There is also a process of unhairing, called “sweating,” which softens
the hide and loosens the hair so that it can be scraped off. In this
process the hides begin to decay before the hair is loose; it is
therefore a dangerous process to use and must be carefully watched or the
hides will be entirely spoiled. Sweating is never used for the finer,
softer kinds of leather. It is applied chiefly to dry hides for sole,
lace, and belt leather. It is an old-fashioned process and is not used as
much nowadays as some years ago.
The pelts of sheep are salted at the slaughterhouses and then shipped to
the tannery. Here they are thrown into water and left to soak twenty-four
hours to loosen the dirt and dissolve the salt. The pelts are next
passed through machines that clean the wool, and any particles of flesh
remaining on the inner or flesh side are removed. The pelts are then in
condition to have the wool removed. As long as a sheepskin has the wool
upon it, it is called a pelt; as soon as the wool has been taken off, it
is called a skin or a “slat.”
Each pelt is spread out smoothly on a table with the wool down and the
inner or flesh side up. A mixture of lime and sulphide of sodium is
next applied uniformly over the skin with a brush. The pelt is then
folded up and placed in a pile with others. The solution that was
applied penetrates the skin and loosens the wool, which, at the end
of twenty-four hours, more or less, can be easily pulled off with the
hands or rubbed off with a dull instrument or stick. The workman must be
careful not to get any of the solution on to the wool, as it dissolves it
and makes it worthless. Since the wool is valuable, the solution must be
applied to the flesh side very carefully so that it does no injury. The
wool that is removed from the skins is called “pulled wool.”
The slat is now ready to be limed, washed, pickled, and tanned. Heavy
skins are often split into two sheets after they have been limed. The
part from the wool side is called a skiver, and that from the flesh side
is called a flesher.
After the skins have been limed, they are bated and washed, which makes
them soft, clean, and white; they are then put into a solution of salt,
sulphuric acid, and water, called “pickle,” and after a few hours they
are taken out, drained, and tanned.
Large quantities of sheepskins are sold to tanners in the pickled
condition by those who make a business of preparing such skins and
selling the wool. Pickled skins can be kept an indefinite length of time
without spoiling; they can also be dried and worked out into a cheap
white leather without any further tanning whatever. Most of such skins,
however, are sold to tanners, who tan them into leather. Sheepskins
contain considerable grease, which must be removed before the leather can
be sold.
For some processes of tanning, calfskins, goatskins, and cattle hides are
also pickled the same as sheepskins; for other processes they are not
pickled, but are thoroughly bated or delimed, washed, and cleansed. Heavy
hides are sometimes split out of the lime; more frequently, however, they
are not split until after they have been tanned.
To capitulate, the preparatory processes may be briefly described as
follows:--
Soaking, which dissolves the salt, removes the dirt and makes the hides
soft and comparatively clean.
Liming and unhairing, which swell the hides and dissolve the perishable
animal portion, loosen the hair, and put the hides into proper condition
for tanning. Hides tanned without liming, even if the hair is removed by
some chemical, do not make pliable leather, but are stiff and hard.
Bating, which removes the lime from the hides.
Pickling, which helps in the tanning later, and keeps the hides and
skins from spoiling if they are not tanned at once.
The lumps of fat and flesh that may be on the hides are removed by
machinery or by placing the hide over a beam and scraping it with a
knife. The hair, when it is loosened by the lime, is removed by a machine
or by hand.
CHAPTER THREE
PROCESSES OF TANNING
The various processes of tanning may be roughly divided into two
classes, vegetable chemical and mineral chemical. The first class is
often spoken of in tanneries simply as the “vegetable” while the second
is called “chemical” process. In the vegetable processes the tanning
is accomplished by tannin, which is found in various barks and woods
of trees and leaves of plants. In the so-called chemical processes the
tanning is done with mineral salts and acids which produce an entirely
different kind of leather from that procured by vegetable tanning.
There is also a method of tanning, or, more properly speaking, tawing, in
which alum and salt are used. This process makes white leather that is
used for many purposes; it is also colored and used in the manufacture
of fine gloves. Leather is also made by tanning skins with oil. Chamois
skins are made in this way.
The materials that are used to tan hides and skins act upon the hide
fibers in such a way that the hides are rendered proof against decay
and become pliable and strong. There are many vegetable tans; they are
used for sole leather, upper leather, and colored leather for numerous
purposes. The bark of hemlock trees is one of the principal tans. The
woods and barks of oak, chestnut, and quebracho trees are often used.
Palmetto roots yield a good tan. Large quantities of leather are treated
with gambier and various other tanning materials that come from foreign
countries. Sumac leaves, which are imported from Sicily, contain tannin
that makes soft leather suitable for hat sweatbands, suspender trimmings,
etc. Sumac is also obtained from the State of Virginia, but the foreign
leaves contain more tannin and make better leather than the American.
To a large extent the so-called chemical processes have supplanted the
vegetable processes, that is, old tan bark and sumac processes; but in
some tanneries both methods are used on different kinds of skins.
In the old bark process the tan bark is ground coarse and is then treated
in leaches with hot water until the tanning quality is drawn out. The
liquor so obtained is used at various strengths as needed.
In the newer method the tan liquor is displaced by a solution of
potassium bichromate, which produces its results with much less
expenditure of time.
When the hides or skins are ready for the tanning process, they are put
into a revolving drum, known as a “pinwheel,” or into a pit in which
are revolving paddles, with a dilute solution of potassium dichromate
or sodium dichromate, acidified with hydrochloric or sulphuric acid.
If the pinwheel is employed, it is revolved for seven hours or longer;
after which time the liquor is drawn off and replaced by an acidified
solution of sodium thiosulphate or bisulphite, and then the revolution
is continued several hours longer. If the pit is used, the skins are
removed to another drum containing the second solution, and kept at rest
or overturned for a like period.
In removing the skins from the pinwheel or vat, and in handling them
after treatment with lime for the loosening of the hair, the hands and
arms of the workmen are seriously injured, becoming raw if not protected
by rubber gloves; even with gloves it is difficult to prevent injury, and
in some establishments the workmen are relieved by the substitution of a
single-bath process, in which the liquor is less harmful to the skin.
[Illustration: Tanning Process
Showing the vats, the unhairing and liming processes. _Page 24._]
The hides are then removed from the pits, washed and brushed, followed
by slow drying in the air. When partly dried, they are placed in a pile
and covered until heating is induced. They are then dampened and rolled
with brass rollers to give the leather solidity. Sole leather is oiled
but little. Weight is increased by adding glucose and salt.
Various rapid processes of tanning have been devised in which the hides
are suspended in strong liquors or are tanned in large revolving drums.
It is claimed that this hastens the process, but the product has been
criticized as lacking substance or being brittle.
Chrome tannage has been chiefly developed in this country during the
last twenty years and is now in general use. It consists in throwing an
insoluble chromium hydroxide or oxide on the fibers of a skin which has
been impregnated with a soluble chromium salt--potassium bichromate.
Other salts like basic chromium chloride, chromium chromate, and chromic
alum are also used. The hydrochloric or sulphuric acid acts by setting
free chromic acid.
After several hours, the skin shows a uniform yellow when cut through its
thickest part. It is then drained and the skin worked in a solution of
sodium bisulphite and mineral acid (to free sulphur dioxide). The chromic
acid is absorbed by the fiber and later reduced by sulphur dioxide.
In the making of chrome black leather each tanner has his own method.
Contrary to the general belief, there are many different methods of
chrome tannage. No two tanneries employ just the same process.
Tanners of chrome leather seek to produce leather suitable for the
particular demands made upon it by the peculiarities or characteristics
of the varying seasons. Summer shoes require a cool, light leather;
at other times a heavier tannage is essential, with some call for a
practically waterproof product.
All leathers, whether vegetable-or chrome-tanned, must be “fat liquored.”
That is to say, a certain amount of fatty material must be put into the
skin in order that it may be mellow, workable, and serviceable. This is
very essential in producing calf leather. Fat liquors usually contain oil
and soap, which have been boiled in water and made into a thin liquor.
The leather is put into a drum with the hot fat liquor; the drum is set
in motion, and as it revolves the leather tumbles about in the drum and
absorbs the oil and soap from the water. It is the fat liquor that makes
the leather soft and strong.
Leather used in shoes is divided into two classes: sole leather and upper
leather.
Sole leather is a heavy, solid, stiff leather and may be bent without
cracking. It is the foundation of the shoe, and therefore should be of
the best material. The hides of bulls and oxen yield the best leather for
this purpose.
The hide that is tanned for sole leather is soaked for several days in a
weak solution (which is gradually made stronger) of oak or hemlock tan
made from the bark. Oak-tanned hide is preferred and may be known by its
light color. A chemical change takes place in the fiber of the hide. This
is a high-grade tannage, and is distinguished principally by its fine
fibers and close, compact texture.
Oak sole leather, by reason of its tough character, and its close,
fibrous texture, resists water and will wear well down before cracking.
It is by many considered better than other leather for flexible-sole
shoes, requiring waterproof qualities.
Sole leather is divided into three classes according to the tanning--oak,
hemlock, and union.
[Illustration: Tanning Process
Showing the rotating drums. _See page 24._]
Oak tanning is as follows: the hides are hung in pits containing weak
or nearly spent liquors from a previous tanning, and agitated so as to
take up tannin evenly. Strong liquor would harden the surface so as to
prevent thorough penetration into the interior of the hides. After ten
or twelve days, the hides are taken out and laid away in fresh tan and
stronger liquor. This process is repeated as often as necessary for eight
to ten months. At the end of this time the hide has absorbed all of the
tannin which it will take up.
Hemlock tanning is similar to the oak tanning in process. The hemlock
tan is a red shade. Hemlock produces a very hard and inflexible leather.
It is modified by use of bleaching materials which are applied to the
leather after being tanned. It is sold in sides without being trimmed,
while the oak is sold in backs, with belly and head trimmed off.
Hemlock leather is used extensively and almost principally for men’s
and boys’ stiff-soled, heavy shoes, where no flexibility is required
or expected. Its principal desirable quality is its resistance to
trituration, or being ground to a powder, and its use in men’s and boys’
pegged, nailed, or standard screw shoes is not in any way objectionable
to the wearer. In fact, for this class of shoes, it is probably the best
leather that can be used. But when hemlock is used in men’s and boys’
Goodyear welt shoes, where a flexible bottom is expected and required,
it generally does not give good results. It cannot satisfactorily resist
the constant flexing to which it is subjected, and after the sole is worn
half through, the constant bending causes it to crack crosswise. On this
account it becomes like a sieve, and has no power of resistance in water,
and therefore it is not at all suited to flexible-bottomed shoes.
In “union-tanned” hides, both oak and hemlock are used and the result is
a compromise in both color and quality. This tan was first used about
fifty years ago. Twenty-five years ago the union leather tanners began to
experiment with bleaching materials to avoid the use of oak bark, which
was becoming scarce and high priced, and eventually developed a system of
tanning union leather with hemlock or kindred tanning agents, excluding
oak. The red color and the hard texture were modified by bleaching the
leather to the desired color and texture. This produces leather which
has not the fine, close tannage of genuine oak leather and at the same
time lacks the compact, hard character of hemlock leather. Union leather
produced in this manner is a sort of mongrel or hybrid leather, being
neither oak nor hemlock. On account of its economy in cutting qualities,
however, it is largely used in the manufacture of medium-priced shoes
where a certain degree of flexibility is required in the sole. This is
particularly true of women’s shoes.
Union leather is sold largely in backs and trimmed the same as oak,
though not so closely.
Sole leather is also made nowadays by tanning the hides by the chrome or
chemical process. This leather is very durable and pliable and is used
on athletic and sporting shoes. It has a light green color and is much
lighter in weight than the oak or hemlock leather.
Many kinds of hide are used for sole leather. This country does not
produce nearly enough hides for the demand, and great quantities are
imported from abroad, although most of the imported hides come from South
America. Imported hides are divided into two general classes, dry hides
and green-salted hides.
Dry hides are of two kinds, the dry “flint,” which are dried carefully
after being taken from the animal and cured without salt. These generally
make good leather, although if sunburnt, the leather is not strong.
“Dry-salted hides” are salted and cured to a dry state. Dry hides of both
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MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR
EDITED BY--T. LEMAN HARE
WHISTLER
1834-1903
IN THE SAME SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
TITIAN S. L. BENSUSAN.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
LEONARDO DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
VIGEE LE BRUN. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
MEMLINC. W. H. J. & J. C. WEALE.
CONSTABLE. C. LEWIS HIND.
RAEBURN. JAMES L. CAW.
JOHN S. SARGENT T. MARTIN WOOD.
_Others in Preparation._
[Illustration: PLATE I.--OLD BATTERSEA BRIDGE. Frontispiece
(In the National Gallery)
This nocturne was bought by the National Collections Fund from
the Whistler Memorial Exhibition. It was one of the canvases
brought forward during the cross-examination of the artist in the
Whistler v. Ruskin trial.]
Whistler
BY T. MARTIN WOOD
ILLUSTRATED WITH EIGHT REPRODUCTIONS IN COLOUR
[Illustration]
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
NEW YORK: FREDERICK A. STOKES CO.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Plate
I. Old Battersea Bridge Frontispiece
In the National Gallery
Page
II. Nocturne, St. Mark's, Venice 14
In the possession of John J. Cowan, Esq.
III. The Artist's Studio 24
In the possession of Douglas Freshfield, Esq.
IV. Portrait of my Mother 34
In the Luxembourg Galleries, Paris
V. Lillie in Our Alley 40
In the possession of John J. Cowan, Esq.
VI. Nocturne, Blue and Silver 50
In the possession of the Hon. Percy Wyndham
VII. Portrait of Thomas Carlyle 60
In the Corporation Art Galleries, Glasgow
VIII. In the Channel 70
In the possession of Mrs. L. Knowles
[Illustration]
I
At the time when Rossetti and his circle were foregathering chiefly at
Rossetti's house, quiet Chelsea scarcely knew how daily were
associations added which will always cluster round | 2,590.459288 |
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Produced by Martin Robb
By Pike and <DW18>:
A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic
by G. A. Henty
PREFACE.
MY DEAR LADS,
In all the pages of history there is no record of a struggle so
unequal, so obstinately maintained, and so long contested as that
by which the men of Holland and Zeeland won their right to worship
God in their own way, and also--although this was but a secondary
consideration with them--shook off the yoke of Spain and achieved
their independence. The incidents of the contest were of a singularly
dramatic character. Upon one side was the greatest power of the
time, set in motion by a ruthless bigot, who was determined either
to force his religion upon the people of the Netherlands, or
to utterly exterminate them. Upon the other were a scanty people,
fishermen, sailors, and agriculturalists, broken up into communities
with but little bond of sympathy, and no communication, standing
only on the defensive, and relying solely upon the justice of their
cause, their own stout hearts, their noble prince, and their one
ally, the ocean. Cruelty, persecution, and massacre had converted
this race of peace loving workers into heroes capable of the most
sublime self sacrifices. Women and children were imbued with a
spirit equal to that of the men, fought as stoutly on the walls,
and died as uncomplainingly from famine in the beleaguered towns.
The struggle was such a long one that I have found it impossible
to recount all the leading events in the space of a single volume;
and, moreover, before the close, my hero, who began as a lad, would
have grown into middle age, and it is an established canon in books
for boys that the hero must himself be young. I have therefore
terminated the story at the murder of William of Orange, and hope
in another volume to continue the history, and to recount the
progress of the war, when England, after years of hesitation, threw
herself into the fray, and joined Holland in its struggle against
the power that overshadowed all Europe, alike by its ambition and
its bigotry. There has been no need to consult many authorities.
Motley in his great work has exhausted the subject, and for all
the historical facts I have relied solely upon him.
Yours very sincerely, G. A. HENTY
CHAPTER I
THE "GOOD VENTURE"
Rotherhithe in the year of 1572 differed very widely from the
Rotherhithe of today. It was then a scattered village, inhabited
chiefly by a seafaring population. It was here that the captains
of many of the ships that sailed from the port of London had their
abode. Snug cottages with trim gardens lay thickly along the banks
of the river, where their owners could sit and watch the vessels
passing up and down or moored in the stream, and discourse with
each other over the hedges as to the way in which they were handled,
the smartness of their equipage, whence they had come, or where
they were going. For the trade of London was comparatively small
in those days, and the skippers as they chatted together could form
a shrewd guess from the size and appearance of each ship as to the
country with which she traded, or whether she was a coaster working
the eastern or southern ports.
Most of the vessels, indeed, would be recognized and the captains
known, and hats would be waved and welcomes or adieus shouted as
the vessels passed. There was something that savoured of Holland
in the appearance of Rotherhithe; for it was with the Low Countries
that the chief trade of England was carried on; and the mariners
who spent their lives in journeying to and fro between London and
the ports of Zeeland, Friesland, and Flanders, who for the most part
picked up the language of the country, and sometimes even brought
home wives from across the sea, naturally learned something from
their neighbours. Nowhere, perhaps, in and about London were the
houses so clean and bright, and the gardens so trimly and neatly
kept, as in the village of Rotherhithe, and in all Rotherhithe not
one was brighter and more comfortable than the abode of Captain
William Martin.
It was low and solid in appearance; the wooden framework was
unusually massive, and there was much quaint carving on the beams.
The furniture was heavy and solid, and polished with beeswax until
it shone. The fireplaces were lined with Dutch tiles; the flooring
was of oak, polished as brightly as the furniture. The appointments
from roof to floor were Dutch; and no wonder that this was so, for
every inch of wood in its framework and beams, floor and furniture,
and had been brought across from Friesland by William Martin in
his ship, the Good Venture. It had been the dowry he received with
his pretty young wife, Sophie Plomaert.
Sophie was the daughter of a well-to-do worker in wood near
Amsterdam. She was his only daughter, and although he had nothing
to say against the English sailor who had won her heart, and who
was chief owner of the ship he commanded, he grieved much that
she should leave her native land; and he and her three brothers
determined that she should always bear her former home in her
recollection. They therefore prepared as her wedding gift a facsimile
of the home in which she had been born and bred. The furniture
and framework were similar in every particular, and it needed only
the insertion of the brickwork and plaster when it arrived. Two of
her brothers made the voyage in the Good Venture, and themselves
put the framework, beams, and flooring together, and saw to the
completion of the house on the strip of ground that William Martin
had purchased on the bank of the river.
Even a large summer house that stood at the end of the garden was a
reproduction of that upon the bank of the canal at home; and when
all was completed and William Martin brought over his bride she
could almost fancy that she was still at home near Amsterdam. Ever
since, she had once a year sailed over in her husband's ship, and
spent a few weeks with her kinsfolk. When at home from sea the great
summer house was a general rendezvous of William Martin's friends
in Rotherhithe, all skippers like himself, some still on active
service, others, who had retired on their savings; not all, however,
were fortunate enough to have houses on the river bank; and the
summer house was therefore useful not only as a place of meeting
but as a lookout at passing ships.
It was a solidly built structure, inclosed on the land side but open
towards the river, where, however, there were folding shutters, so
that in cold weather it could be partially closed up, though still
affording a sight of the stream. A great Dutch stove stood in one
corner, and in this in winter a roaring fire was kept up. There
were few men in Rotherhithe so well endowed with this world's goods
as Captain Martin. His father had been a trader in the city, but
William's tastes lay towards the sea rather than the shop, and as
he was the youngest of three brothers he had his way in the matter.
When he reached the age of twenty-three his father died, and with
his portion of the savings William purchased the principal share
of the Good Venture, which ship he had a few months before come to
command.
When he married he had received not only his house but a round sum
of money as Sophie's portion. With this he could had he liked have
purchased the other shares of the Good Venture; but being, though
a sailor, a prudent man, he did not like to put all his eggs into
one basket, and accordingly bought with it a share in another ship.
Three children had been born to William and Sophie Martin--a boy
and two girls. Edward, who was the eldest, was at the time this
story begins nearly sixteen. He was an active well built young
fellow, and had for five years sailed with his father in the Good
Venture. That vessel was now lying in the stream a quarter of
a mile higher up, having returned from a trip to Holland upon the
previous day. The first evening there had been no callers, for it
was an understood thing at Rotherhithe that a captain on his return
wanted the first evening at home alone with his wife and family; but
on the evening of the second day, when William Martin had finished
his work of seeing to the unloading of his ship, the visitors
began to drop in fast, and the summer house was well nigh as full
as it could hold. Mistress Martin, who was now a comely matron
of six-and-thirty, busied herself in seeing that the maid and her
daughters, Constance and Janet, supplied the visitors with horns
of home brewed beer, or with strong waters brought from Holland
for those who preferred them.
"You have been longer away than usual, Captain Martin," one of the
visitors remarked.
"Yes," the skipper replied. "Trade is but dull, and though the Good
Venture bears a good repute for speed and safety, and is seldom
kept lying at the wharves for a cargo, we were a week before she
was chartered. I know not what will be the end of it all. I verily
believe that no people have ever been so cruelly treated for their
conscience' sake since the world began; for you know it is not against
the King of Spain but against the Inquisition that the opposition
has been made. The people of the Low Countries know well enough
it would be madness to contend against the power of the greatest
country in Europe, and to this day they have borne, and are bearing,
the cruelty to which they are exposed in quiet despair, and without
a thought of resistance to save their lives. There may have been
tumults in some of the towns, as in Antwerp, where the lowest part
of the mob went into the cathedrals and churches and destroyed the
shrines and images; but as to armed resistance to the Spaniards,
there has been none.
"The first expeditions that the Prince of Orange made into the
country were composed of German mercenaries, with a small body of
exiles. They were scarce joined by any of the country folk. Though,
as you know, they gained one little victory, they were nigh all
killed and cut to pieces. So horrible was the slaughter perpetrated
by the soldiers of the tyrannical Spanish governor Alva, that when
the Prince of Orange again marched into the country not a man joined
him, and he had to fall back without accomplishing anything. The
people seemed stunned by despair. Has not the Inquisition condemned
the whole of the inhabitants of the Netherlands--save only a few
persons specially named--to death as heretics? and has not Philip
confirmed the decree, and ordered it to be carried into instant
execution without regard to age or sex? Were three millions of men,
women, and children ever before sentenced to death by one stroke
of the pen, only because they refused to change their religion?
Every day there are hundreds put to death by the orders of Alva's
Blood Council, as it is called, without even the mockery of a
trial."
There was a general murmur of rage and horror from the assembled
party.
"Were I her queen's majesty," an old captain said, striking his fist
on the table, "I would declare war with Philip of Spain tomorrow,
and would send every man who could bear arms to the Netherlands to
aid the people to free themselves from their tyrants.
"Ay, and there is not a Protestant in this land but would go
willingly. To think of such cruelty makes the blood run through
my veins as if I were a lad again. Why, in Mary's time there were
two or three score burnt for their religion here in England, and we
thought that a terrible thing. But three millions of people! Why,
it is as many as we have got in all these islands! What think you
of this mates?"
"It is past understanding," another old sailor said. "It is too
awful for us to take in."
"It is said," another put in, "that the King of France has leagued
himself with Philip of Spain, and that the two have bound themselves
to exterminate the Protestants in all their dominions, and as that
includes Spain, France, Italy, the Low Countries, and most of
Germany, it stands to reason as we who are Protestants ought to
help our friends; for you may be sure, neighbours, that if Philip
succeeds in the Low Countries he will never rest until he has tried
to bring England under his rule also, and to plant the Inquisition
with its bonfires and its racks and tortures here."
An angry murmur of assent ran round the circle.
"We would fight them, you may be sure," Captain Martin said, "to
the last; but Spain is a mighty power, and all know that there are
no soldiers in Europe can stand against their pikemen. If the Low
Countries, which number as many souls as we, cannot make a stand
against them with all their advantages of rivers, and swamps, and
<DW18>s, and fortified towns, what chance should we have who have
none of these things? What I say, comrades, is this: we have got
to fight Spain--you know the grudge Philip bears us--and it is
far better that we should go over and fight the Spaniards in the
Low Countries, side by side with the people there, and with all the
advantages that their rivers and <DW18>s give, and with the comfort
that our wives and children are safe here at home, than wait till
Spain has crushed down the Netherlands and exterminated the people,
and is then able, with France as her ally, to turn her whole strength
against us. That's what I say."
"And you say right, Captain Martin. If I were the queen's majesty
I would send word to Philip tomorrow to call off his black crew
of monks and inquisitors. The people of the Netherlands have no
thought of resisting the rule of Spain, and would be, as they have
been before, Philip's obedient subjects, if he would but leave
their religion alone. It's the doings of the Inquisition that have
driven them to despair. And when one hears what you are telling us,
that the king has ordered the whole population to be exterminated--man,
woman, and child--no wonder they are preparing to fight
to the last; for it's better to die fighting a thousand times, than
it is to be roasted alive with your wife and children!"
"I suppose the queen and her councillors see that if she were to
meddle in this business it might cost her her kingdom, and us our
liberty," another captain said. "The Spaniards could put, they say,
seventy or eighty thousand trained soldiers in the field, while,
except the queen's own bodyguard, there is not a soldier in England;
while their navy is big enough to take the fifteen or twenty ships
the queen has, and to break them up to burn their galley fires."
"That is all true enough," Captain Martin agreed; "but our English
men have fought well on the plains of France before now, and I don't
believe we should fight worse today. We beat the French when they
were ten to one against us over and over, and what our fathers did
we can do. What you say about the navy is true also. They have a
big fleet, and we have no vessels worth speaking about, but we are
as good sailors as the Spaniards any day, and as good fighters;
and though I am not saying we could stop their fleet if it came
sailing up the Thames, I believe when they landed we should show
them that we were as good men as they. They might bring seventy
thousand soldiers, but there would be seven hundred thousand
Englishmen to meet; and if we had but sticks and stones to fight
with, they would not find that they would have an easy victory."
"Yes, that's what you | 2,590.460609 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Web Archive (University of Alberta)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source the Web Archive:
https://archive.org/details/cihm_75374
(University of Alberta)
THE
COIL OF CARNE
BY
JOHN OXENHAM
AUTHOR OF "THE LONG ROAD"
TORONTO
THE COPP, CLARK CO. LIMITED
1911
TO
RODERIC DUNKERLEY, B.A., B.D.
"_And what are you eager for, Mr. Eager?_"
"_Men, women, and children--bodies and souls_."
_Intra, page_ 53.
"_By God's help we will make men of them, the rest we must trust to
Providence_."
_Intra, page_ 66.
"_Catch them young!_"
_Intra, page_ 67.
"_No man is past mending till he's dead, perhaps not then_."
_Intra, page_ 82.
CONTENTS
BOOK I
CHAP.
I. THE HOUSE OF CARNE
II. THE STAR IN THE DUST
III. THE FIRST OF THE COIL
IV. THE COIL COMPLETE
V. IN THE COIL
BOOK II
VI. FREEMEN OF THE FLATS
VII. EAGER HEART
VIII. SIR DENZIL'S VIEWS
IX. MORE OF SIR DENZIL'S VIEWS
X. GROWING FREEMEN
XI. THE LITTLE LADY
XII. MANY MEANS
XIII. MOUNTING
XIV. WIDENING WAYS
XV. DIVERGING LINES
XVI. A CUT AT THE COIL
XVII. ALMOST SOLVED
XVIII. ALMOST SOLVED AGAIN
XIX. WHERE'S JIM?
XX. A NARROW SQUEAK
XXI. A WARM WELCOME
XXII. WHERE'S JACK?
BOOK III
XXIII. BREAKING IN
XXIV. AN UNEXPECTED GUEST
XXV. REVELATION AND SPECULATION
XXVI. JIM'S TIGHT PLACE
XXVII. TWO TO ONE
XXVIII. THE LINE OF CLEAVAGE
XXIX. GRACIE'S DILEMMA
XXX. NEVER THE SAME AGAIN
XXXI. DESERET
XXXII. THE LADY WITH THE FAN
XXXIII. A STIRRING OF MUD
XXXIV. THE BOYS IN THE MUD
XXXV. EXPLANATIONS
XXXVI. JIM'S WAY
XXXVII. A HOPELESS QUEST
XXXVIII. LORD DESERET HELPS
XXXIX. OLD SETH GOES HOME
XL. OUT OF THE NIGHT
XLI. HORSE AND FOOT
XLII. DUE EAST
XLIII. JIM TO THE FORE
XLIV. JIM'S LUCK
XLV. MORE REVELATIONS
XLVI. THE BLACK LANDING
XLVII. ALMA
XLVIII. JIM'S RIDE
XLIX. AMONG THE BULL-PUPS
L. RED-TAPE
LI. THE VALLEY OF DEATH
LII. PATCHING UP
LIII. THE FIGHT IN THE FOG
LIV. AN ALLY OF PROVIDENCE
LV. RETRIBUTION
LVI. DULL DAYS
LVII. HOT OVENS
LVIII. CHILL NEWS
LIX. TOUCH AND GO FOR THE COIL
LX. INSIDE THE FIERY RING
LXI. WEARY WAITING
LXII. FROM ONE TO MANY
LXIII. EAGER ON THE SCENT
LXIV. THE LONG SLOW SIEGE
| 2,590.460782 |
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Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif | 2,590.557932 |
2023-11-16 19:00:14.5449650 | 3,537 | 11 |
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger
THE BLACK DWARF
by Sir Walter Scott
CONTENTS.
I. Tales of my Landlord
Introduction by "Jedediah Cleishbotham"
II. Introduction to THE BLACK DWARF
III. Main text of THE BLACK DWARF
Note: Footnotes in the printed book have been inserted in the
etext in square brackets ("[]") close to the place where
they were referenced by a suffix in the original text.
Text in italics has been written in capital letters.
I. TALES OF MY LANDLORD
COLLECTED AND REPORTED BY JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM, SCHOOLMASTER AND
PARISH-CLERK OF GANDERCLEUGH.
INTRODUCTION.
As I may, without vanity, presume that the name and official description
prefixed to this Proem will secure it, from the sedate and reflecting
part of mankind, to whom only I would be understood to address myself,
such attention as is due to the sedulous instructor of youth, and the
careful performer of my Sabbath duties, I will forbear to hold up
a candle to the daylight, or to point out to the judicious those
recommendations of my labours which they must necessarily anticipate
from the perusal of the title-page. Nevertheless, I am not unaware,
that, as Envy always dogs Merit at the heels, there may be those who
will whisper, that albeit my learning and good principles cannot
(lauded be the heavens) be denied by any one, yet that my situation at
Gandercleugh hath been more favourable to my acquisitions in learning
than to the enlargement of my views of the ways and works of the present
generation. To the which objection, if, peradventure, any such shall be
started, my answer shall be threefold:
First, Gandercleugh is, as it were, the central part--the navel (SI
FAS SIT DICERE) of this our native realm of Scotland; so that men, from
every corner thereof, when travelling on their concernments of business,
either towards our metropolis of law, by which I mean Edinburgh, or
towards our metropolis and mart of gain, whereby I insinuate Glasgow,
are frequently led to make Gandercleugh their abiding stage and place of
rest for the night. And it must be acknowledged by the most sceptical,
that I, who have sat in the leathern armchair, on the left-hand side of
the fire, in the common room of the Wallace Inn, winter and summer,
for every evening in my life, during forty years bypast (the Christian
Sabbaths only excepted), must have seen more of the manners and customs
of various tribes and people, than if I had sought them out by my
own painful travel and bodily labour. Even so doth the tollman at the
well-frequented turn-pike on the Wellbraehead, sitting at his ease in
his own dwelling, gather more receipt of custom, than if, moving forth
upon the road, he were to require a contribution from each person whom
he chanced to meet in his journey, when, according to the vulgar adage,
he might possibly be greeted with more kicks than halfpence.
But, secondly, supposing it again urged, that Ithacus, the most wise of
the Greeks, acquired his renown, as the Roman poet hath assured us, by
visiting states and men, I reply to the Zoilus who shall adhere to this
objection, that, DE FACTO, I have seen states and men also; for I have
visited the famous cities of Edinburgh and Glasgow, the former twice,
and the latter three times, in the course of my earthly pilgrimage. And,
moreover, I had the honour to sit in the General Assembly (meaning, as
an auditor, in the galleries thereof), and have heard as much goodly
speaking on the law of patronage, as, with the fructification thereof
in mine own understanding, hath made me be considered as an oracle upon
that doctrine ever since my safe and happy return to Gandercleugh.
Again--and thirdly, If it be nevertheless pretended that my information
and knowledge of mankind, however extensive, and however painfully
acquired, by constant domestic enquiry, and by foreign travel, is,
natheless, incompetent to the task of recording the pleasant narratives
of my Landlord, I will let these critics know, to their own eternal
shame and confusion as well as to the abashment and discomfiture of all
who shall rashly take up a song against me, that I am NOT the writer,
redacter, or compiler, of the Tales of my Landlord; nor am I, in one
single iota, answerable for their contents, more or less. And now, ye
generation of critics, who raise yourselves up as if it were brazen
serpents, to hiss with your tongues, and to smite with your stings, bow
yourselves down to your native dust, and acknowledge that yours have
been the thoughts of ignorance, and the words of vain foolishness. Lo!
ye are caught in your own snare, and your own pit hath yawned for you.
Turn, then, aside from the task that is too heavy for you; destroy
not your teeth by gnawing a file; waste not your strength by spurning
against a castle wall; nor spend your breath in contending in swiftness
with a fleet steed; and let those weigh the Tales of my Landlord, who
shall bring with them the scales of candour cleansed from the rust of
prejudice by the hands of intelligent modesty. For these alone they were
compiled, as will appear from a brief narrative which my zeal for truth
compelled me to make supplementary to the present Proem.
It is well known that my Landlord was a pleasing and a facetious man,
acceptable unto all the parish of Gandercleugh, excepting only the
Laird, the Exciseman, and those for whom he refused to draw liquor upon
trust. Their causes of dislike I will touch separately, adding my own
refutation thereof.
His honour, the Laird, accused our Landlord, deceased, of having
encouraged, in various times and places, the destruction of hares,
rabbits, fowls black and grey, partridges, moor-pouts, roe-deer, and
other birds and quadrupeds, at unlawful seasons, and contrary to the
laws of this realm, which have secured, in their wisdom, the slaughter
of such animals for the great of the earth, whom I have remarked to take
an uncommon (though to me, an unintelligible) pleasure therein. Now, in
humble deference to his honour, and in justifiable defence of my friend
deceased, I reply to this charge, that howsoever the form of such
animals might appear to be similar to those so protected by the law, yet
it was a mere DECEPTIO VISUS; for what resembled hares were, in fact,
HILL-KIDS, and those partaking of the appearance of moor-fowl, were
truly WOOD PIGEONS and consumed and eaten EO NOMINE, and not otherwise.
Again, the Exciseman pretended, that my deceased Landlord did encourage
that species of manufacture called distillation, without having an
especial permission from the Great, technically called a license, for
doing so. Now, I stand up to confront this falsehood; and in defiance
of him, his gauging-stick, and pen and inkhorn, I tell him, that I
never saw, or tasted, a glass of unlawful aqua vitae in the house of
my Landlord; nay, that, on the contrary, we needed not such devices, in
respect of a pleasing and somewhat seductive liquor, which was vended
and consumed at the Wallace Inn, under the name of MOUNTAIN DEW. If
there is a penalty against manufacturing such a liquor, let him show me
the statute; and when he does, I'll tell him if I will obey it or no.
Concerning those who came to my Landlord for liquor, and went thirsty
away, for lack of present coin, or future credit, I cannot but say it
has grieved my bowels as if the case had been mine own. Nevertheless, my
Landlord considered the necessities of a thirsty soul, and would permit
them, in extreme need, and when their soul was impoverished for lack
of moisture, to drink to the full value of their watches and wearing
apparel, exclusively of their inferior habiliments, which he was
uniformly inexorable in obliging them to retain, for the credit of the
house. As to mine own part, I may well say, that he never refused me
that modicum of refreshment with which I am wont to recruit nature after
the fatigues of my school. It is true, I taught his five sons English
and Latin, writing, book-keeping, with a tincture of mathematics, and
that I instructed his daughter in psalmody. Nor do I remember me of
any fee or HONORARIUM received from him on account of these my labours,
except the compotations aforesaid. Nevertheless this compensation suited
my humour well, since it is a hard sentence to bid a dry throat wait
till quarter-day.
But, truly, were I to speak my simple conceit and belief, I think my
Landlord was chiefly moved to waive in my behalf the usual requisition
of a symbol, or reckoning, from the pleasure he was wont to take in my
conversation, which, though solid and edifying in the main, was, like
a well-built palace, decorated with facetious narratives and devices,
tending much to the enhancement and ornament thereof. And so pleased was
my Landlord of the Wallace in his replies during such colloquies, that
there was no district in Scotland, yea, and no peculiar, and, as it
were, distinctive custom therein practised, but was discussed betwixt
us; insomuch, that those who stood by were wont to say, it was worth
a bottle of ale to hear us communicate with each other. And not a few
travellers, from distant parts, as well as from the remote districts of
our kingdom, were wont to mingle in the conversation, and to tell news
that had been gathered in foreign lands, or preserved from oblivion in
this our own.
Now I chanced to have contracted for teaching the lower classes with a
young person called Peter, or Patrick, Pattieson, who had been educated
for our Holy Kirk, yea, had, by the license of presbytery, his voice
opened therein as a preacher, who delighted in the collection of olden
tales and legends, and in garnishing them with the flowers of poesy,
whereof he was a vain and frivolous professor. For he followed not the
example of those strong poets whom I proposed to him as a pattern, but
formed versification of a flimsy and modern texture, to the compounding
whereof was necessary small pains and less thought. And hence I have
chid him as being one of those who bring forward the fatal revolution
prophesied by Mr. Robert Carey, in his Vaticination on the Death of the
celebrated Dr. John Donne:
Now thou art gone, and thy strict laws will be
Too hard for libertines in poetry;
Till verse (by thee refined) in this last age
Turn ballad rhyme.
I had also disputations with him touching his indulging rather a
flowing and redundant than a concise and stately diction in his prose
exercitations. But notwithstanding these symptoms of inferior taste,
and a humour of contradicting his betters upon passages of dubious
construction in Latin authors, I did grievously lament when Peter
Pattieson was removed from me by death, even as if he had been the
offspring of my own loins. And in respect his papers had been left in
my care (to answer funeral and death-bed expenses), I conceived myself
entitled to dispose of one parcel thereof, entitled, "Tales of my
Landlord," to one cunning in the trade (as it is called) of bookselling.
He was a mirthful man, of small stature, cunning in counterfeiting of
voices, and in making facetious tales and responses, and whom I have to
laud for the truth of his dealings towards me.
Now, therefore, the world may see the injustice that charges me with
incapacity to write these narratives, seeing, that though I have proved
that I could have written them if I would, yet, not having done so,
the censure will deservedly fall, if at all due, upon the memory of Mr.
Peter Pattieson; whereas I must be justly entitled to the praise,
when any is due, seeing that, as the Dean of St. Patrick's wittily and
logically expresseth it,
That without which a thing is not,
Is CAUSA SINE QUA NON.
The work, therefore, is unto me as a child is to a parent; in the which
child, if it proveth worthy, the parent hath honour and praise; but, if
otherwise, the disgrace will deservedly attach to itself alone.
I have only further to intimate, that Mr. Peter Pattieson, in arranging
these Tales for the press, hath more consulted his own fancy than the
accuracy of the narrative; nay, that he hath sometimes blended two
or three stories together for the mere grace of his plots. Of which
infidelity, although I disapprove and enter my testimony against it, yet
I have not taken upon me to correct the same, in respect it was the will
of the deceased, that his manuscript should be submitted to the press
without diminution or alteration. A fanciful nicety it was on the part
of my deceased friend, who, if thinking wisely, ought rather to have
conjured me, by all the tender ties of our friendship and common
pursuits, to have carefully revised, altered, and augmented, at my
judgment and discretion. But the will of the dead must be scrupulously
obeyed, even when we weep over their pertinacity and self-delusion. So,
gentle reader, I bid you farewell, recommending you to such fare as the
mountains of your own country produce; and I will only farther premise,
that each Tale is preceded by a short introduction, mentioning the
persons by whom, and the circumstances under which, the materials
thereof were collected.
JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM.
II. INTRODUCTION to THE BLACK DWARF.
The ideal being who is here presented as residing in solitude, and
haunted by a consciousness of his own deformity, and a suspicion of
his being generally subjected to the scorn of his fellow-men, is not
altogether imaginary. An individual existed many years since, under
the author's observation, which suggested such a character. This poor
unfortunate man's name was David Ritchie, a native of Tweeddale. He was
the son of a labourer in the slate-quarries of Stobo, and must have
been born in the misshapen form which he exhibited, though he sometimes
imputed it to ill-usage when in infancy. He was bred a brush-maker at
Edinburgh, and had wandered to several places, working at his trade,
from all which he was chased by the disagreeable attention which his
hideous singularity of form and face attracted wherever he came. The
author understood him to say he had even been in Dublin.
Tired at length of being the object of shouts, laughter, and derision,
David Ritchie resolved, like a deer hunted from the herd, to retreat to
some wilderness, where he might have the least possible communication
with the world which scoffed at him. He settled himself, with this view,
upon a patch of wild moorland at the bottom of a bank on the farm
of Woodhouse, in the sequestered vale of the small river Manor, in
Peeblesshire. The few people who had occasion to pass that way were much
surprised, and some superstitious persons a little alarmed, to | 2,590.565005 |
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Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: The Girls Made Camp and Ate Supper.]
The Meadow-Brook Girls Across Country
OR
The Young Pathfinders on a Summer Hike
By
JANET ALDRIDGE
Author of The Meadow-Brook Girls Under Canvas,
The Meadow-Brook Girls Afloat, etc.
Illustrated
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
Copyright, 1913, by
Howard E. Altemus
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Night of Excitement 7
II. The Red Eye in the Dark 30
III. A Blessing and a Threat 39
IV. The Coming of Crazy Jane 50
V. Catching the Speckled Beauties 62
VI. The Call of the Dancing Bear 69
VII. Discovering Midnight Prowlers 79
VIII. Caught in a Morass 90
IX. The Tramp Club to the Rescue 102
X. In the Hands of the Rescuers 112
XI. A Contest of Endurance 124
XII. Meadow-Brook Girls up a Tree 134
XIII. A Serious Predicament 146
XIV. Harriet Is Resourceful 152
XV. A Race for Life 163
XVI. A Treat That Was Not a Treat 173
XVII. Trying out the Gipsy Trail 186
XVIII. The Queen Takes a Hand 196
XIX. Delving Into the Mysteries 206
XX. Getting Even With George 217
XXI. Harriet Plans to Outwit the Tramp Club 225
XXII. A Combietta Concert 230
XXIII. The Harmonica Serenade 236
XXIV. Conclusion 244
THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS ACROSS COUNTRY
CHAPTER I--A NIGHT OF EXCITEMENT
"Oh, where can Crazy Jane be!" wailed Margery Brown.
"It isn't so much a question of where Jane may be as where we ourselves
are, Buster," answered Harriet Burrell, laughingly. "However, if she
doesn't come, why, we will make the best of it. This will not be the
first time we have spent the night out of doors."
"Are we lost?" gasped Hazel Holland.
"It looks very much as though we had gone astray," replied Miss Elting,
who was acting as guardian and chaperon to the Meadow-Brook Girls | 2,590.662356 |
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Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
Pure Books on Avoided Subjects
_Books for Men_
_By Sylvanus Stall, D. D._
“What a Young Boy Ought to Know.”
“What a Young Man Ought to Know.”
“What a Young Husband Ought to Know.”
“What a Man of 45 Ought to Know.”
_Books for Women_
_By Mrs. Mary Wood-Allen, M. D., And Mrs. Emma F. A. Drake, M. D._
“What a Young Girl Ought to Know.”
“What a Young Woman Ought to Know.”
“What a Young Wife Ought to Know.”
“What a Woman of 45 Ought to Know.”
PRICE AND BINDING
The books are issued in uniform size and but one style of binding, and
sell in America at $1, in Great Britain at 4s., net, per copy, post free,
whether sold singly or in sets.
PUBLISHED BY
IN THE UNITED STATES
THE VIR PUBLISHING COMPANY
2237 Land Title Building Philadelphia
IN ENGLAND
THE VIR PUBLISHING COMPANY
7 Imperial Arcade, Ludgate Circus, London, E.C.
IN CANADA
WILLIAM BRIGGS
29-33 Richmond Street West Toronto, Ontario
[Illustration: EMMA F. ANGELL DRAKE, M.D.]
PRICE $1.00 NET
4S. NET
PURITY AND TRUTH
WHAT A YOUNG
WIFE
OUGHT TO KNOW
(_THOUSAND DOLLAR PRIZE BOOK_)
BY
MRS. EMMA F. ANGELL DRAKE, M. D.
Graduate of Boston University Medical College; formerly
Physician and Principal of Mr. Moody’s School at Northfield,
Mass.; Professor of Obstetrics at Denver Homœopathic Medical
School and Hospital; Author of “What a Woman of 45 Ought to
Know,” “Maternity Without Suffering.”
PHILADELPHIA, PA.: 2337 LAND TITLE BUILDING.
THE VIR PUBLISHING COMPANY
LONDON: TORONTO:
7, IMPERIAL ARCADE, WM. BRIGGS,
LUDGATE CIRCUS, E. C. 33 RICHMOND ST., WEST.
COPYRIGHT, 1901, by SYLVANUS STALL
COPYRIGHT, 1902, by SYLVANUS STALL
Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London, England
Protected by International copyright in Great Britain and
all her colonies, and, under the provisions of the Berne
Convention, in Belgium, France, Germany, Italy, Spain,
Switzerland, Tunis, Hayti, Luxembourg, Monaco, Norway,
and Japan
_All rights reserved_
[PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES]
Dedicated
TO THE YOUNG WIVES WHO DESIRE THE BEST FOR THEMSELVES, FOR THEIR HUSBANDS
AND FOR THEIR OFFSPRING
PREFACE
To this generation as to no other, are we indebted for the awakening of
woman. Not the awakening alone which has led her out of the old lines
into nearly every avenue open to man in his pursuit of the necessities
and luxuries of life; but that other and larger awakening which has set
her down face to face with herself, and in her study of woman she has
shown herself courageous.
Bravely acknowledging her own limitations, she has set herself the task
of fortifying the weak points, curbing the more daring aspirations, and
getting herself into trim, so to speak, that she may traverse the sea of
life, without danger to herself, her cargo, or to any of the countless
ships which follow in her wake, or that pass her in the day or the night.
Not all women have yet awakened, and for those who have eyes to see, and
have seen, a great work is still waiting to be done. They must reach out
and rouse their sisters. Will they do it? With our young wives rests
the weal or woe of the future generations. To them we say, “What of the
future, and what sort of souls shall you give to it?”
EMMA F. A. DRAKE.
DENVER, Colorado,
United States of America.
_February 1st, 1901._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
INTELLIGENCE OF THE YOUNG WIFE.
Out of girlhood into wifehood.—The setting up of a new
home.—Woman’s exalted place.—Earlier influences.—Importance
of intelligence.—Woman fitted by creator for wifehood
and motherhood.—The position of reproductive organs in
the body.—Dangers of crowding contents of abdomen.—What
all young wives need to know.—Premium previously set
upon ignorance.—Heredity.—Failures and successes of our
ancestors.—Faults and virtues transmitted through heredity, 21-35
CHAPTER II.
HOME AND DRESS.
Preparations for successful home-makers.—The importance of
sensible dress.—An opportunity for reform.—The conditions of
attractive dress.—A question of healthfulness.—What wives need
to know concerning dress.—The kind to be avoided.—Injurious
dress destroying the race.—The ailments caused by wrong
dressing.—The corset curse.—A summary of the evils of dress, 37-46
CHAPTER III.
HEALTH OF THE YOUNG WIFE.
Health insures happiness.—Be ambitious for health.—The scarcity
of perfectly healthy women.—Fashion to the Rescue.—The boon
of health.—Necessity of ventilation and fresh air.—Duties to
the home.—The greatness of woman’s sphere.—In the society
drift.—The extreme of wholly avoiding society.—Keeping in
the middle of the road.—Pleasures and recreations taken
together.—Taking time to keep young.—Mistakes which some
husbands make.—Wrecks at the beginning of married life, 47-55
CHAPTER IV.
THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND.
Higher standards are being set up in the choice of a
husband.—Should be worthy of both love and respect.—Love
likely to idealize the man.—The real characteristics
necessary.—Deficiencies in character not to be supplied after
marriage.—The right to demand purity.—Young men who “sow wild
oats.”—Importance of good health.—Weaknesses and diseases which
descend from parents to children.—The parents’ part in aiding
to a wise choice.—The value of the physician’s counsel.—One
capable of supporting wife and children.—A dutiful son makes
a good husband.—Essential requisites enumerated.—The father
reproduced in his children.—The equivalents which the wife
should bring to her husband, 57-64
CHAPTER V.
WHAT SHALL A YOUNG WIFE EXPECT TO BE
TO HER HUSBAND?
The young wife should seek to be her husband’s equal, but not
his counterpart.—The recognized centre of the home.—Woman’s
true greatness.—Man’s helpmeet.—Mrs. Gladstone’s part in her
husband’s greatness.—Should attract her husband from the
club to the home.—Continuing | 2,590.761956 |
2023-11-16 19:00:14.8359550 | 1,908 | 32 |
Produced by JC Byers, Carrie Lorenz, and Gaston Picard
THE PINK FAIRY BOOK
By Various
Edited by Andrew Lang
Preface
All people in the world tell nursery tales to their children. The
Japanese tell them, the Chinese, the Red Indians by their camp fires,
the Eskimo in their dark dirty winter huts. The Kaffirs of South Africa
tell them, and the modern Greeks, just as the old Egyptians did, when
Moses had not been many years rescued out of the bulrushes. The Germans,
French, Spanish, Italians, Danes, Highlanders tell them also, and the
stories are apt to be like each other everywhere. A child who has read
the Blue and Red and Yellow Fairy Books will find some old friends with
new faces in the Pink Fairy Book, if he examines and compares. But the
Japanese tales will probably be new to the young student; the Tanuki is
a creature whose acquaintance he may not have made before. He may remark
that Andersen wants to 'point a moral,' as well as to 'adorn a tale; '
that he is trying to make fun of the follies of mankind, as they exist
in civilised countries. The Danish story of 'The Princess in the Chest'
need not be read to a very nervous child, as it rather borders on a
ghost story. It has been altered, and is really much more horrid in the
language of the Danes, who, as history tells us, were not a nervous or
timid people. I am quite sure that this story is not true. The other
Danish and Swedish stories are not alarming. They are translated by
Mr. W. A. Craigie. Those from the Sicilian (through the German) are
translated, like the African tales (through the French) and the Catalan
tales, and the Japanese stories (the latter through the German), and an
old French story, by Mrs. Lang. Miss Alma Alleyne did the stories from
Andersen, out of the German. Mr. Ford, as usual, has drawn the monsters
and mermaids, the princes and giants, and the beautiful princesses, who,
the Editor thinks, are, if possible, prettier than ever. Here, then, are
fancies brought from all quarters: we see that black, white, and yellow
peoples are fond of just the same kinds of adventures. Courage, youth,
beauty, kindness, have many trials, but they always win the battle;
while witches, giants, unfriendly cruel people, are on the losing hand.
So it ought to be, and so, on the whole, it is and will be; and that is
all the moral of fairy tales. We cannot all be young, alas! and pretty,
and strong; but nothing prevents us from being kind, and no kind man,
woman, or beast or bird, ever comes to anything but good in these oldest
fables of the world. So far all the tales are true, and no further.
Contents
The Cat's Elopement.
How the Dragon was Tricked
The Goblin and the Grocer
The House in the Wood
Uraschimataro and the Turtle
The Slaying of the Tanuki
The Flying Trunk
The Snow Man.
The Shirt-Collar
The Princess in the Chest
The Three Brothers
The Snow-queen
The Fir-Tree
Hans, the Mermaid's Son
Peter Bull
The Bird 'Grip'
Snowflake
I know what I have learned
The Cunning Shoemaker
The King who would have a Beautiful Wife
Catherine and her Destiny
How the Hermit helped to win the King's Daughter
The Water of Life
The Wounded Lion
The Man without a Heart
The Two Brothers
Master and Pupil
The Golden Lion
The Sprig of Rosemary
The White Dove
The Troll's Daughter
Esben and the Witch
Princess Minon-Minette
Maiden Bright-eye
The Merry Wives
King Lindorm
The Jackal, the Dove, and the Panther
The Little Hare
The Sparrow with the Slit Tongue
The Story of Ciccu
Don Giovanni de la Fortuna.
The Cat's Elopement
[From the Japanische Marchen und Sagen, von David Brauns (Leipzig:
Wilhelm Friedrich).]
Once upon a time there lived a cat of marvellous beauty, with a skin as
soft and shining as silk, and wise green eyes, that could see even in
the dark. His name was Gon, and he belonged to a music teacher, who
was so fond and proud of him that he would not have parted with him for
anything in the world.
Now not far from the music master's house there dwelt a lady who
possessed a most lovely little pussy cat called Koma. She was such a
little dear altogether, and blinked her eyes so daintily, and ate her
supper so tidily, and when she had finished she licked her pink nose so
delicately with her little tongue, that her mistress was never tired of
saying, 'Koma, Koma, what should I do without you?'
Well, it happened one day that these two, when out for an evening
stroll, met under a cherry tree, and in one moment fell madly in love
with each other. Gon had long felt that it was time for him to find a
wife, for all the ladies in the neighbourhood paid him so much attention
that it made him quite shy; but he was not easy to please, and did not
care about any of them. Now, before he had time to think, Cupid had
entangled him in his net, and he was filled with love towards Koma. She
fully returned his passion, but, like a woman, she saw the difficulties
in the way, and consulted sadly with Gon as to the means of overcoming
them. Gon entreated his master to set matters right by buying Koma, but
her mistress would not part from her. Then the music master was asked to
sell Gon to the lady, but he declined to listen to any such suggestion,
so everything remained as before.
At length the love of the couple grew to such a pitch that they
determined to please themselves, and to seek their fortunes together.
So one moonlight night they stole away, and ventured out into an unknown
world. All day long they marched bravely on through the sunshine, till
they had left their homes far behind them, and towards evening they
found themselves in a large park. The wanderers by this time were very
hot and tired, and the grass looked very soft and inviting, and the
trees cast cool deep shadows, when suddenly an ogre appeared in this
Paradise, in the shape of a big, big dog! He came springing towards them
showing all his teeth, and Koma shrieked, and rushed up a cherry tree.
Gon, however, stood his ground boldly, and prepared to give battle, for
he felt that Koma's eyes were upon him, and that he must not run away.
But, alas! his courage would have availed him nothing had his enemy once
touched him, for he was large and powerful, and very fierce. From her
perch in the tree Koma saw it all, and screamed with all her might,
hoping that some one would hear, and come to help. Luckily a servant of
the princess to whom the park belonged was walking by, and he drove off
the dog, and picking up the trembling Gon in his arms, carried him to
his mistress.
So poor little Koma was left alone, while Gon was borne away full of
trouble, not in the least knowing what to do. Even the attention paid
him by the princess, who was delighted with his beauty and pretty ways,
did not console him, but there was no use in fighting against fate, and
he could only wait and see what would turn up.
The princess, Gon's new mistress, was so good and kind that everybody
loved her, and she would have led a happy life, had it not been for a
serpent who had fallen in love with her, and was constantly annoying her
by his presence. Her servants had orders to drive him away as often as
he appeared; but as they were careless, and the serpent very sly, it
sometimes happened that he was able to slip past them, and to frighten
the princess by appearing before her. One day she was seated in her
room, playing on her favourite musical instrument, when she felt
something gliding up her sash, and saw her enemy making his way to kiss
her cheek. She shrieked and threw herself backwards, and Gon, who had
been curled up on a | 2,590.855995 |
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Produced by Nicole Apostola
TALES OF TWO COUNTRIES
By Alexander Kielland
Translated From The Norwegian By William Archer
With An Introduction By H. H. Boyesen
CONTENTS.
PHARAOH
THE PARSONAGE
THE PEAT MOOR
"HOPE'S CLAD IN APRIL GREEN"
AT THE FAIR
TWO FRIENDS
A GOOD CONSCIENCE
ROMANCE AND REALITY
WITHERED LEAVES
THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO
INTRODUCTION.
In June, 1867, about a hundred enthusiastic youths were vociferously
celebrating the attainment of the baccalaureate degree at the
University of Norway. The orator on this occasion was a tall, handsome,
distinguished-looking young man named Alexander Kielland, from the
little coast-town of Stavanger. There was none of the crudity of a
provincial dither in his manners or his appearance. He spoke with a
quiet self-possession and a pithy incisiveness which were altogether
phenomenal.
"That young man will be heard from one of these days," was the unanimous
verdict of those who listened to his clear-cut and finished sentences,
and noted the maturity of his opinions.
But ten years passed, and outside of Stavanger no one ever heard of
Alexander Kielland. His friends were aware that he had studied law,
spent some winters in France, married, and settled himself as a
dignitary in his native town. It was understood that he had bought
a large brick and tile factory, and that, as a manufacturer of these
useful articles, he bid fair to become a provincial magnate, as his
fathers had been before him. People had almost forgotten that great
things had been expected of him; and some fancied, perhaps, that he
had been spoiled by prosperity. Remembering him, as I did, as the most
brilliant and notable personality among my university friends, I began
to apply to him Malloch's epigrammatic damnation of the man of whom
it was said at twenty that he would do great things, at thirty that
he might do great things, and at forty that he might have done great
things.
This was the frame of mind of those who remembered Alexander Kielland
(and he was an extremely difficult man to forget), when in the year 1879
a modest volume of "novelettes" appeared, bearing his name. It was, to
all appearances, a light performance, but it revealed a sense of style
which made it, nevertheless, notable. No man had ever written the
Norwegian language as this man wrote it. There was a lightness of touch,
a perspicacity, an epigrammatic sparkle and occasional flashes of wit,
which seemed altogether un-Norwegian. It was obvious that this author
was familiar with the best French writers, and had acquired through
them that clear and crisp incisiveness of utterance which was supposed,
hitherto, to be untransferable to any other tongue.
As regards the themes of these "novelettes" (from which the present
collection is chiefly made up), it was remarked at the time of their
first appearance that they hinted at a more serious purpose than their
style seemed to imply. Who can read, for instance, "Pharaoh" (which
in the original is entitled "A Hall Mood") without detecting the
revolutionary note which trembles quite audibly through the calm
and unimpassioned language? There is, by-the-way, a little touch of
melodrama in this tale which is very unusual with Kielland. "Romance
and Reality," too, is glaringly at variance with the conventional
romanticism in its satirical contributing of the pre-matrimonial and the
post-matrimonial view of love and marriage. The same persistent tendency
to present the wrong side as well as the right side--and not, as
literary good-manners are supposed to prescribe, ignore the former--is
obvious in the charming tale "At the Fair," where a little spice of
wholesome truth spoils the thoughtlessly festive mood; and the squalor,
the want, the envy, hate, and greed which prudence and a regard for
business compel the performers to disguise to the public, become the
more cruelly visible to the visitors of the little alley-way at the rear
of the tents. In "A Good Conscience" the satirical note has a still more
serious ring; but the same admirable self-restraint which, next to the
power of thought and expression, is the happiest gift an author's fairy
godmother can bestow upon him, saves Kielland from saying too much--from
enforcing his lesson by marginal comments, _a la_ George Eliot. But he
must be obtuse, indeed, to whom this reticence is not more eloquent and
effective than a page of philosophical moralizing.
"Hope's Clad in April Green" and "The Battle of Waterloo" (the first and
the last tale in the Norwegian edition), are more untinged with a moral
tendency than any of the foregoing. The former is a mere _jeu d'esprit_,
full of good-natured satire on the calf-love of very young people, and
the amusing over-estimate of our importance to which we are all, at that
age, peculiarly liable.
As an organist with vaguely-melodious hints foreshadows in his prelude
the musical _motifs_ which he means to vary and elaborate in his fugue,
so Kielland lightly touched in these "novelettes" the themes which in
his later works he has struck with a fuller volume and power. What he
gave in this little book was it light sketch of his mental physiognomy,
from which, perhaps, his horoscope might be cast and his literary future
predicted.
Though an aristocrat by birth and training, he revealed a strong
sympathy with the toiling masses. But it was a democracy of the brain, I
should fancy, rather than of the heart. As I read the book, twelve years
ago, its tendency puzzled me considerably, remembering, as I did, with
the greatest vividness, the fastidious and elegant personality of the
author. I found it difficult to believe that he was in earnest. The
book seemed to me to betray the whimsical _sans-culottism_ of a man of
pleasure who, when the ball is at an end, sits down with his gloves
on and philosophizes on the artificiality of civilization and the
wholesomeness of honest toil. An indigestion makes him a temporary
communist; but a bottle of seltzer presently reconciles him to his lot,
and restores the equilibrium of the universe. He loves the people at a
distance, can talk prettily about the sturdy son of the soil, who is
the core and marrow of the nation, etc.; but he avoids contact with
him, and, if chance brings them into contact, he loves him with his
handkerchief to his nose.
I may be pardoned for having identified Alexander Kielland with this
type with which I am very familiar; and he convinced me, presently, that
I had done him injustice. In his next book, the admirable novel _Garman
and Worse_, he showed that his democratic proclivities were something
more than a mood. He showed that he took himself seriously, and he
compelled the public to take him seriously. The tendency which had only
flashed forth here and there in the "novelettes" now revealed its
whole countenance. The author's theme was the life of the prosperous
bourgeoisie in the western coast-towns; he drew their types with a hand
that gave evidence of intimate knowledge. He had himself sprung from
one of these rich ship-owning, patrician families, had been given every
opportunity to study life both at home and abroad, and had accumulated
a fund of knowledge of the world, which he had allowed quietly to grow
before making literary drafts upon it. The same Gallic perspicacity
of style which had charmed in his first book was here in a heightened
degree; and there was, besides, the same underlying sympathy with
progress and what is called the ideas of the age. What mastery of
description, what rich and vigorous colors Kielland had at his disposal
was demonstrated in such scenes as the funeral of Consul Garman and the
burning of the ship. There was, moreover, a delightful autobiographical
note in the book, particularly in boyish experiences of Gabriel Garman.
Such things no man invents, however clever; such material no imagination
supplies, however fertile. Except Fritz Reuter's Stavenhagen, I know no
small town in fiction which is so vividly and completely individualized,
and populated with such living and credible characters. Take, for
instance, the two clergymen, Archdeacon Sparre and the Rev. Mr. Martens,
and it is not necessary to have lived in Norway in order to recognize
and enjoy the faithfulness and the artistic subtlety of these portraits.
If they have a dash of satire (which I will not undertake to deny), it
is such delicate and well-bred satire that no one, except the originals,
would think of taking offence. People are willing, for the sake of the
entertainment which it affords, to forgive a little quiet malice at
their neighbors' expense. The members of the provincial bureaucracy are
drawn with the same firm but delicate touch, and everything has that
beautiful air of reality which proves the world akin.
It was by no means a departure from his previous style and tendency
which Kielland signalized in his next novel, _Laboring People_ (1881).
He only emphasizes, as it were, the heavy, serious bass chords in the
composite theme which expresses his complex personality, and allows the
lighter treble notes to be momentarily drowned. Superficially speaking,
there is perhaps a reminiscence of Zola in this book, not in the manner
of treatment, but in the subject, which is the corrupting influence of
the higher classes upon the lower. There is no denying that in spite
of the ability, which it betrays in every line, _Laboring People_ is
unpleasant reading. It frightened away a host of the author's early
admirers by the uncompromising vigor and the glaring realism with
which it depicted the consequences of vicious indulgence. It showed
no consideration for delicate nerves, but was for all that a clean and
wholesome book.
Kielland's third novel, _Skipper Worse_, marked a distinct step in his
development. It was less of a social satire and more of a social study.
It was not merely a series of brilliant, exquisitely-finished scenes,
loosely strung together on a slender thread of narrative, but it was
a concise, and well constructed story, full of beautiful scenes
and admirable portraits. The theme is akin to that of Daudet's
_L'Evangeliste_; but Kielland, as it appears to me, has in this instance
outdone his French _confrere_ as regards insight into the peculiar
character and poetry of the pietistic movement. He has dealt with it
as a psychological and not primarily as a pathological phenomenon. A
comparison with Daudet suggests itself constantly in reading Kielland.
Their methods of workmanship and their attitude towards life have many
points in common. The charm of style, the delicacy of touch and felicity
of phrase, is in both cases pre-eminent. Daudet has, however, the
advantage (or, as he himself asserts, the disadvantage) of working in
a flexible and highly-finished language, which bears the impress of the
labors of a hundred masters; while Kielland has to produce his effects
of style in a poorer and less pliable language, which often pants and
groans in its efforts to render a subtle thought. To have polished this
tongue and sharpened its capacity for refined and incisive utterance is
one--and not the least--of his merits.
Though he has by nature no more sympathy with the pietistic movement
than Daudet, Kielland yet manages to get, psychologically, closer to his
problem. His pietists are more humanly interesting than those of
Daudet, and the little drama which they set in motion is more genuinely
pathetic. Two superb figures--the lay preacher, Hans Nilsen, and Skipper
Worse--surpass all that the author had hitherto produced, in depth of
conception and brilliancy of execution. The marriage of that delightful,
profane old sea-dog Jacob Worse, with the pious Sara Torvested, and the
attempts of his mother-in-law to convert him, are described, not with
the merely superficial drollery to which the subject invites, but with a
sweet and delicate humor, which trembles on the verge of pathos.
The beautiful story _Elsie_, which, though published separately, is
scarcely a full-grown novel, is intended to impress society with a sense
of responsibility for its outcasts. While Bjoernstjerne Bjoernson is fond
of emphasizing the responsibility of the individual to society, Kielland
chooses by preference to reverse the relation. The former (in his
remarkable novel _Flags are Flying in City and Harbor_) selects a
hero with vicious inherited tendencies, redeemed by wise education and
favorable environment; the latter portrays in Elsie a heroine with no
corrupt predisposition, destroyed by the corrupting environment which
society forces upon those who are born in her circumstances. Elsie could
not be good, because the world is so constituted that girls of her kind
are not expected to be good. Temptations, perpetually thronging in her
way, break down the moral bulwarks of her nature. Resistance seems in
vain. In the end there is scarcely one who, having read her story, will
have the heart to condemn her.
Incomparably clever is the satire on the benevolent societies, which
appear to exist as a sort of moral poultice to tender consciences, and
to furnish an officious sense of virtue to its prosperous members. "The
Society for the Redemption of the Abandoned Women of St. Peter's Parish"
is presided over by a gentleman who privately furnishes subjects for his
public benevolence. However, as his private activity is not bounded by
the precincts of St. Peter's Parish, within which the society confines
its remedial labors, the miserable creatures who might need its aid
are sent away uncomforted. The delicious joke of the thing is that "St.
Peter's" is a rich and exclusive parish, consisting of what is called
"the better classes," and has no "abandoned women." Whatever wickedness
there may be in St. Peter's is discreetly veiled, and makes no claim
upon public charity. The virtuous horror of the secretary when she
hears that the "abandoned woman" who calls upon her for aid has a child,
though she is unmarried, is both comic and pathetic. It is the clean,
"deserving poor," who understand the art of hypocritical humility--it is
these whom the society seeks in vain in St. Peter's Parish.
Still another problem of the most vital consequence Kielland has
attacked in his two novels, _Poison_ and _Fortuna_ (1884). It is,
broadly stated, the problem of education. The hero in both books is
Abraham Loevdahl, a well-endowed, healthy, and altogether promising boy
who, by the approved modern educational process, is mentally and
morally crippled, and the germs of what is great and good in him are
systematically smothered by that disrespect for individuality and
insistence upon uniformity, which are the curses of a small society.
The revolutionary discontent which vibrates in the deepest depth of
Kielland's nature; the profound and uncompromising radicalism which
smoulders under his polished exterior; the philosophical pessimism
which relentlessly condemns all the flimsy and superficial reformatory
movements of the day, have found expression in the history of the
childhood, youth, and manhood of Abraham Lvdahl. In the first place, it
is worthy of note that to Kielland the knowledge which is offered in
the guise of intellectual nourishment is poison. It is the dry and dusty
accumulation of antiquarian lore, which has little or no application
to modern life--it is this which the young man of the higher classes is
required to assimilate. Apropos of this, let me quote Dr. G. Brandes,
who has summed up the tendency of these two novels with great felicity:
"The author has surveyed the generation to which he himself belongs, and
after having scanned these wide domains of emasculation, these prairies
of spiritual sterility, these vast plains of servility and irresolution,
he has addressed to himself the questions: How does a whole generation
become such? How was it possible to nip in the bud all that was
fertile and eminent? And he has painted a picture of the history of the
development of the present generation in the home-life and school-life
of Abraham Loevdahl, in order to show from what kind of parentage those
most fortunately situated and best endowed have sprung, and what kind
of education they received at home and in the school. This is, indeed, a
simple and an excellent theme.
"We first see the child led about upon the wide and withered common
of knowledge, with the same sort of meagre fodder for all; we see it
trained in mechanical memorizing, in barren knowledge concerning things
and forms that are dead and gone; in ignorance concerning the life
that is, in contempt for it, and in the consciousness of its privileged
position, by dint of its possession of this doubtful culture. We see
pride strengthened; the healthy curiosity, the desire to ask questions,
killed."
We are apt to console ourselves on this side of the ocean with the idea
that these social problems appertain only to the effete monarchies of
Europe, and have no application with us. But, though I readily admit
that the keenest point of this satire is directed against the small
States which, by the tyranny of the dominant mediocrity, <DW36> much
that is good and great by denying it the conditions of growth and
development, there is yet a deep and abiding lesson in these two novels
which applies to modern civilization in general, exposing glaring
defects which are no less prevalent here than in the Old World.
Besides being the author of some minor comedies and a full-grown drama
("The Professor"), Kielland has published two more novels, _St. John's
Eve_ (1887) and _Snow_. The latter is particularly directed against
the orthodox Lutheran clergy, of which the Rev. Daniel Juerges is an
excellent specimen. He is, in my opinion, not in the least caricatured;
but portrayed with a conscientious desire to do justice to his
sincerity. Mr. Juerges is a worthy type of the Norwegian country pope,
proud and secure in the feeling of his divine authority, passionately
hostile to "the age," because he believes it to be hostile to Christ;
intolerant of dissent; a guide and ruler of men, a shepherd of the
people. The only trouble in Norway, as elsewhere, is that the people
will no longer consent to be shepherded. They refuse to be guided and
ruled. They rebel against spiritual and secular authority, and follow
no longer the bell-wether with the timid gregariousness of servility and
irresolution. To bring the new age into the parsonage of the reverend
obscurantist in the shape of a young girl--the _fiancee_ of the pastor's
son--was an interesting experiment which gives occasion for strong
scenes and, at last, for a drawn battle between the old and the new. The
new, though not acknowledging itself to be beaten, takes to its heels,
and flees in the stormy night through wind and snow. But the snow is
moist and heavy; it is beginning to thaw. There is a vague presentiment
of spring in the air.
This note of promise and suspense with which the book ends is meant to
be symbolic. From Kielland's point of view, Norway is yet wrapped in the
wintry winding-sheet of a tyrannical orthodoxy; and all that he dares
assert is that the chains of frost and snow seem to be loosening. There
is a spring feeling in the air.
This spring feeling is, however, scarcely perceptible in his last book,
_Jacob_, which is written in anything but a hopeful mood. It is, rather,
a protest against that optimism which in fiction we call poetic justice.
The harsh and unsentimental logic of reality is emphasized with a
ruthless disregard of rose- traditions. The peasant lad Wold,
who, like all Norse peasants, has been brought up on the Bible, has
become deeply impressed with the story of Jacob, and God's persistent
partisanship for him, in spite of his dishonesty and tricky behavior.
The story becomes, half unconsciously, the basis of his philosophy of
life, and he undertakes to model his career on that of the Biblical
hero. He accordingly cheats and steals with a clever moderation, and in
a cautious and circumspect manner which defies detection. Step by step
he rises in the regard of his fellow-citizens; crushes, with long-headed
calculation or with brutal promptness (as it may suit his purpose)
all those who stand in his way, and arrives at last at the goal of his
desires. He becomes a local magnate, a member of parliament, where he
poses as a defender of the simple, old-fashioned orthodoxy, is decorated
by the King, and is an object of the envious admiration of his fellow
townsmen.
From the pedagogic point of view, I have no doubt that _Jacob_ would be
classed as an immoral book. But the question of its morality is of
less consequence than the question as to its truth. The most modern
literature, which is interpenetrated with the spirit of the age, has a
way of asking dangerous questions--questions before which the reader,
when he perceives their full scope, stands aghast. Our old idyllic faith
in the goodness and wisdom of all mundane arrangements has undoubtedly
received a shock from which it will never recover. Our attitude towards
the universe is changing with the change of its attitude towards us.
What the thinking part of humanity is now largely engaged in doing is to
readjust itself towards the world and the world towards it. Success is
but a complete adaptation to environment; and success is the supreme
aim of the modern man. The authors who, by their fearless thinking
and speaking, help us towards this readjustment should, in my opinion,
whether we choose to accept their conclusions or not, be hailed as
benefactors. It is in the ranks of these that Alexander Kielland has
taken his place, and now occupies a conspicuous position.
HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN.
NEW YORK, May 15, 1891.
PHARAOH.
She had mounted the shining marble steps with without mishap, without
labor, sustained by her great beauty and her fine nature alone. She had
taken her place in the salons of the rich and great without laying for
her admittance with her honor or her good name. Yet no one could say
whence she came, though people whispered that it was from the depths.
As a waif of a Parisian faubourg, she had starved through her childhood
among surroundings of vice and poverty, such as those only can conceive
who know them by experience. Those of us who get our knowledge from
books and from hearsay have to strain our imagination in order to form
an idea of the hereditary misery of a great city, and yet our most
terrible imaginings are apt to pale before the reality.
It had been only a question of time when vice should get its clutches
upon her, as a cog-wheel seizes whoever comes too near the machine.
After whirling her around through a short life of shame and degradation,
it would, with mechanical punctuality, have cast her off into some
corner, there to drag out to the end, in sordid obscurity, her
caricature of an existence.
But it happened, as it does sometimes happen, that she was "discovered"
by a man of wealth and position, one day when, a child of fourteen, she
happened to cross one of the better streets. She was on her way to a
dark back room in the Rue des Quatre Vents, where she worked with a
woman who made artificial flowers.
It was not only her extraordinary beauty that attracted her patron;
her movements, her whole bearing, and the expression of her half-formed
features, all seemed to him to show that here was an originally fine
nature struggling against incipient corruption. Moved by one of the
incalculable whims of the very wealthy, he determined to try to rescue
the unhappy child.
It was not difficult to obtain control of her, as she belonged to no
one. He gave her a name, and placed her in one of the best convent
schools. Before long her benefactor had the satisfaction of observing
that the seeds of evil died away and disappeared. She developed an
amiable, rather indolent character, correct and quiet manners, and a
rare beauty.
When she grew up he married her. Their married life was peaceful
and pleasant; in spite of the great difference in their ages, he had
unbounded confidence in her, and she deserved it.
Married people do not live in such close communion in France as they
do with us; so that their claims upon each other are not so great, and
their disappointments are less bitter.
She was not happy, but contented. Her character lent itself to
gratitude. She did not feel the tedium of wealth; on the contrary, she
often took an almost childish pleasure in it. But no one could guess
that, for her bearing was always full of dignity and repose. People
suspected that there was something questionable about her origin, but as
no one could answer questions they left off asking them. One has so much
else to think of in Paris.
She had forgotten her past. She had forgotten it just as we
have forgotten the roses, the ribbons, and faded letters of our
youth--because we never think about them. They lie locked up in a drawer
which we never open. And yet, if we happen now and again to cast a
glance into this secret drawer, we at once notice if a single one of the
roses, or the least bit of ribbon, is wanting. For we remember them all
to a nicety; the memories are ran fresh as ever--as sweet as ever, and
as bitter.
It was thus she had forgotten her past--locked it up and thrown away the
key.
But at night she sometimes dreamed frightful things. She could once more
feel the old witch with whom she lived shaking her by the shoulder, and
driving her out in the cold mornings to work at her artificial flowers.
Then she would jump up in her bed, and stare out into the darkness in
the most deadly fear. But presently she would touch the silk coverlet
and the soft pillows; her fingers would follow the rich carvings of her
luxurious bed; and while sleepy little child-angels slowly drew aside
the heavy dream-curtain, she tasted in deep draughts the peculiar,
indescribable well-being we feel when we discover that an evil and
horrible dream was a dream and nothing more.
*****
Leaning back among the soft cushions, she drove to the great ball at
the Russian ambassador's. The nearer they got to their destination the
slower became the pace, until the carriage reached the regular queue,
where it dragged on at a foot-pace.
In the wide square in front of the hotel, brilliantly lighted with
torches and with gas, a great crowd of people had gathered. Not only
passers-by who had stopped to look on, but more especially workmen,
loafers, poor women, and ladies of questionable appearance, stood in
serried ranks on both sides of the row of carriages. Humorous remarks
and coarse witticisms in the vulgarest Parisian dialect hailed down upon
the passing carriages and their occupants.
She heard words which she had not heard for many years, and she blushed
at the thought that she was perhaps the only one in this whole long line
of carriages who understood these low expressions of the dregs of Paris.
She began to look at the faces around her: it seemed to her as if she
knew them all. She knew what they thought, what was passing in each
of these tightly-packed heads; and little by little a host of memories
streamed in upon her. She fought against them as well as she could, but
she was not herself this evening.
She had not, then, lost the key to the secret drawer; reluctantly she
drew it out, and the memories overpowered her.
She remembered how often she herself, still almost a child, had devoured
with greedy eyes the fine ladies who drove in splendor to balls or
theatres; how often she had cried in bitter envy over the flowers she
laboriously pieced together to make others beautiful. Here she saw the
same greedy eyes, the same inextinguishable, savage envy.
And the dark, earnest men who scanned the equipages with
half-contemptuous, half-threatening looks--she knew them all.
Had not she herself, as a little girl, lain in a corner and listened,
wide-eyed, to their talk about the injustice of life, the tyranny of the
rich, and the rights of the laborer, which he had only to reach out his
hand to seize?
She knew that they hated everything--the sleek horses, the dignified
coachmen, the shining carriages, and, most of all, the people who sat
within them--these insatiable vampires, these ladies, whose ornaments
for the night cost more gold than any one of them could earn by the work
of a whole lifetime.
And as she looked along the line of carriages, as it dragged on
slowly through the crowd, another memory flashed into her mind--a
half-forgotten picture from her school-life in the convent.
She suddenly came to think of the story of Pharaoh and his war-chariots
following the children of Israel through the Red Sea. She saw the waves,
which she had always imagined red as blood, piled up like a wall on both
sides of the Egyptians.
Then the voice of Moses sounded. He stretched out his staff over the
waters, and the Red Sea waves hurtled together and swallowed up Pharaoh
and all his chariots.
She knew that the wall which stood on each side of her was wilder and
more rapacious than the waves of the sea; she knew that it needed only
a voice, a Moses, to set all this human sea in motion, hurling it
irresistibly onward until it should sweep away all the glory of wealth
and greatness in its blood-red waves.
Her heart throbbed, and she crouched trembling into the corner of the
carriage. But it was not with fear; it was so that those without should
not see her--for she was ashamed to meet their eyes.
For the first time in her life, her good-fortune appeared to her in the
light of an injustice, a thing to blush for.
Was she in her right place, in this soft-cushioned carriage, among these
tyrants and blood-suckers? Should she not rather be out there in the
billowing mass, among the children of hate?
Half-forgotten thoughts and feelings thrust up their heads like beasts
of prey which have long lain bound. She felt strange and homeless in
her glittering life, and thought with a sort of demoniac longing of the
horrible places from which she had risen.
She seized her rich lace shawl; there came over her a wild desire to
destroy, to tear something to pieces; but at this moment the carriage
turned into the gate-way of the hotel.
The footman tore open the door, and with her gracious smile, her air of
quiet, aristocratic distinction, she alighted.
A young attache rushed forward, and was happy when she took his arm,
still more enraptured when he thought he noticed an unusual gleam in her
eyes, and in the seventh heaven when he felt her arm tremble.
Full of pride and hope, he led her with sedulous politeness up the
shining marble steps.
*****
"'Tell me, _belle dame_, what good fairy endowed you in your cradle with
the marvellous gift of transforming everything you touch into something
new and strange. The very flower in your hair has a charm, as though
it were wet with the fresh morning dew. And when you dance it seems as
though the floor swayed and undulated to the rhythm of your footsteps."
The Count was himself quite astonished at this long and felicitous
compliment, for as a rule he did not find it easy to express himself
coherently. He expected, too, that his beautiful partner would show her
appreciation of his effort.
But he was disappointed. She leaned over the balcony, where they were
enjoying the cool evening air after the dance, and gazed out over
the crowd and the still-advancing carriages. She seemed not to have
understood the Count's great achievement; at least he could only hear
her whisper the inexplicable word, "Pharaoh."
He was on the point of remonstrating with her, when she turned round,
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Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
TRAILS OF THE PATHFINDERS
* * * * * *
IN THE SAME SERIES
PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
=The Boy’s Catlin.= My Life Among the Indians, by GEORGE
CATLIN. Edited by MARY GAY HUMPHREYS. Illustrated.
12mo. _net_ $1.50
=The Boy’s Hakluyt.= English Voyages of Adventure and
Discovery, retold from Hakluyt by EDWIN M. BACON.
Illustrated. 12mo. _net_ $1.50
=The Boy’s Drake.= By EDWIN M. BACON. Illustrated. 12mo.
_net_ $1.50
=Trails of the Pathfinders.= By GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL.
Illustrated. 12mo. _net_ $1.50
* * * * * *
TRAILS OF THE PATHFINDERS
[Illustration:
CAPTAINS LEWIS AND CLARK WERE MUCH PUZZLED AT THIS POINT TO KNOW
WHICH OF THE RIVERS BEFORE THEM WAS THE MAIN MISSOURI.]
TRAILS OF THE PATHFINDERS
by
GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
Author of “Blackfoot Lodge Tales,” “Pawnee Hero
Stories and Folk Tales,” “The Story of the
Indian,” “Indians of Today,” etc.
Illustrated
New York
Charles Scribner’S Sons
1911
Copyright, 1911, by
Charles Scribner’S Sons
Published April, 1911
[Illustration]
PREFACE
The chapters in this book appeared first as part of a series of
articles under the same title contributed to _Forest and Stream_
several years ago. At the time they aroused much interest and there was
a demand that they should be put into book form.
The books from which these accounts have been drawn are good reading
for all Americans. They are at once history and adventure. They deal
with a time when half the continent was unknown; when the West--distant
and full of romance--held for the young, the brave and the hardy,
possibilities that were limitless.
The legend of the kingdom of El Dorado did not pass with the passing of
the Spaniards. All through the eighteenth and a part of the nineteenth
century it was recalled in another sense by the fur trader, and with
the discovery of gold in California it was heard again by a great
multitude--and almost with its old meaning.
Besides these old books on the West, there are many others which every
American should read. They treat of that same romantic period, and
describe the adventures of explorers, Indian fighters, fur hunters and
fur traders. They are a part of the history of the continent.
NEW YORK, _April_, 1911.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 3
II. ALEXANDER HENRY--I 13
III. ALEXANDER HENRY--II 36
IV. JONATHAN CARVER 57
V. ALEXANDER MACKENZIE--I 84
VI. ALEXANDER MACKENZIE--II 102
VII. ALEXANDER MACKENZIE--III 121
VIII. LEWIS AND CLARK--I 138
IX. LEWIS AND CLARK--II 154
X. LEWIS AND CLARK--III 169
XI. LEWIS AND CLARK--IV 179
XII. LEWIS AND CLARK--V 190
XIII. ZEBULON M. PIKE--I 207
XIV. ZEBULON M. PIKE--II 226
XV. ZEBULON M. PIKE--III 238
XVI. ALEXANDER HENRY (THE YOUNGER)--I 253
XVII. ALEXANDER HENRY (THE YOUNGER)--II 271
XVIII. ALEXANDER HENRY (THE YOUNGER)--III 287
XIX. ROSS COX--I 301
XX. ROSS COX--II 319
XXI. THE COMMERCE OF THE PRAIRIES--I 330
XXII. THE COMMERCE OF THE PRAIRIES--II 341
XXIII. SAMUEL PARKER 359
XXIV. THOMAS J. FARNHAM--I 372
XXV. THOMAS J. FARNHAM--II 382
XXVI. FREMONT--I 393
XXVII. FREMONT--II 405
XXVIII. FREMONT--III 415
XXIX. FREMONT--IV 428
XXX. FREMONT--V 435
ILLUSTRATIONS
CAPTAINS LEWIS AND CLARK WERE MUCH PUZZLED AT THIS POINT TO
KNOW WHICH OF THE RIVERS BEFORE THEM WAS THE MAIN MISSOURI
_Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
“I NOW RESIGNED MYSELF TO THE FATE WITH WHICH I WAS MENACED” 28
A MAN OF THE NAUDOWESSIE 62
From _Travels Through the Interior Parts of North America_,
by Jonathan Carver
A MAN OF THE OTTIGAUMIES 62
From _Travels Through the Interior Parts of North America_,
by Jonathan Carver
ALEXANDER MACKENZIE 84
From Mackenzie’s _Voyages from Montreal Through the Continent
of North America_, etc.
MACKENZIE AND THE MEN JUMPED OVERBOARD 118
LIEUTENANT ZEBULON MONTGOMERY PIKE, MONUMENT AT COLORADO SPRINGS,
COLORADO 208
BUFFALO ON THE SOUTHERN PLAINS 236
From Kendall’s _Narrative of the Texas Santa Fé Expedition_
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2023-11-16 19:00:14.8424730 | 3,142 | 6 |
Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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THE PORTSMOUTH ROAD
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
=ENGLISH PEN ARTISTS OF TO-DAY=: Examples of their work, with some
Criticisms and Appreciations. Super royal 4to, L3 3_s._ net.
=THE BRIGHTON ROAD=: Old Times and New on a Classic Highway. With 95
Illustrations by the Author and from old prints. Demy 8vo, 16_s._
=FROM PADDINGTON TO PENZANCE=: The Record of a Summer Tramp. With 105
Illustrations by the Author. Demy 8vo, 16_s._
=A PRACTICAL HANDBOOK OF DRAWING FOR MODERN METHODS OF REPRODUCTION.=
Illustrated by the Author and others. Demy 8vo, 7_s._ 6_d._
=THE MARCHES OF WALES=: Notes and Impressions on the Welsh Borders, from
the Severn Sea to the Sands o' Dee. With 115 Illustrations by the Author
and from old-time portraits. Demy 8vo, 16_s._
=REVOLTED WOMAN=: Past, Present, and to Come. Illustrated by the Author
and from old-time portraits. Demy 8vo, 5_s._ net.
=THE DOVER ROAD=: Annals of an Ancient Turnpike. With 100 Illustrations by
the Author and from other sources. Demy 8vo. [_In the Press._
[Illustration:
"_Till, woe is me, so lubberly,
The vermin came and pressed me._"
_From a painting by George Morland._]
_THE PORTSMOUTH
ROAD AND ITS TRIBUTARIES:
TO-DAY AND IN DAYS OF OLD._
BY CHARLES G. HARPER,
AUTHOR OF The Brighton Road,
Marches of Wales, Drawing for
Reproduction, &c., &c., &c.
[Illustration]
_Illustrated by the Author, and from
Old-time Prints and Pictures._
LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL LIMITED
1895
(_All Rights Reserved._)
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON & BUNGAY.
TO HENRY REICHARDT, ESQ.
_My dear Reichardt,_
_Here is the result of two years' hard work for your perusal; the outcome
of delving amid musty, dusty files of by-gone newspapers; of research
among forgotten books, and pamphlets curious and controversial; of country
jaunts along this old road both for pleasures sake and for taking the
notes and sketches that go towards making up the story of this old
highway._
_You will appreciate, more than most, the difficulties of contriving a
well-ordered narrative of times so clean forgotten as those of old-road
travel, and better still will you perceive the largeness of the task of
transmuting the notes and sketches of this undertaking into paper and
print. Hence this dedication._
_Yours, &c._,
CHARLES G. HARPER.
Preface
_There has been of late years a remarkable and widespread revival of
interest in the old coach-roads of England; a revival chiefly owing to the
modern amateur's enthusiasm for coaching; partly due to the healthy sport
and pastime of cycling, that brings so many afield from populous cities
who would otherwise grow stunted in body and dull of brain; and in degree
owing to the contemplative spirit that takes delight in scenes of by-gone
commerce and activity, prosaic enough, to the most of them that lived in
the Coaching Age, but now become hallowed by mere lapse of years and the
supersession of horse-flesh by steam-power._
_The Story of the Roads belongs now to History, and History is, to your
thoughtful man, quite as interesting as the best of novels. Sixty years
ago the Story of the Roads was brought to an end, and at that time (so
unheeded is the romance of every-day life) it seemed a story of the most
commonplace type, not worthy the telling. But we have gained what was of
necessity denied our fathers and grandfathers in this matter--the charm of
Historical Perspective, that lends a saving grace to experiences of the
most ordinary description, and to happenings the most untoward. Our
forebears travelled the roads from necessity, and saw nothing save
unromantic discomforts in their journeyings to and fro. We who read the
records of their times are apt to lament their passing, and to wish the
leisured life and not a few of the usages of our grandfathers back again.
The wish is vain, but natural, for it is a characteristic of every
succeeding generation to look back lovingly on times past, and in the
retrospect to see in roseate colours what was dull and, neutral-tinted to
folk who lived their lives in those by-gone days._
_If we only could pierce to the thought of aeons past, perhaps we should
find the men of the Stone Age regretting the times of the Arboreal
Ancestor, and should discover that distant relative, while swinging by his
prehensile tail from the branches of some forest tree, lamenting the
careless, irresponsible life of his remote forebear, the Primitive
Pre-atomic Globule._
_However that may be, certain it is that when our day is done, when Steam
shall have been dethroned and natural forces of which we know nothing have
revolutionized the lives of our descendants, those heirs of all the ages
will look back regretfully upon this Era of ours, and wistfully meditate
upon the romantic life we led towards the end of the nineteenth century!_
_The glamour of old-time travel has appealed to me equally with others of
my time, and has led me to explore the old coach-roads and their records.
Work of this kind is a pleasure, and the programme I have mapped out of
treating all the classic roads of England in this wise, is, though long
and difficult, not (to quote a horsey phrase suitable to this subject) all
"collar work."_
CHARLES G. HARPER.
35, CONNAUGHT STREET, HYDE PARK,
LONDON, _April 1895_.
LIST _of_ ILLVSTRATIONS
SEPARATE PLATES
PAGE
1. THE PRESS GANG. _By George Morland._ Frontispiece.
2. OLD "ELEPHANT AND CASTLE," 1824 22
3. "ELEPHANT AND CASTLE," 1826 30
4. ADMIRAL BYNG 48
5. A STRANGE SIGHT SOME TIME HENCE 52
6. THE SHOOTING OF ADMIRAL BYNG 56
7. WILLIAM PITT 74
8. THE RECRUITING SERGEANT 90
9. ROAD AND RAIL: DITTON MARSH, NIGHT 94
10. THE "NEW TIMES" GUILDFORD COACH 98
11. THE "TALLY-HO" HAMPTON COURT AND DORKING COACH 104
12. MICKLEHAM CHURCH 108
13. BROCKHAM BRIDGE 114
14. ESHER PLACE 120
15. LORD CLIVE 124
16. PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES 128
17. THE "ANCHOR," RIPLEY 142
18. GUILDHALL, GUILDFORD 148
19. CASTLE ARCH 152
20. AN INN YARD, 1747. _After Hogarth_ 162
21. THE "RED ROVER" GUILDFORD AND SOUTHAMPTON COACH 166
22. ST. CATHERINE'S CHAPEL. _After J. M. W. Turner_ 170
23. MARY TOFTS 178
24. NEW GODALMING STATION 184
25. THE DEVIL'S PUNCH BOWL 194
26. HINDHEAD. _After J. M. W. Turner_ 198
27. TYNDALL'S HOUSE 208
28. SAMUEL PEPYS 236
29. JOHN WILKES 240
30. SAILORS CAROUSING. _From a Sketch by Rowlandson_ 252
31. THE "FLYING BULL" INN 268
32. PETERSFIELD MARKET-PLACE 278
33. THE "COACH AND HORSES" INN 298
34. CATHERINGTON CHURCH 320
35. AN EXTRAORDINARY SCENE ON THE PORTSMOUTH ROAD.
_By Rowlandson_ 330
36. THE SAILOR'S RETURN 334
37. TRUE BLUE; OR BRITAIN'S JOLLY TARS PAID OFF AT
PORTSMOUTH, 1797. _By Isaac Cruikshank_ 338
38. THE LIBERTY OF THE SUBJECT, 1782. _By James
Gillray_ 346
ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT
PAGE
The Revellers 12
Edward Gibbon 19
"Dog and Duck" Tavern 28
Sign of the "Dog and Duck" 29
Jonas Hanway 43
"If the shades of those antagonists foregather" 44
The First Umbrella 46
The "Green Man," Putney Heath 70
The Windmill, Wimbledon Common 74
Mr. Walter Shoolbred 97
Boots at the "Bear" 102
The "Bear," Esher 103
Burford Bridge 111
The "White Horse," Dorking 112
The Road to Dorking 113
Castle Mill 117
Cobham Churchyard 137
Pain's Hill 139
Fame up-to-Date 142
Herbert Liddell Cortis 146
Market-House, Godalming 176
Charterhouse Relics 189
Gowser Jug 190
Wesley 191
Bust of Nelson 192
Tombstone, Thursley 204
Thursley Church 205
Sun-dial, Thursley 206
"Considering Cap" 223
Milland Chapel 260
"The Wakes," Selborne 261
Badge of the Selborne Society 267
The "Flying Bull" Sign 271
The "Jolly Drovers" 272
"Shaved with Trouble and Cold Water" 284
Edward Gibbon 288
Windy Weather 304
Benighted 319
Dancing Sailor 361
THE ROAD TO PORTSMOUTH
Miles
Stone's End, Borough, to--
Newington 1/4
Vauxhall 1-1/2
Battersea Rise 4
Wandsworth (cross River Wandle) 5-1/2
Tibbet's Corner, Putney Heath 7-3/4
"Robin Hood," Kingston Vale 9
Norbiton Church 11-1/4
Kingston Market-place 12
Thames Ditton 13-3/4
Esher 16
Cobham Street (cross River Mole) 19-1/2
Wisley Common 20-1/4
Ripley 23-1/2
Guildford (cross River Wey) 29-1/2
St. Catherine's Hill 30-1/2
Peasmarsh Common (cross River Wey) 31-1/4
Godalming 34
Milford 35-3/4
Moushill and Witley Commons 36-1/4
Hammer Ponds 38-1/2
Hindhead (Gibbet Hill) 41-1/4
Cold Ash Hill and "Seven Thorns" Inn 44-1/4
Liphook ("Royal Anchor") 46-3/4
Milland Common 47-1/2
Rake 50-1/4
Sheet Bridge (cross River Rother) 53-3/4
Petersfield 55
"Coach and Horses" 59
Horndean 62-1/2
Waterlooville and White Lane End 65-1/2
Purbrook (cross Purbrook stream) 66-1/2
Cosham 68-1/4
Hilsea 69-1/2
North End 70-3/4
Landport 71-1/2
Portsmouth Town 72
Portsmouth, Victoria Pier 73
_The Portsmouth Road_
I
The Portsmouth Road is measured (or was measured when road-travel was the
only way of travelling on _terra firma_, and coaches the chiefest machines
of progression) from the Stone's End, Borough. It went by Vauxhall to
Wandsworth, Putney Heath, Kingston-on-Thames, Guildford, and Petersfield;
and thence came presently into Portsmouth through the Forest of Bere and
past the frowning battlements of Porchester. The distance was, according
to Cary,--that invaluable guide, philosopher, and friend of our
grandfathers,--sevent | 2,590.862513 |
2023-11-16 19:00:14.9364880 | 2,386 | 14 |
Produced by Neil McLachlan and David Widger
THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH
by Charles Reade
Etext Notes:
1. Greek passages are enclosed in angled brackets, e.g. {methua}, and
have been transliterated according to:alpha A, a
beta B, b
gamma G, g
delta D, d
epsilon E, e
zeta Z, z
eta Y, y
theta Th, th
iota I, i
kappa K, k
lamda L, l
mu M, m
nu N, n
omicron O, o
pi P, p
rho R, r
sigma S, s
tau T, t
phi Ph, ph
chi Ch, ch
psi Ps, ps
xi X, x
upsilon U, u
omega W, w
2. All diacritics have been removed from this version
3. References for the Author's footnotes are enclosed in square
brackets(e.g. (1)) and collected at the end of the chapter they occur
in.
4. There are 100 chapters in the book, each starting with CHAPTER R,
where R is the chapter number expressed as a Roman numeral.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
A small portion of this tale appeared in Once a Week, July-September,
1859, under the title of "A Good Fight."
After writing it, I took wider views of the subject, and also felt
uneasy at having deviated unnecessarily from the historical outline of
a true story. These two sentiments have cost me more than a year's very
hard labour, which I venture to think has not been wasted. After this
plain statement I trust all who comment on this work will see that to
describe it as a reprint would be unfair to the public and to me. The
English language is copious, and, in any true man's hands, quite able
to convey the truth--namely, that one-fifth of the present work is a
reprint, and four-fifths of it a new composition.
CHARLES READE
CHAPTER I
Not a day passes over the earth, but men and women of no note do great
deeds, speak great words, and suffer noble sorrows. Of these obscure
heroes, philosophers, and martyrs, the greater part will never be known
till that hour, when many that are great shall be small, and the small
great; but of others the world's knowledge may be said to sleep: their
lives and characters lie hidden from nations in the annals that record
them. The general reader cannot feel them, they are presented so curtly
and coldly: they are not like breathing stories appealing to his heart,
but little historic hail-stones striking him but to glance off his
bosom: nor can he understand them; for epitomes are not narratives, as
skeletons are not human figures.
Thus records of prime truths remain a dead letter to plain folk: the
writers have left so much to the imagination, and imagination is so
rare a gift. Here, then, the writer of fiction may be of use to the
public--as an interpreter.
There is a musty chronicle, written in intolerable Latin, and in it
a chapter where every sentence holds a fact. Here is told, with harsh
brevity, the strange history of a pair, who lived untrumpeted, and died
unsung, four hundred years ago; and lie now, as unpitied, in that stern
page, as fossils in a rock. Thus, living or dead, Fate is still unjust
to them. For if I can but show you what lies below that dry chronicler's
words, methinks you will correct the indifference of centuries, and give
those two sore-tried souls a place in your heart--for a day.
It was past the middle of the fifteenth century; Louis XI was sovereign
of France; Edward IV was wrongful king of England; and Philip "the
Good," having by force and cunning dispossessed his cousin Jacqueline,
and broken her heart, reigned undisturbed this many years in Holland,
where our tale begins.
Elias, and Catherine his wife, lived in the little town of Tergou. He
traded, wholesale and retail, in cloth, silk, brown holland, and,
above all, in curried leather, a material highly valued by the middling
people, because it would stand twenty years' wear, and turn an ordinary
knife, no small virtue in a jerkin of that century, in which folk were
so liberal of their steel; even at dinner a man would leave his meat
awhile, and carve you his neighbour, on a very moderate difference of
opinion.
The couple were well to do, and would have been free from all earthly
care, but for nine children. When these were coming into the world, one
per annum, each was hailed with rejoicings, and the saints were thanked,
not expostulated with; and when parents and children were all young
together, the latter were looked upon as lovely little playthings
invented by Heaven for the amusement, joy, and evening solace of people
in business.
But as the olive-branches shot up, and the parents grew older, and saw
with their own eyes the fate of large families, misgivings and care
mingled with their love. They belonged to a singularly wise and
provident people: in Holland reckless parents were as rare as
disobedient children. So now when the huge loaf came in on a gigantic
trencher, looking like a fortress in its moat, and, the tour of the
table once made, seemed to have melted away, Elias and Catherine would
look at one another and say, "Who is to find bread for them all when we
are gone?"
At this observation the younger ones needed all their filial respect to
keep their little Dutch countenances; for in their opinion dinner and
supper came by nature like sunrise and sunset, and, so long as that
luminary should travel round the earth, so long as the brown loaf go
round their family circle, and set in their stomachs only to rise again
in the family oven. But the remark awakened the national thoughtfulness
of the elder boys, and being often repeated, set several of the family
thinking, some of them good thoughts, some ill thoughts, according to
the nature of the thinkers.
"Kate, the children grow so, this table will soon be too small."
"We cannot afford it, Eli," replied Catherine, answering not his words,
but his thought, after the manner of women.
Their anxiety for the future took at times a less dismal but more
mortifying turn. The free burghers had their pride as well as the
nobles; and these two could not bear that any of their blood should go
down in the burgh after their decease.
So by prudence and self-denial they managed to clothe all the little
bodies, and feed all the great mouths, and yet put by a small hoard
to meet the future; and, as it grew and grew, they felt a pleasure the
miser hoarding for himself knows not.
One day the eldest boy but one, aged nineteen, came to his mother, and,
with that outward composure which has so misled some persons as to the
real nature of this people, begged her to intercede with his father to
send him to Amsterdam, and place him with a merchant. "It is the way
of life that likes me: merchants are wealthy; I am good at numbers;
prithee, good mother, take my part in this, and I shall ever be, as I am
now, your debtor."
Catherine threw up her hands with dismay and incredulity.
"What! leave Tergou!"
"What is one street to me more than another? If I can leave the folk of
Tergou, I can surely leave the stones."
"What! quit your poor father now he is no longer young?"
"Mother, if I can leave you, I can leave"
"What! leave your poor brothers and sisters, that love you so dear?"
"There are enough in the house without me."
"What mean you, Richart? Who is more thought of than you Stay, have I
spoken sharp to you? Have I been unkind to you?"
"Never that I know of; and if you had, you should never hear of it from
me. Mother," said Richart gravely, but the tear was in his eye, "it all
lies in a word, and nothing can change my mind. There will be one mouth
less for you to feed.'
"There now, see what my tongue has done," said Catherine, and the next
moment she began to cry. For she saw her first young bird on the edge
of the nest trying his wings to fly into the world. Richart had a calm,
strong will, and she knew he never wasted a word.
It ended as nature has willed all such discourse shall end: young
Richart went to Amsterdam with a face so long and sad as it had never
been seen before, and a heart like granite.
That afternoon at supper there was one mouth less. Catherine looked at
Richart's chair and wept bitterly. On this Elias shouted roughly and
angrily to the children, "Sit wider, can't ye: sit wider!" and turned
his head away over the back of his seat awhile, and was silent.
Richart was launched, and never cost them another penny; but to fit him
out and place him in the house of Vander Stegen, the merchant, took all
the little hoard but one gold crown. They began again. Two years passed,
Richart found a niche in commerce for his brother Jacob, and Jacob left
Tergou directly after dinner, which was at eleven in the forenoon. At
supper that day Elias remembered what had happened the last time; so it
was in a low whisper he said, "Sit wider, dears!" Now until that moment,
Catherine would not see the gap at table, for her daughter Catherine had
besought her not to grieve to-night, and she had said, "No, sweetheart,
I promise I will not, since it vexes my children." But when Elias
whispered "Sit wider!" says she, "Ay! the table will soon be too big
for the children, and you thought it would be too small;" and having
delivered this with forced calmness, she put up her apron the next
moment, and wept sore.
"'Tis the best that leave us," sobbed she; "that is the cruel part."
"Nay! nay!" said Elias, "our children are good children, and all are
dear to us alike. Heed her not! What God takes from us still seems
better that what He spares to us; that is to say, men are by nature
unthankful--and women silly."
| 2,590.956528 |
2023-11-16 19:00:14.9391250 | 592 | 16 |
Produced by Chuck Greif, MWS and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
English Men of Action
LORD LAWRENCE
[Illustration: colophon]
[Illustration: LORD LAWRENCE
Engraved by O. LACOUR after a Photograph by MAULL AND POLYBANK]
LORD LAWRENCE
BY
SIR RICHARD TEMPLE
London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
1889
_The right of translation and reproduction is reserved_
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER II
EARLY LIFE, 1811-1829 7
CHAPTER III
THE DELHI TERRITORY, 1829-1846 15
CHAPTER IV
THE TRANS-SUTLEJ STATES, 1846-1849 27
CHAPTER V
PUNJAB BOARD OF ADMINISTRATION, 1849-1853 45
CHAPTER VI
CHIEF COMMISSIONER OF THE PUNJAB, 1853-1857 69
CHAPTER VII
WAR OF THE MUTINIES, 1857-1859 92
CHAPTER VIII
SOJOURN IN ENGLAND, 1859-1863 137
CHAPTER IX
THE GOVERNMENT OF INDIA, 1864-1869 148
CHAPTER X
CONCLUSION, 1869-1879 190
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
John Laird Mair Lawrence was born in 1811 and died in 1879, being
sixty-eight years of age. Within that time he entered the Civil Service
of the East India Company, governed the Punjab then the most difficult
province in India, took a very prominent part in the War of the
Mutinies, was by many called the saviour of the Indian empire, and
became Viceroy of India. By reason of his conduct in these capacities he
is regarded as a man of heroic simplicity, and as one of the best
British type, to be reckoned among our national worthies.
I shall write the following account of him as a man of action, partly
from authentic records, but chiefly from personal knowledge. I was his
Secretary during some of the most busy and important years when he was
governing the Punjab, and one of his Councillors when he was Viceroy. My
acquaintance with him began in 1851, and continued on intimate terms
till 1870, from which time until his death I was separated from him by
distance. | 2,590.959165 |
2023-11-16 19:00:14.9413660 | 3,183 | 9 |
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE
by Robert Louis Stevenson
STORY OF THE DOOR
Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was never
lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward
in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary and yet somehow lovable.
At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something
eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never
found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent
symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts
of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone,
to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had
not crossed the doors of one for twenty years. But he had an approved
tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high
pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity
inclined to help rather than to reprove. "I incline to Cain's heresy,"
he used to say quaintly: "I let my brother go to the devil in his own
way." In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last
reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of
downgoing men. And to such as these, so long as they came about his
chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanour.
No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he was undemonstrative
at the best, and even his friendship seemed to be founded in a similar
catholicity of good-nature. It is the mark of a modest man to accept his
friendly circle ready-made from the hands of opportunity; and that was
the lawyer's way. His friends were those of his own blood or those whom
he had known the longest; his affections, like ivy, were the growth of
time, they implied no aptness in the object. Hence, no doubt the
bond that united him to Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman, the
well-known man about town. It was a nut to crack for many, what these
two could see in each other, or what subject they could find in common.
It was reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks,
that they said nothing, looked singularly dull and would hail with
obvious relief the appearance of a friend. For all that, the two men put
the greatest store by these excursions, counted them the chief jewel
of each week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but
even resisted the calls of business, that they might enjoy them
uninterrupted.
It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a
by-street in a busy quarter of London. The street was small and what
is called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the weekdays. The
inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed and all emulously hoping to
do better still, and laying out the surplus of their grains in coquetry;
so that the shop fronts stood along that thoroughfare with an air of
invitation, like rows of smiling saleswomen. Even on Sunday, when it
veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively empty of passage,
the street shone out in contrast to its dingy neighbourhood, like a
fire in a forest; and with its freshly painted shutters, well-polished
brasses, and general cleanliness and gaiety of note, instantly caught
and pleased the eye of the passenger.
Two doors from one corner, on the left hand going east the line was
broken by the entry of a court; and just at that point a certain
sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the street. It
was two storeys high; showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower
storey and a blind forehead of discoloured wall on the upper; and bore
in every feature, the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence. The
door, which was equipped with neither bell nor knocker, was blistered
and distained. Tramps slouched into the recess and struck matches on the
panels; children kept shop upon the steps; the schoolboy had tried
his knife on the mouldings; and for close on a generation, no one had
appeared to drive away these random visitors or to repair their ravages.
Mr. Enfield and the lawyer were on the other side of the by-street; but
when they came abreast of the entry, the former lifted up his cane and
pointed.
"Did you ever remark that door?" he asked; and when his companion had
replied in the affirmative. "It is connected in my mind," added he,
"with a very odd story."
"Indeed?" said Mr. Utterson, with a slight change of voice, "and what
was that?"
"Well, it was this way," returned Mr. Enfield: "I was coming home from
some place at the end of the world, about three o'clock of a black
winter morning, and my way lay through a part of town where there was
literally nothing to be seen but lamps. Street after street and all the
folks asleep--street after street, all lighted up as if for a procession
and all as empty as a church--till at last I got into that state of mind
when a man listens and listens and begins to long for the sight of a
policeman. All at once, I saw two figures: one a little man who was
stumping along eastward at a good walk, and the other a girl of maybe
eight or ten who was running as hard as she was able down a cross
street. Well, sir, the two ran into one another naturally enough at
the corner; and then came the horrible part of the thing; for the man
trampled calmly over the child's body and left her screaming on the
ground. It sounds nothing to hear, but it was hellish to see. It wasn't
like a man; it was like some damned Juggernaut. I gave a few halloa,
took to my heels, collared my gentleman, and brought him back to where
there was already quite a group about the screaming child. He was
perfectly cool and made no resistance, but gave me one look, so ugly
that it brought out the sweat on me like running. The people who had
turned out were the girl's own family; and pretty soon, the doctor, for
whom she had been sent put in his appearance. Well, the child was not
much the worse, more frightened, according to the Sawbones; and there
you might have supposed would be an end to it. But there was one curious
circumstance. I had taken a loathing to my gentleman at first sight. So
had the child's family, which was only natural. But the doctor's case
was what struck me. He was the usual cut and dry apothecary, of no
particular age and colour, with a strong Edinburgh accent and about as
emotional as a bagpipe. Well, sir, he was like the rest of us; every
time he looked at my prisoner, I saw that Sawbones turn sick and white
with desire to kill him. I knew what was in his mind, just as he knew
what was in mine; and killing being out of the question, we did the next
best. We told the man we could and would make such a scandal out of this
as should make his name stink from one end of London to the other. If
he had any friends or any credit, we undertook that he should lose them.
And all the time, as we were pitching it in red hot, we were keeping the
women off him as best we could for they were as wild as harpies. I never
saw a circle of such hateful faces; and there was the man in the middle,
with a kind of black sneering coolness--frightened too, I could see
that--but carrying it off, sir, really like Satan. `If you choose to
make capital out of this accident,' said he, `I am naturally helpless.
No gentleman but wishes to avoid a scene,' says he. `Name your figure.'
Well, we screwed him up to a hundred pounds for the child's family; he
would have clearly liked to stick out; but there was something about the
lot of us that meant mischief, and at last he struck. The next thing was
to get the money; and where do you think he carried us but to that place
with the door?--whipped out a key, went in, and presently came back
with the matter of ten pounds in gold and a cheque for the balance on
Coutts's, drawn payable to bearer and signed with a name that I can't
mention, though it's one of the points of my story, but it was a name at
least very well known and often printed. The figure was stiff; but the
signature was good for more than that if it was only genuine. I took the
liberty of pointing out to my gentleman that the whole business looked
apocryphal, and that a man does not, in real life, walk into a cellar
door at four in the morning and come out with another man's cheque for
close upon a hundred pounds. But he was quite easy and sneering. `Set
your mind at rest,' says he, `I will stay with you till the banks open
and cash the cheque myself.' So we all set off, the doctor, and the
child's father, and our friend and myself, and passed the rest of the
night in my chambers; and next day, when we had breakfasted, went in
a body to the bank. I gave in the cheque myself, and said I had every
reason to believe it was a forgery. Not a bit of it. The cheque was
genuine."
"Tut-tut," said Mr. Utterson.
"I see you feel as I do," said Mr. Enfield. "Yes, it's a bad story. For
my man was a fellow that nobody could have to do with, a really damnable
man; and the person that drew the cheque is the very pink of the
proprieties, celebrated too, and (what makes it worse) one of your
fellows who do what they call good. Black mail I suppose; an honest man
paying through the nose for some of the capers of his youth. Black Mail
House is what I call the place with the door, in consequence. Though
even that, you know, is far from explaining all," he added, and with the
words fell into a vein of musing.
From this he was recalled by Mr. Utterson asking rather suddenly: "And
you don't know if the drawer of the cheque lives there?"
"A likely place, isn't it?" returned Mr. Enfield. "But I happen to have
noticed his address; he lives in some square or other."
"And you never asked about the--place with the door?" said Mr. Utterson.
"No, sir: I had a delicacy," was the reply. "I feel very strongly about
putting questions; it partakes too much of the style of the day of
judgment. You start a question, and it's like starting a stone. You sit
quietly on the top of a hill; and away the stone goes, starting others;
and presently some bland old bird (the last you would have thought of)
is knocked on the head in his own back garden and the family have to
change their name. No sir, I make it a rule of mine: the more it looks
like Queer Street, the less I ask."
"A very good rule, too," said the lawyer.
"But I have studied the place for myself," continued Mr. Enfield. "It
seems scarcely a house. There is no other door, and nobody goes in
or out of that one but, once in a great while, the gentleman of my
adventure. There are three windows looking on the court on the first
floor; none below; the windows are always shut but they're clean. And
then there is a chimney which is generally smoking; so somebody must
live there. And yet it's not so sure; for the buildings are so packed
together about the court, that it's hard to say where one ends and
another begins."
The pair walked on again for a while in silence; and then "Enfield,"
said Mr. Utterson, "that's a good rule of yours."
"Yes, I think it is," returned Enfield.
"But for all that," continued the lawyer, "there's one point I want to
ask: I want to ask the name of that man who walked over the child."
"Well," said Mr. Enfield, "I can't see what harm it would do. It was a
man of the name of Hyde."
"Hm," said Mr. Utterson. "What sort of a man is he to see?"
"He is not easy to describe. There is something wrong with his
appearance; something displeasing, something down-right detestable. I
never saw a man I so disliked, and yet I scarce know why. He must be
deformed somewhere; he gives a strong feeling of deformity, although I
couldn't specify the point. He's an extraordinary looking man, and yet
I really can name nothing out of the way. No, sir; I can make no hand of
it; I can't describe him. And it's not want of memory; for I declare I
can see him this moment."
Mr. Utterson again walked some way in silence and obviously under a
weight of consideration. "You are sure he used a key?" he inquired at
last.
"My dear sir..." began Enfield, surprised out of himself.
"Yes, I know," said Utterson; "I know it must seem strange. The fact is,
if I do not ask you the name of the other party, it is because I know
it already. You see, Richard, your tale has gone home. If you have been
inexact in any point you had better correct it."
"I think you might have warned me," returned the other with a touch of
sullenness. "But I have been pedantically exact, as you call it. The
fellow had a key; and what's more, he has it still. I saw him use it not
a week ago."
Mr. Utterson sighed deeply but said never a word; and the young man
presently resumed. "Here is another lesson to say nothing," said he. "I
am ashamed of my long tongue. Let us make a bargain never to refer to
this again."
"With all | 2,590.961406 |
2023-11-16 19:00:14.9428260 | 2,958 | 86 |
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THE PIRATE OF JASPER PEAK
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Close to the hearth a big chair had been drawn and in
this some one was sitting.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE PIRATE OF JASPER PEAK
by
ADAIR ALDON
Author of “The Island of Appledore,” etc.
With Frontispiece
New York
The Macmillan Company
1918
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1918
By the Macmillan Company
Set up and electrotyped.
Published, September, 1918
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
I. A Stranger in a Strange Land
II. The Brown Bear’s Skin
III. Laughing Mary
IV. The Heart of the Forest
V. Oscar Dansk
VI. The Promised Land
VII. Whither Away?
VIII. A Night’s Lodging
IX. Peril at the Bridge
X. First Blood to the Pirate
XI. The White Flag
XII. A Highway through the Hills
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE PIRATE OF JASPER PEAK
CHAPTER I
A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND
The long Pullman train, an hour late and greatly begrudging the time for
a special stop, came sliding into the tiny station of Rudolm and
deposited a solitary passenger upon the platform. The porter set Hugh
Arnold’s suitcase on the ground and accepted his proffered coin, all in
one expert gesture, and said genially:
“We’re way behind time on this run, but we come through on the down trip
at six in the morning, sharp. You-all will be going back with us
to-morrow, I reckon.”
“No,” replied Hugh, as he came down from the car step and gathered up
his belongings. “No, I’m going to stay.”
“Stay?” repeated the porter. “Oh—a week, I suppose. No one really stays
at Rudolm except them that are born there and can’t get away.”
Hugh shook his head.
“I am going to stay all winter,” he said.
“The whole winter! Say, do you know what winter _is_ up here?” the man
exclaimed. “For the love of—”
A violent jolt of the train was the engineer’s reminder that friendly
converse was not in order when there was time to be made up.
“All right, sah, good-by. I hope you like staying, only remember—we go
through every day at six in the morning less’n we’re late. _Good_-by.”
The train swept away, leaving Hugh to look after it for a moment before
he turned to take his first survey of Rudolm and the wide sheet of blue
water upon whose shore it stood.
Red Lake, when he and his father had first looked it up on the map,
seemed a queer, crooked place, full of harbors and headlands and hidden
coves, the wider stretches extending here and there to fifteen, twenty,
twenty-five miles of open water, again narrowing to mere winding
channels choked with islands. Hugh would have liked to say afterward
that he knew even from the map that this was a region promising
adventures, that down the lake’s winding tributaries he was going to be
carried to strange discoveries, but, as a matter of fact, he had no such
foreknowledge.
Indeed, it was his father who observed that the lake looked like a
proper haunt for pirates and Hugh who reminded him that pirates were not
ever to be found so far north. All the books he had seen, pictured them
as burying treasure on warm, sunny, sandy beaches, or flying in pursuit
of their prey on the wings of the South Sea winds. Pirates in the wooded
regions to the north of the Mississippi Valley, pirates where the snow
lay so deep and the lake was frozen for nearly half the year, where only
through a short summer could the waters be plied by “a low, raking,
black hulk” such as all pirates sail—it was not to be thought of! Even
now, when Hugh stood on the station platform and caught his first
glimpse of the real Red Lake, saw the wide blue waters flecked with
sunny whitecaps, the hundred pine-covered islands and the long miles of
wooded shore, even then he had no thought of how different he was to
find this place from any other he had ever seen. Both lake and town
seemed to him to promise little.
For Rudolm, set in its narrow valley between the Minnesota hills, looked
as though it had been dropped from some child’s box of toys, so small
and square were the houses and so hit-or-miss was the order in which
they stood along the one wide, crooked street. There were no trees
growing beside the rough wooden sidewalks, the street was dusty and the
sun, even although it was October, seemed to him to shine with a
pitiless glare. He walked slowly along the platform, wondering why Dick
Edmonds had not come to meet him, thinking that Rudolm seemed the
dullest and most uninteresting town in America and trying to stifle the
rising wish that he had never come.
A soft pad, pad on the boards behind him made him turn his head as a man
walked swiftly past. Hugh saw that his shapeless black hat had a
speckled feather stuck into the band and that he wore, instead of shoes,
soft rounded moccasins edged with a gay embroidery of beads. Plainly the
man was an Indian. At the thought the boy’s heart beat a little faster.
He had not known there would be Indians!
His own being in Rudolm was simple enough, although somewhat unexpected.
Hugh’s father was a doctor, enrolled in the Medical Reserve since the
beginning of the war but not until this month ordered away to France.
The problem of where Hugh should live during his absence was a difficult
one since Hugh had no mother and there were no immediate relatives to
whom he could go. He had finished school but had been judged rather too
young for college, and, so his father maintained in spite of frantic
pleading, much too young to enlist.
“I’m sixteen,” was the boy’s insistent argument, but—
“Wait until you have been sixteen more than two days,” was his father’s
answer.
“I could go with the medical unit, I know enough from helping you to be
some use as a hospital orderly,” Hugh begged, “I would do anything just
to go to France.”
“They need men in France, not boys just on the edge of being men,” Dr.
Arnold replied, “when you have had one or two years’ worth of experience
and judgment, then you will be some help to them over there. But not
now.”
“The war will be over by then,” wailed Hugh.
“Don’t fear,” his father observed grimly, “there is going to be enough
of it for all of us to have our share.”
So there the discussion ended and the question of what Hugh was to do
came up for settlement. There was a distant cousin of his father’s in
New York—but this suggestion was never allowed to get very far. Hugh had
never met the cousin and did not relish the idea of going to live with
him, “sight unseen” as he put it, on such short notice. It was his own
plan to go to Rudolm where lived the two Edmonds brothers, John, cashier
of the bank there and a great friend of his father’s, and Dick, a boy
four years older than himself, whom he had met but once yet knew that he
liked immensely. Several times John Edmonds had written to Dr. Arnold—
“If Hugh ever wants to spend any time ‘on his own’ we could find him a
job here in Rudolm, I know. It is a queer little place, just a mining
and lumbering town full of Swedes, but he might like the hunting and the
country and find it interesting for a while.”
It was the idea of spending the time “on his own” that made Hugh feel
that thus the period of his father’s absence might chance to seem a
little shorter and the soreness of missing him might grow a little less.
John Edmonds had answered their letters most cordially and had said that
all could be arranged and Hugh need only telegraph the day of his
arrival. The final preparations had been hastened by the coming of Dr.
Arnold’s sailing orders; the two had bidden each other good-by and good
luck with resolute cheerfulness and Hugh had set forth on his long
journey northward. He had never seen the Great Lakes nor the busy inland
shipping ports with their giant freighters lying at the docks, nor the
rising hills of the Iron Range through which his way must lead, but he
noticed them very little. His thoughts were very far away and fixed on
other things. Even now, as he walked slowly up Rudolm’s one street he
was not dwelling so much on his forlorn wonder why he did not see his
friends, but was thinking of a great transport that must, almost at that
hour, be nosing her way out of “an Atlantic port,” of the swift
destroyers gathering to convoy her, of the salt sea breezes blowing
across her deck, blowing sharp from the east, from over the sea—from
France. For he was certain, from all that he could gather, that his
father was sailing to-day and was launching upon his new venture at
almost the same time that Hugh was entering upon his own.
Somewhat disconsolately the boy trudged on up the hot empty highway,
seeing ahead of him the big, ramshackle building that must be the hotel
and beyond that, at the end of the road, the shining blue of the lake.
He was vaguely conscious that, at every cottage window, white-headed
children of all sizes and ages bobbed up to stare at him and ducked
shyly out of sight again when they caught his eye. Between two houses he
looked down to a sunny field where a woman with a three-cornered yellow
kerchief on her head was helping some men at work. She did not look like
an American woman at all, Hugh thought as he stopped to watch her, but
walked on abashed when even she paused to look at him, leaning on her
rake and shading her eyes with her hand. He rather liked her looks,
somehow, even at that distance, she seemed so strong, in spite of her
slenderness and she handled her rake with such vigorous sunburned arms.
He raised his eyes to the circle of hills that hemmed in the little town
rising steeply from beyond the last row of houses and the irregular
patchwork of little fields. They were oddly shaped hills, rolling range
beyond range, higher and higher until, far in the distance there loomed
the jagged mass of one big enough to be called a mountain. The nearer
<DW72>s were covered with heavy woods of pine and birch, the dense trees
broken here and there by great masses of rock, black, gray or, more
often, strange clear shades of red.
“Red Lake derives its name,” so the atlas had stated in its
matter-of-fact fashion, “from the peculiar color of the jasper rock that
appears in such quantity along its shores.”
Hugh had never seen anything quite like that clear vermilion shade that
glowed dully against the black-green of the pines. Across the <DW72> of
the nearest hill, showing clear like a clean-cut scar, there stretched a
steep white road that wound sharply up to the summit and disappeared. He
began to feel vaguely that although the town attracted him little, the
road might lead to something of greater promise.
There were some men lounging before the door of the hotel when he
reached it, miners or lumberjacks wearing high boots and mackinaw coats.
They were talking in low tones and eyeing Hugh with open curiosity. Just
as he came to the steps, two figures shuffled silently past him, one,
the Indian he had seen at the station, the other, a broad-shouldered,
broad-waisted woman stooping under the heavy burden she carried on her
back. The man, erect and unimpeded, strode quickly forward, but she
stopped a moment to readjust the deerskin strap which passed over her
forehead and supported the heavy weight of her pack. She turned her
swarthy face toward Hugh and greeted him with a broad, friendly smile,
then bowed her head once more and trudged on after her master. The boy,
not used to the ways of Indian husbands | 2,590.962866 |
2023-11-16 19:00:15.0366600 | 6,082 | 12 |
Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE AMATEUR CRACKSMAN
BY
E. W. HORNUNG
TO
A. C. D.
THIS FORM OF FLATTERY
THE AMATEUR CRACKSMAN
CONTENTS
THE IDES OF MARCH
A COSTUME PIECE
GENTLEMEN AND PLAYERS
LE PREMIER PAS
WILFUL MURDER
NINE POINTS OF THE LAW
THE RETURN MATCH
THE GIFT OF THE EMPEROR
THE IDES OF MARCH
I
It was half-past twelve when I returned to the Albany as a last
desperate resort. The scene of my disaster was much as I had left it.
The baccarat-counters still strewed the table, with the empty glasses
and the loaded ash-trays. A window had been opened to let the smoke
out, and was letting in the fog instead. Raffles himself had merely
discarded his dining jacket for one of his innumerable blazers. Yet he
arched his eyebrows as though I had dragged him from his bed.
"Forgotten something?" said he, when he saw me on his mat.
"No," said I, pushing past him without ceremony. And I led the way
into his room with an impudence amazing to myself.
"Not come back for your revenge, have you? Because I'm afraid I can't
give it to you single-handed. I was sorry myself that the others--"
We were face to face by his fireside, and I cut him short.
"Raffles," said I, "you may well be surprised at my coming back in this
way and at this hour. I hardly know you. I was never in your rooms
before to-night. But I fagged for you at school, and you said you
remembered me. Of course that's no excuse; but will you listen to
me--for two minutes?"
In my emotion I had at first to struggle for every word; but his face
reassured me as I went on, and I was not mistaken in its expression.
"Certainly, my dear man," said he; "as many minutes as you like. Have
a Sullivan and sit down." And he handed me his silver cigarette-case.
"No," said I, finding a full voice as I shook my head; "no, I won't
smoke, and I won't sit down, thank you. Nor will you ask me to do
either when you've heard what I have to say."
"Really?" said he, lighting his own cigarette with one clear blue eye
upon me. "How do you know?"
"Because you'll probably show me the door," I cried bitterly; "and you
will be justified in doing it! But it's no use beating about the bush.
You know I dropped over two hundred just now?"
He nodded.
"I hadn't the money in my pocket."
"I remember."
"But I had my check-book, and I wrote each of you a check at that desk."
"Well?"
"Not one of them was worth the paper it was written on, Raffles. I am
overdrawn already at my bank!"
"Surely only for the moment?"
"No. I have spent everything."
"But somebody told me you were so well off. I heard you had come in for
money?"
"So I did. Three years ago. It has been my curse; now it's all
gone--every penny! Yes, I've been a fool; there never was nor will be
such a fool as I've been.... Isn't this enough for you? Why don't you
turn me out?" He was walking up and down with a very long face instead.
"Couldn't your people do anything?" he asked at length.
"Thank God," I cried, "I have no people! I was an only child. I came
in for everything there was. My one comfort is that they're gone, and
will never know."
I cast myself into a chair and hid my face. Raffles continued to pace
the rich carpet that was of a piece with everything else in his rooms.
There was no variation in his soft and even footfalls.
"You used to be a literary little cuss," he said at length; "didn't you
edit the mag. before you left? Anyway I recollect fagging you to do my
verses; and literature of all sorts is the very thing nowadays; any
fool can make a living at it."
I shook my head. "Any fool couldn't write off my debts," said I.
"Then you have a flat somewhere?" he went on.
"Yes, in Mount Street."
"Well, what about the furniture?"
I laughed aloud in my misery. "There's been a bill of sale on every
stick for months!"
And at that Raffles stood still, with raised eyebrows and stern eyes
that I could meet the better now that he knew the worst; then, with a
shrug, he resumed his walk, and for some minutes neither of us spoke.
But in his handsome, unmoved face I read my fate and death-warrant; and
with every breath I cursed my folly and my cowardice in coming to him
at all. Because he had been kind to me at school, when he was captain
of the eleven, and I his fag, I had dared to look for kindness from him
now; because I was ruined, and he rich enough to play cricket all the
summer, and do nothing for the rest of the year, I had fatuously
counted on his mercy, his sympathy, his help! Yes, I had relied on him
in my heart, for all my outward diffidence and humility; and I was
rightly served. There was as little of mercy as of sympathy in that
curling nostril, that rigid jaw, that cold blue eye which never glanced
my way. I caught up my hat. I blundered to my feet. I would have
gone without a word; but Raffles stood between me and the door.
"Where are you going?" said he.
"That's my business," I replied. "I won't trouble YOU any more."
"Then how am I to help you?"
"I didn't ask your help."
"Then why come to me?"
"Why, indeed!" I echoed. "Will you let me pass?"
"Not until you tell me where you are going and what you mean to do."
"Can't you guess?" I cried. And for many seconds we stood staring in
each other's eyes.
"Have you got the pluck?" said he, breaking the spell in a tone so
cynical that it brought my last drop of blood to the boil.
"You shall see," said I, as I stepped back and whipped the pistol from
my overcoat pocket. "Now, will you let me pass or shall I do it here?"
The barrel touched my temple, and my thumb the trigger. Mad with
excitement as I was, ruined, dishonored, and now finally determined to
make an end of my misspent life, my only surprise to this day is that I
did not do so then and there. The despicable satisfaction of involving
another in one's destruction added its miserable appeal to my baser
egoism; and had fear or horror flown to my companion's face, I shudder
to think I might have died diabolically happy with that look for my
last impious consolation. It was the look that came instead which held
my hand. Neither fear nor horror were in it; only wonder, admiration,
and such a measure of pleased expectancy as caused me after all to
pocket my revolver with an oath.
"You devil!" I said. "I believe you wanted me to do it!"
"Not quite," was the reply, made with a little start, and a change of
color that came too late. "To tell you the truth, though, I half
thought you meant it, and I was never more fascinated in my life. I
never dreamt you had such stuff in you, Bunny! No, I'm hanged if I let
you go now. And you'd better not try that game again, for you won't
catch me stand and look on a second time. We must think of some way
out of the mess. I had no idea you were a chap of that sort! There,
let me have the gun."
One of his hands fell kindly on my shoulder, while the other slipped
into my overcoat pocket, and I suffered him to deprive me of my weapon
without a murmur. Nor was this simply because Raffles had the subtle
power of making himself irresistible at will. He was beyond comparison
the most masterful man whom I have ever known; yet my acquiescence was
due to more than the mere subjection of the weaker nature to the
stronger. The forlorn hope which had brought me to the Albany was
turned as by magic into an almost staggering sense of safety. Raffles
would help me after all! A. J. Raffles would be my friend! It was as
though all the world had come round suddenly to my side; so far
therefore from resisting his action, I caught and clasped his hand with
a fervor as uncontrollable as the frenzy which had preceded it.
"God bless you!" I cried. "Forgive me for everything. I will tell you
the truth. I DID think you might help me in my extremity, though I
well knew that I had no claim upon you. Still--for the old school's
sake--the sake of old times--I thought you might give me another
chance. If you wouldn't I meant to blow out my brains--and will still
if you change your mind!"
In truth I feared that it was changing, with his expression, even as I
spoke, and in spite of his kindly tone and kindlier use of my old
school nickname. His next words showed me my mistake.
"What a boy it is for jumping to conclusions! I have my vices, Bunny,
but backing and filling is not one of them. Sit down, my good fellow,
and have a cigarette to soothe your nerves. I insist. Whiskey? The
worst thing for you; here's some coffee that I was brewing when you
came in. Now listen to me. You speak of 'another chance.' What do
you mean? Another chance at baccarat? Not if I know it! You think
the luck must turn; suppose it didn't? We should only have made bad
worse. No, my dear chap, you've plunged enough. Do you put yourself in
my hands or do you not? Very well, then you plunge no more, and I
undertake not to present my check. Unfortunately there are the other
men; and still more unfortunately, Bunny, I'm as hard up at this moment
as you are yourself!"
It was my turn to stare at Raffles. "You?" I vociferated. "You hard
up? How am I to sit here and believe that?"
"Did I refuse to believe it of you?" he returned, smiling. "And, with
your own experience, do you think that because a fellow has rooms in
this place, and belongs to a club or two, and plays a little cricket,
he must necessarily have a balance at the bank? I tell you, my dear
man, that at this moment I'm as hard up as you ever were. I have
nothing but my wits to live on--absolutely nothing else. It was as
necessary for me to win some money this evening as it was for you.
We're in the same boat, Bunny; we'd better pull together."
"Together!" I jumped at it. "I'll do anything in this world for you,
Raffles," I said, "if you really mean that you won't give me away.
Think of anything you like, and I'll do it! I was a desperate man when
I came here, and I'm just as desperate now. I don't mind what I do if
only I can get out of this without a scandal."
Again I see him, leaning back in one of the luxurious chairs with which
his room was furnished. I see his indolent, athletic figure; his pale,
sharp, clean-shaven features; his curly black hair; his strong,
unscrupulous mouth. And again I feel the clear beam of his wonderful
eye, cold and luminous as a star, shining into my brain--sifting the
very secrets of my heart.
"I wonder if you mean all that!" he said at length. "You do in your
present mood; but who can back his mood to last? Still, there's hope
when a chap takes that tone. Now I think of it, too, you were a plucky
little devil at school; you once did me rather a good turn, I
recollect. Remember it, Bunny? Well, wait a bit, and perhaps I'll be
able to do you a better one. Give me time to think."
He got up, lit a fresh cigarette, and fell to pacing the room once
more, but with a slower and more thoughtful step, and for a much longer
period than before. Twice he stopped at my chair as though on the
point of speaking, but each time he checked himself and resumed his
stride in silence. Once he threw up the window, which he had shut some
time since, and stood for some moments leaning out into the fog which
filled the Albany courtyard. Meanwhile a clock on the chimney-piece
struck one, and one again for the half-hour, without a word between us.
Yet I not only kept my chair with patience, but I acquired an
incongruous equanimity in that half-hour. Insensibly I had shifted my
burden to the broad shoulders of this splendid friend, and my thoughts
wandered with my eyes as the minutes passed. The room was the
good-sized, square one, with the folding doors, the marble
mantel-piece, and the gloomy, old-fashioned distinction peculiar to the
Albany. It was charmingly furnished and arranged, with the right
amount of negligence and the right amount of taste. What struck me
most, however, was the absence of the usual insignia of a cricketer's
den. Instead of the conventional rack of war-worn bats, a carved oak
bookcase, with every shelf in a litter, filled the better part of one
wall; and where I looked for cricketing groups, I found reproductions
of such works as "Love and Death" and "The Blessed Damozel," in dusty
frames and different parallels. The man might have been a minor poet
instead of an athlete of the first water. But there had always been a
fine streak of aestheticism in his complex composition; some of these
very pictures I had myself dusted in his study at school; and they set
me thinking of yet another of his many sides--and of the little
incident to which he had just referred.
Everybody knows how largely the tone of a public school depends on that
of the eleven, and on the character of the captain of cricket in
particular; and I have never heard it denied that in A. J. Raffles's
time our tone was good, or that such influence as he troubled to exert
was on the side of the angels. Yet it was whispered in the school that
he was in the habit of parading the town at night in loud checks and a
false beard. It was whispered, and disbelieved. I alone knew it for a
fact; for night after night had I pulled the rope up after him when the
rest of the dormitory were asleep, and kept awake by the hour to let it
down again on a given signal. Well, one night he was over-bold, and
within an ace of ignominious expulsion in the hey-day of his fame.
Consummate daring and extraordinary nerve on his part, aided,
doubtless, by some little presence of mind on mine, averted the
untoward result; and no more need be said of a discreditable incident.
But I cannot pretend to have forgotten it in throwing myself on this
man's mercy in my desperation. And I was wondering how much of his
leniency was owing to the fact that Raffles had not forgotten it
either, when he stopped and stood over my chair once more.
"I've been thinking of that night we had the narrow squeak," he began.
"Why do you start?"
"I was thinking of it too."
He smiled, as though he had read my thoughts.
"Well, you were the right sort of little beggar then, Bunny; you didn't
talk and you didn't flinch. You asked no questions and you told no
tales. I wonder if you're like that now?"
"I don't know," said I, slightly puzzled by his tone. "I've made such
a mess of my own affairs that I trust myself about as little as I'm
likely to be trusted by anybody else. Yet I never in my life went back
on a friend. I will say that, otherwise perhaps I mightn't be in such
a hole to-night."
"Exactly," said Raffles, nodding to himself, as though in assent to
some hidden train of thought; "exactly what I remember of you, and I'll
bet it's as true now as it was ten years ago. We don't alter, Bunny.
We only develop. I suppose neither you nor I are really altered since
you used to let down that rope and I used to come up it hand over hand.
You would stick at nothing for a pal--what?"
"At nothing in this world," I was pleased to cry.
"Not even at a crime?" said Raffles, smiling.
I stopped to think, for his tone had changed, and I felt sure he was
chaffing me. Yet his eye seemed as much in earnest as ever, and for my
part I was in no mood for reservations.
"No, not even at that," I declared; "name your crime, and I'm your man."
He looked at me one moment in wonder, and another moment in doubt; then
turned the matter off with a shake of his head, and the little cynical
laugh that was all his own.
"You're a nice chap, Bunny! A real desperate character--what? Suicide
one moment, and any crime I like the next! What you want is a drag, my
boy, and you did well to come to a decent law-abiding citizen with a
reputation to lose. None the less we must have that money to-night--by
hook or crook."
"To-night, Raffles?"
"The sooner the better. Every hour after ten o'clock to-morrow morning
is an hour of risk. Let one of those checks get round to your own
bank, and you and it are dishonored together. No, we must raise the
wind to-night and re-open your account first thing to-morrow. And I
rather think I know where the wind can be raised."
"At two o'clock in the morning?"
"Yes."
"But how--but where--at such an hour?"
"From a friend of mine here in Bond Street."
"He must be a very intimate friend!"
"Intimate's not the word. I have the run of his place and a latch-key
all to myself."
"You would knock him up at this hour of the night?"
"If he's in bed."
"And it's essential that I should go in with you?"
"Absolutely."
"Then I must; but I'm bound to say I don't like the idea, Raffles."
"Do you prefer the alternative?" asked my companion, with a sneer.
"No, hang it, that's unfair!" he cried apologetically in the same
breath. "I quite understand. It's a beastly ordeal. But it would
never do for you to stay outside. I tell you what, you shall have a
peg before we start--just one. There's the whiskey, here's a syphon,
and I'll be putting on an overcoat while you help yourself."
Well, I daresay I did so with some freedom, for this plan of his was
not the less distasteful to me from its apparent inevitability. I must
own, however, that it possessed fewer terrors before my glass was
empty. Meanwhile Raffles rejoined me, with a covert coat over his
blazer, and a soft felt hat set carelessly on the curly head he shook
with a smile as I passed him the decanter.
"When we come back," said he. "Work first, play afterward. Do you see
what day it is?" he added, tearing a leaflet from a Shakespearian
calendar, as I drained my glass. "March 15th. 'The Ides of March, the
Ides of March, remember.' Eh, Bunny, my boy? You won't forget them,
will you?"
And, with a laugh, he threw some coals on the fire before turning down
the gas like a careful householder. So we went out together as the
clock on the chimney-piece was striking two.
II
Piccadilly was a trench of raw white fog, rimmed with blurred
street-lamps, and lined with a thin coating of adhesive mud. We met no
other wayfarers on the deserted flagstones, and were ourselves favored
with a very hard stare from the constable of the beat, who, however,
touched his helmet on recognizing my companion.
"You see, I'm known to the police," laughed Raffles as we passed on.
"Poor devils, they've got to keep their weather eye open on a night
like this! A fog may be a bore to you and me, Bunny, but it's a
perfect godsend to the criminal classes, especially so late in their
season. Here we are, though--and I'm hanged if the beggar isn't in bed
and asleep after all!"
We had turned into Bond Street, and had halted on the curb a few yards
down on the right. Raffles was gazing up at some windows across the
road, windows barely discernible through the mist, and without the
glimmer of a light to throw them out. They were over a jeweller's shop,
as I could see by the peep-hole in the shop door, and the bright light
burning within. But the entire "upper part," with the private
street-door next the shop, was black and blank as the sky itself.
"Better give it up for to-night," I urged. "Surely the morning will be
time enough!"
"Not a bit of it," said Raffles. "I have his key. We'll surprise him.
Come along."
And seizing my right arm, he hurried me across the road, opened the
door with his latch-key, and in another moment had shut it swiftly but
softly behind us. We stood together in the dark. Outside, a measured
step was approaching; we had heard it through the fog as we crossed the
street; now, as it drew nearer, my companion's fingers tightened on my
arm.
"It may be the chap himself," he whispered. "He's the devil of a
night-bird. Not a sound, Bunny! We'll startle the life out of him.
Ah!"
The measured step had passed without a pause. Raffles drew a deep
breath, and his singular grip of me slowly relaxed.
"But still, not a sound," he continued in the same whisper; "we'll take
a rise out of him, wherever he is! Slip off your shoes and follow me."
Well, you may wonder at my doing so; but you can never have met A. J.
Raffles. Half his power lay in a conciliating trick of sinking the
commander in the leader. And it was impossible not to follow one who
led with such a zest. You might question, but you followed first. So
now, when I heard him kick off his own shoes, I did the same, and was
on the stairs at his heels before I realized what an extraordinary way
was this of approaching a stranger for money in the dead of night. But
obviously Raffles and he were on exceptional terms of intimacy, and I
could not but infer that they were in the habit of playing practical
jokes upon each other.
We groped our way so slowly upstairs that I had time to make more than
one note before we reached the top. The stair was uncarpeted. The
spread fingers of my right hand encountered nothing on the damp wall;
those of my left trailed through a dust that could be felt on the
banisters. An eerie sensation had been upon me since we entered the
house. It increased with every step we climbed. What hermit were we
going to startle in his cell?
We came to a landing. The banisters led us to the left, and to the
left again. Four steps more, and we were on another and a longer
landing, and suddenly a match blazed from the black. I never heard it
struck. Its flash was blinding. When my eyes became accustomed to the
light, there was Raffles holding up the match with one hand, and
shading it with the other, between bare boards, stripped walls, and the
open doors of empty rooms.
"Where have you brought me?" I cried. "The house is unoccupied!"
"Hush! Wait!" he whispered, and he led the way into one of the empty
rooms. His match went out as we crossed the threshold, and he struck
another without the slightest noise. Then he stood with his back to
me, fumbling with something that I could not see. But, when he threw
the second match away, there was some other light in its stead, and a
slight smell of oil. I stepped forward to look over his shoulder, but
before I could do so he had turned and flashed a tiny lantern in my
face.
"What's this?" I gasped. "What rotten trick are you going to play?"
"It's played," he answered, with his quiet laugh.
"On me?"
"I am afraid so, Bunny."
"Is there no one in the house, then?"
"No one but ourselves."
"So it was mere chaff about your friend in Bond Street, who could let
us have that money?"
"Not altogether. It's quite true that Danby is a friend of mine."
"Danby?"
"The jeweller underneath."
"What do you mean?" I whispered, trembling like a leaf as his meaning
dawned upon me. "Are we to get the money from the jeweller?"
"Well, not exactly."
"What, then?"
"The equivalent--from his shop."
There was no need for another question. I understood everything but my
own density. He had given me a dozen hints, and I had taken none. And
there I stood staring at him, in that empty room; and there he stood
with his dark lantern, laughing at me.
"A burglar!" I gasped. "You--you!"
"I told you I lived by my wits."
"Why couldn't you tell me what you were going to do? Why couldn't you
trust me? Why must you lie?" I demanded, piqued to the quick for all
my horror.
"I wanted to tell you," said he. "I was on the point of telling you
more than once. You may remember how I sounded you about crime, though
you have probably forgotten what you said yourself. I didn't think you
meant it at the time, but I thought I'd put you to the test. Now I see
you didn't, and I don't blame you. I only am to blame. Get out | 2,591.0567 |
2023-11-16 19:00:15.0411590 | 5,975 | 66 |
Produced by Papeters, Mary Meehan,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE LIFE OF HON. WILLIAM F. CODY
KNOWN AS BUFFALO BILL
THE FAMOUS HUNTER, SCOUT AND GUIDE.
_AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY_.
1879
To GENERAL PHILIP H. SHERIDAN, THIS BOOK IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
BY THE AUTHOR.
[Illustration: Yours Sincerely, W. F. Cody]
INTRODUCTORY.
The life and adventures of Hon. William F. Cody--Buffalo Bill--as told
by himself, make up a narrative which reads more like romance than
reality, and which in many respects will prove a valuable contribution
to the records of our Western frontier history. While no literary
excellence is claimed for the narrative, it has the greater merit of
being truthful, and is verified in such a manner that no one can doubt
its veracity. The frequent reference to such military men as Generals
Sheridan, Carr, Merritt, Crook, Terry, Colonel Royal, and other officers
under whom Mr. Cody served as scout and guide at different times and in
various sections of the frontier, during the numerous Indian campaigns
of the last ten or twelve years, affords ample proof of his
genuineness as a thoroughbred scout.
There is no humbug or braggadocio about Buffalo Bill. He is known far and
wide, and his reputation has been earned honestly and by hard work. By a
combination of circumstances he was educated to the life of a plainsman
from his youth up; and not the least interesting portion of his career is
that of his early life, passed as it was in Kansas during the eventful
and troubleous times connected with the settlement of that state.
Spending much time in the saddle, while a mere boy he crossed the plains
many times in company with bull-trains; on some of these trips he met
with thrilling adventures and had several hairbreadth escapes from death
at the hands of Indians. Then, for a while, he was dashing over the
plains as a pony-express rider. Soon afterwards, mounted on the high seat
of an overland stagecoach, he was driving a six-in-hand team. We next
hear of him cracking the bull-whacker's whip, and commanding a
wagon-train through a wild and dangerous country to the far West. During
the civil war he enlisted as a private, and became a scout with the Union
army; since the war he has been employed as hunter, trapper, guide, scout
and actor. As a buffalo hunter he has no superior; as a trailer of
Indians he has no equal. For many years he has taken an active part in
all the principal Indian campaigns on the Western frontier, and as a
scout and guide he has rendered inestimable services to the various
expeditions which he accompanied.
During his life on the plains he not only had many exciting adventures
himself, but he became associated with many of the other noted plainsmen,
and in his narrative he frequently refers to them and relates many
interesting incidents and thrilling events connected with them. He has
had a fertile field from which to produce this volume, and has frequently
found it necessary to condense the facts in order to embody the most
interesting events of his life. The following from a letter written by
General E. A. Carr, of the Fifth Cavalry, now commanding Fort McPherson,
speaks for itself:
* * * * *
"I first met Mr. Cody, October 22d, 1868, at Buffalo Station, on the
Kansas Pacific railroad, in Kansas. He was scout and guide for the seven
companies of the Fifth Cavalry, then under Colonel Royal, and of which I
was ordered to take the command.
"From his services with my command, steadily in the field for nine
months, from October, 1868, to July, 1869, and at subsequent times, I am
qualified to bear testimony to his qualities and character.
"He was very modest and unassuming. I did not know for a long time how
good a title he had to the appellation, 'Buffalo Bill.' I am apt to
discount the claims of scouts, as they will occasionally exaggerate; and
when I found one who said nothing about himself, I did not think much of
him, till I had proved him. He is a natural gentleman in his manners as
well as in character, and has none of the roughness of the typical
frontiersman. He can take his own part when required, but I have never
heard of his using a knife or a pistol, or engaging in a quarrel where it
could be avoided. His personal strength and activity are such that he can
hardly meet a man whom he cannot handle, and his temper and disposition
are so good that no one has reason to quarrel with him.
"His eye-sight is better than a good field glass; he is the best trailer
I ever heard of; and also the best judge of the 'lay of country,'--that
is, he is able to tell what kind of country is ahead, so as to know how
to act. He is a perfect judge of distance, and always ready to tell
correctly how many miles it is to water, or to any place, or how many
miles have been marched.
"Mr. Cody seemed never to tire and was always ready to go, in the darkest
night or the worst weather, and usually volunteered, knowing what the
emergency required. His trailing, when following Indians or looking for
stray animals or game, is simply wonderful. He is a most extraordinary
hunter. I could not believe that a man could be certain to shoot antelope
running till I had seen him do it so often.
"In a fight Mr. Cody is never noisy, obstreperous or excited. In fact, I
never hardly noticed him in a fight, unless I happened to want him, or he
had something to report, when he was always in the right place, and his
information was always valuable and reliable.
"During the winter of 1868, we encountered hardships and exposure in
terrific snow storms, sleet, etc., etc. On one occasion, that winter, Mr.
Cody showed his quality by quietly offering to go with some dispatches to
General Sheridan, across a dangerous region, where another principal
scout was reluctant to risk himself.
"On the 13th of May, 1869, he was in the fight at Elephant Rock, Kansas,
and trailed the Indians till the 16th, when we got another fight out of
them on Spring Creek, in Nebraska, and scattered them after following
them one hundred and fifty miles in three days. It was at Spring Creek
where Cody was ahead of the command about three miles, with the advance
guard of forty men, when two hundred Indians suddenly surrounded them.
Our men, dismounted and formed in a circle, holding their horses, firing
and slowly retreating. They all, to this day, speak of Cody's coolness
and bravery. This was the Dog Soldier band which captured Mrs. Alderdice
and Mrs. Weichel in Kansas. They strangled Mrs. Alderdice's baby, killed
Mrs. Weichel's husband, and took a great deal of property and stock from
different persons. We got on their trail again, June 28th, and followed
it nearly two hundred miles, till we struck the Indians on Sunday, July
11th, 1869, at Summit Spring. The Indians, as soon as they saw us coming,
killed Mrs. Alderdice with a hatchet, and shot Mrs. Weichel, but
fortunately not fatally, and she was saved.
"Mr. Cody has since served with me as post guide and scout at Fort
McPherson, where he frequently distinguished himself.
"In the summer of 1876, Cody went with me to the Black Hills region where
he killed Yellow-Hand. Afterwards he was with the Big Horn and
Yellowstone expedition. I consider that his services to the country and
the army by trailing, finding and fighting Indians, and thus protecting
the frontier settlers, and by guiding commands over the best and most
practicable routes, have been far beyond the compensation he has
received. His friends of the Fifth Cavalry are all glad that he is in a
lucrative business, and hope that he may live long and prosper.
Personally, I feel under obligations to him for assistance in my
campaigns which no other man could, or would, have rendered. Of course I
wish him, and his, every success."
E. A. CARR, Lt. Col. 5th Cav., Brev. Maj. Gen'l U. S. Army. FORT
McPHERSON, NEBRASKA, July 3d, 1878
* * * * *
Buffalo Bill is now an actor, and is meeting with success. He owns a
large and valuable farm adjoining the town of North Platte, Nebraska, and
there his family live in ease and comfort. He has also an extensive
cattle ranch on the Dismal river, sixty-five miles north of North Platte,
his partner being Major Frank North, the old commander of the celebrated
Pawnee scouts. While many events of his career are known to the public,
yet the reader will find in this narrative much that will be entirely new
and intensely interesting to both young and old.
THE PUBLISHER.
Illustrations.
THE AUTHOR, PORTRAIT, ON STEEL
YOUTHFUL ADVENTURES
SAMUEL'S FATAL ACCIDENT
BILLINGS AS A BOCARRO
BILLINGS RIDING LITTLE GRAY
EXCITING SPORT
STAKING OUT LOTS
MY FATHER STABBED
MY FATHER'S ESCAPE
LIFE OR DEATH
BOYISH SPORT
TWO TO ONE
KILLING MY FIRST INDIAN
A PRAIRIE SCHOONER
WILD BILL (PORTRAIT)
HOLDING THE FORT
CAMPING IN A SEPULCHRE
RAFTING OS THE PLATTE
RIDING PONY EXPRESS
SAVED BY CHIEF RAIN IN-THE-FACE
CHANGING HORSES
ATTACK ON STAGE COACH
ALF. SLADE KILLING THE DRIVER
THE HORSE THIEVES DEN
MY ESCAPE FROM THE HORSE THIEVES
BOB SCOTT'S FAMOUS COACH HIDE
"NEARLY EVERY MAN HAD TWO HORSES"
WILD BILL AND THE OUTLAWS
WILD BILL'S DUEL
GENERAL GEO. A. CUSTER (Portrait)
DEPARTING RICHES
TONGUES AND TENDERLOINS
THE INDIAN HORSE THIEVES
THE MAN WHO FIRED THE GUN
BUFFALO BILL
"DOWN WENT HIS HORSE"
THE FIRE SIGNAL
KIT CARSON (Portrait)
A GOOD HORSE
A BIG JOKE
AMBUSHING THE INDIANS
WHOA THERE!
DELIVERING DISPATCHES TO GENERAL SHERIDAN
THE TWO TRAMPS
CARRYING DISPATCHES
GEN'L PHIL. SHERIDAN (PORTRAIT)
BATTLE ON THE ARICKAREE
BRINGING MEAT INTO CAMP
"INDIANS!"
GENERAL E. A. CARR (PORTRAIT)
A CRACK SHOT
A HARD CROWD
CAMPING IN THE SNOW
A WELCOME VISITOR
ANTELOPES
THE RECAPTURE OF BEVINS
ROBBING A STAGE COACH
INDIAN VILLAGE
THE KILLING OF TALL BULL
AN OLD BONE
A WEDDING CEREMONY
A RIDE FOR LIFE
PRAIRIE DOG VILLAGE
McCARTHY'S FRIGHT
FINDING THE REMAINS OF THE BUCK PARTY
SPOTTED TAIL (PORTRAIT)
GRAND DUKE ALEXIS (PORTRAIT)
INDIAN EXERCISES
TWO-LANCE KILLING A BUFFALO
AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION?
TEXAS JACK (PORTRAIT)
RIFLES
STUDYING THE PARTS
BEHIND THE FOOTLIGHTS
LEARNING THE GAME
GETTING SATISFACTION
A DUEL WITH CHIEF YELLOW HAND
SCOUTING ON A STEAMBOAT
CLOSE QUARTERS
ONE OF THE TROUPE
Contents
CHAPTER I.
CHILDHOOD.
Early Days in Iowa--A Brother's Death--The Family Move to a New
Country--Incidents on the Road--The Horse Race--Our "Little Gray"
Victorious--A Pleasant Acquaintance--Uncle Elijah Cody--Our New
Home--My Ponies.
CHAPTER II.
EARLY INFLUENCES.
Dress Parade at Fort Leavenworth--The Beautiful Salt Creek Valley--The
Mormon Emigrants--The Wagon Trains--The Cholera--A Lively Scene--My First
Sight of Indians--"Dolly" and "Prince"--A Long-Lost Relative Turns
up--Adventurous Career of Horace Billings--His Splendid
Horsemanship--Catching Wild Horses.
CHAPTER III.
BOY DAYS IN KANSAS.
My Indian Acquaintances--An Indian Barbecue--Beginning of the Kansas
Troubles--An Indiscreet Speech by my Father, who is Stabbed for his
Boldness--Persecutions at the Hands of the Missourians--A Strategic
Escape--A Battle at Hickory Point--A Plan to Kill Father is Defeated by
Myself--He is Elected to the Lecompton Legislature--I Enter the Employ of
William Russell--Herding Cattle--A Plot to Blow Up our House--A Drunken
Missourian on the War-Path.
CHAPTER IV.
YOUTHFUL EXPERIENCES.
At School--My First Love Scrape--I Punish my Rival, and then Run Away--My
First Trip Across the Plains--Steve Gobel and I are Friends once
more--Death of my Father--I Start for Salt Lake--Our Wagon Train
Surprised by Indians, who Drive us off, and Capture our Outfit--I Kill my
First Indian--Our Return to Leavenworth--I am Interviewed by a Newspaper
Reporter, who gives me a Good "Send-Off."
CHAPTER V.
IN BUSINESS.
My Second Trip Across the Plains--The Salt Lake Trail--Wild Bill--He
Protects me from the Assault of a Bully--A Buffalo Hunt--Our Wagon Train
Stampeded by Buffaloes--We are Taken Prisoners by the Mormons--We Proceed
to Fort Bridger.
CHAPTER VI.
HARD TIMES.
A Dreary Winter At Fort Bridger--Short Rations--Mule Steaks--Homeward
Bound in the Spring--A Square Meal--Corraled by Indians--A Mule
Barricade--We Hold the Fort--Home Again--Off for the West--Trapping on
the Chugwater And Laramie Rivers--We go to Sleep In a Human Grave--A
Horrifying Discovery--A Jollification at Oak Grove Ranch--Home Once
More--I go to School--The Pike's Peak Gold Excitement--Down the Platte
River on a Raft--I Become a Pony Express Rider.
CHAPTER VII.
ACCIDENTS AND ESCAPES.
Trapping on Prairie Dog Creek--An Accident whereby we Lose one of our
Oxen--I Fall and Break my Leg--Left Alone in Camp--Unwelcome Visitors--A
Party of Hostile Sioux Call upon me and Make Themselves at Home--Old
Rain-in-the-Face Saves my Life--Snow-Bound-A Dreary Imprisonment--Return
of my Partner--A Joyful Meeting--We Pull Out for Home--Harrington Dies.
CHAPTER VIII.
ADVENTURES ON THE OVERLAND ROAD.
Introduction to Alf. Slade--He Employs me as a Pony Express Rider--I Make
a Long Ride--Indians Attack an Overland Stage Coach--Wild Bill Leads a
Successful Expedition against the Indians--A Grand Jollification at
Sweetwater Bridge--Slade Kills a Stage Driver--The End of the Spree--A
Bear Hunt--I fall among Horse Thieves--My Escape--I Guide a Party to
Capture the Gang.
CHAPTER IX.
FAST DRIVING.
Bob Scott, the Stage Driver--The Story of the Most Reckless Piece of
Stage Driving that ever Occurred on the Overland Road.
CHAPTER X.
QUESTIONABLE PROCEEDINGS.
The Civil War--Jayhawking--Wild Bill's Fight with the McCandless Gang of
Desperadoes--I become Wild Bill's Assistant Wagon-Master--We Lose our
Last Dollar on a Horse Race--He becomes a Government Scout--He has a Duel
at Springfield.
CHAPTER XI.
A SOLDIER.
Scouting against the Indians in the Kiowa and Comanche country--The
Red-Legged Scouts--A Trip to Denver--Death of my Mother--I Awake one
Morning to Find myself a Soldier--I am put on Detached Service as a
Scout--The Chase after Price--An Unexpected Meeting with Wild Bill--An
Unpleasant Situation--Wild Bill's Escape from the Southern Lines--The
Charge upon Price's Army--We return to Springfield.
CHAPTER XII.
A WEDDING.
I Fall in Love--A Successful Courting Expedition--I am Married--The
Happiest Event of my Life--Our Trip up the Missouri River--The
Bushwhackers Come after me--I become Landlord of a Hotel--Off for the
Plains once more--Scouting on the Frontier for the Government--A Ride
with General Custer--An Expedition from Fort Hays has a Lively Chase
after Indians--Cholera in Camp.
CHAPTER XIII.
A MILLIONAIRE.
A Town Lot Speculation--"A Big Thing"--I become Half-Owner of a
City--Corner Lots Reserved--Rome's Rapid Rise--We consider ourselves
Millionaires--Dr. Webb--Hays City--We Regard ourselves as Paupers--A Race
with Indians--Captain Graham's Scout after the Indians.
CHAPTER XIV.
EARNING A TITLE.
Hunting for the Kansas Pacific--How I got my Name of "Buffalo Bill"--The
Indians give me a Lively Chase--They get a Dose of their own
Medicine--Another Adventure--Scotty and myself Corraled by Indians--A
Fire Signal brings Assistance--Kit Carson.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAMPION BUFFALO KILLER.
A Buffalo Killing Match with Billy Comstock--An Excursion party from St.
Louis come out to Witness the Sport--I win the Match, and am declared the
Champion Buffalo Killer of the Plains.
CHAPTER XVI.
A COURIER.
Scouting--Captured by Indians--A Strategic Escape--A Hot Pursuit--The
Indians led into an Ambush--Old Satanta's Tricks and Threats--Excitement
at Fort Larned--Herders and Wood-Choppers Killed by the Indians--A
Perilous Ride--I get into the wrong Pew--Safe, arrival at Fort
Hays--Interview with General Sheridan--My ride to Fort Dodge--I return
to Fort Larned--My Mule gets away from me--A long Walk--The Mule Passes
In his Chips.
CHAPTER XVII.
AN APPOINTMENT.
General Sheridan appoints me Guide and Chief of Scouts of the Fifth
Cavalry--The Dog Soldiers--General Forsyth's Fight on the Arickaree Fork.
CHAPTER XVIII.
SCOUTING.
Arrival of the Fifth Cavalry at Fort Hays--Out on a Scout--A little
Skirmish with Indians--A Buffalo Hunt--A False Alarm in camp--A Scout on
the Beaver--The Supply Camp is Surprised--Arrival of General Carr--The
new Lieutenant and his Reception--Another Indian Hunt--An Engagement--A
Crack Shot--I have a little Indian fight of my own--Return to Fort
Wallace--While hunting Buffaloes with a small Party, we are Attacked by
Fifty Indians.
CHAPTER XIX.
A TOUGH TIME.
A Winter's Campaign in the Canadian River Country--Searching for
Penrose's Command--A Heavy Snow-Storm--Taking the Wagon Train down a
Mountain Side--Camp Turkey--Darkey Deserters from Penrose's
Command--Starvation in Penrose's Camp--We reach the Command with
Timely Relief--Wild Bill--A Beer Jollification--Hunting
Antelopes--Return to Fort Lyon.
CHAPTER XX.
AN EXCITING CHASE.
A Difficulty with a Quartermaster's Agent--I give him a Severe
Pounding--Stormy Interview with General Bankhead and Captain Laufer--I
put another "Head" on the Quartermaster's Agent--I am Arrested--In the
Guard-House--General Bankhead Releases me--A Hunt after Horse
Thieves--Their Capture--Escape of Bevins--His Recapture--Escape of
Williams--Bevins Breaks Out of Jail--His Subsequent Career.
CHAPTER XXI.
A MILITARY EXPEDITION.
The Fifth Cavalry is Ordered to the Department of the Platte--Liquids
_vs._ Solids--A Skirmish with the Indians--Arrival at Fort
McPherson--Appointed Chief of Scouts--Major Frank North and the Pawnee
Scouts--Belden the White Chief--The Shooting Match--Review of the Pawnee
Scouts--An Expedition against the Indians--"Buckskin Joe."
CHAPTER XXII.
A DESPERATE FIGHT.
Pawnees _vs_. Siouxs--We strike a Large Trail--The Print of a Woman's
Shoe--The Summit Springs Fight--A Successful Charge--Capture of the
Indian Village--Rescue of a White Woman--One hundred and forty Indians
Killed--I kill Tall Bull and Capture his Swift Steed--The Command
proceeds to Fort Sedgwick--Powder Face--A Scout after Indian
Horse-Thieves--"Ned Buntline"--"Tall Bull" as a Racer--Powder Face wins a
Race without a Rider--An Expedition to the Niobrara--An Indian Tradition.
CHAPTER XXIII.
ADMINISTERING JUSTICE.
I make my Home at Fort McPherson--Arrival of my Family--Hunting and Horse
Racing--An Indian Raid--Powder Face Stolen--A Lively Chase--An Expedition
to the Republican River Country--General Duncan--A Skirmish with the
Indians--A Stern Chase--An Addition to my Family--Kit Carson Cody--I am
made a Justice of the Peace--A Case of Replevin--I perform a Marriage
Ceremony--Professor Marsh's Fossil-Hunting Expedition.
CHAPTER XXIV.
HUNTING EXPEDITIONS.
The Grand Hunt of General Sheridan, James Gordon Bennett, and other
Distinguished Gentlemen--From Fort McPherson to Fort Hays--Incidents of
the Trip--"Ten Days on the Plains"--General Carr's Hunting Expedition--A
Joke on McCarthy--A Search for the Remains of Buck's Surveying Party, who
had been Murdered by the Indians.
CHAPTER XXV.
HUNTING WITH A GRAND DUKE.
The Grand Duke Alexis Hunt--Selection of a Camp--I Visit Spotted
Tail's Camp--The Grand Duke and Party arrive at Camp Alexis--Spotted
Tail's Indians give a Dance--The Hunt--Alexis Kills his First
Buffalo--Champagne--The Duke Kills another Buffalo--More Champagne--End
of the Hunt--Departure of the Duke and his Party.
CHAPTER XXVI.
SIGHT-SEEING.
My Visit in the East--Reception in Chicago--Arrival in New York--I am
well Entertained by my old Hunting Friends--I View the Sights of the
Metropolis--Ned Buntline--The Play of "Buffalo Bill"--I am Called Upon to
make a Speech--A Visit to my Relatives--Return to the West.
CHAPTER XXVII.
HONORS.
Arrival of the Third Cavalry at Fort McPherson--A Scout after Indians--A
Desperate Fight with Thirteen Indians--A Hunt with the Earl of Dunraven--A
Hunt with a Chicago Party--Milligan's Bravery--Neville--I am Elected to
the Nebraska Legislature.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
AN ACTOR.
I resolve to go upon the Stage--I resign my Seat in the
Legislature--Texas Jack--"The Scouts of the Plains"--A Crowded House--A
Happy Thought--A Brilliant _Debut_--A Tour of the Country.
CHAPTER XXIX.
STARRING.
The Theatrical Season of 1873-74--Wild Bill and his Tricks--He Leaves us
at Rochester--He becomes a "Star"--A Bogus "Wild Bill "--A Hunt with
Thomas P. Medley, an English gentleman--A Scout on the Powder River and
in the Big Horn Country--California Joe--Theatrical Tour of 1874 and
1875--Death of my son, Kit Carson Cody.
CHAPTER XXX.
A RETURN TO THE PLAINS.
The Sioux Campaign of 1876--I am appointed Guide and Chief of Scouts of
the Fifth Cavalry--An Engagement with eight hundred Cheyennes--A Duel
with Yellow Hand--Generals Terry and Crook meet, and cooperate Together.
CHAPTER XXXI.
DANGEROUS WORK.
Scouting on a Steamboat--Captain Grant Marsh--A Trip down the Yellowstone
River--Acting as Dispatch Carrier--I Return East and open my Theatrical
Season with a New Play--Immense Audiences--I go into the Cattle Business
in company with Major Prank North--My Home at North Platte.
CHAPTER XXXII.
CONCLUSION.
A Cattle "Round-up"--A Visit to My Family in our New Home--A Visit from
my Sisters--I go to Denver--Buying more Cattle--Pawnee and Nez-Perces
Indians Engaged for a Theatrical Tour--The Season of 1878-79--An
experience in Washington--Home Once More.
THE LIFE OF HON. WILLIAM F. CODY
CHAPTER I.
CHILDHOOD.
My _debut_ upon the world's stage occurred on February 26th, 1845. The
scene of this first important event in my adventurous career, being in
Scott county, in the State of Iowa. My parents, Isaac and Mary Ann Cody,
who were numbered among the pioneers of Iowa, gave to me the name of
William Frederick. I was the fourth child in the family. Martha and
Julia, my sisters, and Samuel my brother, had preceded me, and the
children who came after me were Eliza, Nellie, Mary, and Charles, born in
the order named.
At the time of my birth the family resided on a farm which they called
"Napsinekee Place,"--an Indian name--and here the first six or seven
years of my childhood were spent. When I was about seven years old my
father moved the family to the little town of LeClair, located on the
bank of the Mississippi, fifteen miles above the city of Davenport. Even
at that early age my adventurous spirit led me into all sorts of mischief
and danger, and when I look back upon my childhood's days I often wonder
that I did not get drowned while swimming or sailing, or my neck broken
while I was stealing apples in the neighboring orchards.
I well remember one day that I went | 2,591.061199 |
2023-11-16 19:00:15.3398820 | 4,107 | 18 |
Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy
of the Digital Library@Villanova University
(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
[Illustration: _Bolax, Imp or Angel Which?_]
[Illustration: JE SUIS MOI, LE GENERALE BOOME.
I AM THE GREAT GENERAL BOOME.
[From Fun in Dormitory. page 166.]]
BOLAX
IMP OR ANGEL--WHICH?
BY MRS. JOSEPHINE CULPEPER
[Illustration]
JOHN MURPHY COMPANY.
Baltimore: New York:
200 W. Lombard Street. 70 Fifth Avenue.
1907.
_Copyright 1907, by_
Mrs. Josephine Culpeper
PRINTED BY JOHN MURPHY COMPANY
_"Bolax: Imp or Angel--Which?" Being favorably criticised by priests of
literary ability, is hereby recommended most heartily by me to all
Catholics._
_As a study in child-life and as a rational object lesson in the
religious and moral training of children, Mrs. Culpeper's book should
become popular and the jolly little Bolax be made welcome in many
households._
_Faithfully yours in Xt,_
[Illustration: Signature]
_Dedicated to my best beloved pupils, especially the children of
the Late Dr. William V. Keating, and those of Joseph R. Carpenter,
by their old governess._
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
CHAPTER I.
AMY'S COMPANY, 1
CHAPTER II.
THE WONDERFUL RIDE, 9
CHAPTER III.
THE PARTY, 19
CHAPTER IV.
PLEASANT CONTROVERSY, 29
CHAPTER V.
THE PICNIC, 38
CHAPTER VI.
A TALK ABOUT OUR BOYS, 52
CHAPTER VII.
THE FIGHT, 61
CHAPTER VIII.
THE COAL MAN, 78
CHAPTER IX.
AMY'S TRIP TO THE SEASHORE, 89
CHAPTER X.
CHRISTMAS AND "LITTLE CHRISTMAS," OR KING'S
DAY, 100
CHAPTER XI.
PRACTISING, 116
CHAPTER XII.
FIRST COMMUNION, 130
CHAPTER XIII.
UNFORSEEN EVENTS, 146
CHAPTER XIV.
BOLAX GOES TO COLLEGE, 157
CHAPTER XV.
LETTER FROM A FRIEND, 174
CHAPTER XVI.
BOLAX LEAVES COLLEGE FOR VACATION, 196
ONLY A BOY.
Only a boy with his noise and fun,
The veriest mystery under the sun;
As brimful of mischief and wit and glee
As ever a human frame can be,
And as hard to manage as--ah! ah, me!
'Tis hard to tell,
Yet we love him well.
Only a boy, with his fearful tread,
Who cannot be driven, but must be led;
Who troubles the neighbors' dogs and cats,
And tears more clothes, and spoils more hats,
Loses more tops and kites and bats
Than would stock a store,
For a year or more.
Only a boy, with his wild, strange ways,
With his idle hours on busy days;
With his queer remarks and his odd replies,
Sometimes foolish and sometimes wise,
Often brilliant for one of his size,
As a meteor hurl'd,
From the pleasant world.
Only a boy, who will be a man
If Nature goes on with her first great plan--
If water, or fire, or some fatal snare
Conspire not to rob us of this our heir,
Our blessing, our trouble, our rest, our care,
Our torment, our joy,
"Our only boy."
--_Anonymous_.
BOLAX IMP OR ANGEL--WHICH?
CHAPTER I.
AMY'S COMPANY
"Come children," said Mrs. Allen, "Mamma wants to take you for a nice
walk."
"Oh, please, dear Mamma, wait awhile! Bolax and I have company!" This
from little Amy, Bo's sister.
Mrs. Allen looked around the room, and saw several chairs placed before
the fire; but seeing no visitors, was about to sit in the large arm
chair.
"Oh, dear Mamma," said Amy, "please do not take that chair! That's for
poor old St. Joseph; he will be here presently."
Turning toward the chair nearest the fire, the child bowed down to the
floor, saying: "Little Jesus I love you! When will St. Joseph be here?"
Then bowing before the next chair: "Blessed Mother, are you comfortable?
Here is a footstool."
Mrs. Allen went into the hall, and was about to close the door, when
Bolax called out: "Oh, Ma dear, please don't shut the door. Here comes
St. Joseph and five beautiful angels."
Mrs. Allen was rather startled at the positive manner in which this was
said, and unconsciously stepped aside, as if really to make way for the
celestial visitors. Then leaving the children to amuse themselves, she
listened to them from an adjoining room. This is what she heard:
Amy--Dear St. Joseph please sit down; blessed angels, I am sorry that I
haven't enough chairs, but you can rest on your beautiful wings.
Bolax--Little Jesus, I'm so glad you've come. Mamma says you are very
powerful, even if you are so little. I want to ask you lots of things.
Do you see these round pieces of tin? Well, won't you please change them
all into dollars, so we can have money for the poor, and sister Amy
won't be crying in the street when she has no money to give all the
blind and the lame people we meet. And dear Jesus, let me whisper--I
want a gun.
Amy--Dear Blessed Mother please make poor Miss Ogden well. I heard her
tell my Mamma she was afraid to die; and she is very sick. She has such
a sad face, and she looks mis'able.
Bolax--Sister, won't you ask lots of things for me? I'm afraid to ask
'cause I was naughty this morning. I dyed pussy's hair with Papa's red
ink.
Amy--No, I won't ask any more favors; Mamma says we must be thankful for
all we get, so let us sing a hymn of thanks.
Here Papa came upstairs calling for his babies. Mrs. Allen not wishing
to disturb the children, beckoned him into her room, hoping he would
listen to the innocent prattle of his little ones. All unconscious of
being observed, the children continued to entertain their heavenly
guests.
Mr. Allen not being a Catholic, was more shocked than edified at what he
thought the hallucination of the children, and spoke rather sternly to
his wife. "All this nonsense comes from your constant talk on subjects
beyond the comprehension of children. Amy is an emotional child; she
will become a dreamer, a spiritualist; it will affect her nervous system
and you will have yourself to blame.
"As for Bolax, I have no fear for him. He'll never be too pious. I'm
willing to----" Here they were startled by a most unearthly yell, and
Master Bo rushed into the room, saying that Amy would not let him play
with her.
"Why won't she?" asked Papa.
"Oh, because I upset St. Joseph; I wanted to take the chairs for a train
of cars."
Papa broke into a fit of laughter, and said: "Bo, Bo, you're the
funniest youngster I ever heard of."
Poor Little Amy came into the room, looking as if ready to cry, telling
her mother she would never again have that boy when her company came.
"Just think, dear Ma, Bo said he liked monkeys better than angels."
The serious face of the little girl caused her mother to wonder if the
child really saw the holy spirits.
Mrs. Allen consoled her little daughter, telling her Bo would be more
thoughtful and better behaved when he should be a few years older.
"Come now," said she, "we will go to see poor little Tommie Hoden. I am
sure from the appearance of the boy, the family must be in very great
distress."
It was a beautiful day. The hyacinths were in bloom, and there were
daffodils, tulips, and forget-me-nots, almost ready to open; the cherry
trees were white with blossoms, and the apple trees covered with buds.
The glad beautiful spring had fully come with its lovely treasures and
everything seemed delighting in the sweet air and sunshine.
Miss Beldon, a neighbor, was digging her flower-beds, and asked where
they were going.
"I want to visit that poor little fellow, Tommy Hoden, who comes here so
often," said Mrs. Allen.
"You're not going to Hoden's," cried Miss Beldon; "why the father is an
awful man!"
"So much the more need of helping him, and that poor neglected boy of
his," answered Mrs. Allen. "Can you tell me exactly where they live?"
"Yes, in a horrid old hut, near Duff Mills. You can't miss it, for it is
the meanest of all those tumble-down shanties. I do wish you wouldn't
go, it won't do any good."
"Our Lord will take care of that," said Mrs. Allen. "I am only going to
do the part of the work He assigns me, and take food to the hungry."
"Well," said Miss Beldon, "I wouldn't go for fifty dollars. The man is
never sober, and he won't like to be interfered with. I shouldn't wonder
if he would shoot at you."
Mrs. Allen laughed, and said anything so tragic was not likely to
happen, and then went to get a basket of food to take to Tommy Hoden.
They set forth on their walk, Bo holding fast to his mother's hand while
Amy loitered on the way, gathering wild flowers. "Do you really, truly
think Tom's father would shoot at us?" asked Bo.
"No, indeed, dear. I hope you are not afraid."
"Well--no--dear Ma, not very afraid;" and the little fellow drew a deep
sigh; "only I--I--hope he won't shoot you, dear Ma."
"Well I am afraid!" said Amy, in a somewhat shamefaced manner.
"Please, Ma dear, let me go back and I will kneel before our Blessed
Lady's picture and pray for the poor man all the time you are away."
"That is very sweet of you, dear. Now Bo, perhaps you had better return
with Amy. I can go alone."
"No; no; I won't go back. I want to take care of my own dear Mamma. I'm
not a bit afraid now."
"Well, dear," said Mrs. Allen, "I will tell you what I want to do for
Tom and his father. I will try to get Tom to go to school every day and
to catechism class on Sundays. I think that would make a better boy of
him. Then I hope to persuade his father to sign the temperance pledge
and go to work."
Bolax understood what his mother meant by this, for Mrs. Allen made a
constant companion of the child; and although only five, she taught him
to recite a piece on Temperance.
The walk to the mills was very pleasant, with the exception of about
half a mile of the distance, just as the road turned off from the
village; here were a number of wretched old buildings, occupied by very
poor and, for the most part, very wicked people.
Somewhat removed from the others stood a hovel more dilapidated, if
possible, than the rest. Towards this Mrs. Allen, still holding Bolax by
the hand, bent her steps, and gently rapped at the door.
No one answered, but something that sounded like the growl of a beast
proceeded from within. After repeating the rap twice or three times,
she pushed the door wider open and walked in. The room upon which it
opened was small and low, and lighted by a single window, over which
hung a thick network of spider webs; the dingy walls were festooned in
like manner; the clay floor was so filthy, that, for a moment, Mrs.
Allen shrunk from stepping upon it.
In a corner of the wretched room sat Tom's father, smoking an old pipe.
He was a rough, bad-looking man with shaggy hair hanging over his face
and bleared eyes that glared at his visitors with no gentle expression.
"What do you want?" he growled.
"Your little boy sometimes comes to our place," answered Mrs. Allen, "so
I thought I would come to see him, and bring him some cakes; children
are so fond of sweets."
"Very kind of you, I'm sure, ma'am, though I don't know why you should
take the trouble," and the glare of his eyes softened a little; "you're
the first woman that's crossed that ere threshold since Molly was
carried out. I ha'n't got no chair."
"Oh, never mind. I did not come to make a long call," said Mrs. Allen.
The lady looked around the wretched room in vain, for a shelf or table
on which to deposit the contents of her basket. At last she saw a
closet, and while placing the articles of food in it, talked to old
Hoden as if he had been the most respectable man in the county.
"Is Tom at home, Mr. Hoden?"
"What d'ye want of him? I never know where he is."
"I heard you ought to be a Catholic," continued Mrs. Allen, "and I
thought you would not object to Tom's coming to my catechism class on
Sunday."
"He ain't got no clothes fit to go; besides I reckon it wouldn't do no
good to send him, for he ain't never seen the inside of a church."
"Well, Mr. Hoden, couldn't you come yourself?"
"It is me, ma'am? I haven't been near a church or priest for twenty-five
years. Poor Molly tried to make me go, but she gave it up as a bad job.
You may try your hand on Tom for all I care."
"I am much obliged to you for giving me leave to try," said Mrs. Allen,
smiling; "I should not have asked Tom to come without your permission,
Mr. Hoden. Good-bye, sir."
The poor wretch seemed dazed, and did not reply to the lady's polite
leave-taking.
After she was gone, he said to himself "I wonder what that one is up to.
I never heard such smooth talk in my life. Well it do make me feel good
to be spoke to like I were a gentleman. I'd give a good bit to know who
sent her here, and why she come."
Ah, poor soul, it was the charity of Jesus Christ that prompted the lady
to go to you; and many a fervent prayer she and her children will say
for your conversion.
"Mamma," said Bolax, on the way home, "that man is not so dreadful bad."
"Why do you think that, dear?"
"Because I saw a picture of the Sacred Heart pasted on the wall inside
the closet; it is all over grease and flyspecks, but you know you told
me Jesus gave a blessing to any house that had a picture of His Sacred
Heart in it."
CHAPTER II.
THE WONDERFUL RIDE.
"Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted Bolax, "Amy where are you? 'Want to tell you
something fine." Amy was watering her flower-bed, and did not pay much
attention to the little brother who was always having something "fine"
to tell.
"What is it now, Bo dear?" "Oh something real splendid this time."
"Please tell me then," said Amy getting a little impatient.
"You'll be so glad, Amy. Mamma and auntie say they are going to have a
party on the 21st because it is your birthday and St. Aloysius'
birthday."
"Did they? really truly!" exclaimed Amy; and the staid little lady
danced up and down the porch wild with delight at the prospect of a
"really truly" party.
Just then Aunt Lucy came up the steps laden with roses, for it was June,
the month of the beautiful queen of flowers.
Mrs. Allen took particular pains to cultivate with her own hands, all
varieties of red roses, from deep crimson to the brilliant Jacqueminot,
so that she could always have a bouquet to send to the Church every
Sunday and Friday, during the month of the Sacred Heart, besides
keeping her own little altar well supplied.
"Oh, Auntie, dear!" said Amy, "I'm so happy! Bo says I'm to have a
party." "Well, yes, darling; you know you will be seven on the 21st, so
Mamma and I want to make you happy because you have always tried to be a
good obedient little girl."
"Thank you, thank you, auntie," and Amy gave Aunt Lucy a big hug and
kiss.
"May I carry the roses to the Oratory auntie, dear?"
"Yes, Child, but I must go too, for I forgot to light the lamp before
the picture of the Sacred Heart, and it should never be extinguished
during this month."
While arranging the altar Amy began with her usual string of questions,
which were always listened to, and answered, for Mrs. Allen and her
sister never allowed themselves to be "too busy to talk to children."
"Auntie, why do we burn lamps before statues and holy pictures? Mollie
Lane asked me that question when she was in here yesterday, and I did
not know how to explain, then she laughed and said it was so funny to
have artificial light in the day time."
"My dear, we burn lamps and candles on the altar for several reasons,
which it would take too long to tell you just now; when you are older, I
will give you a little book called "Sacramentals," which explains all
about the lights on our altars, the use of holy water, blessed palm, the
crucifix, etc. For the present it suffices to tell any one who questions
you that the lamp in our Oratory is kept burning as a mark of respect
towards the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and besides it is a pretty ornament."
What a bower of loveliness, | 2,591.359922 |
2023-11-16 19:00:15.5377780 | 1,734 | 8 |
Produced by Free Elf, Anne Storer and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Notes:
1) Mousul/Mosul, piastre/piaster, Shiraz/Sheeraz,
Itch-Meeazin/Ech-Miazin/Etchmiazin,
each used on numerous occasions;
2) Arnaouts/Arnaoots, Dr. Beagrie/Dr. Beagry,
Beirout/Bayrout/Beyraut(x2), Saltett/Sallett,
Shanakirke/Shammakirke, Trebizond/Trebisand - once each.
All left as in original text.
3) M^R = a superscripted "R".
* * * * *
JOURNAL
OF A
RESIDENCE AT BAGDAD,
&c, &c.
LONDON:
DENNETT, PRINTER, LEATHER LANE.
JOURNAL
OF A
RESIDENCE AT BAGDAD,
DURING THE YEARS 1830 AND 1831,
BY
M^R. ANTHONY N. GROVES,
MISSIONARY.
LONDON:
JAMES NISBET, BERNERS STREET.
M DCCC XXXII.
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION.
This little work needs nothing from us to recommend it to attention.
In its incidents it presents more that is keenly interesting, both to
the natural and to the spiritual feelings, than it would have been
easy to combine in the boldest fiction. And then it is not fiction.
The manner in which the story is told leaves realities unencumbered,
to produce their own impression. It might gratify the imagination, and
even aid in enlarging our practical views, to consider such scenes as
possible, and to fancy in what spirit a Christian might meet them; but
it extends our experience, and invigorates our faith, to know that,
having actually taken place, it is thus that they have been met.
The first missionaries were wont, at intervals, to return from their
foreign labours, and relate to those churches whose prayers had sent
them forth, "all things that God had done with them" during their
absence. To the Christians at Antioch, there must have been important
edification, as well as satisfaction to their affectionate concern
about the individuals, and about the cause, in the narrative of Paul
and Barnabas. Nor would the states of mind experienced, and the spirit
manifested, by the narrators themselves be less instructive, than the
various reception of their message by various hearers. In these pages,
in like manner, Mr. Groves contributes to the good of the Church, an
important fruit of his mission, were it to yield no other. He had cast
himself upon the Lord. To Him he had left it to direct his path; to
give him what things He knew he had need of, and whether outward
prospects were bright or gloomy, to be the strength of his heart and
his portion for ever. The publication of his former little Journal was
the erection of his Eben Ezer. Hitherto, said he to us in England, the
Lord hath helped me. And now, after a prolonged residence among a
people with whom, in natural things, he can have no communion, and
who, towards his glad tidings of salvation, are as apathetic as is
compatible with the bitterest contempt; after having had, during many
weeks, his individual share of the suffering, and his mind worn with
the spectacle, of a city strangely visited at once with plague, and
siege, and inundation, and internal tumult; widowed, and not without
experience of "flesh and heart fainting and failing," he again
"blesses God for all the way he has led him,"[1] tells us that "the
Lord's great care over him in the abundant provision for all his
necessities, enables him yet further to sing of his goodness;"[2] and
while his situation makes him say, "what a place would this be to be
alone in now" if without God, he adds, "but with Him, this is better
than the garden of Eden."[3] "The Lord is my only stay, my only
support; and He is a support indeed."[4]
It is remarkable, that at a time when the fear of pestilence has
agitated the people of this country, and when the tottering fabric of
society threatens to hurl down upon us as dire a confusion as that
which has surrounded our brother, in a country hitherto regarded so
remote from all comparison with our own; at a time when the records of
the seasons at which the terrible voice of God has sounded loudest in
our capital, are republished as appropriate to the contemplation of
Christians at the existing crisis;[5]--this volume should have been
brought before the Public, by circumstances quite unconnected with
this train of God's dealings and threatenings to our land. The
Christians of Britain ought to consider, that there is a warning voice
of Providence, not only in the tumults of the people, and in the
terrors of the cholera around them, but even in the publication of
this Journal. It is not for nothing that God has moved Mr. Groves, as
it were, to an advanced post, where he might encounter the enemy
before them. The alarm may have, in a measure, subsided,[6] but if the
people of God are to be ever patiently waiting for the coming of their
conquering King, this implies a patient preparedness for those signs
of his coming, the clouds and darkness that are to go before him, in
the very midst of which they must be able to lift up their heads
because their redemption draweth nigh. To provide for the worst
contingencies is a virtue, not a weakness, in the soldier. That
Christian will not keep his garments who forgets, that in this life,
he is a soldier always. No army is so orderly in peace, or so
triumphant upon lesser assaults, as that which is ready always
for the extremest exigencies of war.
To those who are looking for the glorious appearing of our great God
and Saviour, Jesus Christ, this volume will exhibit indications of the
advancement of the world towards the state in which he shall find it
at his coming. The diffusion in the east of European notions and
practices; the desire on the part of the rulers to possess themselves
of the advantages of western intellect and skill; and on the side of
the governed, the conviction of the comparative security and comfort
of English domination; the vastly increased intercourse between those
nations and the west, and the proposals for still further accelerating
and facilitating that intercourse: all these things mark the rapid
tendency, of which we have so many other signs, towards the production
of one common mind throughout the human race, to issue in that
combination for a common resistance of God, which, as of old, when
the people were one, and had all one language, and it seemed that
nothing could be restrained from them which they had imagined to
do,--shall cause the Lord to come down and confound their purpose.
Already has this unity of views and aims, with marvellous rapidity,
prevailed in the European and American world; the press, the
steam-engine by land and water, the multiplication of societies
and unions, portend an advancement in it, to which nothing can
set limits but the intervention of God: and now it appears that
the mountain-fixedness of Asiatic prejudice and institution shall
suddenly be dissolved, and absorbed into the general vortex.
And to those who may have suspected, that the prospect of the return
of Jesus of Nazareth to our earth for vengeance and expurgation of
evil first, and then for occupation of rule, _under_ the face of the
whole heaven | 2,591.557818 |
2023-11-16 19:00:15.5429500 | 2,958 | 52 |
Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Books project.)
THE
ANALOGY OF RELIGION,
TO THE
Constitution and Course of Nature.
TO WHICH ARE ADDED
TWO BRIEF DISSERTATIONS:
I. ON PERSONAL IDENTITY.--II. ON THE NATURE OF VIRTUE.
BY
JOSEPH BUTLER, D.C.L.
Ejus [Analogiæ] hæc vis est, ut id quod dubium est ad
aliquid simile, de quo non quæritur referat ut incerta
certis probet.--QUINTIL. l. i. c. 6.
WITH
AN INTRODUCTION, NOTES, CONSPECTUS, AND AMPLE INDEX,
BY
HOWARD MALCOM, D.D.
PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY, LEWISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA.
SEVENTEENTH EDITION.
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1873.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United
States in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION 5
” PREFACE 19
” CONSPECTUS 21
AUTHOR’S ADVERTISEMENT 66
” INTRODUCTION 67
PART I.
OF NATURAL RELIGION.
CHAP. I.--A Future Life 77
CHAP. II.--The Government of God by Rewards and Punishments 95
CHAP. III.--The Moral Government of God 105
CHAP. IV.--Probation, as implying Trial, Difficulties, and
Danger 128
CHAP. V.--Probation, as intended for Moral Discipline and
Improvement 136
CHAP. VI.--The Opinion of Necessity, considered as influencing
Practice 157
CHAP. VII.--The Government of God, considered as a Scheme or
Constitution, imperfectly comprehended 171
CONCLUSION 180
PART II.
OF REVEALED RELIGION.
CHAP. I.--The Importance of Christianity 186
CHAP. II.--The supposed Presumption against a Revelation,
considered as miraculous 202
CHAP. III.--Our Incapacity of judging, what were to be expected
in a Revelation; and the Credibility, from Analogy,
that it must contain things appearing liable to
Objections 209
CHAP. IV.--Christianity, considered as a Scheme or Constitution,
imperfectly comprehended 223
CHAP. V.--The Particular System of Christianity; the
Appointment of a Mediator, and the Redemption of
the World by him 230
CHAP. VI.--Want of Universality in Revelation; and of the
supposed Deficiency in the Proof of it 247
CHAP. VII.--The Particular Evidence for Christianity 263
CHAP. VIII.--Objections against arguing from the Analogy of
Nature to Religion 296
CONCLUSION 306
DISSERTATIONS.
DISSERTATION I.--Personal Identity 317
DISSERTATION II.--The Nature of Virtue 324
INDEX TO PART I 333
INDEX TO PART II 343
Editor’s Introduction
JOSEPH BUTLER was born at Wantage, England, May 18th, 1692, the
youngest of eight children. The biographies of that day were few
and meagre; and in few cases is this so much to be regretted as in
Butler’s. It would have been both interesting and profitable to trace
the development and occupations of one of the mightiest of human minds.
But no cotemporary gathered up the incidents of his life, and now all
efforts to elicit them have been without success.
His father was a prosperous dry-goods merchant, who, at the time of his
son’s birth, had retired from business with a competency, and resided
in a suburban mansion called “The Priory,” still in existence.
Being a non-conformist, he educated Joseph at a “dissenting” academy
at Gloucester, under SAMUEL JONES, a gentleman of great ability, and
a skilful instructor, who raised up some of the greatest men of their
day.[1]
It was while a member of this academy, and about the age of twenty-one,
that Butler disclosed to the world his wonderful power of abstract
reasoning, in his famous correspondence with Samuel Clarke, in relation
to that eminent author’s “_Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of
God_.” This correspondence is now generally inserted at the end of that
work.
Mr. Butler having deliberately adopted Episcopal views, and resolved
to unite himself with the Established Church, his father, with
praiseworthy liberality, sent him to Oxford, where he entered Oriel
College, March, 1714. Of his college life there is no account; nor of
the time and place of his ordination. He removed to London in 1718,
on receiving the appointment of “Preacher at the Rolls.” His famous
Fifteen Sermons were preached in that chapel, and published before
resigning the place, with a dedication to Sir Joseph Jekyl, “as a
parting mark of gratitude for the favors received during his connection
with that learned society.”
One of Butler’s warmest college friends was Edward Talbot second son
of a clergyman who afterwards became Bishop of Durham. This admirable
young man died of smallpox; in his last hours recommending Butler to
his father’s patronage; and scarcely had that gentleman attained the
see of Durham, before he gave Mr. B. the living of Haughton, from
whence he transferred him, in 1725, to the richer benefice of Stanhope.
On receiving this honorable and lucrative appointment, he resigned
the Lectureship at the Rolls, and in the autumn of 1726 retired to
his beautiful residence at Stanhope. Here, without a family to occupy
his time, he devoted himself to his great work, the Analogy: using
horseback exercise, seeing little company, living abstemiously and
caring for his flock.
Seven years thus rolled away; when to draw him from what seemed to his
friends too great retirement and application, Lord-Chancellor Talbot
made him his chaplain, and afterwards, in 1736, gave him a prebend’s
stall in Rochester. In 1736, Butler being now forty-four, Caroline,
consort of George II., appointed him “Clerk of the Closet,” an office
which merely required his attendance at the Queen’s apartments every
evening, from seven to nine.
Being now in London, convenient to the press, and enjoying both leisure
and competency, he published his immortal ANALOGY--the cherished work
of his life. The Queen was delighted with the book, and made herself
master of its glorious array of reasoning. But she died the same year,
and he lost not only a patroness, but a friend. He returned to his
benefice at Stanhope, the income of which had been held during his
residence in London.
On her death-bed, the Queen had urged her husband to promote her
honored chaplain to a bishopric; and next year, the see of Norwich
becoming vacant, the Bishop of Bristol was translated to it, and the
see of Bristol given to Butler. Bristol was the poorest bishopric
in England, its emoluments being but $2,000 per annum; less than
those of the rectorship of Stanhope. Butler distinctly disclosed his
disappointment in his letter to the minister Walpole, accepting the
position; and declared that he did not think it “very suitable to the
condition of his fortune, nor answerable to the recommendation with
which he was honored.” The king was not displeased at this candor,
and in 1740 improved his income by giving him, in addition to his
bishopric, the profitable and influential office of Dean of St.
Paul’s. Butler, who had retained the living of Stanhope along with
his bishopric, now resigned that rectorship. “The rich revenues,” says
Professor Fitzgerald, “of the Deanery of St. Paul, enabled him to
gratify his taste at Bristol.” He expended about $25,000 in improving
and beautifying the episcopal residence and gardens. He fostered useful
charities, and employed his wealth for others rather than for himself.
In 1750, upon the death of Dr. Edward Chandler, Bishop of Durham,
Butler was promoted to that see, the most honorable and lucrative
in England. He had before been offered the Primacy, on the death of
Archbishop Potter, but declined it, with the remark that “it was too
late for him to try to support a falling church.” On assuming his
diocese at Durham, Butler delivered and published his famous Charge
to the Clergy, upon “The Use and Importance of External Religion.”
He was at once assailed vigorously, in pamphlets and papers, by
Archdeacon Blackburn, the Rev. T. Lindsay, and others, on the charge
of Popery; an imputation which is still sometimes cast upon him, and
which finds some slender support in his setting up a marble cross over
the communion-table at Bristol. That he never was a <DW7>, is now so
evident, that we can account for the imputation only by the strong
jealousy of the Romish Church then prevalent.
Butler now became still more munificent. His private charities were
exceedingly generous, and his public ones seemed sometimes to border on
extravagance. He gave $2,000 a year to the county hospital, and often
gave away thousands of dollars at a time. But though quite lavish in
buildings and ornaments, as well as in benevolence, he was remarkably
frugal in his personal expenses. It is said of him, by Rev. John
Newton, that on one occasion, when a distinguished visitor dined with
him by appointment, the provision consisted of a single joint of meat,
and a pudding. The bishop remarked to his guest on that occasion, that
he “had long been disgusted with the fashionable expense of time and
money in entertainments, and was determined that it should receive no
countenance from his example.”
Of his amusements we know little except that he took much horseback
exercise, and often employed his secretary, Mr. Emms, to play for him
on the organ.
Butler held the see of Durham less than two years. Symptoms of general
physical decay betrayed themselves about the time of his promotion, and
in spite of all that skill and affection could prompt, he sunk to rest
June 16th, 1752, aged sixty. He was never married.
A considerable number of his sermons and charges have been printed,
but are too philosophical to be generally read. His great work is the
Analogy, published in 1736, and from that day read and admired by every
highly-cultivated mind. He was induced to write by a state of things
very remarkable in the history of religion. Debauchery and infidelity
were almost universal, not in any one class of society but in all.
England had reached the culminating point of irreligion, and the firm
re-establishment of Episcopacy had as yet done nothing to mend the
nation’s morals. Piety was deemed a mark of ignorance and vulgarity,
and multitudes of those who professed it were persecuted to dungeons
and death.
Infidel writers, warmed into life by court corruption, became more
numerous and audacious than ever before. Their methods of attacking
Christianity were various; but the most successful then, as always, was
to impugn certain doctrines and declarations of the Sacred Scriptures,
as irrational, and hence reject the whole. They generally admitted the
Being and perfection of God, and extolled the sufficiency of natural
religion; but denied any revelation, or any necessity for one. The
verdict of the world was that the Bible is not authentic, that man is
not accountable, nor even probably immortal, that God neither rewards
nor punishes, and that present indulgence, as far as our nature admits,
is both wise and safe.
Bishop Downam,[2] one of the most learned of the clergy, in the early
part of the seventeenth century writes thus: “In these times, if a
man do but labor to keep a good conscience, though he meddle not with
matters of state, if he make conscience of swearing, sanctify the
Sabbath, frequent sermons, or abstain from the common corruptions of
the times, he shall straightway be condemned for a puritan, and be less
favored than either a carnal gospeller, or a close <DW7>.”
It was considered settled, especially in polite circles, that
Christianity, after so long a prevalence, had been found out to be an
imposture. The clergy, as a body, did nothing to dispel this moral
gloom, but rather increased it by their violent and scandal | 2,591.56299 |
2023-11-16 19:00:15.6418580 | 1,186 | 12 |
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: "Folding his withered hands, he said, in solemn and
trembling tones, 'Let us pray'" (_see page_ 121).]
Adam Hepburn's Vow
*A TALE OF KIRK AND COVENANT*
BY
*ANNIE S. SWAN*
WITH FOUR FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
TWENTY-THIRD THOUSAND
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
LONDON, NEW YORK, TORONTO AND MELBOURNE
1885
TO
MY FRIEND
C. M.
AND TO THE DEAR ONES GATHERED ROUND HER
IN HER HAPPY HOME
*CONTENTS*
CHAPTER I.
THE TRAVELLERS
CHAPTER II.
A NATION'S TESTIMONY
CHAPTER III.
FOREBODINGS OF EVIL
CHAPTER IV.
THE MINISTER'S CHILDREN
CHAPTER V.
THE FIRST MARTYRS
CHAPTER VI.
A THORN IN THE FLESH
CHAPTER VII.
A LONG FAREWELL
CHAPTER VIII.
MR. DUNCAN MCLEAN
CHAPTER IX.
PREPARING FOR EMERGENCIES
CHAPTER X.
ADAM HEPBURN'S VOW
CHAPTER XI.
UP IN ARMS
CHAPTER XII.
RULLION GREEN
CHAPTER XIII.
THE NEW MAID
CHAPTER XIV.
BETRAYED
CHAPTER XV.
BRAVE TO THE LAST
CHAPTER XVI.
AT THE DAWNING
CHAPTER XVII.
A SHOCK OF CORN FULLY RIPE
CHAPTER XVIII.
AT HAUGHHEAD
CHAPTER XIX.
UNLOOKED-FOR NEWS
CHAPTER XX.
DRUMCLOG
CHAPTER XXI.
DISUNION
CHAPTER XXII.
BOTHWELL BRIDGE
CHAPTER XXIII.
IN CAPTIVITY
CHAPTER XXIV.
DELIVERED
CHAPTER XXV.
AIRSMOSS
CHAPTER XXVI.
REST
*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.*
"Folding his withered hands, he said, in solemn and trembling tones,
'Let us pray'"... _Frontispiece_
"Uplifting his hand, he swore the solemn oath"
"Little Jeanie... brought out a draught for the general"
"The wildest confusion seemed to prevail on the bridge"
*Adam Hepburn's Vow*
_*A TALE OF KIRK AND COVENANT.*_
*CHAPTER I.*
*THE TRAVELLERS.*
Towards the close of a bleak grey February afternoon, in the year 1638,
a small party of travellers might have been seen approaching Edinburgh
by the high road from Glasgow. It consisted of a sturdy brown pony,
whereon sat a fair-faced, sunny-haired little girl, whose age could not
have exceeded nine years; a bright-faced, bold-looking lad, walking at
the animal's head, and having the bridle-rein hung loosely over his arm;
and a middle-aged gentleman, whose aspect and attire proclaimed him a
clergyman. He walked slowly, a little apart from the others, and his
hands were clasped before him, and his eyes bent thoughtfully on the
ground. He was a man somewhat past his prime, of a noble and manly
bearing, with a fine open countenance, and a speaking eye, wherein dwelt
a singularly sweet and benevolent expression.
The shadows of evening were already beginning to gather over the
surrounding scene, making objects at a distance somewhat indistinct.
Yet, truly, there was little at that season of the year to refresh the
eye or gladden the heart. The icy hand of winter had scarcely yet
relaxed its grasp on mother earth; there were no green buds on hedge or
tree; no blades of promise springing up by the wayside: all was
desolate, bleak, and cold. Yet the newly upturned furrows smelt fresh
and sweet, and the purling brooks wandered cheerfully on their way;
singing their song of gladness, as if they knew that spring was close at
hand. Presently the little party ascended a gentle eminence, and then
many lights were seen twinkling not far ahead.
"See, father, are yon the lights of Edinburgh?" exclaimed the lad, in
his eagerness letting go his hold on Roger's rein.
The minister raised his head, and a light kindled in his eye as he
looked upon the clustering roof-trees and towering spires of the
beautiful city.
"Yes, my son, that is Edinburgh," he said in his full, mellow tones.
"Thanks be to the Lord who hath brought us thither in safety. Would my
little Agnes like to walk now? The evening dews are falling, and
methinks a little exercise would do you no harm. Very soon now you will
be warmed and cheered by the ruddy glow by Aunt Jean's fireside."
As he spoke, the minister turned to Roger (who at a word from his master
stood perfectly still), and gently lifted his little daughter to the
ground. It was then seen that her figure was very slight and fragile,
her face pale and refined-looking, her whole expression thoughtful and
even sad beyond her years.
"Are you wearied, David?" asked the kind father then; but the lad drew
himself up proudly, | 2,591.661898 |
2023-11-16 19:00:15.7420700 | 4,106 | 10 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Sandra Belloni by George Meredith, v1
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SANDRA BELLONI
By George Meredith
CONTENTS
BOOK 1
I. THE POLES PRELUDE
II. THE EXPEDITION BY MOONLIGHT
III. WILFRID'S DIPLOMACY
IV. EMILIA'S FIRST TRIAL IN PUBLIC
V. EMILIA PLAYS ON THE CORNET
VI. EMILIA SUPPLIES THE KEY TO HERSELF AND CONTINUES HER
PERFORMANCE ON THE CORNET
VII. THREATS OF A CRISIS IN THE GOVERNMENT OF BROOKFIELD:
AND OF THE VIRTUE RESIDENT IN A TAIL-COAT
VIII. IN WHICH A BIG DRUM SPEEDS THE MARCH OF
EMILIA'S HISTORY
IX. THE RIVAL CLUBS
X. THE LADIES OF BROOKFIELD AT SCHOOL
BOOK 2
XI. IN WHICH WE SEE THE MAGNANIMITY THAT IS IN BEER.
XII. SHOWING HOW SENTIMENT AND PASSION TAKE
THE DISEASE OF LOVE
XIII. CONTAINS A SHORT DISCOURSE ON PUPPETS
XIV. THE BESWORTH QUESTION
XV. WILFRID'S EXHIBITION OF TREACHERY
XVI. HOW THE LADIES OF BROOKFIELD CAME TO THEIR RESOLVE
XVII. IN THE WOODS
BOOK 3
XVIII. RETURN OF THE SENTIMENTALIST INTO BONDAGE
XIX. LIFE AT BROOKFIELD.
XX. BY WILMING WEIR
XXI. RETURN OF MR. PERICLES
XXII. THE PITFALL OF SENTIMENT
XXIII. WILFRID DIPLOMATIZES
XXIV. EMILIA MAKES A MOVE
XXV. A FARCE WITHIN A FARCE
BOOK 4
XXVI. SUGGESTS THAT THE COMIC MASK HAS SOME KINSHIP WITH A SKULL
XXVII. SMALL LIFE AT BROOKFIELD
XXVIII. GEORGIANA FORD
XXIX. FIRST SCOURGING OF THE FINE SHADES
XXX. OF THE DOUBLE-MAN IN US, AND THE GREAT FIGHT
WHEN THESE ARE FULL-GROWN
XXXI. BESWORTH LAWN
XXXII. THE SUPPER
XXXIII. DEFEAT AND FLIGHT OF MRS. CHUMP
BOOK 5
XXXIV. INDICATES THE DEGRADATION OF BROOKFIELD, TOGETHER
WITH CERTAIN PROCEEDINGS OF THE YACHT
XXXV. MRS. CHUMP'S EPISTLE
XXXVI. ANOTHER PITFALL OF SENTIMENT
XXXVII. EMILIA'S FLIGHT.
XXXVIII. SHE CLINGS TO HER VOICE
XXXIX. HER VOICE FAILS
BOOK 6
XL. SHE TASTES DESPAIR
XLI. SHE IS FOUND
XLII. DEFECTION OF MR. PERICLES FROM THE BROOKFIELD CIRCLE
XLIII. IN WHICH WE SEE WILFRID KINDLING
XLIV. ON THE HIPPOGRIFF IN | 2,591.76211 |
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TEN BOYS from
DICKENS
By
Kate Dickinson Sweetser
Illustrated by
George Alfred Williams
1901
PREFACE
In this small volume there are presented as complete stories the boy-lives
portrayed in the works of Charles Dickens. The boys are followed only to
the threshold of manhood, and in all cases the original text of the story
has been kept, except where of necessity a phrase or paragraph has been
inserted to connect passages;--while the net-work of characters with which
the boys are surrounded in the books from which they are taken, has been
eliminated, except where such characters seem necessary to the development
of the story in hand.
Charles Dickens was a loyal champion of all boys, and underlying his pen
pictures of them was an earnest desire to remedy evils which he had found
existing in London and its suburbs. Poor Jo, who was always being "moved
on," David Copperfield, whose early life was a picture of Dickens' own
childhood, workhouse-reared Oliver, and the miserable wretches at Dotheboy
Hall were no mere creations of an author's vivid imagination. They were
descriptions of living boys, the victims of tyranny and oppression which
Dickens felt he must in some way alleviate. And so he wrote his novels
with the histories in them which affected the London public far more
deeply, of course, than they affect us, and awakened a storm of
indignation and protest.
Schools, work-houses, and other public institutions were subjected to a
rigorous examination, and in consequence several were closed, while all
were greatly improved. Thus, in his sketches of boy-life, Dickens
accomplished his object.
My aim is to bring these sketches, with all their beauty and pathos, to
the notice of the young people of to-day. If through this volume any boy
or girl should be aroused to a keener interest in the great writer, and
should learn to love him and his work, my labour will be richly repaid.
KATE DICKINSON SWEETSER
CONTENTS
TINY TIM
OLIVER TWIST
TOMMY TRADDLES
"DEPUTY"
DOTHEBOYS HALL
DAVID COPPERFIELD
KIT NUBBLES
JO, THE CROSSING SWEEPER
PAUL DOMBEY
PIP
TINY TIM
[Illustration: TINY TIM AND HIS FATHER.]
Charles Dickens has given us no picture of Tiny Tim, but at the thought of
him comes a vision of a delicate figure, less boy than spirit. We seem to
see a face oval in shape and fair in colouring. We see eyes deep-set and
grey, shaded by lashes as dark as the hair parted from the middle of his
low forehead. We see a sunny, patient smile which from time to time lights
up his whole face, and a mouth whose firm, strong lines reveal clearly the
beauty of character, and the happiness of disposition, which were Tiny
Tim's.
He was a rare little chap indeed, and a prime favourite as well. Ask the
Crachits old and young, whose smile they most desired, whose applause they
most coveted, whose errands they almost fought with one another to run,
whose sadness or pain could most affect the family happiness, and with one
voice they would answer, "Tim's!"
It was Christmas Day, and in all the suburbs of London there was to be no
merrier celebration than at the Crachits. To be sure, Bob Crachit had but
fifteen "Bob" himself a week on which to clothe and feed all the little
Crachits, but what they lacked in luxuries they made up in affection and
contentment, and would not have changed places, one of them, with any king
or queen.
While Bob took Tiny Tim to church, preparations for the feast were going
on at home. Mrs. Crachit was dressed in a twice-turned gown, but brave in
ribbons which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid
the cloth, assisted by Belinda, second of her daughters, also brave in
ribbons, while Master Peter Crachit plunged a fork into a saucepan full of
potatoes, getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob's private
property, conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his
mouth, but rejoiced to find himself so finely dressed, and yearning to
show his linen in the fashionable Parks.
Two smaller Crachits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that
outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own;
and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onions, these young Crachits
danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Crachit to the skies,
while he (not proud, although his collar almost choked him) blew the fire,
until the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid
to be let out and peeled.
"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Crachit. "And
your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by
half an hour!"
"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Crachits. "_Hurrah_! there's
_such_ a goose, Martha!"
"Why, bless your heart alive, dear, how late you are!" said Mrs. Crachit,
kissing the daughter, who lived away from home, a dozen times. "Well,
never mind as long as you are come!"
"There's father coming!" cried the two young Crachits, who were everywhere
at once. "_Hide_, Martha, _hide_!"
So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least
three feet of comforter hanging down before him, and his threadbare
clothes darned up and brushed to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his
shoulder. Why was the child thus carried? Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a
little crutch and had his limbs supported by an iron frame! Patient little
Tim,--never was he heard to utter a fretful or complaining word. No wonder
they cherished him so tenderly!
"Why, where's our Martha?" cried Bob Crachit looking round.
"Not coming!" said Mrs. Crachit.
"Not coming?" said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits; for
he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come home
rampant.
"Not coming upon Christmas Day!"
Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so
she ran out from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the
two young Crachits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house,
that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.
"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Crachit; when she had rallied
Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's
content.
"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful,
sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever
heard. He told me, coming home, that 'he hoped the people saw him in the
church, because he was a <DW36>, and it might be pleasant to them to
remember upon Christmas Day, Who made lame beggars walk and blind men
see.'"
Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and it trembled more
when he said that | 2,591.762258 |
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generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
THE CAT
[Illustration: WHITE CAT AND KITTENS.]
THE CAT:
_ITS NATURAL HISTORY; DOMESTIC
VARIETIES; MANAGEMENT AND
TREATMENT._
(_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._)
BY PHILIP M. RULE.
_WITH AN ESSAY ON FELINE INSTINCT,
BY BERNARD PEREZ._
London:
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN, LOWREY & CO.,
PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
1887.
Butler & Tanner,
The Selwood Printing Works,
Frome, and London.
TO JOHN COLAM, ESQ.,
SECRETARY TO THE ROYAL SOCIETY FOR THE
PREVENTION OF CRUELTY TO ANIMALS,
THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED,
IN RECOGNITION OF THE NOBLE AND UNFAILING
DEVOTION DISPLAYED BY HIM IN ADVOCATING
THE CAUSE OF HUMANITY;
AND IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE AUTHOR'S
APPRECIATION OF HIS REGARD FOR AND INTEREST IN
THE SUBJECT OF THE FOLLOWING PAGES.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS 1
CHAPTER II.
GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS (_continued_) 10
CHAPTER III.
FOOD 31
CHAPTER IV.
ON THE MANAGEMENT AND TREATMENT OF CATS 45
CHAPTER V.
DOMESTIC VARIETIES 58
CHAPTER VI.
ON THE DISEASES OF CATS 80
CHAPTER VII.
ON THE DISEASES OF CATS (_continued_) 102
ESSAY ON FELINE INSTINCT 133
PREFACE.
Before sending forth this little book, I consider it my duty to request
the attention of the patient reader to a few introductory and explanatory
remarks. During some portion of the past year I contributed a series of
short papers upon the cat to that most admirable monthly _The Animal
World_. Through the kind and hearty manner in which the Editor brought the
papers out from month to month, and also by the expressed desire of many
friends, I have been encouraged to reproduce the papers in the present
form. Some slight revision has, of course, been found necessary; but very
little addition has been made, it being my desire to produce a small and
attractive volume, with the hope that it may reach to many homes where the
hints it contains can perhaps be of some practical service. Nevertheless,
I hope there may be found enough interesting or instructive matter to
excite in the mind and heart of some a deeper interest in or regard for an
animal that too often is esteemed worthy of but slight attention.
I am indebted to Mr. Harrison Weir for his kindness in supplying me with a
few particulars connected with the organization of the first Cat Show,
held at the Crystal Palace, in 1871.
In the last chapter the reader will see that I have made several
quotations, somewhat at length: I have done so with the very kind and
ready permission of the writer, MR. HAROLD LEENEY, M.R.C.V.S.
P. M. RULE.
MAIDSTONE.
THE CAT.
CHAPTER I.
_GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS._
The origin of the domestic cat (_Felis domestica_) is a subject about
which there has been much conjecture and scientific discussion, but
without any positive issue. Very long before the cat was kept in this
country as a domesticated animal it was possessed by the ancient Egyptians
in a tame state, and was, moreover, held in reverence by that remarkable
and superstitious people, being regarded sacred to the goddess Pasht. At
death the body was embalmed with devout care, and specimens of cat mummies
may be seen in the British Museum. The Egyptian cat (_Felis maniculata_)
may, however, be regarded as probably the original source of our familiar
puss. This wild cat is of a sandy-grey or tawny colour, and with more or
less indistinct markings of the tabby character. It is of about ordinary
size; the tail is in form somewhat like that of most of our cats, and the
ears are largish and pointed in a slightly lynx-like fashion. It is
supposed that domesticated animals spread from Egypt with the tide of
civilization westward. I may here notice that, unlike the dog, the cat
has never been tamed by the savage races of mankind. But by the
civilized, or even the semi-civilized, peoples of the world the cat is at
the present day more or less valued as a useful mouser or as a cherished
household pet. It is remarkable that at a time when the wild cat (_Felis
catus_) was very abundant in England, the house-cat was unknown. It was
evidently an animal of foreign importation, and so highly valued as a
mouser as to have been protected by royal statute. The earliest record of
the tame cat in this country is as remote as A.D. 948. Prince Howel Dda,
or Howel the Good, enforced the very just but primitive fine of a milch
ewe, its fleece and lamb, or as much wheat from the destroyer or robber
of a cat at the Royal granary as would cover it to the tip of the tail,
the animal being suspended by that member, with the head only touching the
ground.
As the domestic cat in different parts of the world will breed
occasionally with the wild races of the locality, and as cats are conveyed
from country to country, it is probable that our cats are of somewhat
compound pedigree. It is considered probable that our fine English tabbies
have a trace of the British wild-cat blood in their veins, although it may
be obscure. The domestic cat is not regarded in zoology as the typical
form to represent the beautiful group known as the _Felidae_, or the cat
family, as might naturally be supposed; and it might have justly been so.
But the animal chosen as the generic example is the common wild cat, and
therefore known in science as _Felis catus_, _felis_ being the generic
title and _catus_ the specific name, which every reader will understand to
signify cat. It will be beyond the scope and aim of this chapter to
describe all the known distinct species of wild cat. In describing the
true cats, such as the Pampas cat, or the Colocolo of America, the Chaus,
or the Serval of Africa, the Viverrine, or the Leopard cat of India, our
subject would lead us on from these and other "tiger cats," as the Ocelot,
and the Riman-Dahan, without power to define a clear line of distinction,
up to the leopards, and | 2,591.857242 |
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SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS
Harper's Novelettes
By Various
Edited By William Dean Howells And Henry Mills Alden
1907
Table of Contents
Grace MacGowan Cooke
THE CAPTURE OF ANDY PROUDFOOT
Abby Meguire Roach
THE LEVEL OF FORTUNE
Alice MacGowan
PAP OVERHOLT
Mrs. B.F. Mayhew
IN THE PINY WOODS
William L. Sheppard
MY FIFTH IN MAMMY
Sarah Barnwell Elliott
AN INCIDENT
M.E.M. Davis
A SNIPE HUNT
J.J. Eakins
THE COURTSHIP OF COLONEL BILL
Maurice Thompson
THE BALANCE OF POWER
INTRODUCTION
The most noticeable characteristic of the extraordinary literary
development of the South since the Civil War is that it is almost entirely
in the direction of realism. A people who, up to that time, had been so
romantic that they wished to naturalize among themselves the ideals and
usages of the Walter Scott ages of chivalry, suddenly dropped all that, and
in their search for literary material could apparently find nothing so good
as the facts of their native life. The more "commonplace" these facts the
better they seemed to like them. Evidently they believed that there was a
poetry under the rude outside of their mountaineers, their slattern country
wives, their shy rustic men and maids, their grotesque humorists, their
wild religionists, even their black freedmen, which was worth more than the
poetastery of the romantic fiction of their fathers. In this strong faith,
which need not have been a conscious creed, the writers of the New South
have given the world sketches and studies and portraits of the persons and
conditions of their peculiar civilization which the Russians themselves
have not excelled in honesty, and hardly in simplicity. To be sure, this
development was on the lines of those early humorists who antedated the
romantic fictionists, and who were often in their humor so rank, so wild,
so savage, so cruel, but the modern realism has refined both upon their
matter and their manner. Some of the most artistic work in the American
short-story, that is to say the best short-story in the world, has been
done in the South, so that one may be reasonably sure of an artistic
pleasure in taking up a Southern story. One finds in the Southern stories
careful and conscientious character, rich local color, and effective
grouping, and at the same time one finds genuine pathos, true humor, noble
feeling, generous sympathy. The range of this work is so great as to
include even pictures of the more conventional life, but mainly the writers
keep to the life which is not conventional, the life of the fields, the
woods, the cabin, the village, the little country town. It would be easier
to undervalue than to overvalue them, as we believe the reader of the
admirable pieces here collected will agree.
W.D.H.
The Capture of Andy Proudfoot
By GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE
A dry branch snapped under Kerry's foot with the report of a toy pistol. He
swore perfunctorily, and gazed greedily at the cave-opening just ahead. He
was a bungling woodsman at best; and now, stalking that greatest of all big
game, man, the blood drummed in his ears and his heart seemed to slip a cog
or two with every beat. He stood tense, yet trembling, for the space in
which a man might count ten; surely if there were any one inside the
cave--if the one whose presence he suspected were there--such a noise would
have brought him forth. But a great banner of trumpet-creeper, which hid
the opening till one was almost upon it, waved its torches unstirred except
by the wind; the sand in the doorway was unpressed by any foot.
Kerry began to go forward by inches. He was weary as only a town-bred man,
used to the leisurely patrolling of pavements, could be after struggling
obliquely up and across the pathless flank of Big Turkey Track Mountain,
and then climbing to this eyrie upon Old Yellow Bald--Old Yellow, the peak
that reared its "Bald" of golden grass far above the ranges of The Big and
Little Turkey Tracks.
"Lord, how hungry I am!" he breathed. "I bet the feller's got grub in
there." He had been out two days. He was light-headed from lack of food; at
the thought of it nervous caution gave way to mere brute instinct, and he
plunged recklessly into the cave. Inside, the sudden darkness blinded him
for a moment. Then there began to be visible in one corner a bed of bracken
and sweet-fern; in another an orderly arrangement of tin cans upon a shelf,
and the ashes of a fire, where sat a Dutch oven. The sight of this last
whetted Kerry's hunger; he almost ran to the shelf, and groaned as he found
the first can filled with gunpowder, the next with shot, and the third
containing some odds and ends of string and nails.
He had knelt to inspect a rude box, when a little sound caused him to turn.
In the doorway was a figure which raised the hair upon his head, with a
chilly sensation at its roots--a tall man, with a great mane of black locks
blowing unchecked about his shoulders. He stood turned away from Kerry,
having halted in the doorway as though to take a last advantage of the
outer daylight upon some object of interest to him before entering. He was
examining one of his own hands, and a little shivering moan escaped him. A
rifle rested in the hollow of his arm; Kerry could see the outline of a big
navy-pistol in his belt; and as the man shifted, another came to view;
while the Irishman's practised eye did not miss the handle of a long knife
in its sheath. It went swiftly through his mind that those who sent him on
this errand should have warned him of the size of the quarry. Suddenly,
almost without his own volition, he found himself saying: "I ask your
pardon. I was dead beat an' fair famished, an' I crawled in here to--"
The tall figure in the doorway turned like a thing on a pivot; he did not
start, nor spin round, as a slighter or more nervous person might have
done; and a strange chill fell upon Kerry's heat when the man, whom he
recognized as that one he had come to seek, faced him. The big, dark eyes
looked the intruder up and down; what their owner thought of him, what he
decided concerning him, could no more be guessed than the events of next
year. In a full, grave voice, but one exceedingly gentle, the owner of the
cave repaired the lack of greeting.
| 2,591.857326 |
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[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. IV. NOVEMBER, 1883. No. 2.
Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.
_President_—Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio.
_Superintendent of Instruction_—Rev. J. H. Vincent, D.D., New Haven,
Conn.
_Counselors_—Rev. Lyman Abbott, D.D.; Rev. J. M. Gibson, D.D.; Bishop
H. W. Warren, D.D.; Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, D.D.
_Office Secretary_—Miss Kate F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J.
_General Secretary_—Albert M. Martin, Pittsburgh, Pa.
[Transcriber's Note: This table of contents of this periodical was
created for the HTML version to aid the reader.]
Contents
REQUIRED READING
German History 63
German Literature 66
Physical Science
II.—The Circulation of Water on the Land 67
SUNDAY READINGS
[Sunday, November 4.]—Moral Distinctions Not Sufficiently
Regarded in Social Intercourse 70
[Sunday, November 11.] 71
[Sunday, November 18.] 72
[Sunday, November 25.] 72
Political Economy
II. Production, Continued—Capital—Combination and
Division of Labor 73
III.—Consumption 74
Readings in Art
II.—Sculpture: Grecian and Roman 75
Selections from American Literature 77
Benjamin Franklin—Extracts From Poor Richard’s Almanac 77
George Washington—Account of the Battle of Trenton 78
Thomas Jefferson—George Washington 79
Thoughts from William Ellery Channing 79
Autumn Sympathy 80
Republican Prospects in France 80
Chautauqua to California 81
To My Books 83
Earthquakes—Ischia and Java 83
Low Spirits 85
Vegetable Villains 86
From the Baltic to the Adriatic 87
Electricity 89
Poachers in England 90
Eight Centuries With Walter Scott 91
The Great Organ at Fribourg 94
Eccentric Americans 95
Etiquette 99
Napoleon’s Marshals 100
C. L. S. C. Work 102
C. L. S. C. Stationery 103
New England Branch of the Class of ’86 103
C. L. S. C. Testimony 103
C. L. S. C. Reunion 104
Local Circles 105
How to Conduct a Local Circle 107
Questions and Answers 109
Outline of C. L. S. C. Studies 112
Chautauqua Normal Class 112
Editor’s Outlook 115
Dr. Haygood's Battle for the <DW64> 115
The Political Outlook 115
History of Greece 116
A College Reform 116
Editor’s Note-Book 117
Editor’s Table 119
C. L. S. C. Notes on Required Readings For November 120
C. L. S. C. Notes on Required Readings in “The Chautaquan” 123
Tricks of the Conjurors 125
Talk About Books 126
REQUIRED READING
FOR THE
_Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle for 1883-4_.
NOVEMBER.
GERMAN HISTORY.
By REV. W. G. WILLIAMS, A.M.
II.
From the time of Julius Cæsar to the fall of the Roman Empire, a period
of more than four hundred years, the greater part of the Germans were
subject to Roman rule, a rule maintained only by military force. But
the struggle against Rome never entirely ceased—and as Roman power
gradually declined the Germans seized every opportunity to recover
their liberty and in their turn became conquerors. To trace the
succession of their vicissitudes during this period would be to give
the narrative of a bold, vigorous, war-like people in their rude
barbaric condition. We should discover even in those early times those
race characteristics of strength, bravery and persistence which became
so marked in later centuries; we should recognize in Hermann, the first
German leader, the prophecy of the Great Charles who steps upon the
scene nearly eight centuries later.
HERMANN, THE FIRST LEADER.
He it was (Hermann Arminius) who, with a power to organize equal
to that of William of Orange, bound the German tribes in a secret
confederacy, whose object it was to resist and repel the Roman armies.
While still himself serving as an officer in the Roman army, he managed
to rally the confederated Germans and to attack Varus’s army of forty
thousand men—the best Roman legions—as they were marching through the
Teutoburger Forest, where, aided by violent storms, the Germans threw
the Romans into panic and the fight was changed to a slaughter. When
the news of the great German victory reached Rome the aged Augustus
trembled with fear; he let his hair and beard grow for months as a sign
of trouble, and was often heard to exclaim: “O, Varus, Varus, give me
back my legions.” Though Rome, under the able leadership of Germanicus,
soon after defeated the Germans, yet she had been taught that the
Germans possessed a spirit and a power sufficient to make her tremble
for her future supremacy.
Hermann seems to have devoted himself to the creation of a permanent
union of the tribes he had commanded. We may guess, but can not assert,
that his object was to establish a national organization like that of
Rome, and in doing this he must have come into conflict with laws and
customs which were considered sacred by the people. But his remaining
days were too few for even the beginning of a task which included such
an advance in the civilization of the race. We only know that he was
waylaid and assassinated by members of his own family in the year 21.
He was then 37 years old and had been for thirteen years the leader of
his people.[A]
* * * * *
He was undoubtedly the liberator of Germany, having dared to grapple
with the Roman power, not in its beginnings, like other kings and
commanders, but in the maturity of its strength. He was not always
victorious in battle, but in war he was never subdued. He still lives
in the songs of the barbarians, unknown to the annals of the Greeks,
who only admire that which belongs to themselves—nor celebrated as he
deserves by the Romans, who, in praising the olden times, neglect the
events of the later years.[B]
GERMAN NATIONALITIES AT THE CLOSE OF THE THIRD CENTURY.
When we meet the Germans at the close of the third century we are
surprised to find that the tribal names which they bore in the time
of Hermann have nearly all disappeared, and new names of wider
significance have taken their places. Instead of thirty to forty petty
tribes, they are now consolidated into four chief nationalities with
two or three inferior, but independent branches. Their geographical
situation is no longer the same, migrations have taken place, large
tracts of territory have changed hands, and many leading families have
been overthrown and new ones arisen. Nothing but the constant clash of
arms could have wrought such change. As each of these new nationalities
plays a prominent part in the following centuries, a short description
of them is given:
1. _The Alemanni._—The name of this division (_Alle Mannen_, signifying
“all men”) shows that it was composed of fragments of many tribes. The
Alemanni first made their appearance along the Main, and gradually
pushed southward over the Tithe lands, where the military veterans of
Rome had settled, until they occupied the greater part of southwestern
Germany, and eastern Switzerland to the Alps. Their descendants occupy
the same territory to this day.
2. _The Franks._—It is not known whence this name is derived, nor what
is its meaning. The Franks are believed to have been formed out of
the Sicambrians in Westphalia, a portion of the Chatti and the Batavi
in Holland, together with other tribes. We first hear of them on the
Lower Rhine, but they soon extended their territory over a great part
of Belgium and Westphalia. Their chiefs were already called kings, and
their authority was hereditary.
3. _The Saxons._—This was one of the small original tribes settled in
Holstein. The name “Saxon” is derived from their peculiar weapon, a
short sword, called _sahs_. We find them occupying at the close of the
third century nearly all the territory between the Harz Mountains and
the North Sea, from the Elbe westward to the Rhine. There appears to
have been a natural enmity—no doubt bequeathed from the earlier tribes
out of which both grew—between them and the Franks.
4. _The Goths._—Their traditions state that they were settled in Sweden
before they were found by the Greek navigators on the southern shore of
the Baltic in 330 B. C. It is probable that only a portion of the tribe
navigated, and that the present Scandinavian race is descended from the
remainder. They came in contact with the Romans beyond the mouth of the
Danube about the beginning of the third century.[C]
INFLUENCE OF THE ROMANS ON THE GERMANS.
The proximity of the Romans on the Rhine, the Danube, and the Neckar,
had by degrees effected alterations in the manners of the Germans. They
had become acquainted with many new things, both good and bad. By means
of the former they became acquainted with money, and even luxuries.
The Romans had planted the vine on the Rhine, and constructed roads,
cities, manufactories, theaters, fortresses, temples, and altars. Roman
merchants brought their wares to Germany, and fetched thence amber,
feathers, furs, slaves, and the very hair of the Germans; for it became
the fashion to wear light flaxen wigs, instead of natural hair. Of
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Produced by David Widger
ROUGHING IT
by Mark Twain
1880
Part 8.
CHAPTER LXXI.
At four o'clock in the afternoon we were winding down a mountain of
dreary and desolate lava to the sea, and closing our pleasant land
journey. This lava is the accumulation of ages; one torrent of fire
after another has rolled down here in old times, and built up the island
structure higher and higher. Underneath, it is honey-combed with caves;
it would be of no use to dig wells in such a place; they would not hold
water--you would not find any for them to hold, for that matter.
Consequently, the planters depend upon cisterns.
The last lava flow occurred here so long ago that there are none now
living who witnessed it. In one place it enclosed and burned down a
grove of cocoa-nut trees, and the holes in the lava where the trunks
stood are still visible; their sides retain the impression of the bark;
the trees fell upon the burning river, and becoming partly submerged,
left in it the perfect counterpart of every knot and branch and leaf,
and even nut, for curiosity seekers of a long distant day to gaze upon
and wonder at.
There were doubtless plenty of Kanaka sentinels on guard hereabouts at
that time, but they did not leave casts of their figures in the lava as
the Roman sentinels at Herculaneum and Pompeii did. It is a pity it is
so, because such things are so interesting; but so it is. They probably
went away. They went away early, perhaps. However, they had their
merits; the Romans exhibited the higher pluck, but the Kanakas showed the
sounder judgment.
Shortly we came in sight of that spot whose history is so familiar to
every school-boy in the wide world--Kealakekua Bay--the place where
Captain Cook, the great circumnavigator, was killed by the natives,
nearly a hundred years ago. The setting sun was flaming upon it, a
Summer shower was falling, and it was spanned by two magnificent
rainbows. Two men who were in advance of us rode through one of these
and for a moment their garments shone with a more than regal splendor.
Why did not Captain Cook have taste enough to call his great discovery
the Rainbow Islands? These charming spectacles are present to you at
every turn; they are common in all the islands; they are visible every
day, and frequently at night also--not the silvery bow we see once in an
age in the States, by moonlight, but barred with all bright and beautiful
colors, like the children of the sun and rain. I saw one of them a few
nights ago. What the sailors call "raindogs"--little patches of rainbow
--are often seen drifting about the heavens in these latitudes, like
stained cathedral windows.
Kealakekua Bay is a little curve like the last kink of a snail-shell,
winding deep into the land, seemingly not more than a mile wide from
shore to shore. It is bounded on one side--where the murder was done--by
a little flat plain, on which stands a cocoanut grove and some ruined
houses; a steep wall of lava, a thousand feet high at the upper end and
three or four hundred at the lower, comes down from the mountain and
bounds the inner extremity of it. From this wall the place takes its
name, Kealakekua, which in the native tongue signifies "The Pathway of
the Gods." They say, (and still believe, in spite of their liberal
education in Christianity), that the great god Lono, who used to live
upon the hillside, always traveled that causeway when urgent business
connected with heavenly affairs called him down to the seashore in a
hurry.
As the red sun looked across the placid ocean through the tall, clean
stems of the cocoanut trees, like a blooming whiskey bloat through the
bars of a city prison, I went and stood in the edge of the water on the
flat rock pressed by Captain Cook's feet when the blow was dealt which
took away his life, and tried to picture in my mind the doomed man
struggling in the midst of the multitude of exasperated savages--the men
in the ship crowding to the vessel's side and gazing in anxious dismay
toward the shore--the--but I discovered that I could not do it.
It was growing dark, the rain began to fall, we could see that the
distant Boomerang was helplessly becalmed at sea, and so I adjourned to
the cheerless little box of a warehouse and sat down to smoke and think,
and wish the ship would make the land--for we had not eaten much for ten
hours and were viciously hungry.
Plain unvarnished history takes the romance out of Captain Cook's
assassination, and renders a deliberate verdict of justifiable homicide.
Wherever he went among the islands, he was cordially received and
welcomed by the inhabitants, and his ships lavishly supplied with all
manner of food. He returned these kindnesses with insult and
ill-treatment. Perceiving that the people took him for the long vanished
and lamented god Lono, he encouraged them in the delusion for the sake of
the limitless power it gave him; but during the famous disturbance at
this spot, and while he and his comrades were surrounded by fifteen
thousand maddened savages, he received a hurt and betrayed his earthly
origin with a groan. It was his death-warrant. Instantly a shout went
up: "He groans!--he is not a god!" So they closed in upon him and
dispatched him.
His flesh was stripped from the bones and burned (except nine pounds of
it which were sent on board the ships). The heart was hung up in a
native hut, where it was found and eaten by three children, who mistook
it for the heart of a dog. One of these children grew to be a very old
man, and died in Honolulu a few years ago. Some of Cook's bones were
recovered and consigned to the deep by the officers of the ships.
Small blame should attach to the natives for the killing of Cook.
They treated him well. In return, he abused them. He and his men
inflicted bodily injury upon many of them at different times, and killed
at least three of them before they offered any proportionate retaliation.
Near the shore we found "Cook's Monument"--only a cocoanut stump, four
feet high and about a foot in diameter at the butt. It had lava boulders
piled around its base to hold it up and keep it in its place, and it was
entirely sheathed over, from top to bottom, with rough, discolored sheets
of copper, such as ships' bottoms are coppered with. Each sheet had a
rude inscription scratched upon it--with a nail, apparently--and in every
case the execution was wretched. Most of these merely recorded the
visits of British naval commanders to the spot, but one of them bore this
legend:
"Near this spot fell
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[Illustration: _"Why it_ is, _a large fried egg," said Billy,
excitedly_.--Page 47. Frontispiece.]
BILLY BOUNCE
by
W. W. DENSLOW and DUDLEY A. BRAGDON
Pictures by Denslow
G. W. Dillingham Co.
Publishers New York
Copyright 1906 by W. W. Denslow
All rights reserved.
Issued September, 1906.
To
"Pete" and "Ponsie"
List of Chapters.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. DARK PLOT OF NICKEL PLATE, THE POLISHED
VILLAIN 9
II. A JUMP TO SHAMVILLE 22
III. BILLY IS CAPTURED BY TOMATO 34
IV. ADVENTURES IN EGGS-AGGERATION 47
V. PEASE PORRIDGE HOT 63
VI. BLIND MAN'S BUFF 77
VII. THE WISHING BOTTLE 88
VIII. GAMMON AND SPINACH 97
IX. IN SILLY LAND 110
X. SEA URCHIN AND NE'ER DO EEL 124
XI. IN DERBY TOWN 138
XII. O'FUDGE 152
XIII. BILLY PLAYS A TRICK ON BOREA 167
XIV. KING CALCIUM AND STERRY OPTICAN 181
XV. BILLY MEETS GLUCOSE 195
XVI. IN SPOOKVILLE 210
XVII. IN THE VOLCANO OF VOCIFEROUS 221
XVIII. THE ELUSIVE BRIDGE 236
XIX. IN THE DARK, NEVER WAS 247
XX. THE WINDOW OF FEAR 257
XXI. IN THE QUEEN BEE PALACE 267
Full Page Illustrations
"_Why it_ is, _a large fried egg," said Billy, excitedly_.
--Page 47....Frontispiece.
PAGE
"I _can't tell you where Bogie Man lives, it's against the rules_." 14
_"Now," said Mr. Gas, "be careful not to sit on the ceiling."_ 17
"_Come, now, don't give me any of your tomato sauce._" 39
_Billy never wanted for plenty to eat._ 64
_"He-he-ho-ho, oh! what a joke," cried the Scally Wags._ 82
_"That's my black cat-o-nine tails," said the old woman._ 90
_The Night Mare and the Dream Food Sprites._ 101
_"Get off, you're sinking us," cried Billy._ 134
_He saw flying to meet him several shaggy bears._ 141
_"Talking about me, were you?" said Boreas, arriving in a swirl of
snow._ 172
_"Me feyther," cried she, in a tragic voice, "the light, the
light."_ 187
"_Come up to the house and spend an unpleasant evening._" 217
_Billy shot a blast of hot air from his pump full in Bumbus's face._ 263
"_Allow me to present Bogie Man._" 271
Preface
OUR PURPOSE.--Fun for the "children between the ages of one and one
hundred."
AND INCIDENTALLY--the elimination of deceit and gore in the telling:
two elements that enter, we think, too vitally into the construction of
most fairy tales.
AS TO THE MORAL.--That is not obtrusive. But if we can suggest to the
children that fear alone can harm them through life's journey; and to
silly nurses and thoughtless parents that the serious use of ghost
stories, Bogie Men and Bugbears of all kinds for the sheer purpose of
frightening or making a child mind is positively wicked; we will admit
that the tale has a moral.
CHAPTER I.
DARK PLOT OF NICKEL PLATE, THE POLISHED VILLAIN.
Nickel Plate, the polished Villain, sat in his office in the North
South corner of the first straight turning to the left of the Castle in
Plotville.
"Gadzooks," exclaimed he with a heavy frown, "likewise Pish Tush!
Methinks I grow rusty--it is indeed a sad world when a real villain
is reduced to chewing his moustache and biting his lips instead of
feasting on the fat of the land."
So saying he rose from his chair, smote himself heavily on the chest,
carefully twirled his long black moustache and paced dejectedly up and
down and across the room.
"I wonder," he began, when ting-a-ling-a-ling the telephone rang.
"Hello," said he. "Yes, this is Nickel Plate--Oh! good morning,
Mr. Bogie Man--Sh-h-h--Don't speak so loudly. Some one may see
you.--No--Bumbus has not returned with Honey Girl--I'm sorry,
sir, but I expect him every minute. I'll let you know as soon as
I can. Oh! yes, he is to substitute Glucose for Honey Girl and
return here for further villainous orders. Oh! a--excuse me, but
can you help me with a little loan of--hello--hello--pshaw he's
rung off. Central--ting-a-ling-a-ling--Central, won't you give me
Bogie Man again, please--what! he's left orders not to connect us
again--_well!_--good-bye."
"Now then what am I to do? I have just one nickel to my name and I
can't spend that. If Bumbus has failed I don't know what we shall do. A
fine state of affairs for a man with an ossified conscience and a good
digestion--ha-a-a, what is that?"
"Buzz-z-z," came a sound through the open window.
"Is that Bumbus?" called Nickel Plate in a loud whisper.
"I be," answered Bumbus, climbing over the sill and darting to a chair.
"Why didn't you come in by the door?--you know how paneful a window is
to me."
"When _is_ a cow?" said Bumbus, perching himself on the back of his
chair and fanning himself with his foot.
"Sometimes, I think--" began Nickel Plate, angrily.
"Wrong answer; besides it's not strictly true," said Bumbus, turning
his large eyes here and there as he viewed his master.
"A truce to foolishness," said Nickel Plate, "what news--but wait--"
and taking two wads of cotton out of his pocket he stuffed them in two
cracks in the wall--"walls have ears--we will stop them up--proceed."
"Honey Girl has disappeared," whispered Bumbus.
"Gone! and her golden comb?"
"She has taken it with her."
"Gone," growled Nickel Plate--"but wait, I am not angry enough for a
real villain"; lighting a match he quickly swallowed it. "Ha, ha! now I
am indeed a fire eater. Gadzooks, varlet! and how did she escape us?"
Bumbus hung his head. "Alas, sir, with much care did I carry
Glucose to the Palace of the Queen Bee to substitute her for Honey
Girl--dressed to look exactly like her, even to a gold-plated comb.
I had bribed Drone, the sentry, to admit us in the dead of night.
Creeping softly through the corridors of the Castle, with Glucose in
my arms, I came to the door of Honey Girl. I opened the door and crept
quietly into the room; all was still. I reached the dainty couch and
found--"
"Yes," said Nickel Plate excitedly.
"I found it empty; Honey Girl had fled."
"Sweet Honey Girl! alas, have we lost you? also which is more
important, the reward for the abduction--but revenge, revenge!" hissed
Nickel Plate.
"What did you do with Glucose?"
"Glucose has gone back to her work in the factory," said Bumbus, "but
will come back to us whenever we wish."
"Enough," said Nickel Plate, "Bogie Man must know of this at once. I
will telephone him--but no, he has stopped the connection. Will you
take the message?"
"Sir, you forget."
"Too true, I need you here: a messenger." So saying Nickel Plate rang
the messenger call and sat down to write the note of explanation to
Bogie Man.
"Rat-a-tat-tat" came a knock on the door.
"Come in," said Nickel Plate in a deep bass voice, the one he kept for
strangers.
The door popped open and in ran--yes, he really ran--a messenger boy.
And such a messenger boy, such bright, quick eyes, such a clean face
and hands, not even a high water line on his neck and wrists, such
twinkling feet and such a well brushed uniform! Why you would hardly
believe he was a messenger boy if you saw him, he was such an active
little fellow.
"Did you ring, sir?" said Billy Bounce.
"Sh-h-h, not so loud," whispered Nickel Plate mysteriously--the whisper
he kept for strangers. "Yes, I rang."
"Very well, sir, I am here."
"Ah-h," hummed Bumbus. "Are you here, are you there, do you really
truly know it? Have a care, have a care."
"Excuse me, sir," said Billy bewildered, "I don't think I understand
you."
"Neither do I," said Bumbus. "Nobody does. I'm a mystery."
"Mr. who?" said Billy.
"Mr. Bumbus of course."
"Oh! I thought you said Mr. E."
"Don't be silly, boy," interrupted Nickel Plate.
"Bumbus, be quiet."
"I be," said Bumbus.
"Can you read?" whispered Nickel Plate.
"Yes, sir."
"That's good. Then perhaps you know where Bogie Man lives."
"No, sir, but if you'll tell me I can find his house," said Billy,
hoping it wasn't the real Bogie Man he meant.
"That would be telling," said Nickel Plate.
"But, sir, I don't know where to find him."
"Did you ever see such a lazy boy?" hummed Bumbus. "Lazy bones, lazy
bones, climb up a tree and shake down some doughnuts and peanuts to me."
"But really," said Nickel Plate frowning, "really you know _I_ can't
tell you where Bogie Man lives; it's against the rules."
[Illustration: "I _can't tell you where Bogie Man lives, it's against
the rules_."--Page 14.]
"Then, sir," said Billy, his head in a whirl, "I don't see how I can
deliver your message."
"That's your lookout. You're a messenger boy, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"And your duty is to carry messages wherever they are sent?"
"Yes, sir, but--"
"There, I can't argue with you any more. You will have to take the
message--good day," said Nickel Plate handing Billy the note.
"But, sir--"
Bumbus jumped off his chair and slowly revolved around Billy, humming--
"Little boy, Billy boy, do as you're told.
Refusal is rudeness: I surely shall scold.
Here's your hat, there's the door,
Run while you may,
I have the great pleasure to
Wish you good-day."
As he sang this, Bumbus circled closer and closer to Billy until
finally he touched him, digging him in the ribs and giving him gentle | 2,591.863652 |
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Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and the Online
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BUCHANAN'S
JOURNAL OF MAN.
VOL. I. NOVEMBER, 1887. NO. 10.
CONTENTS OF JOURNAL OF MAN.
The Slow Triumph of Truth
Old Industrial Education
An Incomparable "Medical Outlaw"
Educational.--Educational Reform in England; Dead Languages
Vanishing; Higher Education of Women; Bad Sunday-School Books;
Our Barbarous Orthography
Critical.--European Barbarism; Boston Civilization; Monopoly;
Woman's Drudgery; Christian Civilization; Walt Whitman;
Temperance
Scientific.--Extension of Astronomy; A New Basis for Chemistry;
Chloroform in Hydrophobia; The Water Question; Progress of
Homoeopathy; Round the World Quickly
Glances Round the World (concluded from August)
Rectification of Cerebral Science (illustrated)
THE SLOW TRIUMPH OF TRUTH.
THE JOURNAL OF MAN does not fear to perform its duty and use plain
language in reference to the obstructionists who hinder the acceptance
of demonstrable sciences and prevent all fair investigation, while
they occupy positions of influence and control in all collegiate
institutions.
It is not in scorn or bitterness that we should speak of this erring
class, a large number of whom are the victims of mis-education--of the
hereditary policy of the colleges, which is almost as difficult to
change as a national church, or a national despotism. The young men
who enter the maelstrom of college life are generally borne along as
helpless as rowing boats in a whirlpool. It is impossible for even the
strongest minds to be exposed for years, surrounded by the
contaminating influence of falsehood, and come forth uninjured. But
while we pity the victims of medical colleges and old-fashioned
universities, let us seek for our young friends institutions that have
imbibed the spirit of the present age.
Man is essentially a spiritual being, and, even in this life, he has
many of the spiritual capacities which are to be unfolded in the
higher life. Moreover, there are in every refined constitution a great
number of delicate sensibilities, which no college has ever
recognized.
There has been no concealment of these facts. They have always been
open to observation,--more open than the facts of Geology and
Chemistry. Ever since the earliest dawn of civilization in Egypt,
India, and Greece the facts have been conspicuous before the world,
and, in ancient times, have attracted the attention of imperial and
republican governments. And yet, the literary guild, the
_incorporated_ officials of education everywhere, have refused to
investigate such truths, and shaped their policy in accordance with
the lowest instincts of mammon,--in accordance with the policy of
kings, of priests, of soldiers, and of plutocrats; and this policy has
been so firmly maintained and transmitted, that there is | 2,591.863838 |
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Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
HISTORY OF THE WARFARE OF SCIENCE WITH THEOLOGY IN CHRISTENDOM
By Andrew Dickson White
Two Volumes Combined
To the Memory of
EZRA CORNELL
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
Thoughts that great hearts once broke for, we
Breathe cheaply in the common air.--LOWELL
Dicipulus est prioris posterior dies.--PUBLIUS SYRUS
Truth is the daughter of Time.--BACON
The Truth shall make you free.--ST. JOHN, viii, 32.
INTRODUCTION
My book is ready for the printer, and as I begin this preface my eye
lights upon the crowd of Russian peasants at work on the Neva under my
windows. With pick and shovel they are letting the rays of the April sun
into the great ice barrier which binds together the modern quays and the
old granite fortress where lie the bones of the Romanoff Czars.
This barrier is already weakened; it is widely decayed, in many places
thin, and everywhere treacherous; but it is, as a whole, so broad, so
crystallized about old boulders, so imbedded in shallows, so wedged into
crannies on either shore, that it is a great danger. The waters from
thousands of swollen streamlets above are pressing behind it; wreckage
and refuse are piling up against it; every one knows that it must yield.
But there is danger that it may resist the pressure too long and break
suddenly, wrenching even the granite quays from their foundations,
bringing desolation to a vast population, and leaving, after the
subsidence of the flood, a widespread residue of slime, a fertile
breeding-bed for the germs of disease.
But the patient mujiks are doing the right thing. The barrier, exposed
more and more to the warmth of spring by the scores of channels they are
making, will break away gradually, and the river will flow on beneficent
and beautiful.
My work in this book is like that of the Russian mujik on the Neva. I
simply try to aid in letting the light of historical truth into that
decaying mass of outworn thought which attaches the modern world to
mediaeval conceptions of Christianity, and which still lingers among
us--a most serious barrier to religion and morals, and a menace to the
whole normal evolution of society.
For behind this barrier also the flood is rapidly rising--the flood
of increased knowledge and new thought; and this barrier also, though
honeycombed and in many places thin, creates a danger--danger of a
sudden breaking away, distressing and calamitous, sweeping before it not
only out worn creeds and noxious dogmas, but cherished principles
and ideals, and even wrenching out most precious religious and moral
foundations of the whole social and political fabric.
My hope is to aid--even if it be but a little--in the gradual and
healthful dissolving away of this mass of unreason, that the stream of
"religion pure and undefiled" may flow on broad and clear, a blessing to
humanity.
And now a few words regarding the evolution of this book.
It is something over a quarter of a century since I labored with Ezra
Cornell in founding the university which bears his honored name.
Our purpose was to establish in the State of New York an institution for
advanced instruction and research, in which science, pure and applied,
should have an equal place with literature; in which the study of
literature, ancient and modern, should be emancipated as much as
possible from pedantry; and which should be free from various useless
trammels and vicious methods which at that period hampered many, if not
most, of the American universities and colleges.
We had especially determined that the institution should be under the
control of no political party and of no single religious sect, and with
Mr. Cornell's approval I embodied stringent provisions to this effect in
the charter.
It had certainly never entered into the mind of either of us that in all
this we were doing anything irreligious or unchristian. Mr. Cornell
was reared a member of the Society of Friends; he had from his fortune
liberally aided every form of Christian effort which he found going on
about him, and among the permanent trustees of the public library
which he had already founded, he had named all the clergymen of
the town--Catholic and Protestant. As for myself, I had been bred a
churchman, had recently been elected a trustee of one church college,
and a professor in another; those nearest and dearest to me were
devoutly religious; and, if I may be allowed to speak of a matter so
personal to my self, my most cherished friendships were among deeply
religious men and women, and my greatest sources of enjoyment were
ecclesiastical architecture, religious music, and the more devout forms
of poetry. So, far from wishing to injure Christianity, we both hoped to
promote it; but we did not confound religion with sectarianism, and we
saw in the sectarian character of American colleges and universities as
a whole, a reason for the poverty of the advanced instruction then given
in so many of them.
It required no great acuteness to see that a system of control which, in
selecting a Professor of Mathematics or Language or Rhetoric or Physics
or Chemistry, asked first and above all to what sect or even to what
wing or branch of a sect he belonged, could hardly do much to advance
the moral, religious, or intellectual development of mankind.
The reasons for the new foundation seemed to us, then, so cogent that
we expected the co-operation of all good citizens, and anticipated no
opposition from any source.
As I look back across the intervening years, I know not whether to be
more astonished or amused at our simplicity.
Opposition began at once. In the State Legislature it confronted us at
every turn, and it was soon in full blaze throughout the State--from the
good Protestant bishop who proclaimed that all professors should be in
holy orders, since to the Church alone was given the command, "Go, teach
all nations," to the zealous priest who published a charge that Goldwin
Smith--a profoundly Christian scholar--had come to Cornell in order
to inculcate the "infidelity of the Westminster Review"; and from the
eminent divine who went from city to city, denouncing the "atheistic
and pantheistic tendencies" of the proposed education, to the perfervid
minister who informed a denominational synod that Agassiz, the last
great opponent of Darwin, and a devout theist, was "preaching Darwinism
and atheism" in the new institution.
As the struggle deepened, as hostile resolutions were introduced into
various ecclesiastical bodies, as honored clergymen solemnly warned
their flocks first against the "atheism," then against the "infidelity,"
and finally against the "indifferentism" of the university, as devoted
pastors endeavoured to dissuade young men from matriculation, I took the
defensive, and, in answer to various attacks from pulpits and religious
newspapers, attempted to allay the fears of the public. "Sweet
reasonableness" was fully tried. There was established and endowed in
the university perhaps the most effective Christian pulpit, and one of
the most vigorous branches of the Christian Association, then in the
United States; but all this did nothing to ward off the attack.
The clause in the charter of the university forbidding it to give
predominance to the doctrines of any sect, and above all the fact that
much prominence was given to instruction in various branches of science,
seemed to prevent all compromise, and it soon became clear that to stand
on the defensive only made matters worse. Then it was that there was
borne in upon me a sense of the real difficulty--the antagonism between
the theological and scientific view of the universe and of education in
relation to it; therefore it was that, having been invited to deliver a
lecture in the great hall of the Cooper Institute at New York, I took
as my subject The Battlefields of Science, maintaining this thesis which
follows:
In all modern history, interference with science in the supposed
interest of religion, no matter how conscientious such interference
may have been, has resulted in the direst evils both to religion
and science, and invariably; and, on the other hand, all untrammeled
scientific investigation, no matter how dangerous to religion some of
its stages may have seemed for the time to be, has invariably resulted
in the highest good both of religion and science.
The lecture was next day published in the New York Tribune at the
request of Horace Greeley, its editor, who was also one of the Cornell
University trustees. As a result of this widespread publication and
of sundry attacks which it elicited, I was asked to maintain my thesis
before various university associations and literary clubs; and I shall
always remember with gratitude that among those who stood by me and
presented me on the lecture platform with words of approval and cheer
was my revered instructor, the Rev. Dr. Theodore Dwight Woolsey, at that
time President of Yale College.
My lecture grew--first into a couple of magazine articles, and then into
a little book called The Warfare of Science, for which, when republished
in England, Prof. John Tyndall wrote a preface.
Sundry translations of this little book were published, but the
most curious thing in its history is the fact that a very friendly
introduction to the Swedish translation was written by a Lutheran
bishop.
Meanwhile Prof. John W. Draper published his book on The Conflict
between Science and Religion, a work of great ability, which, as I then
thought, ended the matter, so far as my giving it further attention was
concerned.
But two things led me to keep on developing my own work in this field:
First, I had become deeply interested in it, and could not refrain from
directing my observation and study to it; secondly, much as I admired
Draper's treatment of the questions involved, his point of view and mode
of looking at history were different from mine.
He regarded the struggle as one between Science and Religion. I believed
then, and am convinced now, that it was a struggle between Science and
Dogmatic Theology.
More and more I saw that it was the conflict between two epochs in the
evolution of human thought--the theological and the scientific.
So I kept on, and from time to time published New Chapters in the
Warfare of Science as magazine articles in The Popular Science Monthly.
This was done under many difficulties. For twenty years, as President of
Cornell University and Professor of History in that institution, I was
immersed in the work of its early development. Besides this, I could not
hold myself entirely aloof from public affairs, and was three times sent
by the Government of the United States to do public duty abroad: first
as a commissioner to Santo Domingo, in 1870; afterward as minister to
Germany, in 1879; finally, as minister to Russia, in 1892; and was
also called upon by the State of New York to do considerable labor in
connection with international exhibitions at Philadelphia and at Paris.
I was also obliged from time to time to throw off by travel the effects
of overwork.
The variety of residence and occupation arising from these causes may
perhaps explain some peculiarities in this book which might otherwise
puzzle my reader.
While these journeyings have enabled me to collect materials over a
very wide range--in the New World, from Quebec to Santo Domingo and from
Boston to Mexico, San Francisco, and Seattle, and in the Old World from
Trondhjem to Cairo and from St. Petersburg to Palermo--they have often
obliged me to write under circumstances not very favorable: sometimes
on an Atlantic steamer, sometimes on a Nile boat, and not only in my
own library at Cornell, but in those of Berlin, Helsingfors, Munich,
Florence, and the British Museum. This fact will explain to the
benevolent reader not only the citation of different editions of the
same authority in different chapters, but some iterations which in the
steady quiet of my own library would not have been made.
It has been my constant endeavour to write for the general reader,
avoiding scholastic and technical terms as much as possible and stating
the truth simply as it presents itself to me.
That errors of omission and commission will be found here and there is
probable--nay, certain; but the substance of the book will, I believe,
be found fully true. I am encouraged in this belief by the fact that, of
the three bitter attacks which this work in its earlier form has already
encountered, one was purely declamatory, objurgatory, and hortatory, and
the others based upon ignorance of facts easily pointed out.
And here I must express my thanks to those who have aided me. First and
| 2,591.864523 |
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Produced by Renald Levesque
WOMAN
VOLUME VIII
WOMEN OF THE TEUTONIC NATIONS
HERMANN SCHOENFELD, PH.D., LL. D.
PROFESSOR OF GERMANIC LITERATURE IN THE GEORGE
WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY
[Illustration 1:
EMMA CARRYING HER LOVER
After the painting by G. L. P. Saint-Ange
Charlemagne had so great an affection for his children, legitimate and
natural, that he prevented his daughters, of whom Emma was one, from
marrying, in order not to lose their company. They were reputed to be
very beautiful. Being debarred from marriage, they sought unlawful love
adventures, and gave birth to illegitimate children. The romantic story
of Emma's nightly meetings with Eginhard, and of her carrying her
learned lover through the freshly fallen snow to conceal his footprints,
is an unauthenticated legend.]
_Woman_
In all ages and in all countries
VOLUME VIII
WOMEN OF THE TEUTONIC
NATIONS
BY
HERMANN SCHOENFELD, PH.D., LL.D.
Professor of Germanic Literature in the
George Washington University
ILLUSTRATED
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE BARRIE & SONS, PUBLISHERS
THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY
Dedicated to
MADAME CHRISTIAN HEURICH NEE KEYSER
PREFACE
Adequately to write the history of the woman of any race would mean the
writing of the history of the nation itself. There is no phase of the
cultural life of any people that is not founded upon the physical and
moral nature of its women. On the other hand, mental and moral heredity,
both through paternity and maternity, determines the character and
innermost being of woman. If we knew all the preponderating influences
of heredity for ages, we could with almost mathematical accuracy compute
the traits of human biology in every case. The forces of environment,
tremendous though they are, modify, but do not alter in any way the
original nature of man, which is established and standardized "by
eternal and immutable laws." Anthropology is continuously progressing
toward a firm scientific foundation, and is beginning to organize even
the vast domain of psychology into a well-defined system. The
interdependence between physical, mental, and moral traits is well
recognized, but its exact determination is impossible, owing to the
infinite complexity of the endless ancestral potencies.
So much is established, however: Teutonic woman, as she appears in
history, is the product of two groups of influences, the one group,
inherited nature; the other, environment; she is the exact sum of these
antecedent causes. And only so far as these causes differ does the
Teutonic woman differ from her sister of any other race of other times
and climes.
In this book of a purely historical, literary, and cultural character
must be excluded all that refers to the physiological and ethnographical
characteristics of the Teutonic woman and of her Slavic sister. Nor are
we concerned with the theory of their evolution, _i. e._, the search of
the physical principles according to which the consequences of their
existence are true to the laws of their antecedents. Many eminent
scientists have tried their great faculties on this subject of universal
interest and importance. Standard works of a scientific character, like
Floss's _Das Weib in der Natur und Volherhunde_, abound in scientific
and medical bibliography.
Our limited task is merely to deal succinctly with the most general
evolution of the social position and the cultural status of the Teutonic
and, even more briefly, of the Slavic woman at the various epochs of
their respective histories, and how far the history of civilization
among those races was influenced by them, how far the symptoms of
national morality and the degree of culture were shaped by feminine
achievements, proclivities, virtues, and vices. Two thousand years of
the richest, almost unfathomable, history had to be traversed in the
attempt to glean the essential red thread from the enormous masses of
facts which in their entirety would be inaccessible even to the most
universal historical scholar. Most difficult of all the periods is
perhaps the question of the present and actual women's movement, which
is now in its liveliest flux and in a most variable condition both in
the German and in the Slavic world. It is impossible as yet to
systematize the entirety of the problems and the requirements which have
resulted in recent times from the transformation of society with regard
to the position of woman among the two modern peoples. Many of the
questions belong to the domain of private and public law, of political
economy, of sociology, of education in all its phases. The leaders of
state and church and society, the higher schools and universities, are
signally undecided concerning the final solution, though the mist of the
conflict of opinion begins slowly to clear away. Even under the changed
conditions of modern society, one party still clings to the old
tradition of the family ideal of wifehood and motherhood, which is no
longer possible in all cases, as of yore, and considers extra-domestic
activity as abnormal, unhealthy, transient; the other extremists desire
to wipe out the natural differences and the limitations prescribed by
sex to human activity and capacity. A middle ground and a rational
solution will certainly be found during this century.
The author has strenuously endeavored to avail himself for every period
of all the source material and the secondary works accessible to him in
the Library of Congress and in the other libraries of the national
capital. The chapters on the Reformation Period, the Era of Desolation,
and on Woman Held in Tightening Bonds, a long period of dreariness so
distressing and humiliating to German pride, were prepared with skill
and scholarship by Miss Sarah H. Porter, A. M., at the time a graduate
student in the author's department. Credit for the chapter on Russian
Woman belongs to Mr. Alexis V. Babine, of the Library of Congress.
The author also expresses sincere gratitude to the publishers, and
especially to Mr. J. A. Burgan, the publishers' editor, for his careful
revision of the English text and for the generous, vigilant aid extended
to the author throughout the entire work.
HERMANN SCHOENFELD.
The George Washington University.
CHAPTER I
THE WOMEN OF THE PAGAN TEUTONS
Women were valued by the primeval Teutonic race, as by all other races
of the human family, as mere chattels means whereby the profit or the
pleasure of man might be maintained or increased. The custom of burning
the wife or wives with the dead master and husband was, from the
prehistoric times until far into the light of historic days, prevalent
in the tribes of the Teutonic family. Sacrifices of widows were
especially prescribed in eastern Germanic law, and the low status of
woman among the Teutons of the early times is sufficiently indicated by
the established and quasi-legalized right and prerogative of the
husband, as the owner of the female chattel, to bequeath, give, sell, or
hire her person or services to strangers, guests, or friends; or even to
kill her if she committed adultery, or if want and distress made such a
course expedient.
We must admit the harshness and cruelty to which woman, according to the
most ancient conscience of the Teutonic race, could lawfully be
subjected. Evidences that her status was outside of the pale of right
and law is manifest in all historical proofs. Traces of the old status
still abound. One lies in the present refinement of woman's actual
position a refinement which cannot obscure its real origin from the
student of culture and civilization.
It is certain that the prehistoric Germanic community began with the
communal use of women for pleasure or profit. This common use could be
broken and suppressed only by marriage by capture. If the man wished to
have exclusive possession of a wife, he had to procure her from outside
his own community. Besides this exogamic marriage, an endogamic marriage
was later recognized as conferring title, on the condition that the man
reconciled the woman's blood relatives by the payment of a definite
compensation. This system of marriage by capture survived the Migration
period, and was found in Sweden even in the early Middle Ages.
Marriage by treaty also existed even in prehistoric times. This compact
(_Gifta_) is always between the blood relatives of the bride and the
bridegroom. It is a presentation, a giving away (_Verschenkung_) of the
bride. The parent or guardian gives her away, an act which requires no
consent of the bride, but only a counter gift, or rather purchase money,
from the bridegroom. Thus a kind of purchase, the symbolic pursuit of
the bride (_Brautlauf_) as an imitation of the ancient marriage by
capture, and the technical consummation of marriage (_Beilager_), for
which the man, however, owes her a gift (_Morgengabe_), are the phases
of marriage.
Polygamy is the rule at first. The northern Teutons, especially the
Scandinavians, practised an unmitigated polygamy down to a very late
period, and only yielded after a most persistent struggle with the
ethics of Christianity. As late as the eighth century the bitter
accusations of the churchmen against Pepin of Heristal for having two
wives, and their arraignment of Charlemagne's sins of concupiscence,
show how ineradicable this ancient Teutonic usage was. However, as early
as B.C. 57, Caesar mentions King Ariovistus's marriage to two wives as an
exception to Teutonic custom, due, perhaps, to political motives.
Tacitus praises the Germans as those who, with few exceptions, live in
monogamy, and though Tacitus is not an unimpeachable authority, owing to
the fact that he wished to idealize the vigorous race as a model to the
decadent Roman world of his time, his statements seem to prove that at
the dawn of Christianity southern and western German tribes at least had
the highest conception of family purity. Later on, under the teachings
of Christianity, polygamy was first modified, then abolished; and
marriage by capture was either suppressed or treated as a crime.
Upon the status of women among the Teutonic tribes the study of
philology sheds some light. From it we learn that the Gothic _quind_,
woman (in general), and _queue_, married woman, signifies the
child-bearing one, from the verb _quinan, gignere_; or _wip_ (Saxon
_wif_, Old Norse _vif_), indicating the root of _wib_, motion, the
mobile being; though _frouwa, frau_ (Old Norse, _freyja_), means
originally "joyous, mild, gracious | 2,591.95968 |
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E-text prepared by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the numerous original illustrations.
See 46186-h.htm or 46186-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
[Illustration: _Germany's Youngest Reserve._]
GERMANY IN WAR TIME
What an American Girl Saw and Heard
by
MARY ETHEL McAULEY
Chicago
The Open Court Publishing Company
1917
Copyright by
The Open Court Publishing Company
1917
DEDICATION
TO MY MOTHER
WHO SHARED THE TRIALS OF
TWO YEARS IN GERMANY
WITH ME
PREFATORY NOTE.
This book is the product of two years spent in Germany during the great
war. It portrays what has been seen and heard by an American girl whose
primary interest was in art. She has tried to write without fear or
favor the simple truth as it appeared to her.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
Getting into Germany in War Time 1
Soldiers of Berlin 7
The Women Workers of Berlin 20
German "Sparsamkeit" 35
The Food in Germany 49
What We Ate in Germany 62
How Berlin is Amusing Itself in War Time 69
The Clothes Ticket 81
My Typewriter 88
Moving in Berlin 93
What the Germans Read in War Time 98
Precautions Against Spies, etc. 108
Prisoners in Germany 115
Verboten 128
The Mail in Germany 132
The "Auslaenderei" 140
War Charities 146
What Germany is Doing for Her Human War Wrecks 159
Will the Women of Germany Serve a Year in the Army? 173
The Kaiserin and the Hohenzollern Princesses 184
A Stroll Through Berlin 196
A Trip Down the Harbor of Hamburg 207
The Krupp Works at Essen 218
Munich in War Time 228
From Berlin to Vienna in War Time 242
Vienna in War Time 256
Soldiers of Vienna 267
Women Warriors 279
How Americans Were Treated in Germany 286
I Leave Germany July 1, 1917 292
GETTING INTO GERMANY IN WAR TIME.
Now that America and Germany are at war, it is not possible for an
American to enter the German Empire. Americans can leave the country if
they wish, but once they are out they cannot go back in again.
Since the first year of the war there has been only one way of getting
into Germany through Denmark, and that is by way of Warnemuende. After
leaving Copenhagen you ride a long way on the train, and then the train
boards a ferry which takes you to a little island. At the end of this
island is the Danish frontier, where you are thoroughly searched to see
how much food you are trying to take into Germany. After this frontier
is passed you ride for a few hours on a boat which carries you right
up to Warnemuende, the German landing-place and the military customs of
Germany.
When I went to Germany in October, 1915, the regulations were not
very strict, travelers had only to show that they had a good reason
for going into the country, and they were searched--that was all. But
during the two years I was in Germany all this was changed. Now it
is very hard for even a neutral to enter Germany. Neutrals must first
have a vise from the German consul in Denmark. It takes four days to
get this vise, and you must have your picture taken in six different
poses. Also, you must have a legitimate reason for wanting to go into
the country, and if there is anything the least suspicious about you,
you are not granted a permit to enter.
Travelers entering Germany bring as much food with them as they can.
You are allowed to bring a moderate amount of tea, coffee, soap, canned
milk, etc.; nine pounds of butter and as much smoked meat as you can
carry. No fresh meat is allowed, and you must carry the meat yourself
as no porters are allowed around the docks. This is a spy precaution.
The butter and meat are bought in Copenhagen from a licensed firm where
it is sealed and the firm sends the package to the boat for you. You
must be careful not to break the seal before the German customs are
passed. The Danes are very strict about letting rubber goods out of
their country, and one little German girl I knew was so afraid that the
Danes would take her rubbers away from her, that she wore them on a hot
summer day.
The boat which takes passengers to and from Warnemuende is one day a
German boat and the next day a Danish boat. If you are lucky and make
the trip on the day the Danish boat is running, you get a wonderful
meal, and if you are unlucky and strike the German day, you get a poor
one. After getting off the boat, you get your first glimpse of the
German _Militaer_, the soldiers at the customs.
The travelers are divided into two classes--those going to Hamburg
and those going to Berlin. Then a soldier gets up on a box and asks
if there is any one in the crowd who has no passport. The day I came
through only one man stepped forward. I felt sorry for him, but he did
not look the least bit disheartened. An officer led him away. Strange
to say, four days later we were seated in a hotel in Berlin eating our
breakfast when this same little man came up and asked if we were not
from Pittsburg, and if we had not come over on the "Kristianiafjord."
When I said that we had, he remarked: "Well, I am from Pittsburg, too,
and I came over on the 'Kristianiafjord.'"
"But I did not see you among the passengers," I said.
"No," he answered, "I should say not. I was a bag of potatoes in the
hold. I am a reserve officer in the German army, and I was determined
to get back to fight. I came without a passport claiming to be a
Russian. It took me three days to get fixed up at Warnemuende because
I had no papers of any kind. The day I had everything straightened
out and was leaving for Berlin, a funny thing happened. I was walking
along the street with an officer when a crowd of Russian prisoners came
along. To my surprise one of the fellows yelled at me, 'Hello, Mister,
you'se here too?' And I knew that fellow. He had worked for my father
in America. As he was returning to Russia, he was taken prisoner by
the Germans. I had an awful time explaining my acquaintance to the
authorities at Warnemuende, but here I am waiting to join my regiment."
At Warnemuende, after the people are divided into groups, they are taken
into a large room where the baggage is examined. At the time I came
through we were allowed to bring manuscript with us, but it had to
be read. Now not one scrap of either written or printed matter can be
carried, not even so much as an address. All the writing now going into
Germany must be sent by post and censored as a letter.
When I came through I had a stack of notes with me and I never dreamed
that it would be examined. I was having a difficult time with the
soldier who was searching me when an officer who spoke perfect English
came up and asked if he could help me. He had to read all my letters
and papers, but he was such a slow reader that the train was held up
half an hour waiting for him to finish reading them. Nothing was taken
away from me, but they took a copy of the _London Illustrated News_
away from a German who protested loudly, waving his hands. It was a
funny thing to do, for in Berlin this paper was for sale on all the
news stands and in the cafes. But sometimes the Germans make it a point
of treating foreigners better than they do their own people. I noticed
this many times afterward.
After the baggage was examined, the people had to be searched. The men
didn't have to undress and the women were taken into a small room where
women searchers made us take off all our clothes. They even make you
take off your shoes, they feel in your hair and they look into your
locket. As I had held up the train so long, I did not have much time
to dress and hurried into the train with my hat in my hand and my shoes
untied. As the train pulls out the searcher soldiers line up and salute
it. Searching isn't a very nice job, and when my mother went back to
America the next spring, no less than four of the searchers told her
that they hated it and that when the war was over the whole Warnemuende
force was coming to America.
The train was due in Berlin at 9 o'clock at night, but we were late
when we pulled in at the Stettin Station. We had a hard time getting
a cab and finally we had to share an automobile with a strange man
who was going to the same hotel. At 10 o'clock we were in our hotel
on Unter den Linden. From the window I could look out on the linden
trees. The lights were twinkling merrily in the cafes across the way.
Policemen were holding up the traffic on the narrow Friedrichstrasse.
People were everywhere. It did not seem like a country that was taking
part in the great war.
[Illustration: _Marine Reserves on Their Way to the Station.
Wilhelmshaven._]
SOLDIERS OF BERLIN.
Berlin is a city of soldiers. Every day is soldiers' day. And on
Sundays there are even more soldiers than on week days. Then Unter den
Linden, Friedrichstrasse and the Tiergarten are one seething mass of
gray coats--gray the color of everything and yet the color of nothing.
This field gray blends with the streets, the houses, and the walls, and
the dark clothes of the civilians stand out conspicuously against this
gray mass.
[Illustration: _Soldiers Marching Through Brandenburg Gate._]
When I first came to Berlin, I thought it was just by chance
that so many soldiers were there, but the army seems ever to
increase--officers, privates, sailors and men right from the trenches.
During the two years that I was in Berlin this army remained the same.
It didn't decrease in numbers and it didn't change in looks. The day
I left Berlin it looked exactly the same as the day I entered the
country. They were anything but a happy-looking bunch of men, and all
they talked about was, "when the war is over"; and like every German I
met in those two years, they longed and prayed for peace. One day on
the street car I heard a common German soldier say, "What difference
does it make to us common people whether Germany wins the war or not,
in these three years we folks have lost everything." But every German
soldier is willing to do his duty.
The most wonderful thing about this transit army is that everything
the soldiers have, from their caps to their shoes, is new, except the
soldiers just coming from the front. And yet as a rule they are not
new recruits starting out, but men who have been home on a furlough or
men who have been wounded and are now ready to start back to the front.
To believe that Germany has exhausted her supply of men is a mistake.
Personally, I know lots of young Germans that have never been drafted.
The most of these men are such who, for some reason or other, have
had no army service, and the German military believe that one trained
man is worth six untrained men, and it is the trained soldier that is
always kept in the field. If he has been wounded he is quickly hurried
back to the front. By their scientific methods a bullet wound can be
entirely cured in six weeks.
[Illustration: _The Most Popular Post-Card in Germany._]
German men have never been noted dressers, and even at their best the
middle and lower classes look very gawky and countrified in civilian
clothes. You cannot imagine how the uniform improves their appearance.
I have seen new recruits marching to the place where they get their
uniforms. Most of them have on old ill-fitting clothes, slouch hats
and polished boots. They shuffle along, carrying boxes and bundles.
They have queer embarrassed looks on their faces. Three hours later,
this same lot of men come forth. They are not the same men. They have a
different fire in their eyes, they hold themselves straighter, they no
longer slouch but keep step. The uniform seems to have made new men of
them. It should be called "transform," not uniform.
At the Friedrichstrasse Station one can see every kind of soldiers at
once. There the men arrive from the front sometimes covered with dust
and mud, and once I saw a man with his trousers all spattered with
blood. The common soldiers carry everything with them. On their backs
they have their knapsacks, and around their waists they have cans,
spoons, bundles and all sorts of things. These men carry sixty-five
pounds with them all the time. In one of their bags they carry what
is known as their _eiserne Portion_ or their "iron portion." This
consists of two cans of meat, two cans of vegetables, three packages of
hard tack, ground coffee for several meals and a flask of whisky. The
soldiers are not allowed to eat this portion unless they are in a place
where no food can be brought to them, and then they are only allowed
to eat it at the command of a superior officer. In the field the iron
portions are inspected each day, and any soldier that has touched his
portion is severely punished.
[Illustration: _Schoolboys' Reserve. Berlin._]
A great many of the soldiers have the Iron Cross of the second class,
but very rarely a cross of the first class is seen. The second class
cross is not worn but is designated by a black and white ribbon drawn
through the buttonhole. The first class cross is worn pinned rather
low on the coat. The order _Pour le merite_ is the highest honor in
the German army, and not a hundred of them have been given out since
the beginning of the war. It is a blue, white and gold cross and is
hung from the wearer's collar. A large sum of money goes with this
decoration. The second class Iron Cross makes the owner exempt from
certain taxes; and five marks each month goes with the first class Iron
Cross.
The drilling-grounds for soldiers are very interesting. Most of these
places are inclosed, but the one at the Grunewald was open, and I often
used to go there to see the soldiers. It made a wonderful picture--the
straight rows of drilling men with the tall forest for a background.
The men were usually divided off into groups, a corporal taking
twelve men to train. It was fun watching the new recruits learning
the goose-step. The poor fellows tried so hard they looked as though
they would explode, but if they did not do it exactly right, they were
sent back to do it over again. The trainers were not the least bit
sympathetic.
One day an American boy and I went to Potsdam. We were standing in
front of the old Town Palace watching some fresh country boys drill. I
laughed outright at one poor chap who was trying to goose-step. He was
so serious and so funny I couldn't help it. The corporal came over to
us and ordered us to leave the grounds, which we meekly did.
[Illustration: _Soldiers Buying Ices in Berlin. A War Innovation._]
Tempelhof, the largest drilling-ground in Berlin, is the headquarters
for the army supplies, and here one can see hundreds of wagons and
autos painted field-gray. The flying-place at Johannisthal is now
enclosed by a fence and is so well guarded you can't get within a
square of it.
[Illustration: _Looking at Pictures in an Old Book-Shop._]
It is very interesting to watch the troop trains coming in from the
front. When I first went to Berlin it was all a novelty to me and I
spent a great deal of my time at the stations. One night just before
Christmas, 1915, the first Christmas I was in Berlin, I spent three
hours at the Anhalt Station watching the troops come home. They were
very lucky, these fellows, six months in the trenches and then to be
home at Christmas time! They were the happiest people I had seen in the
war unless it were the people who came to meet them.
[Illustration: _Cheering the Soldier on His Way to the Front._]
Most of the soldiers were sights. Their clothes were dirty, torn and
wrinkled. Many of them coming from Russia were literally covered with
a white dust. At first I thought that they were bakers, but when I
saw several hundred of them I changed my mind. Beside his regular
paraphernalia, each soldier had a dozen or more packages. The packages
were strapped on everywhere, and one little fellow had a bundle stuck
on the point of his helmet.
A little child, perhaps three years old, was being held over the
gate near me and all the while he kept yelling, "Papa! _Urlaub_!" An
_Urlaub_ is a furlough, and when the father did come at last the child
screamed with delight. Another soldier was met by his wife and a tiny
little baby. He took the little one in his arms, and the tears rolled
down his cheeks, "My baby that I have never seen," he said.
This night the soldiers came in crowds. Everybody was smiling, and in
between the trains we went into the station restaurant. At every table
sat a soldier and his friends. One young officer had been met by his
parents, and he was so taken up with his mother that he could not sit
down but he hung over her chair. Was she happy? Well, I should say so!
At another table sat a soldier and his sweetheart. They did not care
who saw them, and can you blame them? He patted her cheeks and he
kissed her hand.... An old man who sat at the table pretended that he
was reading, and he tried to look the other way, but at last he could
hold himself no longer, and grasping the soldier's hand he cried,
"_Mahlzeit!_"
[Illustration: _A Field Package for a German Soldier._]
We went out and saw more trains and more soldiers. A little old lady
stood beside us. She was a pale little lady dressed in black. She was
so eager. She strained her eyes and watched every face in the crowd.
It was bitter cold and she was thinly clad. At 12 o'clock the station
master announced that there would be no more trains until morning. The
little old lady turned away. I watched her bent figure as she went down
the stairs. She was pulling out her handkerchief.
THE WOMEN WORKERS OF BERLIN.
The German women have filled in the ranks made vacant by the men.
Nothing is too difficult for them to undertake and nothing is too hard
for them to do.
The poor German working women! No one in all the war has suffered like
these poor creatures. Their men have been taken from them, they are
paid only a few pfennigs a day by the government, and now they must
work, work like a man, work like a horse.
The German working woman is tremendously capable in manual labor.
She never seems to get tired and she can stand all day in the wet and
snow. But as a wife and mother she is becoming spoiled. She is bound
to become rough, and she takes the jostlings of the men she meets with
good grace, answering their flip remarks, joking with them and giving
them a physical blow when she thinks it necessary. Most of the women
seem to like this familiarity which working on the streets brings them,
and they find it much more exciting than doing housework at home.
All great reforms begin in a violent way, and maybe this is the
beginning of emancipation for the German woman, for she is beginning to
realize what she can do, and for the first time in the history of the
empire she is living an independent existence, dependent upon no man.
[Illustration: _A Window Cleaner._]
When the war first broke out, women were taken on as ticket punchers on
the overground and underground railways, and _Frau Kneiperin_, or "Mrs.
Ticket-puncher," sits all day long out in the open, punching tickets.
In summer this job is very pleasant, but in winter she gets very, very
cold even if she does wear a thick heavy overcoat and thick wooden
shoes over her other shoes. She can't wear gloves for she must take
each ticket in her hand in order to punch the stiff boards. She earns
three marks a day.
[Illustration: _A German Elevator "Boy."_]
After the women ticket punchers came the women door shutters, and _Frau
Tuerschliesserin_, or "Mrs. Door Shutter," is all day long on the
platforms of the stations, and she must see that every train door is
shut before the train starts. This is a lively job, and she must jump
from one door to the other. Most of these women wear bloomers, but some
of them wear men's trousers tucked in their high boots. They all wear
caps and badges.
_Frau Brieftraegerin_ is the woman letter carrier. This is rather a nice
job, carrying only a little bag of letters. One fault with the work is
that she must deliver the letters to the top floor of every building
whether there is an elevator or not, but as no German building is more
than five stories high, it is not so bad. Most of the special delivery
"boys" are women. They wear a boy's suit and ride a bicycle.
More than half the street car conductors in Germany now are women. Most
of these women still cling to skirts, but they all wear a man's cap
and coat. They are quite expert at climbing on the back of the car and
fixing the trolley, and if necessary they can climb on the top of the
car. If the car gets stuck, they get out and push it, but the crowd is
generally ready to help them. They have their bag for tips, and they
expect their five pfennigs extra the same as a man.
When _Frau Fuehrerin_, or "Mrs. Motorman," came, some of the German
people were scandalized and exclaimed: "Well, I will never ride on a
street car run by a woman. It wouldn't be safe." Now, no one thinks
anything about it, and the women have no more accidents than the men.
Some of these women are little bits of things, and one wonders that
they have the strength to stand it all day long. Most of them look as
if it were nerve-racking. They earn three and a half marks a day.
[Illustration: _Costume of a Street-Car Conductor._]
Women cab drivers are not very numerous, but every now and then one of
them whizzes around a corner looking for a fare. One Berlin cabby is
quite an old lady. The men cabbies are jealous of the women because
the women get the best tips. There are few women taxi drivers. One
young woman driver has a whole leather suit with tight breeches and
an aviator hat. Women also drive mail wagons, and women go around from
one store to another cleaning windows. _Frau Fensterputzerin_ or "Mrs.
Window Cleaner" carries a heavy ladder with her. This is no light task.
They have always had women street cleaners and switch tenders in
Munich, but now they have them in Berlin as well. They work in groups,
sweeping the dirt and hauling it away in wheelbarrows. Just before I
left Berlin I saw a woman posting bills on the round advertising posts.
She did not seem to be an expert at managing the paste, because she
flung it around so that it was dangerous to come near her. In the last
year they have had women track walkers, and they pace the railroad ties
to see if the tracks are safe. They dress in blue and carry small iron
canes.
[Illustration: _A Famous "Cabby" in Berlin._]
The excavation for the new underground railway under Friedrichstrasse
was dug out by women, and half the gangs that work on the railroad
tracks are women. They fasten bolts and saw the iron rails. All the
stores have women elevator runners, and most of the large department
stores have women checking umbrellas, packages, dogs, and--lighted
cigars! Most stores have women floor-walkers. Most of the delivery
wagons are run by women, and they carry the heaviest packages.
All the newspapers in Berlin are sold by women, and they wheel the
papers around in baby carriages. Around the different freight stations
one can see women loading hay and straw into the cars. They wield
the pitchfork with as much ease as a man and with far more grace.
Many of the "brakemen" on the trains are women, and some of the train
conductors are women. Most of the gas-meter readers are women, and
other women help to repair telephone wires, and still others help to
instal telephones.
There are a few _Frau Schornsteinfegerin_, or "Mrs. Chimney Sweep,"
but the job of being a chimneysweep doesn't appeal to most women. These
women wear trousers and a tight-fitting cap. They mount the house tops
and they make the soot fly, and the cement rattles down the chimney.
They carry long ropes with which they pull their brushes up and down.
[Illustration: _Cleaning the Streets in Berlin._]
_Frau Klempnermeisterin_, or "Mrs. Master Tinner," repairs the roofs.
Of course she wears trousers to make climbing easier. Most of the women
who have these odd jobs are those whose husbands had the same before
the war. Many other women work in the parks cutting the grass and
watering the flowers. In the market places women put rubber heels on
your shoes while you wait.
Most of the milk wagons are run by girls, and women help to deliver
coal. They have no coal chutes in Germany, and the coal is carried from
the wagon into the house. This is really terrible work for a woman. A
few women work on ash wagons, others are "ice men," and others build
houses.
Nearly all the munition workers in Germany are women, and they are
paid very high for this work. Most of them get from $40 to $50 a month,
wages before unknown for working women. The strength of some of these
women is almost beyond belief. Dr. Gertrude Baumer, the famous German
woman writer and settlement worker, told me that shells made in one
factory weighed eighty pounds each and that every day the women working
lifted thirty-six of these shells. Women are also employed in polishing
the shells.
The women workers in munition factories are very closely watched, and
if the work does not agree with them they are taken away and are given
other employment. The sanitary conditions of these factories are very
good, and they are almost fire-proof, and they have no horrible fire
disasters. Indeed they have very few fires in Germany.
They have in Berlin what is known as the _Nationaler Frauendienst_,
or the "National Women's Service," and it is an organization to help
the poor women of Germany during the war. Dr. Gertrude Baumer is the
president of this organization, and she is also one of the strongest
advocates for the one year army service for German women.
[Illustration: _A Berlin Street-Car Conductor._]
This society finds employment for women and gives out work for women
who have little children and cannot leave home. Women who sew at
home make bags for sand defenses, and they make helmet covers of gray
cloth. These covers keep the enemy from seeing the shining metal of
the helmet. If a woman is sick and cannot work the society takes care
of her until she is better and able to work again. They also have food
tickets which they give to the poor.
[Illustration: _Reading the Gas Meter._]
[Illustration: _A Chauffeur._]
Pension schedules are being made up by different societies, and it
is not yet certain which one the government will adopt; at present
every woman whose husband is in the war is given a certain amount
for herself and children. For women who are now widows the pension
is according to the rank of the husband. For instance, the widow of
a common soldier gets 300 marks a year. If she has one child she get
568 marks and so on, increasing according to the number of children,
for four children she gets 1072 marks. The widow of a non-commissioned
officer, a corporal or a sergeant, gets a little more, and the widow of
a lieutenant gets over twice as much as a common soldier's widow. The
widow of a major-general gets 3246 marks a year. When she has children,
she gets very little more, for when a man has risen to the rank of
major-general the chances are that he is old and that his children are
grown up and able to take care of themselves.
[Illustration: _Digging the Tunnel for the New Underground Railway in
Berlin._]
These schedules are also controlled by the number of years a man
has served in the army, and they are trying to pass a new bill which
requires that pensions shall be controlled by the salary the man had
before the war. If the dead man had worked himself up into a good
position of 1000 marks a month, his family should have more than the
family of a man who could only make 300 marks a month.
The schedule as it now stands for wounded men is that a private who has
lost his leg gets 1,368 marks a year; a lieutenant gets 4851 marks a
year; and a general 10,332 marks a year.
[Illustration: _Caring for the Trees._]
They have in Germany a "votes for women" organization of 600,000
members, but it will be years and years before it ever comes to
anything, for German women are very slow in acting and thinking for
themselves.
GERMAN "SPARSAMKEIT."
When the blockade of Germany began, no one believed that she could hold
out without supplies from the outside world; that in a short time her
people would be starving and that she would be out of raw material.
During the few months before the blockade was declared, Germany had
shipped into her ports as much cotton, copper, rubber and food as
was possible. After the blockade started much stuff was obtained from
Holland and Scandinavia. From the very first days of the war Germany
set to work to utilize all the material that she had on hand, and her
watchword to her people was "waste nothing."
[Illustration: _Collecting Cherry Stones for Making Oil._]
The first collection of material in Germany was a metal collection,
and it took place in the fall of 1915, just after I came to Berlin.
This collection extended all over Germany and took place in different
parts at different times. Every family received a printed notice of
the things that must be given up to the State. It was a long list, but
the main thing on it was the brass ovendoors. As nearly every room in
Germany has a stove with two of these doors about a foot wide and three
quarters of a foot high you can get some idea of how much material this
collection brought. Since this collection the doors have been replaced
by iron ones that are not nearly so pretty. All kinds of brass pots and
kettles were collected, but with special permits people were allowed to
keep their heirlooms. Everything was paid for by the weight, artistic
value counted for naught. Vacant stores were rented for storing this
collection and the people had to bring the things there.
In some cities the people willingly gave up the copper roofs of
their public buildings. Copper roofs have always been very popular
in Germany. In Berlin the roof of the palace, the cathedral and the
Reichstag building are of copper, and in Dresden the roofs of all the
royal buildings are of copper.
A friend of mine who is a Catholic went to church one Sunday just
before I left Berlin. Before the service opened and just as the priest
mounted the pulpit the church bells began to ring. When they had
stopped the priest announced that this was the last time the bells
would ever ring, for they were to be given to the metal collection. The
people began to cry as the priest went on, and before he had finished,
many were sobbing out loud. Even the men wept. My friend said that it
was the most impressive thing that she had ever witnessed.
In that first copper collection they got enough metal to last several | 2,591.960593 |
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Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE LUCY BOOKS.
BY THE
Author of the Rollo Books.
_New York_,
CLARK AUSTIN & CO.
205 BROADWAY.
COUSIN LUCY’S CONVERSATIONS.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF THE ROLLO BOOKS.
A NEW EDITION,
REVISED BY THE AUTHOR.
NEW YORK:
CLARK, AUSTIN & SMITH,
3 PARK ROW AND 3 ANN-STREET,
1854.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1841,
BY T. H. CARTER,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
NOTICE.
The simple delineations of the ordinary incidents and feelings which
characterize childhood, that are contained in the Rollo Books, having
been found to interest, and, as the author hopes, in some degree to
benefit the young readers for whom they were designed,--the plan is
herein extended to children of the other sex. The two first volumes
of the series are LUCY’S CONVERSATIONS and LUCY’S
STORIES. Lucy was Rollo’s cousin; and the author hopes that the
history of her life and adventures may be entertaining and useful to
the sisters of the boys who have honored the Rollo Books with their
approval.
CONTENTS.
Page.
CONVERSATION I.
THE TREASURY, 9
CONVERSATION II.
DEFINITIONS, 21
CONVERSATION III.
THE GLEN, 34
CONVERSATION IV.
A PRISONER, 43
CONVERSATION V.
TARGET PAINTING, 51
CONVERSATION VI.
MIDNIGHT, 60
CONVERSATION VII.
JOANNA, 75
CONVERSATION VIII.
BUILDING, 88
CONVERSATION IX.
EQUIVOCATION, 103
CONVERSATION X.
JOHNNY, 118
CONVERSATION XI.
GETTING LOST, 132
CONVERSATION XII.
LUCY’S SCHOLAR, 146
CONVERSATION XIII.
SKETCHING, 159
CONVERSATION XIV.
DANGER, 170
LUCY’S CONVERSATIONS.
CONVERSATION I.
THE TREASURY.
One day in summer, when Lucy was a very little girl, she was sitting in
her rocking-chair, playing keep school. She had placed several crickets
and small chairs in a row for the children’s seats, and had been
talking, in dialogue, for some time, pretending to hold conversations
with her pupils. She heard one read and spell, and gave another
directions about her writing; and she had quite a long talk with a
third about the reason why she did not come to school earlier. At last
Lucy, seeing the kitten come into the room, and thinking that she
should like to go and play with her, told the children that she thought
it was time for school to be done.
Royal, Lucy’s brother, had been sitting upon the steps at the front
door, while Lucy was playing school; and just as she was thinking that
it was time to dismiss the children, he happened to get up and come
into the room. Royal was about eleven years old. When he found that
Lucy was playing school, he stopped at the door a moment to listen.
“Now, children,” said Lucy, “it is time for the school to be dismissed;
for I want to play with the kitten.”
Here Royal laughed aloud.
Lucy looked around, a little disturbed at Royal’s interruption.
Besides, she did not like to be laughed at. She, however, said nothing
in reply, but still continued to give her attention to her school.
Royal walked in, and stood somewhat nearer.
“We will sing a hymn,” said Lucy, gravely.
Here Royal laughed again.
“Royal, you must not laugh,” said Lucy. “They always sing a hymn at the
end of a school.” Then, making believe that she was speaking to her
scholars, she said, “You may all take out your hymn-books, children.”
Lucy had a little hymn-book in her hand, and she began turning over the
leaves, pretending to find a place.
“You may sing,” she said, at last, “the thirty-third hymn, long part,
second metre.”
At this sad mismating of the words in Lucy’s announcement of the hymn,
Royal found that he | 2,591.960632 |
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Transcribed from the 1887 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
THE HUNCHBACK.
THE LOVE-CHASE.
BY
JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
_LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.
1887.
INTRODUCTION
James Sheridan Knowles was born at Cork in 1784, and died at Torquay in
December, 1862, at the age of 78. His father was a teacher of elocution,
who compiled a dictionary, and who was related to the Sheridans. He
moved to London when his son was eight years old, and there became
acquainted with William Hazlitt and Charles Lamb. The son, after his
school education, obtained a commission in the army, but gave up
everything for the stage, and made his first appearance at the Crow
Street Theatre, in Dublin. He did not become a great actor, and when he
took to writing plays he did not prove himself a great poet, but his
skill in contriving situations through which a good actor can make his
powers tell upon the public, won the heart of the great actor of his day,
and as Macready's own poet he rose to fame.
Before Macready had discovered him, Sheridan Knowles lived partly by
teaching elocution at Belfast and Glasgow, partly by practice of
elocution as an actor. In 1815 he produced at the Belfast Theatre his
first play, _Caius Gracchus_. His next play, _Virginius_ was produced at
Glasgow with great success. Macready, who had, at the age of seventeen,
begun his career as an actor at his father's theatre in Birmingham, had,
on Monday, October 5th, 1819, at the age of twenty-six, taken the
Londoners by storm in the character of Richard III Covent Garden reopened
its closed treasury. It was promptly followed by a success in
_Coriolanus_, and Macready's place was made. He was at once offered
fifty pounds a night for appearing on one evening a week at Brighton. It
was just after that turn in Macready's fortunes that a friend at Glasgow
recommended to him the part of Virginius in Sheridan Knowles's play
lately produced there. He agreed unwillingly to look at it, and says
that in April, 1820, the parcel containing the MS. came as he was going
out. He hesitated, then sat down to read it that he might get a
wearisome job over. As he read, he says, "The freshness and simplicity
of the dialogue fixed my attention; I read on and on, and was soon
absorbed in the interest of the story and the passion of its scenes, till
at its close I found myself in such a state of excitement that for a time
I was undecided what step to take. Impulse was in the ascendant, and
snatching up my pen I hurriedly wrote, as my agitated feelings prompted,
a letter to the author, to me then a perfect stranger." Bryan Procter
(Barry Cornwall) read the play next day with Macready, and confirmed him
in his admiration of it.
Macready at once got it accepted at the theatre, where nothing was spent
on scenery, but there was a good cast, and the enthusiasm of Macready as
stage manager for the occasion half affronted some of his seniors. On
the 17th of May, 1820, about a month after it came into Macready's hands,
_Virginius_ was produced at Covent Garden, where, says the actor in his
"Reminiscences," "the curtain fell amidst the most deafening applause of
a highly-excited auditory." Sheridan Knowles's fame, therefore, was
made, like that of his friend Macready, and the friendship between author
and actor continued. Sheridan Knowles had a kindly simplicity of
character, and the two qualities for which an actor most prizes a
dramatist, skill in providing opportunities for acting that will tell,
and readiness to make any changes that the actor asks for. The
postscript to his first letter to Macready was, "Make any alterations you
like in any part of the play, and I shall be obliged to you." When he
brought to the great actor his play of _William Tell_--_Caius Gracchus_
had been produced in November, 1823--there were passages of writing in it
that stopped the course of action, and, says Macready, "Knowles had less
of the tenacity of authorship than most writers," so that there was no
difficulty about alterations, Macready having in a very high degree the
tenacity of actorship. And so, in 1825, _Tell_ became another of
Macready's best successes.
Sheridan Knowles continued to write for the stage until 1845, when he was
drawn wholly from the theatre by a religious enthusiasm that caused him,
in 1851, to essay the breaking of a lance with Cardinal Wiseman on the
subject of Transubstantiation. Sir Robert Peel gave ease to his latter
days by a pension of 200 pounds a year from the Civil List, which he had
honourably earned by a career as dramatist, in which he sought to appeal
only to the higher sense of literature, and to draw enjoyment from the
purest source. Of his plays time two comedies {1} here given are all
that have kept their place upon the stage. As one of the most earnest
dramatic writers of the present century he is entitled to a little corner
in our memory. Worse work of the past has lasted longer than the plays
of Sheridan Knowles are likely to last through the future.
H. M.
THE HUNCHBACK.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
(AS ORIGINALLY PERFORMED AT COVENT GARDEN IN 1832.)
_Julia_ Miss F. KEMBLE.
_Helen_ Miss TAYLOR.
_Master Walter_ Mr. J. S. KNOWLES.
_Sir Thomas Clifford_ Mr. C. KEMBLE.
_Lord Tinsel_ Mr. WRENCH.
_Master Wilford_ Mr. J. MASON.
_Modus_ Mr. ABBOTT.
_Master Heartwell_ Mr. EVANS.
_Gaylove_ Mr. HENRY.
_Fathom_ Mr. MEADOWS.
_Thomas_ Mr. BARNES.
_Stephen_ Mr. PAYNE.
_Williams_ Mr. IRWIN.
_Simpson_ Mr. BRADY.
_Waiter_ Mr. HEATH.
_Holdwell_ Mr. <DW12>.
_Servants_ Mr. J. COOPER.
Mr. LOLLETT.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--A Tavern.
On one side SIR THOMAS CLIFFORD, at a table, with wine before him; on the
other, MASTER WILFORD, GAYLOVE, HOLDWELL, and SIMPSON, likewise taking
wine.
_Wilf_. Your wine, sirs! your wine! You do not justice to mine host of
the Three Tuns, nor credit to yourselves; I swear the beverage is good!
It is as palatable poison as you will purchase within a mile round
Ludgate! Drink, gentlemen; make free. You know I am a man of
expectations; and hold my money as light as the purse in which I carry
it.
_Gay_. We drink, Master Wilford. Not a man of us has been chased as
yet.
_Wilf_. But you fill not fairly, sirs! Look at my measure! Wherefore a
large glass, if not for a large draught? Fill, I pray you, else let us
drink out of thimbles! This will never do for the friends of the nearest
of kin to the wealthiest peer in Britain.
_Gay_. We give you joy, Master Wilford, of the prospect of advancement
which has so unexpectedly opened to you.
_Wilf_. Unexpectedly indeed! But yesterday arrived the news that the
Earl's only son and heir had died; and to-day has the Earl himself been
seized with a mortal illness. His dissolution is looked for hourly; and
I, his cousin in only the third degree, known to him but to be unnoticed
by him--a decayed gentleman's son--glad of the title and revenues of a
scrivener's clerk--am the undoubted successor to his estates and coronet.
_Gay_. Have you been sent for?
_Wilf_. No; but I have certified to his agent, Master Walter, the
Hunchback, my existence, and peculiar propinquity; and momentarily expect
him here.
_Gay_. Lives there anyone that may dispute your claim--I mean
vexatiously?
_Wilf_. Not a man, Master Gaylove. I am the sole remaining branch of
the family tree.
_Gay_. Doubtless you look for much happiness from this change of
fortune?
_Wilf_. A world! Three things have I an especial passion for. The
finest hound, the finest horse, and the finest wife in the kingdom,
Master Gaylove!
Gay. The finest wife?
_Wilf_. Yes, sir; I marry. Once the earldom comes into my line, I shall
take measures to perpetuate its remaining there. I marry, sir! I do not
say that I shall love. My heart has changed mistresses too often to
settle down in one servitude now, sir. But fill, I pray you, friends.
This, if I mistake not, is the day whence I shall date my new fortunes;
and, for that reason, hither have I invited you, that, having been so
long my boon companions, you shall be the first to congratulate me.
[Enter Waiter]
_Waiter_. You are wanted, Master Wilford.
_Wilf_. By whom?
_Waiter_. One Master Walter.
_Wilf_. His lordship's agent! News, sirs! Show him in!
[Waiter goes out]
My heart's a prophet, sirs--The Earl is dead.
[Enter MASTER WALTER]
Well, Master Walter. How accost you me?
_Wal_. As your impatience shows me you would have me.
My Lord, the Earl of Rochdale!
_Gay_. Give you joy!
_Hold_. All happiness, my lord!
_Simp_. Long life and health unto your lordship!
_Gay_. Come!
We'll drink to his lordship's health! 'Tis two o'clock,
We'll e'en carouse till midnight! Health, my lord!
_Hold_. My lord, much joy to you!
_Simp_. All good to your lordship!
_Wal_. Give something to the dead!
_Gay_. Give what?
_Wal_. Respect!
He has made the living! First to him that's gone,
Say "Peace!"--and then with decency to revels!
_Gay_. What means the knave by revels?
_Wal_. Knave?
_Gay_. Ay, knave!
_Wal_. Go to! Thou'rt flushed with wine!
_Gay_. Thou sayest false!
Though didst thou need a proof thou speakest true,
I'd give thee one. Thou seest but one lord here,
And I see two!
_Wal_. Reflect'st thou on my shape?
Thou art a villain!
_Gay_. [Starting up.] Ha!
_Wal_. A coward, too!
Draw!
[Drawing his sword.]
_Gay_. Only mark him! how he struts about!
How laughs his straight sword at his noble back.
_Wal_. Does it? It cuffs thee for a liar then!
[Strikes GAYLOVE with his sword.]
_Gay_. A blow!
_Wal_. Another, lest you doubt the first!
_Gay_. His blood on his own head! I'm for you, sir!
[Draws.]
_Clif_. Hold, sir! This quarrel's mine!
[Coming forward and drawing.]
_Wal_. No man shall fight for me, sir!
_Clif_. By your leave,
Your patience, pray! My lord, for so I learn
Behoves me to accost you--for your own sake
Draw off your friend!
_Wal_. Not till we have a bout, sir!
_Clif_. My lord, your happy fortune ill you greet!
Ill greet it those who love you--greeting thus
The herald of it!
_Wal_. Sir, what's that to you?
Let go my sleeve!
_Clif_. My lord, if blood be shed
On the fair dawn of your prosperity,
Look not to see the brightness of its day.
'Twill be o'ercast throughout!
_Gay_. My lord, I'm struck!
_Clif_. You gave the first blow, and the hardest one!
Look, sir; if swords you needs must measure, I'm
Your mate, not he!
_Wal_. I'm mate for any man!
_Clif_. Draw off your friend, my lord, for your own sake!
_Wilf_. Come, Gaylove! let's have another room.
_Gay_. With all my heart, since 'tis your lordship's will.
_Wilf_. That's right! Put up! Come, friends!
[WILFORD and Friends go out.]
_Wal_. I'll follow him!
Why do you hold me? 'Tis not courteous of you!
Think'st thou I fear them? Fear! I rate them but
As dust! dross! offals! Let me at them!--Nay,
Call you this kind? then kindness know I not;
Nor do I thank you for't! Let go, I say!
_Clif_. Nay, Master Walter, they're not worth your wrath.
_Wal_. How know you me for Master Walter? By
My hunchback, eh!--my stilts of legs and arms,
The fashion more of ape's than man's? Aha!
So you have heard them, too--their savage gibes
As I pass on,--"There goes my lord!" aha!
God made me, sir, as well as them and you.
'Sdeath! I demand of you, unhand me, sir!
_Clif_. There, sir, you're free to follow them! Go forth,
And I'll go too: so on your wilfulness
Shall fall whate'er of evil may ensue.
Is't fit you waste your choler on a burr?
The nothings of the town; whose sport it is
To break their villain jests on worthy men,
The graver still the fitter! Fie for shame!
Regard what such would say? So would not I,
No more than heed a cur.
_Wal_. You're right, sir; right,
For twenty crowns! So there's my rapier up!
You've done me a good turn against my will;
Which, like a wayward child, whose pet is off,
That made him restive under wholesome check,
I now right humbly own, and thank you for.
_Clif_. No thanks, good Master Walter, owe you me!
I'm glad to know you, sir.
_Wal_. I pray you, now,
How did you learn my name? Guessed I not right?
Was't not my comely hunch that taught it you?
_Clif_. I own it.
_Wal_. Right, I know it; you tell truth. I like you for't.
_Clif_. But when I heard it said
That Master Walter was a worthy man,
Whose word would pass on 'change soon as his bond;
A liberal man--for schemes of public good
That sets down tens, where others units write;
A charitable man--the good he does,
That's told of, not the half; I never more
Could see the hunch on Master Walter's back!
_Wal_. You would not flatter a poor citizen?
_Clif_. Indeed, I flatter not!
_Wal_. I like your face--
A frank and honest one! Your frame's well knit,
Proportioned, shaped!
_Clif_. Good sir!
_Wal_. Your name is Clifford--
Sir Thomas Clifford. Humph! You're not the heir
Direct to the fair baronetcy? He
That was, was drowned abroad. Am I not right?
Your cousin, was't not?--so succeeded you
To rank and wealth, your birth ne'er promised you.
_Clif_. I see you know my history.
_Wal_. I do.
You're lucky who conjoin the benefits
Of penury and abundance; for I know
Your father was a man of slender means.
You do not blush, I see. That's right! Why should you?
What merit to be dropped on fortune's hill?
The honour is to mount it. You'd have done it;
For you were trained to knowledge, industry,
Frugality, and honesty,--the sinews
That surest help the climber to the top,
And keep him there. I have a clerk, Sir Thomas,
Once served your father; there's the riddle for you.
Humph! I may thank you for my life to-day.
_Clif_. I pray you say not so.
_Wal_. But I will say so!
Because I think so, know so, feel so, sir!
Your fortune, I have heard, I think, is ample!
And doubtless you live up to't?
_Clif_. 'Twas my rule,
And is so still, to keep my outlay, sir,
A span within my means.
_Wal_. A prudent rule!
The turf is a seductive pastime!
_Clif_. Yes.
_Wal_. You keep a racing stud? You bet?
_Clif_. No, neither.
'Twas still my father's precept--"Better owe
A yard of land to labour, than to chance
Be debtor for a rood!"
_Wal_. 'Twas a wise precept.
You've a fair house--you'll get a mistress for it?
_Clif_. In time!
_Wal_. In time! 'Tis time thy choice were made.
Is't not so yet? Or is thy lady love
The newest still thou seest?
_Clif_. Nay, not so.
I'd marry | 2,591.962827 |
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 107.
August 11, 1894.
LORD ORMONT'S MATE AND MATEY'S AMINTA.
BY G***GE M*R*D*TH.
VOLUME III.
And now the climax comes not with tongue-lolling sheep-fleece wolves,
ears on top remorselessly pricked for slaughter of the bleating imitated
lamb, here a fang pointing to nethermost pit not of stomach but of
Acheron, tail waving in derision of wool-bearers whom the double-rowed
desiring mouth soon shall grip, food for mamma-wolf and baby-wolf,
papa-wolf looking on, licking chaps expectant of what shall remain; and
up goes the clamour of flocks over the country-side, and up goes howling
of shepherds shamefully tricked by AEsop-fable artifice or doggish
dereliction of primary duty; for a watch has been set through which the
wolf-enemy broke paws on the prowl; and the King feels this, and the
Government, a slab-faced jubber-mubber of contending punies,
party-voters to the front, conscience lagging how far behind no man can
tell, and the country forgotten, a lout dragging his chaw-bacon hobnails
like a flask-fed snail housed safely, he thinks, in unbreakable shell
soon to be broken, and no man's fault, while the slow country sinks to
the enemy, ships bursting, guns jammed, and a dull shadow of defeat on a
war-office drifting to the tide-way of unimagined back-stops on a lumpy
cricket-field of national interests. But this was a climax revealed to
the world. The Earl was deaf to it. Lady CHARLOTTE dumbed it
surprisingly. Change the spelling, put a for u and n for b in the
dumbed, and you have the way MORSFIELD mouthed it, and MATEY swimming
with BROWNY full in the Harwich tide; head under heels up down they go
in Old Ocean, a glutton of such embraces, lapping softly on a pair of
white ducks tar-stained that very morning and no mistake.
"I have you fast!" cried MATEY.
"Two and two's four," said BROWNY. She slipped. "_Are_ four," corrected
he, a tutor at all times, boys and girls taken in and done for, and no
change given at the turnstiles.
"Catch as catch can," was her next word. Plop went a wave full in the
rosy mouth. "Where's the catch of this?" stuttered the man.
"A pun, a pun!" bellowed the lady. "But not by four-in-hand from
London."
She had him there. He smiled a blue acquiescence. So they landed, and
the die was cast, ducks changed, and the goose-pair braving it in dry
clothes by the kitchen fire. There was nothing else to be done; for the
answer confessed to a dislike of immersions two at a time, and the hair
clammy with salt like cottage-bacon on a breakfast-table.
Lord ORMONT sat with the jewels seized from the debating, unbeaten
sister's grasp.
"She is at Marlow," he opined.
"Was," put in Lady CHARLOTTE.
The answer blew him for memory.
"MORSFIELD's dead," his lordship ventured; "jobbed by a foil with button
off."
"And a good job too."
Lady CHARLOTTE was ever on the crest-wave of the moment's humour. He
snicked a back-stroke to the limits, shaking the sparse hair of
repentance to the wind of her jest. But the unabashed one continued.
"I'll not call on her."
"You shall," said he.
"Shan't," was her lightning-parry.
"You shall," he persisted.
"Never. Her head is a water-flower that speaks at ease in the open sea.
How call on a woman with a head like that?"
The shock struck him fair and square.
"We wait," he said, and the conflict closed with advantage to the
petticoat.
A footman bore a letter. His step was of the footman order, calves
stuffed to a longed-for bulbousness, food for donkeys if any such should
chance: he presented it.
"I wait," he murmured.
"Whence and whither comes it?"
"Postmark may tell."
"Best open it," said the cavalry general, ever on the dash for open
country where squadrons may deploy right shoulders up, serre-files in
rear, and a hideous clatter of serjeant-majors spread over all. He
opened it. It was AMINTA's letter. She announced a French leave-taking.
The footman still stood. Lord ORMONT broke the silence.
"Go and be----" the words quivered into completion, supply the blank who
will.
But her punishment was certain. For it must be thus. Never a lady left
her wedded husband, but she must needs find herself weighted with charge
of his grand-nephew. Cuckoo-tutor sits in General's nest, General's wife
to bear him company, and lo! the General brings a grand-nephew to the
supplanter, convinced of nobility beyond petty conventions of
divorce-court rigmarole. So the world wags wilful to the offshoot,
lawn-mowers grating, grass flying, and perspiring gardener slow in his
shirt-sleeves primed with hope of beer that shall line his lean ribs at
supper-time, nine o'clock is it, or eight--parishes vary, and a wife at
home has rules. A year later he wrote--
"SIR,--Another novel is on hand. Likely you will purchase. Readers gape
for it. Better than acrostics, they say, fit for fifty puzzle-pages.
What price?
"G***GE M*R*D*TH."
THE END.
* * * * *
[Illustration: NO END TO HIS INIQUITIES.
(_From a Yorkshire Moor._)
_Sportsman (awaiting the morrow, and meeting Keeper as he strolls
round)._ "WELL, RODGERS, THINGS LOOK FAIRLY HOPEFUL FOR TOMORROW, EH?"
_Rodgers (strong Tory)._ "WELL, SIR, MIDLIN', PRETTY MIDLIN'. BUT, OH
DEAR, IT'S AWK'ARD THIS 'ERE TWELFTH BEIN' FIXED OF A SUNDAY!" (_With
much wisdom._) "NOW, MIGHT MR. GLADSTONE HA' HAD HANYTHING TO DO WI'
THAT ARRANGEMENT, SIR?" ]
* * * * *
THE MARCH OF CIVILISATION.
(_From a Record in the Far East._)
_Step One._--The nation takes to learning the English language.
_Step Two._--Having learned the English language, the nation begins to
read British newspapers.
_Step Three._--Having mastered the meaning of the leaders, the nation
start a Parliament.
_Step Four._--Having got a Parliament, the nation establishes school
boards, railways, stockbrokers, and penny ices.
_Step Five._--Having become fairly civilised, the nation takes up art
and commerce.
_Step Six._--Having realised considerable wealth, the nation purchases
any amount of ironclads, heavy ordnance, and ammunition.
_Step Seven._--Having the means within reach, the nation indulges in a
terrific war.
_Step Eight and Last._--Having lost everything, the nation returns with
a sigh of relief to old-fashioned barbarism.
[Illustration: THE TRIUMPH OF CIVILISATION!]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A HINT TO THE POSTAL AUTHORITIES.
THE EMPLOYMENT OF GOOD-LOOKING AND ATTRACTIVE YOUNG MEN IN CLEARING THE
LETTER-BOXES UNDOUBTEDLY RESULTS IN FREQUENT DETENTION OF THE MAILS.]
* * * * *
EASTWARD HO!
"Oh East is East, and West is West," says strenuous RUDYARD KIPLING,
And what has the West taught to the East,
save the science of war, and tippling?
To ram, and to torpedo, and to drain Drink's poisoned flagons?
And Civilisation sees her work in--armour-plated Dragons!
The saurians of primeval slime they fought with tooth and claw,
And SHO-KI'S dragon, though possessed of wondrous powers of jaw,
And MIOCHIN'S scaly monster, whereat SHO-KI'S pluck might melt,
And the dragon speared by stout St. George in the bold cartoons
of SKELT,--
These were but simple monsters, like the giants slain by JACK,
But your dragon cased in armour-plate with turrets on his back,
And a charged torpedo twisted in his huge and horrid tail.
Is a thing to stagger Science, and to make poor Peace turn pale!
Yes, East is East, and West is West; but the West looks on the East,
And sees the bold <DW61> summoning to War's wild raven-feast
The saffron-faced Celestial; and the game they're going to play
(With a touch of Eastern goriness) in the wicked Western way.
For the yellow-man has borrowed from the white-man all that's bad,
From shoddy and fire-water, to the costly Ironclad.
He will not have our Bibles, but he welcomes our Big Guns,
And he blends with the wild savagery of Vandals, Goths or Huns,
The scientific slaughter of the Blood-and-Iron Teuton!--
A sight | 2,592.060254 |
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Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
French extracts are reproduced as printed, with hardly any accents.
* * * * *
THE
NEW CONSPIRACY
AGAINST THE JESUITS
DETECTED AND BRIEFLY EXPOSED;
WITH A
SHORT ACCOUNT OF THEIR INSTITUTE;
AND
OBSERVATIONS ON THE DANGER OF SYSTEMS OF
EDUCATION INDEPENDENT OF RELIGION.
* * * * *
BY R. C. DALLAS, ESQ.
* * * * *
Omnes qui se Societati addixerunt, in virtutum solidarum ac
perfectarum, et spiritualium rerum studium incumbant.
INSTITUTUM SOC. JESU, ed. Pragae, 1757, vol. ii, p. 72.
The causes which occasioned the ruin of this mighty body, as well as
the circumstances and effects with which it has been attended in the
different countries of Europe, are objects extremely worthy of the
attention of every intelligent observer of human affairs.
ROBERTSON'S CHARLES V, vol. iii, p. 225.
* * * * *
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR JAMES RIDGWAY, PICCADILLY.
1815.
C. WOOD, Printer,
Poppin's Court, Fleet Street.
* * * * *
{v}
TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
GEORGE CANNING, M. P.
HIS MAJESTY'S AMBASSADOR EXTRAORDINARY TO
THE COURT OF PORTUGAL, _&c._ _&c._
SIR;
Your absence from this country, and the observation of the historian, which
I have adopted as a motto, will plead my excuse for dedicating this volume
to you, without a previous intimation of my wish for that honour to my work
and to myself. "The causes {vi} of the ruin of the society of Jesuits, with
its circumstances and effects, are worthy of your attention." I have
bestowed a considerable degree of labour in making myself acquainted with
them, and, having been induced to throw the result of my inquiries into the
form of a book, I know not to whom I can better present it than to a man,
who, among the services which he has been active in rendering to his
country, in her legislation and letters, has been the liberal advocate of
the catholic body in general, and who, I am confident, will be pleased to
see any society, or any individual, rescued from opprobrium, which time and
colouring may have fixed on character. You are on the spot, Sir, where the
Jesuits were persecuted with the greatest virulence; a circumstance, to
{vii} my apprehension, not the most favourable to the investigation of
truth, as it may well be imagined, that the prejudices, which were raised
by the unprincipled and unrelenting minister of Joseph I, of Portugal, have
too strongly enveloped it to be easily removed: but there are minds gifted
with a discernment approaching to intuition, and, if any man can unweave
the web, which has been spun around this unfortunate society, to your
penetration may it be trusted. I have examined the subject with sincerity
and disinterestedness, and, from conviction, I feel such interest in the
establishment of the facts which I have stated, and the conclusions which I
have drawn, that I dare hope that what I here offer to your consideration
will one day be corroborated by testimony and {viii} talents, that shall
remove all the doubt which the feebleness of my pen may leave upon it.
I have the honour to be,
Sir,
Your most obedient and
humble Servant,
R. C. DALLAS.
_September 4, 1815._
* * * * *
{ix}
PREFACE.
Having formerly occupied my thoughts on the subject of promoting the
knowledge and practice of religion among the <DW64>s in the West Indies, I
was naturally led to inquire into the means, which had been successfully
adopted in the catholic islands. I traced them to the enthusiastic labours
of the clergy in general, particularly the Jesuits. The conduct of the
fathers of that society in South America, not only excited in me
admiration, but the highest esteem, veneration, and affection, for that
enlightened and persevering body in the Christian cause, who had spread
over the immense regions of that {x} continent more virtue and real
temporal happiness than were enjoyed by any other quarter of the globe, as
well as a well founded hope of eternal felicity, by the redemption of
mankind through Christ. This undeniable merit made such an impression on my
mind, that I never gave credit to the horrors, which have been attributed
to the society.
Among the objects of my attention, during a late residence in France, the
restoration of the order became an interesting one, affording me some
pleasing conversations, and inducing me to search into authorities
respecting the actions and character of men, whom I had learned to venerate
and to love, the result of which was a confirmation of my early
predilection. On my return from the continent a short time since, I met
with a pamphlet {xi} lately published, entitled "A Brief Account of the
Jesuits," the ostensible object of which is to render the order odious, but
the real one is seen to be an attempt to attach odium upon catholics in
general, in the present crisis of the catholic question. I learned, from a
literary friend, that this pamphlet had originally appeared as Letters in a
newspaper, and that they had been answered in the same way, but that the
answers had not been republished. These I obtained and perused. I received
much satisfaction from them, and thought them worthy of being preserved.
They did not, however, appear to me sufficiently full upon the subject, and
I therefore resolved to publish them in the form of a pamphlet, with a
preliminary statement. I consequently renewed my inquiries, and the more I
inquire the more am I satisfied, that my veneration for this body of
Christian instructors is not misplaced. {xii}
It is perfectly evident to me, that there was an unjust conspiracy, which
originated in France, to destroy the Jesuits; and that it terminated
successfully about the middle of the last century. It is not an easy task
to unfold to its full extent the injustice and various iniquities of it,
since even respectable historians have been led away by the imposing
appearance, which the then undetected and half-unconscious ingenious agents
of jacobinism had, by every expedient of invention, of colouring, and of
wit, given to the hue and cry raised by those bitter enemies of the order,
the university and parliaments of France, and by some ministers of other
governments, particularly by the marquis de Pombal, the minister of the
king of Portugal. It is not my intention to undertake so laborious a task,
but I trust, that the following exposition will unfold sufficient {xiii} of
the injustice, which has been so unfeelingly and indefatigably heaped upon
the Jesuits, to convince every unprejudiced man, that the suppression of
the order has been injurious to society, and that the revival of it, far
from being dangerous, must be beneficial. I am not afraid, that this
expression of my sentiment will draw upon me any suspicion of disaffection
to the state, or the established church; my sentiments are well known to my
friends, and have been more than once publicly professed. The benefit,
which I think will arise from the restoration of the society, will consist
more particularly in the active and zealous cultivation of Christian
virtues, and a spirit of LOYALTY among the catholics of all countries,
whether protestant or catholic; and, unless we mean to say, with some of
the furious reformers, that the religion of the catholics is to be {xiv}
extirpated altogether, it is absurd to say, that they shall not have their
best and most active instructors.
When this volume had nearly gone through the press, in the course of
reading I met with the following curious passage, extracted from a Letter
to a | 2,592.255917 |
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THE INSTITUTES OF JUSTINIAN
Translated into English by J. B. Moyle, D.C.L. of Lincoln's Inn,
Barrister-at-Law, Fellow and Late Tutor of New College, Oxford
Fifth Edition (1913)
PROOEMIVM
In the name of Our Lord, Jesus Christ.
The Emperor Caesar Flavius Justinian, conqueror of the Alamanni, the
Goths, the Franks, the Germans, the Antes, the Alani, the Vandals, the
Africans, pious, prosperous, renowned, victorious, and triumphant, ever
august,
To the youth desirous of studying the law:
The imperial majesty should be armed with laws as well as glorified
with arms, that there may be good government in times both of war and
of peace, and the ruler of Rome may not only be victorious over his
enemies, but may show himself as scrupulously regardful of justice as
triumphant over his conquered foes.
With deepest application and forethought, and by the blessing of God, we
have attained both of these objects. The barbarian nations which we have
subjugated know our valour, Africa and other provinces without number
being once more, after so long an interval, reduced beneath the sway of
Rome by victories granted by Heaven, and themselves bearing witness to
our dominion. All peoples too are ruled by laws which we have either
enacted or arranged. Having removed every inconsistency from the sacred
constitutions, hitherto inharmonious and confused, we extended our care
to the immense volumes of the older jurisprudence; and, like sailors
crossing the mid-ocean, by the favour of Heaven have now completed a
work of which we once despaired. When this, with God's blessing, had
been done, we called together that distinguished man Tribonian, master
and exquaestor of our sacred palace, and the illustrious Theophilus and
Dorotheus, professors of law, of whose ability, legal knowledge, and
trusty observance of our orders we have received many and genuine
proofs, and especially commissioned them to compose by our authority and
advice a book of Institutes, whereby you may be enabled to learn your
first lessons in law no longer from ancient fables, but to grasp them by
the brilliant light of imperial learning, and that your ears and minds
may receive nothing useless or incorrect, but only what holds good in
actual fact. And thus whereas in past time even the foremost of you were
unable to read the imperial constitutions until after four years, you,
who have been so honoured and fortunate as to receive both the beginning
and the end of your legal teaching from the mouth of the Emperor, can
now enter on the study of them without delay. After the completion
therefore of the fifty books of the Digest or Pandects, in which all
the earlier law has been collected by the aid of the said distinguished
Tribonian and other illustrious and most able men, we directed the
division of these same Institutes into four books, comprising the
first elements of the whole science of law. In these the law previously
obtaining has been briefly stated, as well as that which after becoming
disused has been again brought to light by our imperial aid. Compiled
from all the Institutes of our ancient jurists, and in particular from
the commentaries of our Gaius on both the Institutes and the common
cases, and from many other legal works, these Institutes were submitted
to us by the three learned men aforesaid, and after reading
and examining them we have given them the fullest force of our
constitutions.
Receive then these laws with your best powers and with the eagerness of
study, and show yourselves so learned as to be encouraged to hope that
when you have compassed the whole field of law you may have ability to
govern such portion of the state as may be entrusted to you.
Given at Constantinople the 21st day of November, in the third consulate
of the Emperor Justinian, Father of his Country, ever august.
BOOK I.
TITLES
I. Of Justice and Law
II. Of the law of nature, the law of nations,
and the civil law
III. Of the law of persons
IV. Of men free born
V. Of freedmen
VI. Of persons unable to manumit, and the
causes of their incapacity
VII. Of the repeal of the lex Fufia Caninia
VIII. Of persons independent or dependent
IX. Of paternal power
X. Of marriage
XI. Of adoptions
XII. Of the modes in which paternal power
is extinguished
XIII. Of guardianships
XIV. Who can be appointed guardians by will
XV. Of the statutory guardianship of agnates
XVI. Of loss of status
XVII. Of the statutory guardianship of patrons
XVIII. Of the statutory guardianship of parents
XIX. Of fiduciary guardianship
XX. Of Atilian guardians, and those appointed
under the lex Iulia et Titia
XXI. Of the authority of guardians
XXII. Of the modes in which guardianship
is terminated
XXIII. Of curators
XXIV. Of the security to be given by guardians
and curators
XXV. Of guardians' and curators' grounds
of exemption
XXVI. Of guardians or curators who are
suspected
TITLE I. OF JUSTICE AND LAW
Justice is the set and constant purpose which gives to every man his
due.
1 Jurisprudence is the knowledge of things divine and human, the science
of the just and the unjust.
2 Having laid down these general definitions, and our object being
the exposition of the law of the Roman people, we think that the most
advantageous plan will be to commence with an easy and simple path, and
then to proceed to details with a most careful and scrupulous exactness
of interpretation. Otherwise, if we begin by burdening the student's
memory, as yet weak and untrained, with a multitude and variety of
matters, one of two things will happen: either we shall cause him wholly
to desert the study of law, or else we shall bring him at last, after
great labour, and often, too, distrustful of his own powers (the
commonest cause, among the young, of ill-success), to a point which
he might have reached earlier, without such labour and confident in
himself, had he been led along a smoother path.
3 The precepts of the law are these: to live honestly, to injure no one,
and to give every man his due.
4 The study of law consists of two branches, law public, and law
private. The former relates to the welfare of the Roman State; the
latter to the advantage of the individual citizen. Of private law then
we may say that it is of threefold origin, being collected from the
precepts of nature, from those of the law of nations, or from those of
the civil law of Rome.
TITLE II. OF THE LAW OF NATURE, THE LAW OF NATIONS, AND THE CIVIL LAW
1 The law of nature is that which she has taught all animals; a law not
peculiar to the human race, but shared by all living creatures, whether
denizens of the air, the dry land, or the sea. Hence comes the union
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BUDDHIST BIRTH STORIES;
OR,
JĀTAKA TALES.
THE OLDEST COLLECTION OF FOLK-LORE EXTANT:
BEING
THE JĀTAKATTHAVAṆṆANĀ,
_For the first time Edited in the Original Pāli_
BY V. FAUSBÖLL,
AND TRANSLATED
BY T. W. RHYS DAVIDS.
TRANSLATION.
_VOLUME I._
LONDON:
TRÜBNER & CO., LUDGATE HILL.
1880.
[_All rights reserved._]
HERTFORD:
PRINTED BY STEPHEN AUSTIN AND SONS.
TO
GEHEIM-RATH PROFESSOR DOCTOR
STENZLER
MY FIRST GUIDE IN ORIENTAL STUDIES
IN CONGRATULATION ON HIS ‘DOCTOR JUBILÄUM’
AND IN DEEP RESPECT FOR HIS PROFOUND SCHOLARSHIP
THIS WORK IS DEDICATED BY
HIS GRATEFUL PUPIL
THE AUTHOR.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
TRANSLATOR’S INTRODUCTION. PAGE
PART I.
_The Book of Birth Stories, and their Migration to the West._
Orthodox Buddhist belief concerning it. Two reasons
for the value attached to it i-iv
Selected Stories.--1. The Ass in the Lion’s Skin v
2. The Talkative Tortoise viii
3. The Jackal and the Crow xii
4. The Wise Judge xiv
5. Sakka’s Presents xvi
6. A Lesson for Kings xxii
The Kalilag and Damnag Literature xxix
Origin of ‘Æsop’s’ Fables xxxii
The Barlaam and Josaphat Literature xxxvi
Other Migrations of the Buddhist Tales xli
Greek and Buddhist Fables xliii
Solomon’s Judgment xliv
Summary of Part I. xlviii
PART II.
_The Birth Stories in India._
Jātakas derived from the Pāli Piṭakas lii
Jātakas in the Cariyā Piṭaka and Jātaka Mālā liii
Jātakas in the Buddhavaŋsa lv
Jātakas at the Council of Vesāli lvii
Jātakas on the Ancient Sculptures lix
The Pāli Names of the Jātakas lx
The Jātakas one of the Navaŋgāni lxii
Authorship of our present Collection lxiii
Jātakas not included in our present Collection lxvii
Jātakas in post-Buddhistic Sanskrit Literature lxviii
Form of the Jātakas.--The Introductory Stories lxxiv
The Conclusions lxxv
The Abhisambuddha-gāthā, or
Verses in the Conclusion lxxvi
Divisions of the Jātaka Book lxxix
Actual Number of the Stories lxxxi
Summary of the Origin of the Present Collection lxxxii
Special Lessons inculcated by the Birth Stories lxxxv
Special Historical Value of the Birth Stories lxxxvi
SUPPLEMENTARY TABLES.
I. Indian Works lxxxix
II. The Kalilag and Damnag Literature xciii
III. The Barlaam and Josaphat Literature xcv
IV. The Cariyā Piṭaka and the Jātaka Mālā xcviii
V. Alphabetical List of Jātaka Stories in the
Mahāvastu xcix
VI. Places at which the Tales were Told c
VII. The Bodisats ci
VIII. Jātakas Illustrated in Bas-relief on the Ancient
Monuments cii
THE CEYLON COMPILER’S INTRODUCTION, called the
_Nidāna Kathā_.
Story of Sumedha, the First Bodisat 2
The Successive Bodisats in the Times of the Previous
Buddhas 31
Life of the Last Bodisat (who became Buddha) 58
His Descent from Heaven 59
His Birth 67
Song of the Angels 69
Prophecy of Kāḷa Devala 70
Prophecy of the Brāhman Priests 72
The Ploughing Festival 75
The Young Bodisat’s Skill and Wisdom 76
The Four Visions 77
The Bodisat’s Son is Born 79
Kisā Gotamī’s Song 80
The Great Renunciation 82
The Great Struggle against Sin 89
The Great Victory over Satan 96
The Bliss of Nirvāna 105
The Hesitation whether to Publish the Good News 111
The Foundation of the Kingdom of Righteousness 113
Uruvela Kassapa’s Conversion 114
Triumphal Entrance into Rājagaha 116
Foundation of the Order 119
Return Home 121
Presentation of the First Monastery to the Buddha 131
THE BIRTH STORIES.
1. Holding to the Truth... Apaṇṇaka Jātaka 134
2. The Sandy Road... Vaṇṇupatha Jātaka 147
3. The Merchant of Sēri... Seri-vānija Jātaka 153
4. The Story of Chullaka the Treasurer... Cullaka-seṭṭhi
Jātaka 158
5. The Measure of Rice... Taṇḍula-nāḷi Jātaka 172
6. On True Divinity... Deva-dhamma Jātaka 178
9. The Story of Makhā Deva... Makhā-deva Jātaka 186
10. The Happy Life... Sukhavihāri Jātaka 190
11. The Story of Beauty... Lakkhaṇa Jātaka 194
12. The Banyan Deer... Nigrodha-miga Jātaka 199
13. The Dart of Love... Kaṇḍina Jātaka 211
14. The Greedy Antelope... Vātamiga Jātaka 214
15. The Deer who would not Learn... Kharādiyā
Jātaka 219
16. The Cunning Deer... Tipallatha-miga Jātaka 221
17. The Wind... Māluta Jātaka 224
18. On Offering Food to the Dead... Mataka-bhatta
Jātaka 226
19. On Offerings given under a Vow... Āyācita-bhatta
Jātaka 230
20. The Monkeys and the Demon... Naḷapāna Jātaka 232
21. The W | 2,592.26305 |
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[Illustration: Let's Go!!]
ROOKIE RHYMES
BY THE MEN OF THE 1st. and 2nd. PROVISIONAL TRAINING REGIMENTS
PLATTSBURG, NEW YORK
MAY 15--AUGUST 15 1917
[Illustration]
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
ROOKIE RHYMES
Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
Published September, 1917
CONTENTS
_Page_
PUBLICATION COMMITTEE 13
FOREWORD 15
Robert Tapley, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
PART I--POEMS
STANDING IN LINE 19
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THE FIRST TIME 21
ONWARD CHRISTIAN SCIENCE 22
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THEY BELIEVE IN US BACK HOME 24
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ODE TO A LADY IN WHITE STOCKINGS 29
Robert Cutler, Co. 2, 1st P. T. R.
"AVOIRDUPOIS" 31
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GO! 35
J. S. O'Neale, Jr., Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
THE PLATTSBURG CODE 36
R. L. Hill, Co. 5, 2d P. T. R.
A CONFERENCE 38
Donald E. Currier, 2d Battery, 1st P. T. R.
SUNDAY IN BARRACKS 41
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THE BALLAD OF MONTMORENCY GRAY 43
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GIRLS 51
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A LAMENT 52
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THE MANUAL 53
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THOSE "PATRIOTIC" SONGS 55
Frank J. Felbel, Co. 2, 2d P. T. R.
SATURDAY P.M. 58
Harold Amory, Co. 5, 1st P. T. R.
HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED 62
C. K. Stodder, Co. 9, 1st P. T. R.
ARMA FEMINAMQUE 63
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OUT O' LUCK 65
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SHERMAN WAS RIGHT 69
Joe F. Trounstine, Co. 4, 2d P. T. R.
TROOPSHIP CHANTY 70
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THOSE RUMORS 71
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WAR'S HORRORS 72
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1st P. T. R.
THE CALL 73
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FORWARD "?" 77
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PREOCCUPATION 80
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RUBAIYAT OF A PLATTSBURG CANDIDATE 96
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DREAMS 99
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A 2D REGIMENT "WHO'S WHO" 101
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EUREKA 105
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FOURTH COMPANY, N. E. SONG 106
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PART II--SONGS AND PARODIES
LONG, LONG TRAIL 109
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WILLIE'S PA 110
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COMPANY 2, NEW ENGLAND 112
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ON THE BANKS OF THE RIVER RHINE 120
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EGGS--AGERATED 133
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WITH APOLOGIES TO KIPLING'S "THE VAMPIRE" 134
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FINIS 136
ILLUSTRATIONS
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A DECADE OF ITALIAN WOMEN.
[Illustration: VITTORIA COLONNA.]
_From an Original Painting in the Colonna Gallery at Rome_
A DECADE
OF
ITALIAN WOMEN.
BY
T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE,
AUTHOR OF "THE GIRLHOOD OF CATHERINE DE' MEDICI."
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1859.
[_The right of Translation is reserved._]
LONDON:
RADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
PREFACE.
The degree in which any social system has succeeded in ascertaining
woman's proper position, and in putting her into it, will be a very
accurate test of the progress it has made in civilisation. And the
very general and growing conviction, that our own social arrangements,
as they exist at present, have not attained any satisfactory measure
of success in this respect, would seem, therefore, to indicate,
that England in her nineteenth century has not yet reached years of
discretion after all.
But conscious deficiency is with nations at least, if not always with
individuals, the sure precursor of improvement. The path before us
towards the ideal in this matter is a very long one; extends, indeed,
further than eye can see. What path of progress does not? And our
advance upon it will still be a sure concomitant and proof of our
advance in all civilisation. But the question of more immediate moment
is, admitting that we are moving in this respect, are we moving in the
right direction? We have been _moving_ for a long time back. Have we
missed the right road? Have we unfortunately retrograded instead of
progressing?
There are persons who think so. And there are not wanting, in the
great storehouse of history, certain periods, certain individuals,
certain manifestations of social life, to which such persons point as
countenancing the notion, that better things have been, as regards
woman's position and possibilities, than are now. There are, painted
on the slides of Mnemosyne's magic lanthorn, certain brilliant and
captivating figures, which are apt to lead those who are disgusted with
the smoke and reek of the Phœnix-burning going on around them, to
suppose that the social conditions which produced such, must have been
less far from the true path than our present selves. Nay, more. There
have been constellations of such stars, quite sufficiently numerous to
justify the conclusion, that the circumstances of the time at which
they appeared were in their nature calculated to produce them.
Of such times, the most striking in this respect, as in so many others,
is that fascinating dawn time of modern life, that ever wonderful
"rénaissance" season, when a fresh sap seemed to rush through the
tissues of the European social systems, as they passed from their long
winter into spring. And in the old motherland of European civilisation,
where the new life was first and most vehemently felt,—in Italy,
the most remarkable constellations of these attractive figures were
produced.
The women of Italy, at that period remarkable in different walks, and
rich in various high gifts, form in truth a very notable phenomenon;
and one sufficiently prevalent to justify the belief, that the general
circumstances of that society favoured the production of such. But
the question remains, whether these brilliant types of womanhood,
attractive as they are as subjects of study, curiously illustrative as
they are of the social history of the times in which they lived, are
on the whole such as should lead us to conclude, that the true path of
progress would be found to lead towards social conditions that should
be likely to reproduce them?
Supposing it to be asserted, that they were not so necessarily
connected in the relationship of cause and effect with the whole social
condition of the times in which they lived, as that any attempt to
resuscitate such types need involve a reproduction of their social
environment; even then the question would remain, whether, if it were
really possible to take them as single figures out of the landscape
in which they properly stand, they would be such as we should find it
desirable to adopt as models of womanhood? Are these such as are wanted
to be put in the van of our march—in the first ranks of nineteenth
century civilisation? Not whether they are good to put in niches to be
admired and cited for this or that virtue or capacity; nor even whether
they might be deemed desirable captains in a woman's march towards
higher destinies and better conditioned civilisation, if, indeed, such
a progress were in any sane manner conceivable; but whether such women
would work harmoniously and efficiently with all the other forces
at our command for the advancement of a civilisation, of which the
absolute _sine quâ non_ must be the increased solidarity, co-operation,
and mutual influence of both the sexes?
It may be guessed, perhaps, from the tone of the above sentences,
that the writer is not one of those who think that the past can in
this matter be made useful to us, as affording ready-made models for
imitation. But he has no intention of dogmatising, or even indulging
in speculations on "the woman's question." On the contrary, in
endeavouring to set before the reader his little cabinet of types of
womanhood, he has abstained from all attempt at pointing any moral
of the sort. The wish to do so is too dangerously apt to lead one to
assimilate one's portrait less carefully to the original than to a
pattern figure conceived for the purpose of illustrating a theory.
Whatever conclusions on the subject of woman's destiny, proper
position, and means of development are to be drawn, therefore, from the
consideration of the very varied and certainly remarkable types set
before him, the reader must draw for himself. It has been the writer's
object to show his portraits, more or less fully delineated according
to their interest, and in some measure according to the abundance or
the reverse of available material, in their proper setting of social
environment. They have been selected, not so much with any intention of
bringing together the best, greatest, or most admirable, nor even the
most remarkable women Italy has produced, as with a view of securing
the greatest amount of variety, in point of social position and
character. Each figure of the small gallery will, it is hoped, be found
to illustrate a distinct phase of Italian social life and civilisation.
The canonised Saint, that most extraordinary product of the "ages of
faith," highly interesting as a social, and perhaps more so still as
a psychological phenomenon;—the feudal Châtelaine, one of the most
remarkable results of the feudal system, and affording a suggestive
study of woman in man's place;—the high-born and highly-educated
Princess of a somewhat less rude day, whose inmost spiritual nature was
so profoundly and injuriously modified by her social position;—the
brilliant literary denizen of "La Bohème;"—the equally brilliant
but large-hearted and high-minded daughter of the people, whose
literary intimacies were made compatible with the strictest feminine
propriety, and whom no princely connections, lay and ecclesiastical,
prevented from daring to think and to speak her thought, and to meet
with brave heart the consequences of so doing;—the popular actress,
again a daughter of the people, and again in that, as is said,
perilous walk in life, a model of correct conduct in the midst of
loose-lived princesses;—the nobly-born adventuress, every step in
whose extraordinary _excelsior_ progress was an advance in degradation
and infamy, and whose history, in showing us court life behind the
scenes, brings us among the worst company of any that the reader's
varied journey will call upon him to fall in with;—the equally
nobly-born, and almost equally worthless woman, who shows us that
wonderful and instructive phenomenon, the Queen of a papal court;—the
humbly born artist, admirable for her successful combination in perfect
compatibility of all the duties of the home and the studio;—and
lastly, the poor representative of the effeteness of that social system
which had produced the foregoing types, the net result, as may be said,
of the national passage through the various phases illustrated by
them:—all these are curiously distinct manifestations of womanhood,
and if any measure of success has been attained in the endeavour to
represent them duly surrounded by the social environment which produced
them, while they helped to fashion it, some contribution will have been
made to a right understanding of woman's nature, and of the true road
towards her more completely satisfactory social development.
CONTENTS.
ST. CATHERINE OF SIENA.
Born, 1347. Died, 1380.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Her Birth-place 1
CHAPTER II.
The Saint's Biographer 9
CHAPTER III.
The Facts of the Case 18
CHAPTER IV.
The Church View of the Case 32
CHAPTER V.
St. Catherine as an Author 51
CHAPTER VI.
Catherine's Letter to the King of France 67
CHAPTER VII.
Dupe or Impostor? 77
CHAPTER VIII.
The Secret of her Influence 83
CATERINA SFORZA.
Born, 1462. Died, 1509.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Of Catherine's father, the Duke, and of his magnificent
journey to Florence 90
CHAPTER II.
A Franciscan Pope and a Franciscan Cardinal.—A notable
illustration of the proverb concerning mendicants'
rides.—The Nemesis of Despotism 102
CHAPTER III.
Catherine's marriage.—"Petit Courrier des dames"
for 1476.—Four years of prosperity.—Life in Rome
in the fifteenth century.—A hunting party in the
Campagna.—Guilty or not guilty.—Catherine and her
husband leave Rome 121
CHAPTER IV.
From Rome to Forlì with bag and baggage.—First
presentation of a new lord and lady to their
lieges.—Venice again shows a velvet paw to a second
Riario.—Saffron-hill in brocade and ermine.—Sad conduct
on the part of our lieges.—Life in Rome again.—"Orso!
Orso!"—"Colonna! Colonna!"—A Pope's hate, and a Pope's
Vengeance.—Sixtus finally loses the game 140
CHAPTER V.
The Family is founded.—But finds it very difficult
to stand on its Foundations.—Life in Rome during an
Interregnum.—Magnificent Prince short of Cash.—Our
Heroine's Claims to that Title.—A Night Ride to Forlì,
and its results.—An Accident to which splendid Princes
are liable 166
CHAPTER VI.
Catherine in trouble.—"Libertà e Chiesà!" in Forlì.—The
Cardinal Savelli.—The Countess and her Castellano
perform a comedy before the lieges.—A veteran
revolutionist.—No help coming from Rome.—Cardinal
Legate in an awkward position.—All over with the
Orsi.—Their last night in Forlì.—Catherine herself
again.—Retribution.—An octogenarian conspirator's last
day 182
CHAPTER VII.
An unprotected Princess.—Match-making, and its
penalties.—A ladies' man for a Castellano.—A woman's
weakness, and a woman's political economy.—Wanted, by
the city of Forlì, a Jew; any Israelite, possessing
sufficient capital, will find this, &c. &c.—The new Pope,
Alexander VI.—The value of a Jubilee.—Troublous times in
Forlì.—Alliances made, and broken.—Catherine once more a
widow 204
CHAPTER VIII.
Guilty or not guilty again.—Mediæval Clanship.—A woman's
vengeance.—Funeral honours.—Royal-mindedness.—Its
costliness; and its mode of raising the wind.—Taxes spent
in alms to ruined tax-payers.—Threatening times.—Giovanni
de' Medici.—Catherine once more wife, mother, and widow 223
CHAPTER IX.
A nation of good haters.—Madama's soldier trade.—A
new Pope has to found a new family.—Catherine's bounty
to recruits.—A shrewd dealer meets his match.—Signs
of hard times.—How to manage a free council.—Forlì
ungrateful.—Catherine at Bay.—"A Borgia! A Borgia!"—A
new year's eve party in 1500.—The lioness in the
toils.—Catherine led captive to Rome 238
CHAPTER X.
Catherine arrives in Rome; is accused of attempting to
poison the Pope; is imprisoned in St. Angelo; is liberated;
and goes to Florence.—Her cloister life with the Murate
nuns.—Her collection of wonderful secrets.—Making
allowances.—Catherine's death 256
VITTORIA COLONNA.
Born, 1490. Died, 1547.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Changes in the Condition of Italy.—Dark
Days.—Circumstances which led to the Invasion of
the French.—State of things in Naples.—Fall of
the Arragonese Dynasty.—Birth of Vittoria.—The
Colonna.—Marino.—Vittoria's Betrothal.—The Duchessa di
Francavilla.—Literary Culture at Naples.—Education of
Vittoria in Ischia 271
CHAPTER II.
Vittoria's Personal Appearance.—First Love.—A Noble
Soldier of Fortune.—Italian Wars of the Fifteenth and
Sixteenth Centuries.—The Colonna Fortunes.—Death
of Ferdinand II.—The Neapolitans carry Coals to
Newcastle.—Events in Ischia.—Ferdinand of Spain in
Naples.—Life in Naples in the Sixteenth Century.—Marriage
of Pescara with Vittoria.—Marriage presents 287
CHAPTER III.
Vittoria's Married Life.—Pescara goes where glory waits
him.—The Rout of Ravenna.—Pescara in prison turns
penman.—His "Dialogo di amore."—Vittoria's poetical
epistle to her Husband.—Vittoria and the Marchese del
Vasto.—Three cart-loads of ladies, and three mule-loads of
sweatmeats.—Character of Pescara.—His Cruelty.—Anecdote
in proof of it 301
CHAPTER IV.
Society in Ischia.—Bernardo Tasso's sonnet thereon.—How
a wedding was celebrated at Naples in 1517.—A Sixteenth
Century trousseau.—Sack of Genoa.—The Battle of
Pavia.—Italian conspiracy against Charles V.—Character of
Pescara.—Honour in 1525.—Pescara's treason.—Vittoria's
sentiments on the occasion.—Pescara's infamy.—Patriotism
unknown in Italy in the sixteenth century.—No such
sentiment to be found in the writings of Vittoria.—Evil
influence of her husband's character on her mind.—Death of
Pescara 312
CHAPTER V.
Vittoria, a widow, with the Nuns of San Silvestro.—Returns
to Ischia.—Her Poetry divisible into two
classes.—Specimens of her Sonnets.—They rapidly attain
celebrity throughout Italy.—Vittoria's sentiments towards
her husband.—Her unblemished character.—Platonic
love.—The love poetry of the Sixteenth Century 328
CHAPTER VI.
Vittoria in Rome in 1530.—Antiquarian rambles.—Pyramus
and Thisbe medal.—Contemporary commentary on Vittoria's
poems.—Paul III.—Rome again in 1536.—Visit to Lucca.—To
Ferrara.—Protestant tendencies.—Invitation from
Giberto.—Return to Rome 345
CHAPTER VII.
Oratory of Divine Love.—Italian reformers.—Their
tenets.—Consequence of the doctrine of justification
by faith.—Fear of schism in Italy.—Orthodoxy of
Vittoria questioned.—Proofs of her Protestantism from
her writings.—Calvinism of her sonnets.—Remarkable
passage against auricular confession.—Controversial
and religious sonnets.—Absence from the sonnets of
moral topics.—Specimen of her poetical power.—Romanist
ideas.—Absence from the sonnets of all patriotic feeling 356
CHAPTER VIII.
Return to Rome.—Her great reputation.—Friendship with
Michael Angelo.—Medal of this period.—Removal to
Orvieto.—Visit from Luca Contile.—Her determination
not to quit the Church.—Francesco d'Olanda.—His
record of conversations with Vittoria.—Vittoria at
Viterbo.—Influence of Cardinal Pole on her mind.—Last
return to Rome.—Her death 377
APPENDIX:
The Original of the Letter of St. Catherine of Siena to the
King of France 393
NOTES 398
INDEX 410
A DECADE OF ITALIAN WOMEN.
SAINT CATHERINE OF SIENA.
(1347–1380.)
CHAPTER I.
HER BIRTH-PLACE.
There are not many chapters of history more extraordinary and more
perplexing than that which relates the story of St. Catherine. Very
perplexing it will be found by any, who may think it worth while to
examine the record;—which is indeed well worthy of examination, not
only as illustrative of one of the most obscure phases of human nature,
but also as involving some highly interesting questions respecting the
value of historic evidence.
Of such examination it has received but little. Among Catholics the
"legend" of the Saint is to this day extensively used for such purposes
as similar legends were intended to serve. Orthodox teachers have
used the story unsparingly as stimulus, example, and testimony. But
orthodox historians have passed over it with the lightest tread and
most hurried step; while such Protestant readers as may have chanced
to stray into the dim, despised wilderness of Romish hagiography, have
in all probability very quickly tossed the volume aside, compendiously
classing its subject in their minds with other dark-aged lumber of
martyrs, who walked with their heads in their hands, and saints who
personally maltreated the enemy of mankind.
Yet a very little consideration of the story will show, that it
cannot with fairness be thus summarily disposed of. After seeing
large solid masses of monastic romance and pious falsehood evaporate
from the crucible of our criticism, there will be still found a very
considerable residuum of strangely irreducible fact of the most
puzzling description.
It is to be borne in mind, moreover, that the phenomena to be examined
are not the product of the dark night-time of history, so favourable
to the generation of saints and saintly wonders. Cock-crow was
near at hand when Catherine walked the earth. The grandsons of her
contemporaries had the printing-press among them; and the story of
her life was printed at Florence in the ninety-seventh year after
her death. While the illiterate Sienese dyer's daughter was working
miracles, moral and physical, Petrarch and Boccaccio were still
writing, and Dante had recently written. Giotto had painted the panels
we still gaze on, and Niccolò of Pisa carved the stones we yet handle.
Chroniclers and historians abounded; and the scene of the strange
things recorded by them was at that time one of the centres of human
civilisation and progress. We are there in no misty debateable land
of myth and legendary song; but walk among familiar facts of solid
well-authenticated history, studied for its lessons by statesmen, and
accepted as the basis of theories by political philosophers. And yet,
in the midst of these indubitable facts, mixed with them, acting on
them, undeniably influencing them, we come upon the records of a story
wild as any tale of Denis or Dunstan.
[Sidenote: SIENA.]
When once launched on the strange narrative, as it has come down to
us, it is somewhat difficult to remember steadily how near we are
all along to the solid shore of indisputable fact. Holding fast to
this, therefore, as long as may be, we will approach the subject by
endeavouring to obtain some idea of the material aspect of the "locus
in quo."
No one perhaps of the more important cities of Italy retains the
visible impress of its old republican medieval life to so remarkable
a degree as Siena. Less favoured by fortune than her old enemy, and
present ruler, Florence, she has been less benefited or injured by
the activity and changes of modern days. And the city retains the
fossilised form and shape which belonged to it at the time when its
own stormy old life was finally crushed out of it. The once turbulent,
energetic, and brave old city, sits there still, on the cold bleak
top of a long spent volcano—emblem meet enough of her own nature and
fortunes—grim, silent, stern, in death. The dark massy stone fronts,
grand and gloomy, of old houses, built to defy all the vicissitudes
of civic broils, and partisan town-fighting, still frown over narrow
streets, no longer animated by the turbulent tide of life which filled
them during the centuries of the city's independence.
The strange old "piazza," once the pulsating heart, whence the hot tide
of the old civic life flowed through all the body of the little state,
still occupies its singular position in the hollow of what was in
some remote ante-Etruscan time, the crater of a volcano. Tall houses
of five or six stories stand in a semicircle around this peculiar
shell-shaped cup, while the chord of the arc they form, is furnished
by the picturesque "palazzo pubblico," with its tall slender tower of
dark brick, and quaintly painted walls. Like the lava tide, which at
some distant period of the world's history flowed hence down the scored
sides of the mountain, the little less boiling tide of republican war
and republican commerce, which Siena was wont to pour out from the same
fount, is now extinct and spent. But such lazy, stagnant, unwholesome
life as despotism and priestcraft have left to Siena, is still most
alive in and around the old piazza.
Up the sides of this doubly extinguished crater, and down the
exterior flanks of the mountain, run steep, narrow, tortuous and
gloomy, the flagstone-paved streets of the old city. So steep are
they in some parts, that stairs have to take the place of the sloping
flagstones, which are often laid at such an angle of declivity as
to render wheel-traffic impossible. On the highest pinnacle of the
rim, overlooking the hollow of the once crater, stands the Cathedral,
on such uneven ground, that its east end is supported by a lofty
baptistery, built underneath it on the rapid descent. In the most
ornamented style of Italian-gothic architecture, and picturesque,
though quaint, in its parti- livery of horizontal black and
white stripes in alternate courses of marble, the old church still
contains a wonderful quantity of medieval Sienese art in many kinds.
Carving in wood and in stone, painting in fresco and in oil, inlaid
work and mosaic, richly windows and gilded cornices, adorn
walls, floor, and roof, in every part. The whole history of art
from the early days, when Sienese artists first timidly essayed to
imitate barbaric Byzantine models, to its perfect consummation in
those glorious ages which immediately preceded the downfall of Italian
liberty, is set forth in this fine old church, as in a rich and
overflowing museum. Some half dozen popes sleep beneath sculptured tons
of monumental marble in different parts of it,—among them two of the
very old Sienese family of Picolomini.
[Sidenote: FONTEBRANDA.]
On another peak, or spur, of the deeply seamed mountain, stands
the huge unornamented brick church and monastery of St. Dominic,
so situated, that between it and the Cathedral is a steep gorge,
the almost precipitous sides of which the old city has covered with
stair-like streets. Deep at the bottom of this gorge, near a gate in
the city wall, which runs indefatigably up and down the mountain ridges
and ravines in its circuit around the spacious city, now a world too
wide for its shrunken population, is that old fountain, which one
passing word of the great poet has made for ever celebrated. Here is
still that Fontebranda,[1] which, with all its wealth of sparkling
water, the thirst-tormented coiner in the thirtieth canto of the
Inferno, less longs for than he does to see in torment with him those
who had tempted him to the deed he was expiating.
The Dantescan pilgrim, who, among his first objects at Siena, runs
to visit this precious fountain, finds, not without a feeling of
disappointment, a square mass of heavy ugly brickwork, supported on
some three or four unornamented arches on each of its four sides.
Within is a large tank, also of brick, the sides of which rise about
two feet above the level of the soil; and this is perennially filled
by a cool and pure spring from the sandstone side of the mountain,
which there rises in a broken cliff immediately behind the ungraceful,
though classic building. Descending the steep street in search of this
poet-hallowed spot, with the Cathedral behind him, and St. Dominic's
church high on its peak above and in front of him, the visitor finds
that he is passing through a part of the city inhabited by the poorer
classes of its people. And near the bottom of the hill, and around the
fountain itself, it is manifest to more senses than one, that a colony
of tanners and dyers is still established on the same site which their
forefathers occupied, when Giacomo Ben | 2,592.265633 |
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THE YOUNG EMPEROR, WILLIAM II OF GERMANY
A Study In Character Development On A Throne
By Harold Frederic
Author Of “In The Valley “The Lawton Girl”
With Portraits
New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons
1891
[Illustration: 0011]
[Illustration: 0012]
TO MY EDITOR, AND EVEN MORE TO MY FRIEND,
CHARLES R. MILLER
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
THE YOUNG EMPEROR, WILLIAM II OF GERMANY
CHAPTER I.--THE SUPREMACY OF THE HOHENZOLLERNS.
In June of 1888, an army of workmen were toiling in the Champ de Mars
upon the foundations of a noble World’s Exhibition, planned to celebrate
the centenary of the death by violence of the Divine Right of Kings.
Four thousand miles westward, in the city of Chicago, some seven
hundred delegates were assembled in National Convention, to select the
twenty-third President of a great Republic, which also stood upon the
threshold of its hundredth birthday. These were both suggestive facts,
full of hopeful and inspiring thoughts to the serious mind. Considered
together by themselves they seemed very eloquent proofs of the progress
which Liberty, Enlightenment, the Rights of Man, and other admirable
abstractions spelled with capital letters, had made during the century.
But, unfortunately or otherwise, history will not take them by
themselves. That same June of 1888 witnessed a spectacle of quite
another sort in a third large city--a spectacle which gave the lie
direct to everything that Paris and Chicago seemed to say. This sharp
and clamorous note of contradiction came from Berlin, where a helmeted
and crimson-cloaked young man, still in his thirtieth year, stood erect
on a throne, surrounded by the bowing forms of twenty ruling sovereigns,
and proclaimed, with the harsh, peremptory voice of a drill-sergeant,
that he was a War Lord, a Mailed Hand of Providence, and a sovereign
specially conceived, created, and invested with power by God, for the
personal government of some fifty millions of people.
It is much to be feared that, in the ears of the muse of history, the
resounding shrillness of this voice drowned alike the noise of the
hammers on the banks of the Seine and the cheering of the delegates at
Chicago.
Any man, standing on that throne in the White Saloon of the old
Schloss at Berlin, would have to be a good deal considered by his
fellow-creatures. Even if we put aside the tremendous international
importance of the position of a German Emperor, in that gravely open
question of peace or war, he must compel attention as the visible
embodiment of a fact, the existence of which those who like it least
must still recognize. This is the fact: that the Hohenzollerns, having
done many notable things in other times, have in our day revivified
and popularized the monarchical idea, not only in Germany, but to a
considerable extent elsewhere throughout Europe. It is too much to say,
perhaps, that they have made it beloved in any quarter which was hostile
before. But they have brought it to the front under new conditions, and
secured for it admiring notice as the mainspring of a most efficient,
exact, vigorous, and competent system of government. They have made an
Empire with it--a magnificent modern machine, in which army and civil
service and subsidiary federal administrations all move together like
the wheels of a watch. Under the impulse of this idea they have not only
brought governmental order out of the old-time chaos of German divisions
and dissensions, but they have given their subjects a public service,
which, taken all in all, is more effective and well-ordered than its
equivalent produced by popular institutions in America, France, or
England, and they have built up a fighting force for the protection of
German frontiers which is at once the marvel and the terror of Europe.
Thus they have, as has been said, rescued the ancient and time-worn
function of kingship from the contempt and odium into which it had
fallen during the first half of the century, and rendered it once more
respectable in the eyes of a utilitarian world.
But it is not enough to be useful, diligent, and capable. If it were,
the Orleans Princes might still be living in the Tuileries. A kingly
race, to maintain or increase its strength, must appeal to the national
imagination. The Hohenzollerns have been able to do this. The Prussian
imagination is largely made up of appetite, and their Kings, however
fatuous and limited of vision they may have been in other matters, have
never lost sight of this fact. If we include the Great Elector, there
have been ten of these Kings, and of the ten eight have made Prussia
bigger than they found her. Sometimes the gain has been clutched out of
the smoke and flame of battle; sometimes it has more closely resembled
burglary, or bank embezzlement on a large scale; once or twice it has
come in the form of gifts from interested neighbours, in which category,
perhaps, the cession of Heligoland may be placed--but gain of some sort
there has always been, save only in the reign of Frederic William IV and
the melancholy three months of Frederic III.
That there should be a great affection for and pride in the
Hohenzollerns in Prussia was natural enough. They typified the strength
of beak, the power of talons and sweeping wings, which had made Prussia
what she was. But nothing save a very remarkable train of surprising
events could have brought the rest of Germany to share this affection
and pride.
The truth is, of course, that up to 1866 most other Germans disliked
the Prussians thoroughly and vehemently, and decorated those head
Prussians, the Hohenzollerns, with an extremity of antipathy. That
brief war in Bohemia, with the consequent annexation of Hanover,
Hesse-Cassel, Nassau, and Frankfort, did not inspire any new love for
the Prussians anywhere, we may be sure, but it did open the eyes of
other Germans to the fact that their sovereigns--Kings, Electors, Grand
Dukes, and what not--were all collectively not worth the right arm of a
single Hohenzollern.
It was a good deal to learn even this--and, turning over this revelation
in their minds, the Germans by 1871 were in a mood to move almost
abreast of Prussia in the apotheosis of the victor of Sedan and Paris.
To the end of old William’s life in 1888, there was always more or less
of the apotheosis about the Germans’ attitude toward him. He was never
quite real to them in the sense that Leopold is real in Brussels
or Humbert in Rome. The German imagination always saw him as he is
portrayed in the fine fresco by Wislicenus in the ancient imperial
palace at Goslar--a majestic figure, clad in modern war trappings yet of
mythical aspect, surrounded, it is true, by the effigies of recognizable
living Kings, Queens, and Generals, but escorted also by heroic
ancestral shades, as he rides forward out of the canvas. Close behind
him rides his son, Fritz, and he, too, following in the immediate shadow
of his father to the last, lives only now in pictures and in sad musing
dreams of what might have been.
But William II--the young Kaiser and King--_is_ a reality. He has won no
battles. No antique legends wreathe their romantic mists about him. It
has occurred to no artist to paint him on a palace wall, with the mailed
shadows of mediaeval Barbarossas and Conrads and Sigismunds overhead.
The group of helmeted warriors who cluster about those two mounted
figures in the Goslar picture, and who, in the popular fancy, bring
down to our own time some of the attributes of mediaeval devotion and
prowess--this group is dispersed now. Moltke, Prince Frederic Charles,
Roon, Manteuffel, and many others are dead; Blumenthal is in
dignified retirement; Bismarck is at Friedrichsruh. New men crowd the
scene--clever organizers, bright and adroit parliamentarians, competent
administrators, but still fashioned quite of our own clay--busy new men
whom we may look at without hurting our eyes.
For the first time, therefore, it is possible to study this prodigious
new Germany, its rulers and its people, in a practical way, without
being either dazzled by the disproportionate brilliancy of a few
individuals or drawn into side-paths after picturesque unrealities.
*****
Three years of this new reign have shown us Germany by daylight
instead of under the glamour and glare of camp fires and triumphal
illuminations. We see now that the Hohenzollern stands out in the far
front, and that the other German royalties, Wendish, Slavonic, heirs
of Wittekind, portentously ancient barbaric dynasties of all sorts, are
only vaguely discernible in the background. During the lifetime of the
old Kaiser it seemed possible that their eclipse might be of only a
temporary nature. Nowhere can such an idea be cherished now. Young
William dwarfs them all by comparison even more strikingly than did his
grandfather.
They all came to Berlin to do him homage at the opening of the
Reichstag, which inaugurated his reign on June 25, 1888. They will never
make so brave a show again; even then they twinkled like poor tallow
dips beside the shining personality of their young Prussian chief.
Almost all of them are of royal lines older than that of the
Hohenzollerns. Five of the principal personages among them--the King of
Saxony, the Regent representing Bavaria’s crazy King, the heir-apparent
representing the semi-crazy King of Wurtemberg, the Grand Duke of Baden,
and the Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt--owe their titles in their present
form to Napoleon, who paid their ancestors in this cheap coin for
their wretched treason and cowardice in joining with him to crush and
dismember Prussia. Now they are at the feet of Prussia, not indeed in
the posture of conquered equals, but as liveried political subordinates.
No such wiping out of sovereign authorities and emasculation of
sovere | 2,592.266505 |
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THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE
by Thomas Hardy
1.
One evening of late summer, before the nineteenth century had reached
one-third of its span, a young man and woman, the latter carrying a
child, were approaching the large village of Weydon-Priors, in Upper
Wessex, on foot. They were plainly but not ill clad, though the thick
hoar of dust which had accumulated on their shoes and garments from
an obviously long journey lent a disadvantageous shabbiness to their
appearance just now.
The man was of fine figure, swarthy, and stern in aspect; and he
showed in profile a facial angle so slightly inclined as to be almost
perpendicular. He wore a short jacket of brown corduroy, newer than the
remainder of his suit, which was a fustian waistcoat with white horn
buttons, breeches of the same, tanned leggings, and a straw hat overlaid
with black glazed canvas. At his back he carried by a looped strap a
rush basket, from which protruded at one end the crutch of a hay-knife,
a wimble for hay-bonds being also visible in the aperture. His measured,
springless walk was the walk of the skilled countryman as distinct from
the desultory shamble of the general labourer; while in the turn and
plant of each foot there was, further, a dogged and cynical indifference
personal to himself, showing its presence even in the regularly
interchanging fustian folds, now in the left leg, now in the right, as
he paced along.
What was really peculiar, however, in this couple's progress, and would
have attracted the attention of any casual observer otherwise disposed
to overlook them, was the perfect silence they preserved. They walked
side by side in such a way as to suggest afar off the low, easy,
confidential chat of people full of reciprocity; but on closer view it
could be discerned that the man was reading, or pretending to read, a
ballad sheet which he kept before his eyes with some difficulty by the
hand that was passed through the basket strap. Whether this apparent
cause were the real cause, or whether it were an assumed one to escape
an intercourse that would have been irksome to him, nobody but himself
could have said precisely; but his taciturnity was unbroken, and the
woman enjoyed no society whatever from his presence. Virtually she
walked the highway alone, save for the child she bore. Sometimes the
man's bent elbow almost touched her shoulder, for she kept as close to
his side as was possible without actual contact, but she seemed to
have no idea of taking his arm, nor he of offering it; and far from
exhibiting surprise at his ignoring silence she appeared to receive it
as a natural thing. If any word at all were uttered by the little group,
it was an occasional whisper of the woman to the child--a tiny girl in
short clothes and blue boots of knitted yarn--and the murmured babble of
the child in reply.
The chief--almost the only--attraction of the young woman's face was its
mobility. When she looked down sideways to the girl she became pretty,
and even handsome, particularly that in the action her features
caught slantwise the rays of the strongly sun, which made
transparencies of her eyelids and nostrils and set fire on her lips.
When she plodded on in the shade of the hedge, silently thinking,
she had the hard, half-apathetic expression of one who deems anything
possible at the hands of Time and Chance except, perhaps, fair play. The
first phase was the work of Nature, the second probably of civilization.
That the man and woman were husband and wife, and the parents of
the girl in arms there could be little doubt. No other than such
relationship would have accounted for the atmosphere of stale
familiarity which the trio carried along with them like a nimbus as they
moved down the road.
The wife mostly kept her eyes fixed ahead, though with little
interest--the scene for that matter being one that might have been
matched at almost any spot in any county in England at this time of
the year; a road neither straight nor crooked, neither level nor hilly,
bordered by hedges, trees, and other vegetation, which had entered the
blackened-green stage of colour that the doomed leaves pass through on
their way to dingy, and yellow, and red. The grassy margin of the bank,
and the nearest hedgerow boughs, were powdered by the dust that had been
stirred over them by hasty vehicles, the same dust as it lay on the road
deadening their footfalls like a carpet; and this, with the aforesaid
total absence of conversation, allowed every extraneous sound to be
heard.
For a long time there was none, beyond the voice of a weak bird singing
a trite old evening song that might doubtless have been heard on the
hill at the same hour, and with the self-same trills, quavers, and
breves, at any sunset of that season for centuries untold. But as they
approached the village sundry distant shouts and rattles reached their
ears from some elevated spot in that direction, as yet screened from
view by foliage. When the outlying houses of Weydon-Priors could just be
described, the family group was met by a turnip-hoer with his hoe on
his shoulder, and his dinner-bag suspended from it. The reader promptly
glanced up.
"Any trade doing here?" he asked phlegmatically, designating the village
in his van by a wave of the broadsheet. And thinking the labourer did
not understand him, he added, "Anything in the hay-trussing line?"
The turnip-hoer had already begun shaking his head. "Why, save the man,
what wisdom's in him that 'a should come to Weydon for a job of that
sort this time o' year?"
"Then is there any house to let--a little small new cottage just a
builded, or such like?" asked the other.
The pessimist still maintained a negative. "Pulling down is more the
nater of Weydon. There were five houses cleared away last year, and
three this; and the volk nowhere to go--no, not so much as a thatched
hurdle; that's the way o' Weydon-Priors."
The hay-trusser, which he obviously was, nodded with some
superciliousness. Looking towards the village, he continued, "There is
something going on here, however, is there not?"
"Ay. 'Tis Fair Day. Though what you hear now is little more than the
clatter and scurry of getting away the money o' children and fools, for
the real business is done earlier than this. I've been working within
sound o't all day, but I didn't go up--not I. 'Twas no business of
mine."
The trusser and his family proceeded on their way, and soon entered the
Fair-field, which showed standing-places and pens where many hundreds of
horses and sheep had been exhibited and sold in the forenoon, but
were now in great part taken away. At present, as their informant had
observed, but little real business remained on hand, the chief being the
sale by auction of a few inferior animals, that could not otherwise
be disposed of, and had been absolutely refused by the better class
of traders, who came and went early. Yet the crowd was denser now
than during the morning hours, the frivolous contingent of visitors,
including journeymen out for a holiday, a stray soldier or two come on
furlough, village shopkeepers, and the like, having latterly flocked in;
persons whose activities found a congenial field among the peep-shows,
toy-stands, waxworks, inspired monsters, disinterested medical men who
travelled for the public good, thimble-riggers, nick-nack vendors, and
readers of Fate.
Neither of our pedestrians had much heart for these things, and they
looked around for a refreshment tent among the many which dotted the
down. Two, which stood nearest to them in the ochreous haze of expiring
sunlight, seemed almost equally inviting. One was formed of new,
milk-hued canvas, and bore red flags on its summit; it announced "Good
Home-brewed Beer, Ale, and Cyder." The other was less new; a little iron
stove-pipe came out of it at the back and in front appeared the placard,
"Good Furmity Sold Hear." The man mentally weighed the two inscriptions
and inclined to the former tent.
"No--no--the other one," said the woman. "I always like furmity; and so
does Elizabeth-Jane; and so will you. It is nourishing after a long hard
day."
"I've never tasted it," said the man. However, he gave way to her
representations, and they entered the furmity booth forthwith.
A rather numerous company appeared within, seated at the long narrow
tables that ran down the tent on each side. At the upper end stood a
stove, containing a charcoal fire, over which hung a large three-legged
crock, sufficiently polished round the rim to show that it was made
of bell-metal. A haggish creature of about fifty presided, in a white
apron, which as it threw an air of respectability over her as far as
it extended, was made so wide as to reach nearly round her waist. She
slowly stirred the contents of the pot. The dull scrape of her large
spoon was audible throughout the tent as she thus kept from burning the
mixture of corn in the grain, flour, milk, raisins, currants, and what
not, that composed the antiquated slop in which she dealt. Vessels
holding the separate ingredients stood on a white-clothed table of
boards and trestles close by.
The young man and woman ordered a basin each of the mixture, steaming
hot, and sat down to consume it at leisure. This was very well so far,
for furmity, as the woman had said, was nourishing, and as proper a
food as could be obtained within the four seas; though, to those not
accustomed to it, the grains of wheat swollen as large as lemon-pips,
which floated on its surface, might have a deterrent effect at first.
But there was more in that tent than met the cursory glance; and the
man, with the instinct of a perverse character, scented it quickly.
After a mincing attack on his bowl, he watched the hag's proceedings
from the corner of his eye, and saw the game she played. He winked to
her, and passed up his basin in reply to her nod; when she took a bottle
from under the table, slily measured out a quantity of its contents, and
tipped the same into the man's furmity. The liquor poured in was rum.
The man as slily sent back money in payment.
He found the concoction, thus strongly laced, much more to his
satisfaction than it had been in its natural state. His wife had
observed the proceeding with much uneasiness; but he persuaded her to
have hers laced also, and she agreed to a milder allowance after some
misgiving.
The man finished his basin, and called for another, the rum being
signalled for in yet stronger proportion. The effect of it was soon
apparent in his manner, and his wife but too sadly perceived that in
strenuously steering off the rocks of the licensed liquor-tent she had
only got into maelstrom depths here amongst the smugglers.
The child began to prattle impatiently, and the wife more than once said
to her husband, "Michael, how about our lodging? You know we may have
trouble in getting it if we don't go soon."
But he turned a deaf ear to those bird-like chirpings. He talked loud to
the company. The child's black eyes, after slow, round, ruminating gazes
at the candles when they were lighted, fell together; then they opened,
then shut again, and she slept.
At the end of the first basin the man had risen to serenity; at the
second he was jovial; at the third, argumentative, at the fourth, the
qualities signified by the shape of his face, the occasional clench of
his mouth, and the fiery spark of his dark eye, began to tell in his
conduct; he was overbearing--even brilliantly quarrelsome.
The conversation took a high turn, as it often does on such occasions.
The ruin of good men by bad wives, and, more particularly, the
frustration of many a promising youth's high aims and hopes and the
extinction of his energies by an early imprudent marriage, was the
theme.
"I did for myself that way thoroughly," said the trusser with a
contemplative bitterness that was well-night resentful. "I married at
eighteen, like the fool that I was; and this is the consequence o't." He
pointed at himself and family with a wave of the hand intended to bring
out the penuriousness of the exhibition.
The young woman his wife, who seemed accustomed to such remarks, acted
as if she did not hear them, and continued her intermittent private
words of tender trifles to the sleeping and waking child, who was just
big enough to be placed for a moment on the bench beside her when she
wished to ease her arms. The man continued--
"I haven't more than fifteen shillings in the world, and yet I am a good
experienced hand in my line. I'd challenge England to beat me in the
fodder business; and if I were a free man again I'd be worth a thousand
pound before I'd done o't. But a fellow never knows these little things
till all chance of acting upon 'em is past."
The auctioneer selling the old horses in the field outside could be
heard saying, "Now this is the last lot--now who'll take the last
lot for a song? Shall I say forty shillings? 'Tis a very promising
broodmare, a trifle over five years old, and nothing the matter with the
hoss at all, except that she's a little holler in the back and had her
left eye knocked out by the kick of another, her own sister, coming
along the road."
"For my part I don't see why men who have got wives and don't want 'em,
shouldn't get rid of 'em as these gipsy fellows do their old horses,"
said the man in the tent. "Why shouldn't they put 'em up and sell 'em
by auction to men who are in need of such articles? Hey? Why, begad, I'd
sell mine this minute if anybody would buy her!"
"There's them that would do that," some of the guests replied, looking
at the woman, who was by no means ill-favoured.
"True," said a smoking gentleman, whose coat had the fine polish about
the collar, elbows, seams, and shoulder-blades that long-continued
friction with grimy surfaces will produce, and which is usually more
desired on furniture than on clothes. From his appearance he had
possibly been in former time groom or coachman to some neighbouring
county family. "I've had my breedings in as good circles, I may say, as
any man," he added, "and I know true cultivation, or nobody do; and I
can declare she's got it--in the bone, mind ye, I say--as much as any
female in the fair--though it may want a little bringing out." Then,
crossing his legs, he resumed his pipe with a nicely-adjusted gaze at a
point in the air.
The fuddled young husband stared for a few seconds at this unexpected
praise of his wife, half in doubt of the wisdom of his own attitude
towards the possessor of such qualities. But he speedily lapsed into his
former conviction, and said harshly--
"Well, then, now is your chance; I am open to an offer for this gem o'
creation."
She turned to her husband and murmured, "Michael, you have talked this
nonsense in public places before. A joke is a joke, but you may make it
once too often, mind!"
"I know I've said it before; I meant it. All I want is a buyer."
At the moment a swallow, one among the last of the season, which had by
chance found its way through an opening into the upper part of the tent,
flew to and from quick curves above their heads, causing all eyes to
follow it absently. In watching the bird till it made its escape the
assembled company neglected to respond to the workman's offer, and the
subject dropped.
But a quarter of an hour later the man, who had gone on lacing his
furmity more and more heavily, though he was either so strong-minded or
such an intrepid toper that he still appeared fairly sober, recurred to
the old strain, as in a musical fantasy the instrument fetches up the
original theme. "Here--I am waiting to know about this offer of mine.
The woman is no good to me. Who'll have her?"
The company had by this time decidedly degenerated, and the renewed
inquiry was received with a laugh of appreciation. The woman whispered;
she was imploring and anxious: "Come, come, it is getting dark, and
this nonsense won't do. If you don't come along, I shall go without you.
Come!"
She waited and waited; yet he did not move. In ten minutes the man broke
in upon the desultory conversation of the furmity drinkers with. "I
asked this question, and nobody answered to 't. Will any Jack Rag or Tom
Straw among ye buy my goods?"
The woman's manner changed, and her face assumed the grim shape and
colour of which mention has been made.
"Mike, Mike," she said; "this is getting serious. O!--too serious!"
"Will anybody buy her?" said the man.
"I wish somebody would," said she firmly. "Her present owner is not at
all to her liking!"
"Nor you to mine," said he. "So we are agreed about that. Gentlemen, you
hear? It's an agreement to part. She shall take the girl if she wants
to, and go her ways. I'll take my tools, and go my ways. 'Tis simple as
Scripture history. Now then, stand up, Susan, and show yourself."
"Don't, my chiel," whispered a buxom staylace dealer in voluminous
petticoats | 2,592.358318 |
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A TEXAS MATCHMAKER
by
ANDY ADAMS
Author of 'The Log of a Cowboy'
ILLUSTRATED BY E. BOYD SMITH
1904
[Illustration: ROLLING THE BULL OVER LIKE A HOOP (page 207)]
TO
FRANK H. EARNEST
MOUNTED INSPECTOR U.S. CUSTOMS SERVICE
LAREDO, TEXAS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. LANCE LOVELACE
II. SHEPHERD'S FERRY
III. LAS PALOMAS
IV. CHRISTMAS
V. A PIGEON HUNT
VI. SPRING OF '76
VII. SAN JACINTO DAY
VIII. A CAT HUNT ON THE FRIO
IX. THE ROSE AND ITS THORN
X. AFTERMATH
XI. A TURKEY BAKE
XII. SUMMER OF '77
XIII. HIDE HUNTING
XIV. A TWO YEARS' DROUTH
XV. IN COMMEMORATION
XVI. MATCHMAKING
XVII. WINTER AT LAS PALOMAS
XVIII. AN INDIAN SCARE
XIX. HORSE BRANDS
XX. SHADOWS
XXI. INTERLOCUTORY PROCEEDINGS
XXII. SUNSET
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
ROLLING THE BULL OVER LIKE A HOOP
WE GOT THE AMBULANCE OFF BEFORE SUNRISE
FLASHED A MESSAGE BACK
GAVE THE WILDEST HORSES THEIR HEADS
HE SPED DOWN THE COURSE
UTTERING A SINGLE PIERCING SNORT
CHAPTER I
LANCE LOVELACE
When I first found employment with Lance Lovelace, a Texas cowman, I
had not yet attained my majority, while he was over sixty. Though not
a native of Texas, "Uncle Lance" was entitled to be classed among its
pioneers, his parents having emigrated from Tennessee along with a party
of Stephen F. Austin's colonists in 1821. The colony with which his
people reached the state landed at Quintana, at the mouth of the Brazos
River, and shared the various hardships that befell all the early Texan
settlers, moving inland later to a more healthy locality. Thus the
education of young Lovelace was one of privation. Like other boys in
pioneer families, he became in turn a hewer of wood or drawer of
water, as the necessities of the household required, in reclaiming the
wilderness. When Austin hoisted the new-born Lone Star flag, and called
upon the sturdy pioneers to defend it, the adventurous settlers came
from every quarter of the territory, and among the first who responded
to the call to arms was young Lance Lovelace. After San Jacinto, when
the fighting was over and the victory won, he laid down his arms,
and returned to ranching with the same zeal and energy. The first
legislature assembled voted to those who had borne arms in behalf of the
new republic, lands in payment for their services. With this land scrip
for his pay, young Lovelace, in company with others, set out for the
territory lying south of the Nueces. They were a band of daring spirits.
The country was primitive and fascinated them, and they remained. Some
settled on the Frio River, though the majority crossed the Nueces, many
going as far south as the Rio Grande. The country was as large as the
men were daring, and there was elbow room for all and to spare. Lance
Lovelace located a ranch a few miles south of the Nueces River, and,
from the cooing of the doves in the encinal, named it Las Palomas.
"When I first settled here in 1838," said Uncle Lance to me one morning,
as we rode out across the range, "my nearest neighbor lived forty miles
up the river at Fort Ewell. Of course there were some Mexican families
nearer, north on the Frio, but they don't count. Say, Tom, but she was a
purty country then! Why, from those hills yonder, any morning you could
see a thousand antelope in a band going into the river to drink. And
wild turkeys? Well, the first few years we lived here, whole flocks
roosted every night in that farther point of the encinal. And in the
winter these prairies were just flooded with geese and brant. If you
wanted venison, all you had to do was to ride through those mesquite
thickets north of the river to jump a hundred deer in a morning's ride.
Oh, I tell you she was a land of plenty."
The pioneers of Texas belong to a day and generation which has almost
gone. If strong arms and daring spirits were required to conquer the
wilderness, Nature seemed generous in the supply; for nearly all were
stalwart types of the inland viking. Lance Lovelace, when I first met
him, would have passed for a man in middle life. Over six feet in
height, with a rugged constitution, he little felt his threescore
years, having spent his entire lifetime in the outdoor occupation of a
ranchman. Living on the wild game of the country, sleeping on the ground
by a camp-fire when his work required it, as much at home in the saddle
as by his ranch fireside, he was a romantic type of the strenuous
pioneer.
He was a man of simple tastes, true as tested steel in his friendships,
with a simple honest mind which followed truth and right as unerringly
as gravitation. In his domestic affairs, however, he was unfortunate.
The year after locating at Las Palomas, he had returned to his former
home on the Colorado River, where he had married Mary Bryan, also of the
family of Austin's colonists. Hopeful and happy they returned to their
new home on the Nueces, but before the first anniversary of their
wedding day arrived, she, with her first born, were laid in the same
grave. But grief does not kill, and the young husband bore his loss as
brave men do in living out their allotted day. But to the hour of his
death the memory of Mary Bryan mellowed him into a child, and, when
unoccupied, with every recurring thought of her or the mere mention of
her name, he would fall into deep reverie, lasting sometimes for hours.
And although he contracted two marriages afterward, they were simply
marriages of convenience, to which, after their termination, he
frequently referred flippantly, sometimes with irreverence, for they
were unhappy alliances.
On my arrival at Las Palomas, the only white woman on the ranch was
"Miss Jean," a spinster sister of its owner, and twenty years his
junior. After his third bitter experience in the lottery of matrimony,
evidently he gave up hope, and induced his sister to come out and
preside as the mistress of Las Palomas. She was not tall like her
brother, but rather plump for her forty years. She had large gray eyes,
with long black eyelashes, and she had a trick of looking out from under
them which was both provoking and disconcerting, and no doubt many an
admirer had been deceived by those same roguish, laughing eyes. Every
man, Mexican and child on the ranch was the devoted courtier of Miss
Jean, for she was a lovable woman; and in spite of her isolated life and
the constant plaguings | 2,592.360632 |
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A Source Book of Philippine History
To Supply a Fairer View of Filipino Participation and Supplement the
Defective Spanish Accounts
PHILIPPINE PROGRESS PRIOR TO 1898
By AUSTIN CRAIG and CONRADO BENITEZ
Of the College of Liberal Arts Faculty of the University of the
Philippines
Philippine Education Co., Inc., Manila, 1916
The following 720 pages are divided into two volumes, each of which,
for the convenience of the reader, is paged separately and has its
index, or table of contents:
VOLUME I
I. The Old Philippines' Industrial Development
(Chapters of an Economic History)
I.--Agriculture and Landholding at the time of the Discovery
and Conquest. II.--Industries at the Time of Discovery and
Conquest. III.--Trade and Commerce at the Time of Discovery and
Conquest. IV.--Trade and Commerce; the Period of Restriction. V.--The
XIX Century and Economic Development.
By Professor Conrado Benitez
II. The Filipinos' Part in the Philippines' Past
(Pre-Spanish Philippine History A. D. 43-1565; Beginnings of Philippine
Nationalism.)
By Professor Austin Craig
VOLUME II
III. The Former Philippines thru Foreign Eyes
(Jagor's Travels in the Philippines; Comyn's State of the Philippines
in 1810; Wilkes' Manila and Sulu in 1842; White's Manila in 1819;
Virchow's Peopling of the Philippines; 1778 and 1878; English Views
of the People and Prospects of the Philippines; and Karuth's Filipino
Merchants of the Early 1890s)
Edited by Professor Craig
Made in Manila--Press of E. C. McCullough & Co.--The Work of Filipinos
EDITOR'S EXPLANATIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This work is pre-requisite to the needed re-writing of Philippine
history as the story of its people. The present treatment, as a chapter
of Spanish history, has been so long accepted that deviation from
the standard story without first furnishing proof would demoralize
students and might create the impression that a change of government
justified re-stating the facts of the past in the way which would
pander to its pride.
With foreigners' writing, the extracts herein have been extensive, even
to the inclusion of somewhat irrelevant matter to save any suspicion
that the context might modify the quotation's meaning. The choice of
matter has been to supplement what is now available in English, and,
wherever possible, reference data have taken the place of quotation,
even at the risk of giving a skeletony effect.
Another rule has been to give no personal opinion, where a quotation
within reasonable limits could be found to convey the same idea, and,
where given, it is because an explanation is considered essential. A
conjunction of circumstances fortunate for us made possible this
publication. Last August the Bureau of Education were feeling
disappointment over the revised school history which had failed to
realize their requirements; the Department of History, Economics and
Sociology of the University were regretting their inability to make
their typewritten material available for all their students; and
Commissioner Quezon came back from Washington vigorously protesting
against continuing in the public schools a Philippine history text
which took no account of what American scholarship has done to
supplement Spain's stereotyped story. Thus there were three problems
but the same solution served for all.
Commissioner Rafael Palma, after investigation, championed furnishing
a copy of such a book as the present work is and Chairman Leuterio of
the Assembly Committee on Public Instruction lent his support. With
the assistance of Governor-General Harrison and Speaker Osmena,
and the endorsement of Secretary Martin of the Department of Public
Instruction, the Bureau of Education obtained the necessary item
in their section of the general appropriation act. Possibly no one
deserves any credit for conforming to plain duty, but after listing
all these high officials, it may not be out of place to mention that
neither has there come from any one of them, nor from any one else
for that matter, any suggestion of what should be said or left unsaid
or how it should be said, nor has any one asked to see, or seen,
any of our manuscript till after its publication. Insular Purchasing
Agent Magee, who had been, till his promotion, Acting Director of the
Bureau of Education, Director Crone, returned from the San Francisco
Exposition, and Acting Auditor Dexter united to smoothe the way for
rapid work so the order placed in January is being filled in less than
three months. Three others whose endorsements have materially assisted
in the accomplishment of the work are President Villamor of our
University, Director Francisco Benitez of its School of Education, and
Director J. A. Robertson of the Philippine Library. And in recalling
the twelve years of study here which has shown the importance of
these notes there come to mind the names of those to whom I have
been accustomed to go for suggestion and advice: Mariano Ponce,
of the Assembly Library, Manuel Artigas, of the Filipiniana Section
of the Philippines Library, Manuel Iriarte of the Executive Bureau
Archives, Dr. T. H. Pardo de Tavera and Epifanio de los Santos,
associates in the Philippine Academy, Leon and Fernando Guerrero,
Jaime C. De Veyra, Valentin Ventura, of Barcelona, J. M. Ramirez, of
Paris, the late Rafael del Pan, Jose Basa, of Hongkong, and Doctor
Regidor, of London, all Filipinos, Doctor N. M. Saleeby, H. Otley
Beyer, Dr. David P. Barrows, now of the University of California,
along with assistance from the late Professor Ferdinand Blumentritt,
of Leitmeritz, Dr. C. M. Heller, of Dresden, and the authorities of
the British Museum, Congressional Library, America Institute of Berlin,
University of California Library, and the Hongkong and Shanghai public
libraries and Royal Asiatic Society branches.
It is due the printer, Mr. Frederic H. Stevens, manager of
E. C. McCullough & Co.'s press; Mr. John Howe who figured out
a sufficient and satisfactory paper supply despite the war-time
scarcity; and Superintendent Noronha, that after the first vigorous
protests against departures from established printing-house usages,
they loyally co-operated in producing a book whose chief consideration
has been the reader's use. Paper, ink, special press-work and the
clear-cut face chosen for the hand-set type have combined to get
a great deal more matter into the same space without sacrifice of
legibility; putting minor headings in the margin has been another
space-saver which as well facilitates reference, while the omission of
the customary blank pages and spaces between articles has materially
aided in keeping down unnecessary bulk. Printed in the usual style
this book should have run over twelve hundred octavo pages as against
its under two-thirds that number of a but slightly larger page.
And finally, my colleague, Professor Conrado Benitez, besides
furnishing promptly his part of the manuscript has been chief adviser
and most zealous in carrying out our joint plan.
Austin Craig.
University of the Philippines,
March 27, 1916.
CONTENTS
Page
I.--The Old Philippines' Industrial Development,
by Conrado Benitez 1
II.--The Filipinos' Part in the Philippines' Past:
Pre-Spanish Philippine history, A. D. 43-1565.
(Introduction, by Austin Craig) 77
Pre-historic civilization in the Philippines,
by Elsdon Best 79
A thousand years of Philippine history before the coming
of the Spaniards, by Austin Craig 91
Translation by W. W. Rockhill of a Chinese book of 1349 102
Spanish unreliability; early Chinese rule over Philippines;
and reason for indolence in Mindanao; from Salmon's
"Modern History," 1744 104
Bisayans in Formosa, by Dr. Terrien de Lacouperie 105
The Tagalog Tongue, by Jose Rizal 106
Philippine tribes and languages, by Prof. Ferdinand
Blumentritt 107
Beginnings of Philippine Nationalism (Introduction,
by Austin Craig) 118
The Friar Domination in the Philippines, by M. H.
del Pilar 119
Archbishop Martinez's secret defense of his Filipino
clergy 121
Nineteenth century discontent 128
The liberal governor-general of 1869-1871, by Austin
Craig 132
The rebellion in the Philippine Islands, by John Foreman 133
Filipinos with Dewey's squadron, from the Hongkong
Telegraph 136
A prediction of 1872 136
Reproductions of twelve early maps relating to Further India
and the Philippines. Following page 136
PHILIPPINE PROGRESS PRIOR TO 1898
THE OLD PHILIPPINES' INDUSTRIAL DEVELOPMENT
Chapters of an Economic History
by Conrado Benitez, A. M. (Chicago)
Assistant Professor of Economics and Sociology in the University of
the Philippines
I. Agriculture and Landholding at the time of the Discovery and
Conquest.
II. Industries at the Time of Discovery and Conquest.
III. Trade and Commerce at the Time of Discovery and Conquest.
IV. Trade and Commerce; the Period of Restriction.
V. The XIX Century and Economic Development.
PHILIPPINE EDUCATION CO., INC., MANILA, 1916
FILIPINO WRITERS QUOTED IN "THE OLD PHILIPPINES' INDUSTRIAL
DEVELOPMENT":
Citizens of the Philippine Islands, "Memorial to the Council,"
Manila, 1586.
Gobernadorcillo Nicolas Ramos, "Affidavit for Governor Dasmarinas,"
Cubao, 1591.
Chief Miguel Banal, "Petition to the King of Spain," Manila, 1609.
Governor Manuel Azcarraga y Palmero, "La Libertad de Comercio en las
Islas Filipinas," Madrid, 1872.
Gregorio Sangclanco y Gozon, LL. D., "El Progreso de Filipinas,"
Madrid, 1884.
Dr. Jose Rizal Mercado y Alonso, "Annotations to Morga's Sucesos de
las Islas Filipinas," Paris, 1890.
Rizal's La Indolencia de los Filipinos, Madrid. 1889.
T. H. Pardo de Tavera, M. D., "Philippine Census, Volume I, History,"
Manila, 1903.
Tavera's Resultados del Desarrollo Economico de Filipinas, Manila,
1912.
Antonio M. Regidor, D.C.L., (with J. Warren T. Mason), "Commercial
Progress in the Philippine Islands," London, 1905.
Made in Manila--Press of E. C. McCullough & Co.--The Work of Filipinos
INTRODUCTION
Need of more study of Philippine Economic Development.
The Spanish writers, and with them the Filipinos as well as, to a
great extent, writers of Philippine treatises in other languages,
have over-emphasized the political history of the Philippines. The
history of this country has been regarded but as the history of the
Spaniards in it, and not of its people, the Filipinos. [1] Hence
arises the need of studying our history from the point of view of
the development of our people, especially to trace and show the part
played by them in Philippine social progress as a whole. [2]
The study of the economic history of a country is important also
because economic forces play a great part in the development of any
people. Indeed, some claim that all history may be explained in terms
of economic motives. This is known as the economic interpretation
of history. [3] Without going into the controversy centering around
this theory, we can readily see that what we know as civilization
has a two-fold basis, the physical and the psychical. And it is only
after the physical basis is secured, that further psychical advance
is possible. "Among all species, and in every stage | 2,592.361996 |
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Libraries.)
REBEL VERSES
NEW YORK AGENTS
LONGMANS, GREEN & CO.
FOURTH AVENUE AND 30TH STREET
REBEL VERSES
BY
BERNARD GILBERT
OXFORD
B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD STREET
MCMXVIII
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
VERSE: LINCOLNSHIRE LAYS;
FARMING LAYS;
GONE TO THE WAR;
WAR WORKERS.
DRAMA: ELDORADO;
THEIR FATHER'S WILL;
THE RUSKINGTON POACHER.
FICTION: WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT?
TATTERSHALL CASTLE;
THE YELLOW FLAG.
POLITICAL: FARMERS AND TARIFF REFORM: WHAT EVERY FARMER
WANTS: THE FARM LABOURER'S FIX.
MISCELLANEOUS: LIVING LINCOLN; FORTUNES FOR FARMERS.
FROM _The New Witness_
MR. BERNARD GILBERT is one of the discoveries of the War. For
years, it seems, he has been writing poetry, but it is only
recently that an inapprehensive country has awakened to the
fact. Now he is taking his rightful place among our foremost
singers. What William Barnes was to Dorset, what T. E. Brown was
to the Manx people--this is Mr. Gilbert to the folk of his
native county of Lincoln. He has interpreted their lives, their
sorrows, their aspirations, with a surprising fidelity. Mr.
Gilbert never loses his grip upon realities. One feels that he
knows the men of whom he writes in their most intimate moods;
knows, too, their defects, which he does not shrink from
recording. There is little of the dreamy idealism of the South
in the peasant people of Lincolnshire. The outwardly respectable
chapel-goer who asks himself, in a moment of introspection
But why not have a good time here?
Why should the Devil have all the beer?
is true to type. But he has, too, his softer moods. Fidelity in
friendship, courage, resource and perseverance--these are
typical of the men of the Fens.
TO
MORLEY ROBERTS
_Acknowledgments to the Editors of the:_
_English Review_
_New Age_
_Colour_
_Westminster Gazette_
_New Witness_
_To-Day_
_Clarion_
_Australian Triad_
_Bystander_
_Musical Student_
_and Nash's Magazine_
_in whose columns these verses have appeared during 1917._
Contents
THE REBEL
SONG OF REVOLT
THERE AINT NO GOD
THE NIGHT IS DARK
RETURN
NIETZSCHE
SACRAMENT
FIGHTIN' TOMLINSON
THE LABOURER'S HYMN
OLIVER CROMWELL
ANYWHERE BUT HERE
A. G. WEBSTER
EAST WIND
PETER WRAY
OH FOOLS
ELFIN DANCER
OH TO BE HOME
GIVE SOLDIERS A VOTE
ALONE
FLESH OF OUR FLESH
THIS TOWN IS HELL
TIMBERLAND BELLS
DAME PEACH
FRIENDS
CHARING CROSS
LOVE NOT TOO MUCH
MACHIAVELLI
REMORSE
THE MANDRAKE'S HORRID SCREAM
ONE DAY
NO WIFE
TO AN OLD FRIEND
IS IT FINISHED
OH LINCOLN, CITY OF MY DREAMS
THE FOOL
The Rebel
I live in music, in poetry, and in the life reflective.
I seek intellectual boldness in man, I worship mental swiftness in
women.
I have no love for lawyers, priests, schoolmasters, or any dogmatic
men.
I am with poor against rich, labour against employer, women against
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[Illustration: SENTINEL GATE AT PALACE. _Frontispiece_]
FIFTEEN YEARS
_AMONG_
THE TOP-KNOTS
_OR_
_LIFE IN KOREA_
_By_
L. H. UNDERWOOD, M.D.
_With Introduction
by_
FRANK F. ELLINWOOD, D.D., LL.D.
SECOND EDITION
REVISED AND ENLARGED
[Illustration]
YOUNG PEOPLE’S MISSIONARY MOVEMENT
OF THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1904,
BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.
* * * * *
Copyright, 1908,
BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.
THIS LITTLE VOLUME
IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED TO
MY HUSBAND
IN MEMORY OF
FIFTEEN HAPPIEST YEARS
INTRODUCTION
It may be said at once, that Mrs. Underwood’s narrative of her
experience of “Fifteen Years Among the Top-Knots” constitutes a book of
no ordinary interest. There is no danger that any reader having even
a moderate sympathy with the work of missions in the far East will be
disappointed in the perusal. The writer does not undertake to give a
comprehensive account of missions in Korea, or even of the one mission
which she represents, but only of the things which she has seen and
experienced.
There is something naive and attractive in the way in which she
takes her readers into her confidence while she tells her story, as
trustfully as if she were only writing to a few relatives and friends.
Necessarily she deals very largely with her own work, and that of
her husband, as of that she is best qualified to speak. Everywhere,
however, there are generous and appreciative references to the heroic
labors of associate missionaries. Nor does she confine these tributes
to members of her own mission. Some of her highest encomiums are given
to members of other missions, who have laboured and died for the Gospel
and the cause of humanity in Korea.
Mrs. Underwood, then Miss Lillias Horton, of Chicago, went to Korea as
a medical missionary in 1888. As a Secretary of the Presbyterian Board,
accustomed to visit our candidates before appointment, I found her a
bright young girl of slight and graceful figure in one of the Chicago
hospitals, where she was adding to her medical knowledge some practical
experience as a trained nurse. There was nothing of the consciousness
of martyrdom in her appearance, but quite the reverse, as with cheerful
countenance and manner she glided about in her white uniform among the
ward patients. It was evident that she was looking forward with high
satisfaction to the work to which she had consecrated her life.
The story of her arrival at Chemulpo, of her first impressions of
Korea, is best told in her own words. The first arrival of a missionary
on the field is always a trying experience. The squalid appearance of
the low native huts, whose huddled groupings Mrs. Underwood compares
to low-lying beds of mushrooms, poorly clad and dull-eyed fishermen
and other peasantry, contrasting so strongly with the brighter scenes
of one’s home land, are enough to fill any but the bravest with
discouragement and despair. But our narrator passed this trying ordeal
by reflecting that she was not a tourist in pursuit of entertainment,
but an ambassador of Christ, sent to heal the bodies and enlighten the
souls of the lowly and the suffering.
As a young unmarried woman and quite alone, she found a welcoming home
with Dr. and Mrs. Heron, and began at once a twofold work of mastering
the language, and of professional service at the hospital. Not long
after her arrival she was called to pay a visit to the queen, who
wished to secure her services as her physician. The relation soon grew
into a mutual friendship, and Mrs. Underwood from that time till the
assassination of the unfortunate queen was her frequent visitor, and in
many respects her personal admirer. She does not hesitate to express
her appreciation of the queen, as a woman of kind-hearted and generous
impulses, high intellectual capacity, and no ordinary diplomatic
ability. Of stronger mind and higher moral character than her royal
husband, she was his wise counsellor and the chief bulwark of his
precarious power.
Though Mrs. Underwood’s book is of the nature of a narrative, yet its
smoothly running current is laden with all kinds of general information
respecting the character and customs of the people, the condition
of the country, the native beliefs and superstitions, the social
degradation, the poverty and widespread ignorance of the masses. The
account of missionary work is given naturally, its pros and cons set
forth without special laudation on the one hand, or critical misgiving
on the other. It is simply presented, and left to speak for itself,
and it can scarcely fail to carry to all minds a conviction of the
genuineness and marked success of the great work which our missionaries
in Korea are conducting.
Mrs. Underwood’s marriage to Rev. H. G. Underwood, who had already been
four years in the country, is related with simplicity and good sense,
and the remarkable bridal tour, though given more at length, is really
a story not of honeymoon experiences, but rather of arduous and heroic
missionary itineration. It was contrary to the advice and against the
strong remonstrances of their associates and their friends in the U.
S. legation that the young couple set out in the early spring of 1889
for a pioneering tour through Northern Korea.
Fortunately for the whole work of our Protestant missions, the most
favorable impression had been made upon the Korean Court and upon
the people by the striking and most valuable service which had been
rendered by Dr. H. N. Allen, our first medical missionary, and now U.
S. Minister in Korea. He had healed the wounds of some distinguished
Koreans, who had been nearly killed in a midnight conflict between the
Chinese and Japanese garrisons at Seoul.
Although there were strong prohibitory decrees against the admission
of foreigners in the interior, Mr. and Mrs. Underwood ventured to
presume upon the connivance of the officials at their proposed journey
to the far north. Traveling as missionaries and without disguise, it
was a plucky undertaking for the young bride, since, so far as known,
she was the first foreign woman who had made such a tour. The journey
was a protracted one and involved all kinds of hardship and privation.
Nothing worthy of a name of inn was to be found, but only some larger
huts in which travelers were packed away amid every variety of filth
and vermin.
The curiosity of the people to see a foreign woman was such that the
mob everywhere scrupled not to punch holes through the paper windows
and doors to get a peep. After having been borne all day in a chair,
not over roads, but through tortuous bridle paths, over rocks and
through sloughs, it was found well-nigh impossible to rest at night.
All sorts of noises early and late added to their discomfort. As to
food, the difficulty of subsisting on such fare as the people could
furnish may be well imagined. They were not wholly free from the fear
of wild animals, for some districts through which they passed were
infested by tigers and leopards. But their greatest danger was that of
falling into the hands of roaming bands of robbers. Mrs. Underwood’s
account of one experience of this kind will be read with thrilling
interest.
Fortunately, Mr. Underwood had already made one or two shorter tours
through the country alone, and had baptized a few converts here and
there. The passports also which he carried | 2,592.457784 |
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