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Produced by Carla Foust and the Online Distributed
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Transcriber's note
Minor punctuation errors have been corrected without notice. A few
obvious typographical errors have been corrected, and they are listed at
the end of this book. All other inconsistencies are as in the original.
The author's spelling has been maintained.
NARRATIVE OF RICHARD LEE MASON IN
THE PIONEER WEST, 1819
Heartman's Historical Series No. 6
[Illustration: DR. RICHARD LEE MASON]
NARRATIVE
OF
RICHARD LEE MASON
IN THE PIONEER WEST
1819
One hundred and sixty copies printed for
CHAS. FRED. HEARTMAN, New York City
TO
G. J. BARBER, Esq.
this book is dedicated
by
Chas. Fred. Heartman
Number____________of 150 copies printed
on Fabriano hand-made paper.
Also ten copies printed on Japan Vellum.
In the late fall and early winter of the year 1819 Dr. Richard Lee Mason
made a journey from Philadelphia to Illinois, through Pennsylvania,
Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana. Some of his adventures were remarkable, and
these, together with his observations on the country, the towns and the
people whom he encountered, were recorded in a diary kept by him, which
is now in the possession of his only surviving child, a daughter, who
resides in Jacksonville, Ill. Dr. Mason was a remarkably intelligent
observer, and his record of the people whom he encountered in Illinois
more than three-quarters of a century ago, not to mention his notes of
travel in other states, is unique and valuable.
Richard Lee Mason, whose diary is being published in THE RECORD, was
born in Port Tobacco, Md. In 1806 he was married to Mary Hodge Cochrane.
Seven children were born to them, of whom five lived to maturity. Soon
after his marriage he was graduated from the medical department of the
University of Pennsylvania. For a time he did military service in the
war of 1812, belonging to a cavalry company called "The White Horsemen."
For this service he was awarded a large tract of bounty land near Alton,
Ill. It was to locate and take possession of this land that the long
journey from Philadelphia to St. Louis was taken.
So pleased was Dr. Mason with his "promised land" and the west country,
that he determined to send for his family and follow his profession in
St. Louis. This he did, and he was held in high esteem, but he did not
live long to enjoy the reunion with his family, and the appreciation of
friends. The hardships of his trip and exposure to malarial atmosphere
had impaired his health, and he died in 1824, having submitted
gracefully to the heroic treatment of the day, which admitted of much
bleeding and blistering.
Dr. Mason was buried in a newly purchased masonic cemetery, some
distance beyond the St. Louis city limits, in ground that is now
Washington avenue, between Tenth and Eleventh streets. Subsequently this
ground was found too wet for the purpose designed, and Dr. Mason's body
was removed. It is of interest to know that he was the first mason
interred with the honors of the order in the state of Missouri. His
funeral was made the occasion of a grand procession, escorted by Capt.
Archibald Gamble's troop of cavalry.
* * * * *
This record was published some twenty years ago in a newspaper
from which this reprint is made Decoration Day, 1915.
H.
I.--PHILADELPHIA TO STEUBENVILLE
Monday, Oct. 4, 1819.--Dr. Hall and myself left Philadelphia at 1
o'clock p. m. after taking an affectionate leave of friends and
acquaintances. Fair and pleasant weather, and the roads very fine in
consequence of a refreshing shower of rain which fell on the night
previous to our setting out. After traveling twenty-two miles and
passing some rich and well-cultivated farms we arrived at West Chester
at 7 o'clock. West Chester contains about 600 inhabitants, several
places of worship, a gaol, etc., etc. A man named Downey is confined in
the gaol of this place for debt. He was once in affluence, but from
misfortunes and some imprudence he became reduced in circumstances.
During his confinement he determined to starve himself to death, and for
seven days had refused nourishment of every description. Even the clergy
waited on him and endeavored to dissuade him from his rash
determination, offering him food of different kinds, but all without
avail. He was able to stand. No doubt one or two more days will end his
troubles. How long, O my country, will your cheeks continue to be
crimsoned by the blush that must follow the plunging an innocent and
unfortunate being, a debtor, in a dungeon, amongst murderers and
cut-throats?
Tuesday, Oct. 5.--Left West Chester at 7 o'clock a. m. Traveled a rough
road. Passed some travelers on foot migrating to the west who were able
to keep pace with us for a considerable distance. Breakfasted with an
old Dutchman who, for unpolished manners and even a want of common
politeness, surpassed in expectation even the wild men of Illinois. He
had been a tavernkeeper for forty years. Roads rough. Lands tolerable,
but so well farmed that the traveler is compelled in many places to
admire them. Arrived in Strasburg at 6 o'clock p. m. Neat little
village. Distance twenty-eight miles. Lodged at a private house near the
village. Was treated with great civility. I was extremely sore and
tired, riding on horseback. Saddlebags very heavy. A refreshing sleep
fitted me for the labors of the next day.
Wednesday, Oct. 6.--Left Mr. ---- at 6 o'clock a. m. The day pleasant.
Roads rough. Traveled nine miles and arrived at Lancaster, a large and
handsome inland town. Inhabitants principally German, very industrious
and good farmers. Buildings chiefly brick. Considerable business done
in this town. Left Lancaster, traveled ten miles and arrived at
Columbia, situated on the bold Susquehanna, but placed without much
taste or beauty. The bridge over the Susquehanna is the longest in the
United States. It is placed on regular pillars for one and a quarter
miles. Its beauty and strength reflect much credit on the designer and
those who executed the work. Its erection has added much to the comfort
and convenience of the public. Left Columbia 4 o'clock, and arrived at
Little York at 6 o'clock p. m. Here the lands are rich, the inhabitants
look healthy and appear happy and independent. The village is built with
much taste and judgment and appears to be a place of business. No lands
for sale for many years past in the neighborhood, but the supposed value
about $200 per acre. The eyes of the traveler light on this part of the
country with rapture. He would even venture to barter all his fair
prospects in the west country, collected from travelers, for one of
those beautiful farms to be seen every mile.
Thursday, Oct. 7.--Left Little York 6 o'clock a. m., traveled
twenty-nine miles and arrived at Gettysburg, a small village, at 5
o'clock p. m. The inhabitants very religious. Bad roads, owing to their
making a new turnpike. Nineteen miles to be finished in six weeks.
About 300 hands employed, principally Irishmen. Delightful weather for
traveling.
Friday, Oct. 8.--Left Gettysburg 5 o'clock a. m. Overtook and passed
many travelers bound to the east and west. The lands only tolerable.
Here we had the first view of the mountains, which present a romantic
and novel scene to all who have never traveled out of the confines of
large cities--or have never seen an object higher than a lamp-post or
lower than a gutter. Traveled fifteen miles to breakfast on the top of
the mountain. The landlord drunk, the fare bad and the house filled with
company who had more the appearance of penitentiary society than
gentlemen. Hard scuffle for breakfast. Ran an old hen down. "Moll" cut
off the head with an ax. An old sow and a starved dog made a grab before
the feathers were stripped. One got the head, the other the body. Then
all hands were mustered to join in the chase, landlord and "Moll" with
the broom, the hostler with his spade and all the boys with sticks and
stones. In about ten minutes after hard fighting, the materials for
breakfast were recovered, and in fifteen minutes the old hen made her
appearance on the breakfast table, large as life. Bad appetite. Made a
light breakfast and set out on our journey from the tavern at 10
o'clock a. m. Traveled over a rough, barren, mountainous and poor
country to McDowell's, a distance of thirty-six miles. Every traveler
must be astonished to find persons settled on a barren and mountainous
country, whilst there are in the United States so many million acres of
land of the first quality unoccupied and for sale at so low a rate that
a day laborer can in one year with prudence lay up enough to purchase
one quarter-section--160 acres.
Saturday, Oct. 9.--Left McDowell's 7 o'clock a. m. Traveled over an
extremely rugged, high and uneven range of mountains. The lands
generally so poor not worth cultivating. Arrived at Dennis', on the old
road, distance twenty-seven miles, near the Juniata. Breakfasted at
Camel Town, a small village, one-half the houses taverns. Crossed the
dreary and lofty mountains at 4 o'clock. This is called Sideling hill,
where a Mr. McClennan was robbed on the 3d instant by the notorious
villain and robber, D. Lewis, lately pardoned by Gov. Finley for
forgery. McClennan had no arms, nor did he make the least resistance,
yet one of Lewis' accomplices insisted on murdering him. He was robbed
about 9 o'clock in the morning, and in sight of the house he breakfasted
at. He was conducted to their camp, a little way from the road,
threatened with death if he spoke. Although the stage passed full of
passengers and several wagons in sight, he dared not give the alarm.
After keeping him in a state of suspense for six hours and rifling his
letters and pockets of a large sum of money, they left him. On the 8th
instant they were taken at a little village fifty miles off, and a large
amount of cash found on them--$2,800. The hardihood of this Lewis
surpasses the boldness of most robbers of his day. When he and his two
companions were found asleep they were handcuffed. One of the guards
laid his pistol on the table, whilst Lewis was surrounded by twenty
persons, and in a room. He knocked out the candle, seized the pistol,
flashed at the nearest person, made his way through the crowd, outran
them for fifty yards, and, when about to be overtaken, snapped a small
pistol which he had concealed at his nearest pursuer. He knocked down
the second with his handcuffs, then fell and was retaken. The poverty,
barrenness, unevenness of this part of the country perhaps was never
surpassed. But few homes on the road. Met a number of travelers and
overtook some. About 4 o'clock it commenced raining. Unpleasant
traveling. Wet to the skin. Arrived at the crossing at dark on the old
road two miles from the turnpike. Tavern kept by Dennis. Bad house; high
charges. Rainy night.
Sunday, Oct. 10.--Left Dennis' 6 o'clock a. m. Breakfasted at a little
village called Bloody Run. Great many travelers. Poor country. Reached
Bedford at 2 o'clock. Whilst our horses were resting we walked to the
celebrated springs, a distance of one and a half miles.
These springs are romantically situated, gushing from the foot of a
mountain. They are fitted up with great taste and beauty and offer to
the wearied citizen a treat of retirement and enjoyment. Two of the
houses are painted white. They are two stories high and 150 feet long.
These springs are said to possess important medicinal properties.
Arrived at Shellsburg at 6 o'clock, a distance of twenty-three miles.
The road stony and unpleasant. Well entertained and the charge moderate.
Monday, Oct. 11.--Left Shellsburg at 6 o'clock. Poor country, full of
mountains. Crossed the lofty Allegheny. High ridges, deep valleys and
steep precipices. Roads good for such steep mountains. Here one of the
most sublime and beautiful scenes presented itself my eyes ever
witnessed. After ascending the Allegheny nearly to the top, as far as
human sight could reach, in every direction, there were chains of
mountains, occasionally checkered by small farms and low bottoms,
covered with forest trees. The cleared or cultivated land has lost the
agreeable green, owing to the season, but we were amply compensated by
the variety of color, the beautiful tints from the scarlet to the
lighter shades, occasionally interspersed with evergreens, which were to
be found on the sides of the mountains amongst the great variety of
trees. Yellow, blue, green, orange, purple, black and all the shades
between formed ornamental curtains to those cloudlike heights. Poets and
painters would have envied us the sight. We continued our journey to the
top of the mountains. Breakfasted at Stolter's. Arrived at Wray's log
house at 6 o'clock, a distance of twenty-eight miles. Fare bad, charges
high, pretty females with glowing faces. After resting and having
supped, recollected that it was this day last week that we left home.
Drew a long sigh for those left behind and almost involuntarily turned
our heads to look for Philadelphia.
Tuesday, Oct. 12.--Left Wray's log house at 6 o'clock a. m. Country poor
and mountainous. Traveled thirty-five miles. Overtook some eastern and
southern people, men, women and children, all travelling to Illinois.
The roads a little improved, and the land a little better in quality.
The towering mountains disappearing and hills substituted in their
place. This being election day, passed a great many people on the road.
All merry. Great contention between the Dutch and Irish. Arrived at a
small village called... where the election was held. Saw a shocking
fight, which ended in murder. A small man knocked down by his adversary
and his intestines literally stamped out. I pressed through the crowd,
and insisted on bleeding the unfortunate young man. Just as I was about
to open a vein his senses returned. He begged I would not bleed him, as
he had never been bled. I declined the operation. He died on the 14th
instant. Left the election and arrived at a trifling village called
Adams Town, where we overtook a number of travelers for the west. Left
Adams Town 6 o'clock a. m., and arrived at Pittsburg at 11 o'clock,
Hunters' tavern. In approaching this dirty hole I felt the height of
disappointment. Pittsburg is situated in a valley surrounded by hills
and mountains. It is placed a short distance above the junction of the
Allegheny and Monongahela rivers, to form the Ohio, over which there are
two neat and lengthy bridges, built on Wernwag's plan. In approaching
Pittsburg the traveler would suppose the town was laid in ashes by fire.
The surrounding heights, its low situation, the fogs from the rivers,
together with the universal use of stone coal for fires, added to the
smoke and dust from the large number of mills and manufactories, form a
cloud which almost amounts to night, and overspreads Pittsburg with the
appearance of gloom and melancholy. At this place we met a number of
travelers, rich and poor, Gen. Miller and suite, straggling play actors,
and others. Coal dust was well ground in until I might say with much
truth that I did not see a white man or woman in the place. The more you
wash, the blacker you get. I am confident that I carried some of this
coal dust 1,000 miles in spite of my efforts to get rid of it.
Convenient place for performing "Zanga" or "The Moor of Venice." Visited
all the manufactories and curiosities of the place. Their glass
manufactories seem to excel all others--a great treat to those who never
saw a bottle blown. Pittsburg in appearance suggests the idea of Moscow
smoking and in ruins. It is a town of considerable manufacturing
importance. Its inhabitants deserve fortune and a more salubrious
atmosphere to spend it in.
Thursday, Oct. 14.--Remained this day at Hunters'. Had my good little
horse shod. Careless smith pricked him and produced temporary lameness.
Friday, Oct. 15.--Left Pittsburg at 7 o'clock. Traveled over a poor and
hilly country for thirty-six miles. Passed a few travelers bound to
Ohio. Remarkable fact: About eight miles from Steubenville passed out of
Pennsylvania into Virginia, out of Virginia into Ohio in the short space
of two hours. Crossed the Ohio river after night at Steubenville.
Stopped at Jenkinson's, an intelligent, gentlemanly, hospitable man.
Visited the market. Beef, good, 6-1/4 cents a pound.
Saturday, Oct. 16.--I omitted to mention that we, on the mountains, fell
in with Mr. Cooper of Philadelphia, who has been our companion for
several days. We had to part with him today, which we did with much
reluctance, as he proved a very agreeable companion. Rainy day, fatigued
by the broken country, determined to spend this day in Steubenville, a
busy little village on the bank of the Ohio. Purchased a plain Jersey
wagon and harness for $60.
II.--THROUGH OHIO AND KENTUCKY
Sunday, Oct. 18.--Myself and friend proceeded on our journey. We arrived
at Siers, a distance of thirty miles, at dusk, much relieved by the
change from our horses to the wagon. The roads were muddy, the weather
drizzly and the country hilly. Buildings indifferent. The land very
fertile and black. Trees uncommonly tall. Passed the little village of
Cadis. In this country a tavern, a store, a smith shop and two or three
cabins make a town. Passed ten or fifteen travelers. Great contrast
between the quality of the land from Chambersburg to Pittsburg, and that
which we have already traveled over from Steubenville in Ohio.
Monday, Oct. 19.--Left Siers at 6 o'clock a. m. The morning fair and
cold. Roads extremely rough. Country fertile, but hilly. Log cabins,
ugly women and tall timber. Passed a little flourishing village called
Freeport, settled by foreigners. Yankee Quakers and mechanics.
Remarkable, with two taverns in the village, there was nothing fit to
drink, not even good water. The corn fields in the woods among dead
trees and the corn very fine. We arrived at Adairs, a distance of
twenty-seven miles, at 6 o'clock p. m. Passed some peddlers and a few
travelers. Value of land from Steubenville to Adairs from $2 to $30 per
acre. Lots in Freeport, eighteen months old, from $30 to $100. This day
being Monday and the end of the second week since leaving home, our
feelings were warm and our hearts beat high for those that are dear and
behind us.
Tuesday, Oct. 20.--Left Adairs at 6 o'clock a. m. The country extremely
hilly and not quite so fertile. Independent people in log cabins. They
make their own clothes, sugar and salt, and paint their own signs. They
picture a lion like a dove, a cat like a terrapin, and Gen. Washington
like a bird's nest. Salt wells and sugar orchards are common in this
country. Steep hills, frightful precipices, little or no water, and even
a scarcity of new whisky. Ragged and ignorant children and but little
appearance of industry. Met a number of travelers inclining to the east,
and overtook a larger number than usual bound to the land of promise.
The evening being rainy, the roads soon became muddy. We arrived at
Silver's Travelers' Rest at 6 o'clock. Distance twenty-nine miles.
Passed a little village called Cambridge.
Wednesday, Oct. 21.--Left Silver's at 7 o'clock and breakfasted at
Zanesville, a very growing and flourishing village. It is situated on
the Muskingum river, which is navigable for flat-bottomed boats.
Zanesville is a lively and busy little town. There are several mills and
manufactories in and at the place. Neat bridges and a canal cut at great
labor and expense through a solid rock for a considerable distance, by
which very important water power is gained. Left Zanesville and
traveled twenty-three miles to a village called Somerset. The country
very hilly and the lands not so fertile as those met with near Cadis.
Rain continues. Roads extremely slippery. Met and overtook about sixty
travelers, many on foot--Scotch, Irish, and Yankees. Oats, 25 cents;
butter, 12-1/2 cents; brandy, 50 cents a half-pint; hay, $8 a ton.
Thursday, Oct. 22.--Left Somerset at 7 o'clock a. m. Dull, drizzly
weather. Deep roads. Horse lame in consequence of bad shoeing in
Pittsburg. Heart a little heavy. Thought of home. Rallied again and
arrived at a neat little town at the foot of a hill. It is called New
Lancaster. Distance, eighteen miles. Stopped on the road for refreshment
and found a Pennsylvania family whose kindness and hospitality deserve
mention, as we had been denied water and sometimes other refreshments by
the almost wild inhabitants west of Pittsburg to this place. Some brick
houses and a few neat frame dwellings to be seen in the last two days'
ride.
Friday, Oct. 23--Left New Lancaster at 8 o'clock and arrived at
Chillicothe, a distance of thirty-four miles. Passed some elegant farms
and some neat dwellings. The people appear more polite and better
educated. Chillicothe is situated on the Sciota, a stream navigable for
flat-bottomed boats. The bridge over the Sciota is long, substantial and
handsome. Chillicothe is a town of considerable business for its size.
One of the branches of the United States bank is at this place. The bank
was entered lately by a man named Harper, acting under the authority of
the state, and a large amount of money was taken out. Harper and his
attendants in gaol. Mob threatens to release them. Bank of the United
States and all its branches are much abused by the inhabitants and some
very impudent threats made. When the bank was entered by Harper no
resistance was made by its officers. Passed Tarlton and Kingston, two
inconsiderable villages.
Saturday, Oct. 24.--Left Chillicothe at 7 o'clock a. m. Arrived at
Sinking Springs, a little village, after traveling a distance of
thirty-three miles. Passed over some rich bottoms, neat farms and very
fertile prairies. A few poor ridges, part level, part mountainous.
People look healthy, but are extremely impudent and lazy. Game is
abundant deer, turkeys, partridges and squirrels.
Sunday, Oct. 25.--Left Sinking Springs at 7 o'clock a. m. Traveled to
West Union, a little village. Distance twenty-three miles. Lands of
three qualities, broken, barren and mountainous. Miserable log huts.
Inhabitants more polite and civil. Crossed Brush creek at the foot of a
small mountain. At this place met some travelers, among them some
Philadelphians. The inhabitants in this part of the country generally
emigrants. Real Ohios, real savages in appearance and manners, destitute
of every degree of politeness. Not uncommon for a man to follow three or
four occupations. For example, John Noble follows both tailoring and
saddlering. My barber is also a waiter on the table, assistant cook and
hostler. In this town one man is a lawyer, a merchant and an apothecary.
Monday, Oct. 26.--Left West Union at 10 o'clock a. m. My friend having
business here, we lost one day. Traveled over a poor, hilly and
mountainous country for seventeen miles and arrived at Limestone.
Crossed the Ohio in a horse-boat and landed at Maysville, Ky., at 5
o'clock p. m., bidding a willing adieu to Ohio, not leaving behind a
single individual whom we ever wished to see again. I must confess from
the many favorable representations made of the habits, manners and state
of society and quality of the lands in the state of Ohio, I was prepared
to meet a different soil and a different people from those just left.
Before I take a final leave of Ohio I must mention an occurrence that
transpired a few days previous to our arrival in New Lancaster. Ten or
fifteen friendly Indians were traveling from near New York to visit
their red brethren in the west. They were poor, but peaceable and well
behaved. When they were within about twenty-five miles of New Lancaster
three of the Indians were unable to keep up with the leading party, a
man, a young squaw and a child. Those unoffending and unfortunate people
were waylaid by three monsters in human shape, ruffians belonging to the
neighborhood. They lay hid until those three Indians got in a rake, and
then fired upon them, intending to kill all at the same shot. The child
and man escaped unhurt, but the unfortunate female had her thigh broken
and received a ball in the abdomen. No hope was entertained of her
recovery. The villains were taken and committed to prison. The only
reason given by them for committing this extraordinary outrage was that
during the war the Indians had murdered in battle some of their
connections or relatives.
Tuesday, Oct. 27.--Maysville is a growing little village, situated on
the Ohio and reaching in a sou | 2,592.460008 |
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[Illustration]
MISS ELLIS'S MISSION.
BY MARY P. W. SMITH.
BOSTON:
AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION.
1886.
_Copyright, 1886_,
BY AMERICAN UNITARIAN ASSOCIATION.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
TO
POST-OFFICE MISSION WORKERS,
WEST AND EAST,
AND TO EARNEST PEOPLE
EVERYWHERE.
"_It was a very contemptible barley-loaf she had to offer, compared
with your fine, white, wheaten cake of youth and riches and strength
and learning; but remember she offered her best freely, willingly,
faithfully; and when once a thing is offered, it is no longer the
little barley-loaf in the lad's hand, but the miraculous satisfying
Bread of Heaven in the hand of the Lord of the Harvest, more than
sufficient for the hungry multitude._"
* * * * *
"_'And so there is an end of poor Miss Toosey and her Mission!'...
Wait a bit! There is no waste in nature, science teaches us; neither
is there any in grace, says faith. We cannot always see the results,
but they are there as surely in grace as in nature._"
MISS TOOSEY'S MISSION.
MISS ELLIS'S MISSION.
This little sketch of Miss Ellis's life and work owes its first
suggestion to Rev. J. Ll. Jones, of Chicago, who soon after her death
wrote: "Why not try for a little memorial of her, to be accompanied with
some of the most touching and searching extracts from the letters both
received and written by her, and make it into a little booklet for the
instruction of Post Office Mission Workers?... Can you not make it
something as touching as 'Miss Toosey,' and far more practical,--that
is, for our own little household of faith?... We do not want it
primarily as a missionary tool, but as a wee fragment of the spiritual
history of the world,--something that will lift and touch the soul of
everybody.... In short, give us an enlightened Miss Toosey; her mission
being as much stronger as Sallie Ellis was more rational and mature than
the original 'Miss Toosey'!"
No one knowing Miss Ellis could read the touching little story of "Miss
Toosey's Mission" without being struck by a resemblance in the
characters, though a resemblance with a marked difference. As one said,
"I never saw her going up the church aisle Sundays, with her audiphone,
her little satchel, her bundle of books and papers, and her hymn-book,
without thinking of Miss Toosey." In both lives a seemingly powerless
and insignificant personality, through the force of a great yearning to
do a bit of God's work in the world, achieved its longing far beyond its
fondest dreams. As I read the many letters from all over the country
that have come since Miss Ellis's death, as I realize how the spiritual
force that burned in the soul of this small, feeble, seemingly helpless
woman reached out afar and touched many lives for their enduring
ennoblement, her life, so meagre and cramped in its outward aspect, so
vivid and intense within and on paper, seems to me not without a touch
of romance. To perpetuate a little longer the influence of that life is
the object of this sketch.
* * * * *
SALLIE ELLIS was born in Cincinnati, March 13, 1835. The old-fashioned
name Sallie, at that time popular in the South and West, was given her
in honor of an aunt. She disliked sailing under the false colors of
"Sarah." In letters she usually signed herself "S. Ellis," because, as
she explained to one correspondent, "I do not know myself as _Sarah_,
and Sallie is not dignified enough in writing to strangers; so I usually
prefer plain S." Late in life, however, for reasons of dignity, she
sometimes felt forced to adopt Sarah as what she called her "official
signature."
Her father, Mr. Rowland Ellis, was born in Boston, but while yet young
removed to Cincinnati, where he still lives in a vigorous and honored
old age. Although his mother, in all her later years at least, was a
devoted attendant upon Theodore Parker's services, Mr. Ellis in early
life was a Baptist. But when the Unitarian Church was founded at
Cincinnati, in 1830, his name appears among the organizers, of whom he
is almost the sole survivor. Of that church he has always been a devoted
supporter and constant attendant. He was a leading banker of the West,
and Sallie was born into one of the most elegant and luxurious homes in
Cincinnati. The Ellises kept open house, exercised the most generous
hospitality, and made, as one says who knew them well then, "such a
beautiful use of their money. The Ellises were just the people who
_ought_ to have money." Mrs. Ellis is described as a woman of unusual
loveliness of character. Out of the eight children, Sallie was thought
to be the mother's favorite, because, it was supposed, she was always
puny, shy, and delicate. "Sallie shall always have what she wants," said
the mother, "because she wants so little." But mothers _know_, and
undoubtedly the mother saw deeper than others into the rare spiritual
quality concealed from the world under her delicate child's quiet,
reserved exterior. Her older sister remembers of Sallie's childhood: "As
a very young child she exhibited strongly marked peculiarities of
character. Her affection, conscientiousness, piety, and love of duty
made her different from the rest of us as children. I remember well that
at home or at school there were never any rebukes for Sallie. Though
very social by nature, as young as at five and six years of age she
loved to be alone, and would sit in the corner of her mother's room,
with face turned to the corner, musing, and talking in a low tone to her
doll. When our father and mother would take the children to
entertainments of various descriptions, such as children enjoy, Sallie
would invariably express her preference to remain at home. If she
thought her parents wanted her to go, she went."
For some years Sallie attended the private school of Mrs. Anne Ryland,
an English Unitarian (a former parishioner, I think, of Rev. Laut
Carpenter, and connected by marriage with Rev. Brooke Herford), a lady
of noble character, and a teacher whose culture and methods were in
advance of her age. In a volume of poetry presented Sallie by this
teacher, is this inscription, whose old-fashioned quaintness of phrase
pictures for us the Sallie Ellis of thirteen, then, as always, faithful
to duty.
"Mrs. Ryland has been much gratified by the general deportment of
Miss Sallie Ellis since she has been under her charge. Miss Ellis
has evinced an evident desire to please, by a strict observance of
the rules of the school, and by assiduous and persevering attention
to all her studies. She has made improvement in them all fully
commensurate with her laudable endeavors, in Grammar, Geography,
and Orthography particularly. It is with unfeigned regret that Mrs.
Ryland has to add, to the foregoing expression of her approval of
her dear pupil's conduct, the last word,--Farewell."
Later, she attended the private school of Rev. William Silsbee, who says
of her, "She was always studious and well-behaved, one of the most
faithful of all my pupils." Mr. M. Hazen White, for so many years
superintendent of the Unitarian Sunday school, was also one of her
teachers. When seventeen, she was sent to Mrs. Charles Sedgwick's
school, in Lenox, Mass. A schoolmate describes her then as a quite
pretty, black-eyed girl, of delicate physique, a good and studious but
not brilliant scholar, very quiet and retiring, and almost morbidly
reserved. The few friends she made here, however, were life-long, and
she corresponded with some of the Lenox schoolmates until her death.
"She was a perfect dancer | 2,592.463154 |
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. III.--NO. 133. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, May 16, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: PUSSY'S MUSIC LESSON.]
THE SCARLET GLOW.
BY PERCY EARL.
"I wish I could take you both with me," said Mr. Hanway, as he kissed his
children good-by, and stepped into the carriage that was to bear him up
among the mountains on a visit to an old friend; "but Fletcher here will
take good care of you, Amy, and I am sure neither of you will forget
what I've told you about keeping away from the boats."
Fletcher was ten and Amy eight, and the two, with their father, who was
a widower, were stopping at a cozy little hotel on the shores of a
lovely lake in Switzerland.
It was only on very rare occasions that Mr. Hanway permitted himself to
be separated from his children during their travels abroad, but as the
hotel where they had now been staying for nearly a week was a very
home-like one, and as he expected to be back in time for supper, he felt
that he could safely leave them to amuse themselves for a few hours.
Thus cast upon their own resources, the brother and sister read
story-books and played in-door games until dinner-time. At the table
were some American tourists just from the summit of the highest mountain
in the place, and to their lively descriptions of the views to be had
therefrom, and of the pretty nooks scattered all over it, both children
listened with eager ears, and when one of the young ladies held up a
bunch of "just the loveliest wild flowers" which she had gathered by the
road-side, Amy whispered to her brother that she really must go a little
way up that very afternoon.
"But papa isn't here to take us," objected Fletcher, who longed to go as
much as his sister, although he was old enough to understand that his
father would not like to have them leave the hotel in his absence.
"Papa didn't tell us we mustn't climb mountains--only boats," returned
Amy, cunningly. "And, besides, didn't he say you could take care of me?
and don't you think you can?" and the artful little tease looked up at
her stout young brother with a most confiding air.
Under these circumstances, what could Fletcher reply but that he was
most certainly able to protect her, and that he would do so for a little
way, a very little way, up the mountain, as they must be sure to be at
the hotel when father came back.
Greatly delighted at having gained her point, Amy ran off for her hat as
soon as dessert was over, and having stuffed a paper of candy into her
pretty little arm-basket, announced herself ready. And then the two set
out, Fletcher, with his alpenstock, leading the way up through the town,
on by the winding path through the woods, up, up, until the beautiful
lake came into view below them.
"Let's rest here a minute," proposed Fletcher. "This flat rock'll make a
nice seat; and while we eat some candy, I'll teach you the names of the
snow mountains over yonder."
So the expedition halted while the captain pointed out what he _thought_
was Mont Blanc, the king of all the peaks; the beautiful Jungfrau, with
its silver horn, and--But turning to see if Amy was looking in the right
direction, Fletcher found her eyes closed, and her head just sinking to
his shoulder.
"Poor little thing, she's tired out. I'll let her have a short nap
before we start down again." So, while Amy slept, her brother ate
chocolate drops and studied the Alps.
Now it would have been quite romantic and Babes-in-the-Woodsy if he too
had been overcome with drowsiness, thus leaving them both lying there
asleep on the mountain-side until an elf, giant, or some other rarely
seen creature, came to wake them up and conduct them to a wonderful
grotto, studded with diamonds and paved with pearls. But as this is not
a fairy tale, nothing of the sort occurred, for Amy presently woke up of
her own accord, and finding the basket empty, recollected what she had
come for, upon which the two began searching for wild flowers.
At first Fletcher rather affected to despise the occupation, but after
they had gathered a few, he found them so pretty, and it grew to be so
exciting to wonder where they would chance upon some more, that he
speedily became as absorbed in the hunt as Amy herself, and both
wandered over the mountain in every direction.
At last the pretty little basket was filled to the top with still
prettier contents, and at the same time Fletcher noticed that the sun
was very near the tip of one of the snow mountains.
"Come, Amy," he exclaimed, "we must hurry back, or papa'll be there
before us;" and taking her by the hand, he set out for the path by which
they had ascended.
"But why can't we go down right here?" asked Amy. "It'll be such fun to
go sort o' sliding down hill."
"I guess we needn't slide," returned Fletcher, "for here's a kind of
path we can take; so now hold on to me tight, and be careful not to
slip;" and down the two started over the rough way, for the
mountain-side was covered with stones, little and big, which the feet of
the children sent rolling and crashing on ahead of them in quite a noisy
fashion.
With each advancing step the path grew fainter and fainter, until it
finally disappeared entirely, and nothing was to be seen but trees and
rocks and stones.
"Shall we go back, Amy?" asked Fletcher, as they both came to a halt;
and then he added: "But no, we haven't time; so we must keep on."
"All right; but you don't think there are any snakes under these stones,
do you, Flet?"
Then they went on down again, but the way grew ever rougher and rougher,
and the stones slipped from under their tired feet more and more
frequently.
"Oh dear! ain't we'most there?" half sobbed Amy, as she stubbed her toe
against a rock in front of her, while a stone rolled down on her heel
from behind.
"I guess so. Shall I try to lift you over this place? See, there must
have been a brook here in the spring;" and Fletcher pointed out a
shallow ravine that crossed their path obliquely, and which was choked
with stones and brush-wood.
Without waiting for an answer, the kind-hearted boy threw his alpenstock
across, and then picking Amy up in his arms, started over himself. He
reached the opposite side in safety, and was about to step up to level
ground again when his foot caught under a stone, and in trying to keep
his sister from being harmed by his fall, he left no hand free with
which to save himself.
"Oh, Flet, are you hurt?" cried Amy, as she quickly scrambled to her
feet.
"Not much; only my ankle." But the "not much" proved to be a sprain
serious enough to prevent his walking a step, and after attempting to do
so once or twice, the brave little fellow was forced to fall back upon
the rocks, with an expression of pain which he could not repress.
And now the children's situation became quite a grave one. They were as
yet, as well as they could judge, a mile or more above the town, the sun
had already vanished behind the snowy peaks opposite, the autumn
twilight was rapidly closing in, and, worse than all, Fletcher could not
and Amy would not move.
"How can I go away and leave you here?" she would say when urged to
hurry back, so that father should not worry.
"But I'm all right as long as I sit still," her brother would reply.
"Besides, the sooner you go and tell them at the hotel, the quicker
they can send somebody up for me."
At length, convinced that under the circumstances this was the wisest
thing to do, Amy set bravely out, but had not proceeded more than twenty
feet before she came screaming back, declaring she had seen a snake, and
that she could never, never go on through the dreadful woods alone.
"Let me stay with you, Flet," she begged. "I'm sure when papa misses us
he'll come right up here;" and her brother, seeing she had no doubts on
this point, thought it best not to remind her that it was just as
natural to suppose that he would look in a dozen other directions for
them first.
So the two sat together there on the mountain-side, watching the stars
come out, and wondering if this was their punishment for being naughty.
But presently Amy's eyelids grew heavy again, and leaning her head
against Fletcher, she asked him to wake her "as soon as papa comes,"
when suddenly a reddish glare flashed forth out of the darkness beneath
them; portions of mountain and lake appeared distinctly as by day, while
trees and rocks and bushes stood revealed in startling vividness.
"Oh, what is it, Flet?" cried Amy, hiding her face in terror.
"Don't be afraid," he answered. "I guess it can't hurt us, whatever it
is."
Still the boy had dreadful visions of earthquakes and volcanoes, which
he somehow imagined were much more common in Europe than in America.
And now the red light had changed to green, this in turn to blue, then
back to red again, and so on, until the brother and sister became
completely mystified.
On a sudden, while the red glare lit up everything around, there was a
sound of rolling stones, a man's voice exclaimed, "Thank God for St.
Jacques!" The next instant Mr. Hanway's strong arms were about both his
children.
"Oh, papa, I knew you'd come!" cried Amy, joyously. "But now you must
put me down, and carry Flet, 'cause I was naughty, and he's hurt, and
all from'sisting me."
Then the situation was explained. Two young gentlemen from the hotel
tenderly raised the helpless boy and carried him between them, and thus,
the happy father still retaining his little girl, they started down the
hill again, guided by the strange lights safely to the town.
Fletcher soon recognized in his bearers two members of the party from
the mountain-top that had been so enthusiastic at dinner, and they
furthermore told him that it was at their suggestion that Mr. Hanway had
first directed his steps to the hill-side, "for," said one, | 2,592.560667 |
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Produced by Colin Bell, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
Transcriber's Note:
Archaic, dialect and variant spellings (including quoted proper
nouns) remain as printed, except where noted. Minor typographical
errors have been corrected without note; significant amendments have
been listed at the end of the text.
Greek text has been transliterated and appears between {braces}.
The oe ligature has been transcribed as [oe], _e.g._, Ph[oe]nician.
THE
ETHNOLOGY
OF
THE BRITISH ISLANDS.
THE
ETHNOLOGY
OF
THE BRITISH ISLANDS.
BY
R. G. LATHAM, M.D., F.R.S.,
CORRESPONDING MEMBER TO THE ETHNOLOGICAL SOCIETY, NEW YORK, ETC.
[Device]
LONDON:
JOHN VAN VOORST, PATERNOSTER ROW.
MDCCCLII.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY T. E. METCALF, 63, SNOW HILL.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Preliminary Remarks.--Present Populations of the British Isles.--
Romans, &c.--Pre-historic Period.--The Irish Elk.--How far
Contemporaneous with Man.--Stone Period.--Modes of Sepulture.--
The Physical Condition of the Soil.--Its Fauna.--Skulls of the
Stone Period.--The Bronze Period.--Gold Ornaments.--Alloys and
Castings.--How far Native or Foreign.--Effect of the Introduction
of Metals.--Dwellings. 1
CHAPTER II.
Authorities for the Earliest Historical Period.--Herodotus.--
Aristotle.--Polybius.--Onomacritus.--Diodorus Siculus.--Strabo.--
Festus Avienus.--Ultimate sources.--Damnonii.--Ph[oe]nician
Trade.--The Orgies.--South-Eastern Britons of Caesar.--The Details
of his Attacks.--The Caledonians of Galgacus. 38
CHAPTER III.
Origin of the Britons.--Kelts of Gaul.--The Belgae.--Whether
Keltic or German.--Evidence of Caesar.--Attrebates, Belgae, Remi,
Durotriges and Morini, Chauci and Menapii. 58
CHAPTER IV.
The Picts.--List of Kings.--Penn Fahel.--Aber and Inver.--The
Picts probably, but not certainly, Britons. 76
CHAPTER V.
Origin of the Gaels | 2,592.688726 |
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Produced by Henry Gardiner and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
* * * * *
[Illustration: Part of the original title page.]
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The original publication has been replicated
faithfully except as shown in the TRANSCRIBER'S AMENDMENTS near the end of
the text. To preserve the alignment of tables and headers, this etext
| 2,592.688938 |
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Produced by HTML version by Al Haines.
The King of the Golden River
by
John Ruskin
PREFACE
"The King of the Golden River" is a delightful fairy tale told with all
Ruskin's charm of style, his appreciation of mountain scenery, and with
his usual insistence upon drawing a moral. None the less, it is quite
unlike his other writings. All his life long his pen was busy
interpreting nature and pictures and architecture, or persuading to
better views those whom he believed to be in error, or arousing, with
the white heat of a prophet's zeal, those whom he knew to be
unawakened. There is indeed a good deal of the prophet about John
Ruskin. Though essentially an interpreter with a singularly fine
appreciation of beauty, no man of the nineteenth century felt more
keenly that he had a mission, and none was more loyal to what he
believed that mission to be.
While still in college, what seemed a chance incident gave occasion and
direction to this mission. A certain English reviewer had ridiculed the
work of the artist Turner. Now Ruskin held Turner to be the greatest
landscape painter the world had seen, and he immediately wrote a
notable article in his defense. Slowly this article grew into a
pamphlet, and the pamphlet into a book, the first volume of "Modern
Painters." The young man awoke to find himself famous. In the next
few years four more volumes were added to "Modern Painters," and the
other notable series upon art, "The Stones of Venice" and "The Seven
Lamps of Architecture," were sent forth.
Then, in 1860, when Ruskin was about forty years old, there came a
great change. His heaven-born genius for making the appreciation of
beauty a common possession was deflected from its true field. He had
been asking himself what are the conditions that produce great art, and
the answer he found declared that art cannot be separated from life,
nor life from industry and industrial conditions. A civilization
founded upon unrestricted competition therefore seemed to him
necessarily feeble in appreciation of the beautiful, and unequal to its
creation. In this way loyalty to his mission bred apparent disloyalty.
Delightful discourses upon art gave way to fervid pleas for humanity.
For the rest of his life he became a very earnest, if not always very
wise, social reformer and a passionate pleader for what he believed to
be true economic ideals.
There is nothing of all this in "The King of the Golden River." Unlike
his other works, it was written merely to entertain. Scarcely that,
since it was not written for publication at all, but to meet a
challenge set him by a young girl.
The circumstance is interesting. After taking his degree at Oxford,
Ruskin was threatened with consumption and hurried away from the chill
and damp of England to the south of Europe. After two years of
fruitful travel and study he came back improved in health but not
strong, and often depressed in spirit. It was at this time that the
Guys, Scotch friends of his father and mother, came for a visit to his
home near London, and with them their little daughter Euphemia. The
coming of this beautiful, vivacious, light-hearted child opened a new
chapter in Ruskin's life. Though but twelve years old, she sought to
enliven the melancholy student, absorbed in art and geology, and bade
him leave these and write for her a fairy tale. He accepted, and after
but two sittings, presented her with this charming story. The incident
proved to have awakened in him a greater interest than at first
appeared, for a few years later "Effie" Grey became John Ruskin's wife.
Meantime she had given the manuscript to a friend. Nine years after it
was written, this friend, with John Ruskin's permission, gave the story
to the world.
It was published in London in 1851, with illustrations by the
celebrated Richard Doyle, and at once became a favorite. Three
editions were printed the first year, and soon it had found its way
into German, Italian, and Welsh. Since then countless children have
had cause to be grateful for the young girl's challenge that won the
story of Gluck's golden mug and the highly satisfactory handling of the
Black Brothers by Southwest Wind, Esquire.
For this edition new drawings have been prepared by Mr. Hiram P.
Barnes. They very successfully preserve the spirit of Doyle's
illustrations, which unfortunately are not technically suitable for
reproduction here.
In the original manuscript there was an epilogue bearing the heading
"Charitie"--a morning hymn of Treasure Valley, whither Gluck had
returned to dwell, and where the inheritance lost by cruelty was
regained by love:
The beams of morning are renewed The valley laughs their light to see
And earth is bright with gratitude And heaven with charitie.
R.H. COE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
HOW THE AGRICULTURAL SYSTEM OF THE BLACK BROTHERS WAS INTERFERED WITH
BY SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE
CHAPTER II
OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE THREE BROTHERS AFTER THE VISIT OF SOUTHWEST
WIND, ESQUIRE; AND HOW LITTLE GLUCK HAD AN INTERVIEW WITH THE KING OF
GOLDEN RIVER
CHAPTER III
HOW MR. HANS SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW HE
PROSPERED THEREIN
CHAPTER IV
HOW MR. SCHWARTZ SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW
HE PROSPERED THEREIN
CHAPTER V
HOW LITTLE GLUCK SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW
HE PROSPERED THEREIN, WITH OTHER MATTERS OF INTEREST
THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER
CHAPTER I
HOW THE AGRICULTURAL SYSTEM OF THE BLACK BROTHERS WAS INTERFERED WITH
BY SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE
In a secluded and mountainous part of Stiria there was in old time a
valley of the most surprising and luxuriant fertility. It was
surrounded on all sides by steep and rocky mountains rising into peaks
which were always covered with snow and from which a number of torrents
descended in constant cataracts. One of these fell westward over the
face of a crag so high that when the sun had set to everything else,
and all below was darkness, his beams still shone full upon this
waterfall, so that it looked like a shower of gold. It was therefore
called by the people of the neighborhood the Golden River. It was
strange that none of these streams fell into the valley itself. They
all descended on the other side of the mountains and wound away through
broad plains and by populous cities. But the clouds were drawn so
constantly to the snowy hills, and rested so softly in the circular
hollow, that in time of drought and heat, when all the country round
was burned up, there was still rain in the little valley; and its crops
were so heavy, and its hay so high, and its apples so red, and its
grapes so blue, and its wine so rich, and its honey so sweet, that it
was a marvel to everyone who beheld it and was commonly called the
Treasure Valley.
The whole of this little valley belonged to three brothers, called
Schwartz, Hans, and Gluck. Schwartz and Hans, the two elder brothers,
were very ugly men, with overhanging eyebrows and small, dull eyes
which were always half shut, so that you couldn't see into THEM and
always fancied they saw very far into YOU. They lived by farming the
Treasure Valley, and very good farmers they were. They killed
everything that did not pay for its eating. They shot the blackbirds
because they pecked the fruit, and killed the hedgehogs lest they
should suck the cows; they poisoned the crickets for eating the crumbs
in the kitchen, and smothered the cicadas which used to sing all summer
in the lime trees. They worked their servants without any wages till
they would not work any more, and then quarreled with them and turned
them out of doors without paying them. It would have been very odd if
with such a farm and such a system of farming they hadn't got very
rich; and very rich they DID get. They generally contrived to keep
their corn by them till it was very dear, and then sell it for twice
its value; they had heaps of gold lying about on their floors, yet it
was never known that they had given so much as a penny or a crust in
charity; they never went to Mass, grumbled perpetually at paying
tithes, and were, in a word, of so cruel and grinding a temper as to
receive from all those with whom they had any dealings the nickname of
the "Black Brothers."
The youngest brother, Gluck, was as completely opposed, in both
appearance and character, to his seniors as could possibly be imagined
or desired. He was not above twelve years old, fair, blue-eyed, and
kind in temper to every living thing. He did not, of course, agree
particularly well with his brothers, or, rather, they did not agree
with HIM. He was usually appointed to the honorable office of
turnspit, when there was anything to roast, which was not often, for,
to do the brothers justice, they were hardly less sparing upon
themselves than upon other people. At other times he used to clean the
shoes, floors, and sometimes the plates, occasionally getting what was
left on them, by way of encouragement, and a wholesome quantity of dry
blows by way of education.
Things went on in this manner for a long time. At last came a very wet
summer, and everything went wrong in the country round. The hay had
hardly been got in when the haystacks were floated bodily down to the
sea by an inundation; the vines were cut to pieces with the hail; the
corn was all killed by a black blight. Only in the Treasure Valley, as
usual, all was safe. As it had rain when there was rain nowhere else,
so it had sun when there was sun nowhere else. Everybody came to buy
corn at the farm and went away pouring maledictions on the Black
Brothers. They asked what they liked and got it, except from the poor
people, who could only beg, and several of whom were starved at their
very door without the slightest regard or notice.
It was drawing towards winter, and very cold weather, when one day the
two elder brothers had gone out, with their usual warning to little
Gluck, who was left to mind the roast, that he was to let nobody in and
give nothing out. Gluck sat down quite close to the fire, for it was
raining very hard and the kitchen walls were by no means dry or
comfortable-looking. He turned and turned, and the roast got nice and
brown. "What a pity," thought Gluck, "my brothers never ask anybody to
dinner. I'm sure, when they've got such a nice piece of mutton as
this, and nobody else has got so much as a piece of dry bread, it would
do their hearts good to have somebody to eat it with them."
Just as he spoke there came a double knock at the house door, yet heavy
and dull, as though the knocker had been tied up--more like a puff than
a knock.
"It must be the wind," said Gluck; "nobody else would venture to knock
double knocks at our door."
No, it wasn't the wind; there it came again very hard, and, what was
particularly astounding, the knocker seemed to be in a hurry and not to
be in the least afraid of the consequences. Gluck went to the window,
opened it, and put his head out to see who it was.
It was the most extraordinary-looking little gentleman he had ever seen
in his life. He had a very large nose, slightly brass-colored; his
cheeks were very round and very red, and might have warranted a
supposition that he had been blowing a refractory fire for the last
eight-and-forty hours; his eyes twinkled merrily through long, silky
eyelashes; his mustaches curled twice round like a corkscrew on each
side of his mouth; and his hair, of a curious mixed pepper-and-salt
color, descended far over his shoulders. He was about four feet six in
height and wore a conical pointed cap of nearly the same altitude,
decorated with a black feather some three feet long. His doublet was
prolonged behind into something resembling a violent exaggeration of
what is now termed a "swallowtail," but was much obscured by the
swelling folds of an enormous black, glossy-looking cloak, which must
have been very much too long in calm weather, as the wind, whistling
round the old house, carried it clear out from the wearer's shoulders
to about four times his own length.
Gluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the singular appearance of his
visitor that he remained fixed without uttering a word, until the old
gentleman, having performed another and a more energetic concerto on
the knocker, turned round to look after his flyaway cloak. In so doing
he caught sight of Gluck's little yellow head jammed in the window,
with its mouth and eyes very wide open indeed.
"Hollo!" said the little gentleman; "that's not the way to answer the
door. I'm wet; let me in."
To do the little gentleman justice, he WAS wet. His feather hung down
between his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an umbrella,
and from the ends of his mustaches the water was running into his
waistcoat pockets and out again like a mill stream.
"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck, "I'm very sorry, but, I really can't."
"Can't what?" said the old gentleman.
"I can't let you in, sir--I can't, indeed; my brothers would beat me to
death, sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you want, sir?"
"Want?" said the old gentleman petulantly. "I want fire and shelter,
and there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing on
the walls with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say; I only want to
warm myself."
Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window that he
began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned and
saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring and throwing long, bright
tongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savory
smell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within him that it should
be burning away for nothing. "He does look very wet," said little
Gluck; "I'll just let him in for a quarter of an hour." Round he went
to the door and opened it; and as the little gentleman walked in, there
came a gust of wind through the house that made the old chimneys totter.
"That's a good boy," said the little gentleman. "Never mind your
brothers. I'll talk to them."
"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said Gluck. "I can't let you
stay till they come; they'd be the death of me."
"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm very sorry to hear that. How
long may I stay?"
"Only till the mutton's done, sir," replied Gluck, "and it's very
brown."
Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen and sat himself down on
the hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the chimney, for it
was a great deal too high for the roof.
"You'll soon dry there, sir," said Gluck, and sat down again to turn
the mutton. But the old gentleman did NOT dry there, but went on drip,
drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed and sputtered and
began to look very black and uncomfortable. Never was such a cloak;
every fold in it ran like a gutter.
"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length, after watching the water
spreading in long, quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a
quarter of an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?"
"No, thank you," said the old gentleman.
"Your cap, sir?"
"I am all right, thank you," said the old gentleman rather gruffly.
"But--sir--I'm very sorry," said Gluck hesitatingly, "but--really,
sir--you're--putting the fire out."
"It'll take longer to do the mutton, then," replied his visitor dryly.
Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; it was such a
strange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away at the string
meditatively for another five minutes.
"That mutton looks very nice," said the old gentleman at length.
"Can't you give me a little bit?"
"Impossible, sir," said Gluck.
"I'm very hungry," continued the old gentleman. "I've had nothing to
eat yesterday nor to-day. They surely couldn't miss a bit from the
knuckle!"
He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted Gluck's
heart. "They promised me one slice to-day, sir," said he; "I can give
you that, but not a bit more."
"That's a good boy," said the old gentleman again.
Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife. "I don't care if I do
get beaten for it," thought he. Just as he had cut a large slice out
of the mutton there came a tremendous rap at the door. The old
gentleman jumped off the hob as if it had suddenly become
inconveniently warm. Gluck fitted the slice into the mutton again,
with desperate efforts at exactitude, and ran to open the door.
"What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said Schwartz, as he
walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face.
"Aye! what for, indeed, you little vagabond?" said Hans, administering
an educational box on the ear as he followed his brother into the
kitchen.
"Bless my soul!" said Schwartz when he opened the door.
"Amen," said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off and was
standing in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost possible
velocity.
"Who's that?" said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin and turning to
Gluck with a fierce frown.
"I don't know, indeed, brother," said Gluck in great terror.
"How did he get in?" roared Schwartz.
"My dear brother," said Gluck deprecatingly, "he was so VERY wet!"
The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head, but, at the instant,
the old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it crashed with
a shock that shook the water out of it all over the room. What was
very odd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched the cap than it flew out of
Schwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into
the corner at the further end of the room.
"Who are you, sir?" demanded Schwartz, turning upon him. "What's your
business?" snarled Hans.
"I'm a poor old man, sir," the little gentleman began very modestly,
"and I saw your fire through the window and begged shelter for a
quarter of an hour."
"Have the goodness to walk out again, then," said Schwartz. "We've
quite enough water in our kitchen without making it a drying house."
"It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my gray
hairs." They hung down to his shoulders, as I told you before.
"Aye!" said Hans; "there are enough of them to keep you warm. Walk!"
"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread
before I go?"
"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothing to do
with our bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you?"
"Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans sneeringly. "Out with you!"
"A little bit," said the old gentleman.
"Be off!" said Schwartz.
"Pray, gentlemen."
"Off, and be hanged!" cried Hans, seizing him by the collar. But he
had no sooner touched the old gentleman's collar than away he went
after the rolling-pin, spinning round and round till he fell into the
corner on the top of it. Then Schwartz was very angry and ran at the
old gentleman to turn him out; but he also had hardly touched him when
away he went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against
the wall as he tumbled into the corner. And so there they lay, all
three.
Then the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in the opposite
direction, continued to spin until his long cloak was all wound neatly
about him, clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side (for it
could not stand upright without going through the ceiling), gave an
additional twist to his corkscrew mustaches, and replied with perfect
coolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you a very good morning. At twelve
o'clock tonight I'll call again; after such a refusal of hospitality as
I have just experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the
last I ever pay you."
"If ever I catch you here again," muttered Schwartz, coming, half
frightened, out of the corner--but before he could finish his sentence
the old gentleman had shut the house door behind him with a great bang,
and there drove past the window at the same instant a wreath of ragged
cloud that whirled and rolled away down the valley in all manner of
shapes, turning over and over in the air and melting away at last in a
gush of rain.
"A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!" said Schwartz. "Dish the
mutton, sir. If ever I catch you at such a trick again--bless me, why,
the mutton's been cut!"
"You promised me one slice, brother, you know," said Gluck.
"Oh! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to catch all the
gravy. It'll be long before I promise you such a thing again. Leave
the room, sir; and have the kindness to wait in the coal cellar till I
call you."
Gluck left the room melancholy enough. The brothers ate as much mutton
as they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and proceeded to get
very drunk after dinner.
Such a night as it was! Howling wind and rushing rain, without
intermission. The brothers had just sense enough left to put up all
the shutters and double-bar the door before they went to bed. They
usually slept in the same room. As the clock struck twelve they were
both awakened by a tremendous crash. Their door burst open with a
violence that shook the house from top to bottom.
"What's that?" cried Schwartz, starting up in his bed.
"Only I," said the little gentleman.
The two brothers sat up on their bolster and stared into the darkness.
The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which found its
way through a hole in the shutter, they could see in the midst of it an
enormous foam globe, spinning round and bobbing up and down like a
cork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little old
gentleman, cap and all. There was plenty of room for it now, for the
roof was off.
"Sorry to incommode you," said their visitor ironically. "I'm afraid
your beds are dampish. Perhaps you had better go to your brother's
room; I've left the ceiling on there."
They required no second admonition, but rushed into Gluck's room, wet
through and in an agony of terror.
"You'll find my card on the kitchen table," the old gentleman called
after them. "Remember, the LAST visit."
"Pray Heaven it may!" said Schwartz, shuddering. And the foam globe
disappeared.
Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck's little
window in the morning. The Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin and
desolation. The inundation had swept away trees, crops, and cattle,
and left in their stead a waste of red sand and gray mud. The two
brothers crept shivering and horror-struck into the kitchen. The water
had gutted the whole first floor; corn, money, almost every movable
thing, had been swept away, and there was left only a small white card
on the kitchen table. On it, in large, breezy, long-legged letters,
were engraved the words:
SOUTH WEST WIND, ESQUIRE
CHAPTER II
OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE THREE BROTHERS AFTER THE VISIT OF SOUTHWEST
WIND, ESQUIRE; AND HOW LITTLE GLUCK HAD AN INTERVIEW WITH THE KING OF
THE GOLDEN RIVER
Southwest Wind, Esquire, was as good as his word. After the momentous
visit above related, he entered the Treasure Valley no more; and, what
was worse, he had so much influence with his relations, the West Winds
in general, and used it so effectually, that they all adopted a similar
line of conduct. So no rain fell in the valley from one year's end to
another. Though everything remained green and flourishing in the
plains below, the inheritance of the three brothers was a desert. What
had once been the richest soil in the kingdom became a shifting heap of
red sand, and the brothers, unable longer to contend with the adverse
skies, abandoned their valueless patrimony in despair, to seek some
means of gaining a livelihood among the cities and people of the
plains. All their money was gone, and they had nothing left but some
curious old-fashioned pieces of gold plate, the last remnants of their
ill-gotten wealth.
"Suppose we turn goldsmiths," said Schwartz to Hans as they entered the
large city. "It is a good knave's trade; we can put a great deal of
copper into the gold without anyone's finding it out."
The thought was agreed to be a very good one; they hired a furnace and
turned goldsmiths. But two slight circumstances affected their trade:
the first, that people did not approve of the coppered gold; the
second, that the two elder brothers, whenever they had sold anything,
used to leave little Gluck to mind the furnace, and go and drink out
the money in the alehouse next door. So they melted all their gold
without making money enough to buy more, and were at last reduced to
one large drinking mug, which an uncle of his had given to little
Gluck, and which he was very fond of and would not have parted with for
the world, though he never drank anything out of it but milk and water.
The mug was a very odd mug to look at. The handle was formed of two
wreaths of flowing golden hair, so finely spun that it looked more like
silk than metal, and these wreaths descended into and mixed with a
beard and whiskers of the same exquisite workmanship, which surrounded
and decorated a very fierce little face, of the reddest gold
imaginable, right in the front of the mug, with a pair of eyes in it
which seemed to command its whole circumference. It was impossible to
drink out of the mug without being subjected to an intense gaze out of
the side of these eyes, and Schwartz positively averred that once,
after emptying it, full of Rhenish, seventeen times, he had seen them
wink! When it came to the mug's turn to be made into spoons, it half
broke poor little Gluck's heart; but the brothers only laughed at him,
tossed the mug into the melting pot, and staggered out to the alehouse,
leaving him, as usual, to pour the gold into bars when it was all ready.
When they were gone, Gluck took a farewell look at his old friend in
the melting pot. The flowing hair was all gone; nothing remained but
the red nose and the sparkling eyes, which looked more malicious than
ever. "And no wonder," thought Gluck, "after being treated in that
way." He sauntered disconsolately to the window and sat himself down
to catch the fresh evening air and escape the hot breath of the
furnace. Now this window commanded a direct view of the range of
mountains which, as I told you before, overhung the Treasure Valley,
and more especially of the peak from which fell the Golden River. It
was just at the close of the day, and when Gluck sat down at the
window, he saw the rocks of the mountain tops, all crimson and purple
with the sunset; and there were bright tongues of fiery cloud burning
and quivering about them; and the river, brighter than all, fell, in a
waving column of pure gold, from precipice to precipice, with the
double arch of a broad purple rainbow stretched across it, flushing and
fading alternately in the wreaths of spray.
"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a little while,
"if that river were really all gold, what a nice thing it would be."
"No, it wouldn't, Gluck," said a clear, metallic voice close at his ear.
"Bless me, what's that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up. There was nobody
there. He looked round the room and under the table and a great many
times behind him, but there was certainly nobody there, and he sat down
again at the window. This time he didn't speak, but he couldn't help
thinking again that it would be very convenient if the river were
really all gold.
"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice, louder than before.
"Bless me!" said Gluck again, "what is that?" He looked again into all
the corners and cupboards, and then began turning round and round as
fast as he could, in the middle of the room, thinking there was
somebody behind him, when the same voice struck again on his ear. It
was singing now, very merrily, "Lala-lira-la"--no words, only a soft,
running, effervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the
boil. Gluck looked out of the window; no, it was certainly in the
house. Upstairs and downstairs; no, it was certainly in that very
room, coming in quicker time and clearer notes every moment:
"Lala-lira-la." All at once it struck Gluck that it sounded louder
near the furnace. He ran to the opening and looked in. Yes, he saw
right; it seemed to be coming not only out of the furnace but out of
the pot. He uncovered it, and ran back in a great fright, for the pot
was certainly singing! He stood in the farthest corner of the room,
with his hands up and his mouth open, for a minute or two, when the
singing stopped and the voice became clear and pronunciative.
"Hollo!" said the voice.
Gluck made no answer.
"Hollo! Gluck, my boy," said the pot again.
Gluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to the crucible,
drew it out of the furnace, and looked in. The gold was all melted and
its surface as smooth and polished as a river, but instead of
reflecting little Gluck's head, as he looked in he saw, meeting his
glance from beneath the gold, the red nose and sharp eyes of his old
friend of the mug, a thousand times redder and sharper than ever he had
seen them in his life.
"Come, Gluck, my boy," said the voice out of the pot again, "I'm all
right; pour me out."
But Gluck was too much astonished to do anything of the kind.
"Pour me out, I say," said the voice rather gruffly.
Still Gluck couldn't move.
"WILL you pour me out?" said the voice passionately. "I'm too hot."
By a violent effort Gluck recovered the use of his limbs, took hold of
the crucible, and sloped it, so as to pour out the gold. But instead
of a liquid stream there came out, first a pair of pretty little yellow
legs, then some coat tails, then a pair of arms stuck akimbo, and
finally the well-known head of his friend the mug--all which articles,
uniting as they rolled out, stood up energetically on the floor in the
shape of a little golden dwarf about a foot and a half high.
"That's right!" said the dwarf, stretching out first his legs and then
his arms, and then shaking his head up and down and as far round as it
would go, for five | 2,592.689015 |
2023-11-16 19:00:16.6713030 | 213 | 43 |
Produced by Clarity, RichardW, 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 WORKS of VOLTAIRE_
_EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION_
_Limited to one thousand sets
for America and Great Britain._
“_Between two servants of Humanity, who appeared
eighteen hundred years apart, there is a mysterious relation.
* * * * * Let us say it with a sentiment of
profound respect: JESUS WEPT: VOLTAIRE SMILED.
Of that divine tear and of that human smile is composed the
sweetness of the present civilization._”
_VICTOR HUGO._
[Illustration: AT THIS INTERESTING MOMENT, AS MAY EASILY BE
IMAGINED, WHO SHOULD COME IN BUT THE UNCLE]
_EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION | 2,592.691343 |
2023-11-16 19:00:16.6743570 | 4,154 | 30 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Chris Jordan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net with
transcriptions from Stephen Rowland and Louise Hope
=Transcriber's notes:=
In the section "To The Reader" our author writes:
_There be, no doubt, some faults committed by the =Printer=, both
Literall and Materiall, and some Errors of the =Gravers= in the
=Figures=, (as in the =Tetragrammaton=; in the Figure of =Arîon=; and
in the =Proprieties= due to some other =Hieroglyphicks=); but, for the
most part, they are such, as =Common-Readers= will never perceive; and
I thinke, that they who are =Judicious= will so plainly finde them to
be no faults of mine; that, leaving them to be amended by those, to
whom they appertaine; and, =You=, to accept of these =Play-games= as
you please: I bid you =Farewell=._
Therefore all oddities and inconsistencies have been left unchanged.
They have been noted at the end of the transcription.
An addendum of transcriptions and translations of the mottoes engraved
around each emblem has been added to the final note as a convenience to
the reader.
A PREPOSITION to this FRONTISPIECE.
This BOOKE contayning EMBLEMS, ’twas thought fit,
A _Title-page_ should stand to usher it,
That’s Emblematicall: And, for that end,
Our AVTHOR, to the _Graver_ did commend
A plaine Invention; that it might be wrought,
According as his Fancie had forethought.
Insteed thereof, the _Workeman_ brought to light,
What, here, you see; therein, mistaking quite
The true _Designe_: And, so (with paines, and cost)
The first intended FRONTISPIECE, is lost.
The AVTHOR, was as much displeas’d, as Hee
In such Adventures, is inclin’d to bee;
And, halfe resolv’d, to cast this PIECE aside,
As nothing worth: but, having better ey’d
Those _Errors_, and _Confusions_, which may, there,
Blame-worthy (at the first aspect) appeare;
Hee saw, they fitted many Fantasies
Much better, then what _Reason_ can devise;
And, that, the _Graver_ (by meere _Chance_) had hit
On what, so much transcends the reach of _Wit_,
As made it seeme, an Object of _Delight_,
To looke on what, MISFORTVNE brought to light:
And, here it stands, to try his _Wit_, who lists
To pumpe the secrets, out of _Cabalists_.
If any thinke this _Page_ will, now, declare
The meaning of those _Figures_, which are there,
They are deceiv’d. For, _Destinie_ denyes
The utt’ring of such hidden _Mysteries_,
In these respects: First, _This_ contayneth nought
Which (in a proper sense) concerneth, ought,
The _present-Age_: Moreover, tis ordain’d,
That, none must know the _Secrecies_ contain’d
Within this PIECE; but, they who are so wise
To finde them out, by their owne _prudencies_;
And, hee that can unriddle them, to us,
Shall stiled be, the second OEDIPVS.
Tis, likewise, thought expedient, now and then,
To make some _Worke_, for those _All-knowing men_,
(To exercise upon) who thinke they see
The _secret-meanings_, of all things that bee.
And, lastly, since we finde, that, some there are,
Who best affect _Inuentions_, which appeare
Beyond their understandings; _This_, we knew
A _Representment_, worthy of their view;
And, here, wee placed it, to be, to these,
A FRONTISPIECE, in any sense they please.
[Illustration: EMBLEMES. _Illustrated by_ Geo: Wither.]
A
COLLECTION
OF
EMBLEMES,
ANCIENT AND
MODERNE:
Quickened
With METRICALL ILLVSTRATIONS, both
_Morall_ and _Divine_: And disposed into
LOTTERIES,
That _Jnstruction_, and _Good Counsell_, may bee furthered
by an Honest and Pleasant _Recreation_.
_By_ GEORGE WITHER.
_The First Booke._
[Illustration: Decoration]
LONDON,
Printed by _A.M._ for _Richard Royston_, and
are to be sold at his Shop in _Ivie_-Lane.
MDCXXXV.
_Recensui hoc Poëma, cui titulus est =(A Collection and Illustration
of Emblems Ancient and Moderne)= in quo nihil reperio, quò minus cum
utilitate imprimatur, ita tamen, ut si non intra septem menses proximè
sequentes Typis mandetur, hæc licentia sit omninò irrita._
Ex ædibus Lambithanis
_Iul. 2. 1634._
GVIL. BRAY.
A
WRIT OF PREVENTION
Concerning the AVTHORS _Dedication_
of the foure following BOOKES, to those
_Royall_, _Princely_, and _Illustrious_ PERSONAGES,
whose Names are mentioned
in this _Leafe_.
I have not often us’d, with _Epigrames_,
Or, with _Inscriptions_ unto many NAMES,
To charge my _Bookes_: Nor, had I done it, now,
If I, to pay the _Duties_ which I owe,
Had other _meanes_; Or, any better Wayes
To honour them, whose _Vertue_ merits praise.
In _ARCHITECT_, it giveth good content,
(And passeth for a praisefull _Ornament_)
If, to adorne the _FORE-FRONTS_, _Builders_ reare
The _Statues_ of their _Soveraigne-Princes_, there;
And, trimme the _Outsides_, of the other SQVARES
With _Portraitures_ of some Heroicke PEERES.
If, therefore, I (the more to beautifie
This _Portion_ of my MVSES _Gallerie_)
Doe, here, presume to place, the _NAMES_ of those
To whose _Deserts_, my LOVE remembrance owes,
I hope ’twill none offend. For, most, who see
Their worthy _mention_, in this BOOKE, to bee,
Will thinke them honor’d: And, perhaps, it may
(To their high praise) be found, another day,
That, in these LEAVES their _Names_ wil stand unrac’d,
When many fairer _STRVCTVRFS_, are defac’d.
_In this =Hope=, I have placed on the FORE-FRONT (or before the
=First Booke= of these EMBLEMS) a =Ioint-Inscription= to the
KING and QVEENES most excellent MAIESTIE._
_Upon the =Right-Side-Front= of this =Building= (or before
the =Second Booke=) One =Inscription= to the most hopefull
=Prince, =CHARLES=, Prince of =Wales=; And, another to his deere
=Brother, =IAMES=, Duke of =Yorke=, =&c.=_
_On the other =Side-Front=, (or before the =Third Booke=)
One =Inscription= to the gratious Princesse, FRANCES
Dutchesse-Dowager of RICHMOND and LENOX; And, another to her
most noble Nephew, IAMES Duke of Lenox, &c._
_On the =Fourth Front= of our =Square=, (Or before the =Fourth
Booke=) One =Inscription= to the right Honourable PHILIP Earle
of =Pembrooke= and =Montgomery=, &c. And another to the right
Honourable, HENRY Earle of =Holland=, &c._
To the MAJESTIE of Great
_Britaine_, _France_, and _Ireland_, the
Most Illustrious King,
CHARLES;
And his excellently beloved, the most
gratious _Queene_ MARY.
Sev’n yeares are full expired, Royall SIR,
Since last I kneel’d, an offring to preferre
Before your feete; where, now, my selfe I throw
To pay once more, the _Tributes_ which I owe.
_As many yeares are past, most beauteous QVEENE,
Since witnesses, mine eares and eyes, have beene
Of those Perfections; which the generall =Fame=
Hath sounded forth, in honour of your =Name=._
And, both your _beaming-splendors_ (oh yee faire,
Thrice blessed, and most fitly-matched PAIRE)
Vpon each other, make such bright reflections;
And have so sweetly mingled your _affections_,
Your _Praise_, your _Pow’re_, your _Vertues_, and your _Beautie_:
That, (if preserving of my _Soveraigne dutie_,
This may be said) you doe appeare, to me,
TWO PERSONS, in One MAIESTY, to be;
To whom, there, appertaines (in veneration
Of your large _Worth_) the right of some _Oblation_
And, best, I thought, my _Homage_ would be done,
If, thus, the tender were to BOTH-in-ONE.
Which, in this humble GVIFT, my _Love_ presents;
And, wisheth it may adde to your Contents.
Perhaps it shall: For, though I dare not shew
These _Figures_, as well meriting your view;
Nor boast, as if their _Moralls_ couched ought,
By which your sacred _Wisdomes_ may be taught:
Yet, I have humble _Hopings_, that, they might
Prove, some way, an occasion of delight;
Since, meane and common _Objects_, now and then,
Beget contentments in the _greatest-men_.
But, that before this _Booke_, I should propose
Your praisefull NAMES, there is (as I suppose)
A faire inducement: For, considering these
Are EMBLEMS, whose intention is to please
And profit vulgar Iudgements (by the view,
Of what they ought to follow, or eschew.)
And, I well knowing, that your MAIESTIES
Set foorth before my _Booke_, in _Emblem-wise_,
Throughout your Lands, more _Vertues_ might convay,
Than many _Volumes_, of these _Emblems_, may;
It seemed _Petty-treason_, to omit
This good occasion of endeavouring it.
For, (if your MAIESTIES, well heeded, were)
YOV, double-treble-foure-fold _Emblems_ are;
Which, fully to illustrate, would require
The _Wit_ I want; or, meanes to raise, that, higher
Which I have gain’d; (and, which, as yet, hath flowne
By no incouragements, but by her owne.)
Of all the _Vertues_ OECONOMICAL,
Of _Duties_ MORAL and POLITICALL,
Your _Lives_ are _Patternes_, and faire EMBLEMS; whether
Considered apart, or both together.
Your CHILDHOODS were bright _Mirrours_, which did show
What Duties, _Children_, to their _Parents_ owe:
And, by the sequele, we now understand,
That, they who best _obay’d_, can best command.
The glorious _Vertues_ of your NVPTIALL-_state_,
Your _Courtiers_, find so hard to imitate,
That, they admire them, rather; and would sweare,
(Had others told, what, now they see and heare)
That, all the former Times, were not acquainted,
With such a _Paire_, when _Kings_ and _Queenes_ were _Sainted_.
The chastest _Cupids_, and the gamesom’st _Graces_,
Are alwaies mingled in your _Deare-embraces_.
The mutuall enterchanges of your _Loves_,
May teach affection to the _Turtle-doves_:
And, such as are, with goodly sights, delighted,
May see in _You_, all _Excellence_ united.
You, SIR, who beare _Ioves_ Thunders in your Fist,
And, (shake this _Ilands_ EMPIRE, when You list)
Did never in your _Orbe_, a _Tempest_ move,
But, by the Beautious _Mistresse_ of your _Love_
It might be calm’d. _And, in your lofty =Spheare=,
Most lovely QVEENE, Your Motions ever, were
So smoath, and, so direct; that, none can say,
They have withdrawne his Royall-heart away
From Iust =Designes=; Which, loudly speakes your =Praise=,
And, intimates much more, than, yet, it saies._
Yea, both Your _Splendors_ doe so glorious growe,
And, You, each other have out-vyed so,
In these, and other _Vertues_; that, on You,
Should I conferre what praise, I thinke, is due,
My _Lines_, (which from that staine have, yet, beene cleare)
Would Flatt’ry seeme, unto an envious eare.
But, what needs _Flatt’ry_, where the _Truth_ may teach
To praise, beyond immodest _Flatt’ries_ reach?
Or, what needs he to feare a _sland’rous-mouth_,
Who seekes no _meed_, nor utters more than Truth?
Your Princely _Vertues_, what can better show,
Than _Peace_, and _Plenty_, which have thrived so,
Whilst You have raign’d that, yet, no people see,
A _Richer_, or more _Peacefull_ time, than wee?
Your _Civill Actions_ (to the publike eye)
Are faire _examples_ of _Moralitie_,
So manifest; That, if he Truth did sing,
Who said, _The World doth imitate the King_;
My _Muses_ dare, with boldnesse to presage,
A Chast, a Pious, and a Prosperous _Age_:
And, that, the stormes which, late, these Realmes deterr’d,
Shall all be quite removed, or deferr’d
Till you Ascend; And, future times have seene,
That, your Examples have not followed beene.
Thus, you are living _Emblems_, to this _Nation_:
Which being mark’d with heedefull speculation,
May serve, as well, to helpe us how to see
Our _Happinesse_, As, what our _Duties_ be.
And, if I might unlocke all _Mysteries_,
Which doe declare, how in a _foure-fold-wise_,
Your Lives are usefull EMBLEMS; I, perchance,
Should vexe blind _Zeale_, or anger _Ignorance_;
And, teach well-temper’d _Spirits_, how to see,
That, we, for Blessings, oft, Vnthankefull be.
For, as you, _Both_, Prime _Children_ are of those
Two _Sister-Churches_, betwixt whom, yet, growes
Vnseemely _strife_; So, _You_, perhaps, may be
An _Emblem_, how those MOTHERS may agree.
And, not by your _Example_, onely, show,
How wrought it may be; but, effect it so.
Yea, peradventure, GOD, united _You_,
That, such a blessed VNION might ensue:
And, that, Your _living-lovingly_, together;
Your Christian _hopefullnesse_, of one another;
Your milde _forbearance_, harsh attempts to proove;
Your _mutuall-waiting_, untill _God_ shall move
By some _calme-voice_, or peacefull _inspiration_,
That _Heart_ Which needeth better _Information_;
And, that, your _Charities_, might give a _signe_,
How, all the _Daughters_, of the SPOVSE _Divine_
Might reconciled be; And, shew, that, _Swords_,
_Flames_, _Threats_, and _Furie_, make no true _Accords_.
GOD grant a better VNION may appeare:
Yet, wish I not the _tollerating_, here,
Of _Politicke-Agreements_; (further than
Our wholsome _Lawes_, and, _Civill-vowes_ to man,
With _Piety_, approve) but, such, as may
Make up a blessed CONCORD, every way:
Might it be so; your _Vertues_, would become
A Glorious _Blessing_, to all CHRISTENDOME:
Your EMBLEM should, by future _Generations_;
Be plac’d among the famous _Constellations_,
And, _after-times_ (though | 2,592.694397 |
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BITS ABOUT HOME MATTERS.
By H. H.,
Author of "Verses" and "Bits of Travel."
1873
Contents.
The Inhumanities of Parents--Corporal Punishment
The Inhumanities of Parents--Needless Denials
The Inhumanities of Parents--Rudeness
Breaking the Will
The Reign of Archelaus
The Awkward Age
A Day with a Courteous Mother
Children in Nova Scotia
The Republic of the Family
The Ready-to-Halts
The Descendants of Nabal
"Boys not allowed"
Half an Hour in a Railway Station
A Genius for Affection
Rainy Days
Friends of the Prisoners
A Companion for the Winter
Choice of Colors
The Apostle of Beauty
English Lodging-Houses
Wet the Clay
The King's Friend
Learning to speak
Private Tyrants
Margin
The Fine Art of Smiling
Death-bed Repentance
The Correlation of Moral Forces
A Simple Bill of Fare for a Christmas Dinner
Children's Parties
After-supper Talk
Hysteria in Literature
Jog Trot
The Joyless American
Spiritual Teething
Glass Houses
The Old-Clothes Monger in Journalism
The Country Landlord's Side
The Good Staff of Pleasure
Wanted--a Home
Bits of Talk.
The Inhumanities of Parents--Corporal Punishment.
Not long ago a Presbyterian minister in Western New York whipped his
three-year-old boy to death, for refusing to say his prayers. The little
fingers were broken; the tender flesh was bruised and actually mangled;
strong men wept when they looked on the body; and the reverend murderer,
after having been set free on bail, was glad to return and take refuge
within the walls of his prison, to escape summary punishment at the hands
of an outraged community. At the bare mention of such cruelty, every heart
grew sick and faint; men and women were dumb with horror: only tears and a
hot demand for instant retaliation availed.
The question whether, after all, that baby martyr were not fortunate among
his fellows, would, no doubt, be met by resentful astonishment. But it is
a question which may well be asked, may well be pondered. Heart-rending as
it is to think for an instant of the agonies which the poor child must
have borne for some hours after his infant brain was too bewildered by
terror and pain to understand what was required of him, it still cannot
fail to occur to deeper reflection that the torture was short and small in
comparison with what the next ten years might have held for him if he had
lived. To earn entrance on the spiritual life by the briefest possible
experience of the physical, is always "greater gain;" but how emphatically
is it so when the conditions of life upon earth are sure to be
unfavorable!
If it were possible in any way to get a statistical summing-up and a
tangible presentation of the amount of physical pain inflicted by parents
on children under twelve years of age, the most callous-hearted would be
surprised and shocked. If it were possible to add to this estimate an
accurate and scientific demonstration of the extent to which such pain, by
weakening the nervous system and exhausting its capacity to resist
disease, diminishes children's chances for life, the world would stand
aghast.
Too little has been said upon this point. The opponents of corporal
punishment usually approach the subject either from the sentimental or the
moral standpoint. The argument on either of these grounds can be made
strong enough, one would suppose, to paralyze every hand lifted to strike
a child. But the question of the direct and lasting physical effect of
blows--even of one blow on the delicate tissues of a child's body, on the
frail and trembling nerves, on the sensitive organization which is trying,
under a thousand unfavoring conditions, to adjust itself to the hard work
of both living and growing--has yet to be properly considered.
Every one knows the sudden sense of insupportable pain, sometimes
producing even dizziness and nausea, which follows the accidental hitting
of the ankle or elbow against a hard substance. It does not need that the
blow be very hard to bring involuntary tears to adult eyes. But what is
such a pain as this, in comparison with the pain of a dozen or more quick
tingling blows from a heavy hand on flesh which is, which must be as much
more sensitive than ours, as are the souls which dwell in it purer than
ours. Add to this physical pain the overwhelming terror which only utter
helplessness can feel, and which is the most recognizable quality in the
cry of a very young child under whipping; add the instinctive sense of
disgrace, of outrage, which often keeps the older child stubborn and still
through-out,--and you have an amount and an intensity of suffering from
which even tried nerves might shrink. Again, who does not know--at least,
what woman does not know--that violent weeping, for even a very short
time, is quite enough to cause a feeling of languor and depression, of
nervous exhaustion for a whole day? Yet it does not seem to occur to
mothers that little children must feel this, in proportion to the length
of time and violence of their crying, far more than grown people. Who has
not often seen a poor child receive, within an hour or two of the first
whipping, a second one, for some small ebullition of nervous
irritability, which was simply inevitable from its spent and worn
condition?
It is safe to say that in families where whipping is regularly recognized
as a punishment, few children under ten years of age, and of average
behavior, have less than one whipping a week. Sometimes they have more,
sometimes the whipping is very severe. Thus you have in one short year
sixty or seventy occasions on which for a greater or less time, say from
one to three hours, the child's nervous system is subjected to a
tremendous strain from the effect of terror and physical pain combined
with long crying. Will any physician tell us that this fact is not an
element in that child's physical condition at the end of that year? Will
any physician dare to say that there may not be, in that child's life,
crises when the issues of life and death will be so equally balanced that
the tenth part of the nervous force lost in such fits of crying, and in
the endurance of such pain, could turn the scale?
Nature's retributions, like her rewards, are cumulative. Because her
sentences against evil works are not executed speedily, therefore the
hearts of the sons of men are fully set in them to do evil. But the
sentence always is executed, sooner or later, and that inexorably. Your
son, O unthinking mother! may fall by the way in the full prime of his
manhood, for lack of that strength which his infancy spent in enduring
your hasty and severe punishments.
It is easy to say,--and universally is said,--by people who cling to the
old and fight against the new, "All this outcry about corporal punishment
is sentimental nonsense. The world is full of men and women, who have
grown up strong and good, in spite of whippings; and as for me, I know I
never had any more whipping than I deserved, or than was good for me."
Are you then so strong and clear and pure in your physical and spiritual
nature and life, that you are sure no different training could have made
either your body or your soul better? Are these men and women, of whom the
world is full, so able-bodied, whole-souled, strong-minded, that you think
it needless to look about for any method of making the next generation
better? Above all, do you believe that it is a part of the legitimate
outworking of God's plan and intent in creating human beings to have more
than one-half of them die in childhood? If we are not to believe that this
fearful mortality is a part of God's plan, is it wise to refuse to
consider all possibilities, even those seemingly most remote, of
diminishing it?
No argument is so hard to meet (simply because it is not an argument) as
the assumption of the good and propriety of "the thing that hath been." It
is one of the devil's best sophistries, by which he keeps good people
undisturbed in doing the things he likes. It has been in all ages the
bulwark behind which evils have made stand, and have slain their
thousands. It is the last enemy which shall be destroyed. It is the only
real support of the cruel evil of corporal punishment.
Suppose that such punishment of children had been unheard of till now.
Suppose that the idea had yesterday been suggested for the first time that
by inflicting physical pain on a child's body you might make him recollect
certain truths; and suppose that instead of whipping, a very moderate and
harmless degree of pricking with pins or cutting with knives or burning
with fire had been suggested. Would not fathers and mothers have cried out
all over the land at the inhumanity of the idea?
Would they not still cry out at the inhumanity of one who, as things are
to-day, should propose the substitution of pricking or cutting or burning
for whipping? But I think it would not be easy to show in what wise small
pricks or cuts are more inhuman than blows; or why lying may not be as
legitimately cured by blisters made with a hot coal as by black and blue
spots made with a ruler. The principle is the same; and if the principle
be right, why not multiply methods?
It seems as if this one suggestion, candidly considered, might be enough
to open all parents' eyes to the enormity of whipping. How many a loving
mother will, without any thought of cruelty, inflict half-a-dozen quick
blows on the little hand of her child, when she could no more take a pin
and make the same number of thrusts into the tender flesh, than she could
bind the baby on a rack. Yet the pin-thrusts would hurt far less, and
would probably make a deeper impression on the child's mind.
Among the | 2,592.694585 |
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All About Battersea,
BY
HENRY S. SIMMONDS.
[Illustration: S. MARY'S, built according to Act of Parliament, 14.
Geo. III. Opened Nov. 17, 1777. About 1823 an Entrance Portico of the
Doric Order was added.]
London:
ASHFIELD, PRINTER, BRIDGE ROAD WEST, BATTERSEA.
1882.
This small volume
IS MOST
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED (BY PERMISSION)
TO
THE REV. JOHN ERSKINE CLARKE, M.A.,
_Honorary Canon of Winchester, Vicar of Battersea;_
AND TO THE
INHABITANTS IN GENERAL.
INDEX.
PAGE.
INTRODUCTION.
Nine Elms Lane.--The King's Champion. 3
Thorne's Brewery.--What Battersea has been called. 4
London and South Western Railway Company's Goods
Station and Locomotive Works. 4-7
Mill-Pond Bridge.--New Road. 8
A Royal Sturgeon caught in the wheel of the Mill
at Mill-Pond Bridge. 9
Wallace's Vitriol Works. 10
Sleaford Street.--Coal. 11
Street Lighting. 12-13
London Gas-Light Company's Works and Vauxhall
Gardens. 14-23
On a recently-exposed Section at Battersea. 23-24
Phillips' Fire Annihilating Machine Factory
Destroyed.--Brayne's Pottery.--The Old Lime
Kilns.--Laver's Cement & Whiting Works. 25
The Southwark and Vauxhall Water Works. 26
Water Carriers and Water Companies. 27-29
The Village of Battersea.--Growth of the Parish. 30-31
Boundaries.--A Legal Contest between Battersea
and Clapham Parishes.--Clapham Common. 32-33
Lavender Hill.--The Seat of William Wilberforce.--Eminent
Supporters of the Anti-Slavery Movement.--Frances
Elizabeth Leveson Gower.--Mr. Thornton.--Philip
Cazenove.--Charles Curling, Lady George Pollock,
and others. 34-36
Battersea Market Gardens and Gardeners. 36-37
Stages set out for Battersea from the City.--Annual
Fair.--Inhabitants supplied with Water from
Springs.--The Manor of Battersea before the Conquest. 38
Battersea and its association with the St. Johns. 39
Henry St. John Lord Viscount Bolingbroke. 40-42
A Horizontal Air Mill. 43
St. Mary's Church. 44-46
The Indenture. 47-48
Epitaphs and Sepulchral Monuments. 49-51
Rectory and Vicarage. 52
A Petition or Curious Document. 53
Dr. Thomas Temple.--Dr. Thomas Church. 54
Cases of Longevity.--The Plague.--The Three Plague
Years.--Deaths in Battersea. 55-56
Vicars of Battersea from Olden Times. 56-57
Thomas Lord Stanley.--Lawrence Booth. 57
York House. 58
Battersea Enamel Works.--Porcelain.--Jens Wolfe,
Esq.--Sherwood Lodge.--Price's Patent Candle Factory. 59-62
Candlemas. 63-64
The Saw.--Mark Isambard Brunel's Premises at
Battersea.--Establishment for the preservation of
timber from the dry rot burnt down. 65
History of the Ferry.--The Old Wooden Bridge. 66-67
Albert Suspension Bridge. 68-69
Chelsea Suspension Bridge. 70
The Prince of Wales.--Freeing the Bridges "For Ever." 71-73
The Stupendous Railway Bridge across the Thames. 74
The spot where Cæsar and his legions are stated
by some antiquarians to have crossed the river. 75
A haunted house.--Battersea Fields.--Duel between
the Duke of Wellington and Lord Winchelsea. 76
The Red House. 77
"Gyp" the Raven.--Billy the Nutman.--Sports. 78
"The Old House at Home."--Sabbath Desecration. 79
Her Majesty's Commissioners empowered by Act of Parliament
to form a Royal Park in Battersea Fields.--Wild
Flowers.--Battersea Park. 80-84
London, Brighton and South-Coast Railway Company's two
Circular Engine Sheds and West-End Goods Traffic Department. 85-86
Long-Hedge Farm.--London, Chatham and Dover Railway
Locomotive Works. 87-90
A Canvas Cathedral. 91
H.P. Horse Nail Company's Factory 94
St. George's Church, its clergy, its graveyard, epitaphs
and inscriptions (St. Andrew's Temporary Iron Church 96). 95-99
Christ Church, its clergy. 100
St. John's Church. 101
St. Paul's Church. 102
St. Philip's Church. 103
St. Mark's Church. 104
St. Luke's Chapel-of-Ease. 105
St. Saviour's Church. 106
St. Peter's Church. 107
Temporary Church of the Ascension.--St. Michael's Church. 108
All Saints' Temporary Iron Church.--Rochester Diocesan
Mission, St. James', Nine Elms. 111
St. Aldwin's Mission Chapel.--The Church of our Lady
of Mount Carmel and St. Joseph. 112
Church of the Sacred Heart.--The Old Baptist Meeting
House, Revs. Mr. Browne, Joseph Hughes, M.A., (John
Foster), Edmund Clark, Enoch Crook, I. M. Soule,
Charles Kirtland. 113-116
Baptist Temporary Chapel, Surrey Lane. 116
Battersea Park Temporary Baptist Chapel. 117
Baptist (Providence) Chapel. 118
Baptist Chapel, Chatham Road.--Wesleyan Methodist
Mission Room and Sunday School.--United Methodist Free
Church, Church Road, Battersea.--The United Methodist
Free Church, Battersea Park Road. 119
Primitive Methodist Chapel, New Road. 119
Primitive Methodist Chapel, Grayshott Road.--Primitive
Methodist Chapel, Plough Lane. 121
St. George's Mission Hall.--Battersea Congregational
Church, (Independent), Bridge Road. 122
Stormont Road Congregational Church, Lavender Hill. 123
Wesleyan Methodism in Battersea. 124-126
Methodist Chronology. 127
Wesleyan Chapel, Queen's Road. 128
Free Christian Church, Queen's Road. 129
Trinity Mission Hall, Stewart's Lane.--Plymouth Brethren. 130
"The Little Tabernacle."--Thomas Blood. 131
Battersea Priory.--Alien Priories. 132
Ursulines. 132-134
Battersea Grammar School, | 2,592.760058 |
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NORTH CORNWALL FAIRIES AND LEGENDS
By
ENYS TREGARTHEN
Author of 'The Piskey-Purse'
With introduction by Howard Fox, F.G.S.
Illustrated
London
Wells Gardner, Darton & Co., Ltd.
3, Paternoster Buildings, E.C.
CONTENTS
Page
Introduction xi
The Adventures of a Piskey in Search of his Laugh 1
The Legend of the Padstow Doombar 51
The Little Cake-bird 71
The Impounded Crows 99
The Piskeys' Revenge 113
The Old Sky Woman 125
Reefy, Reefy Rum 131
The Little Horses and Horsemen of Padstow 139
How Jan Brewer was Piskey-laden 149
The Small People's Fair 159
The Piskeys who did Aunt Betsy's Work 165
The Piskeys Who carried their Beds 177
The Fairy Whirlwind 183
Notes 189
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
Tintagel Castle Frontispiece
King Arthur's Castle, looking North 9
Tintagel Castle 15
By Rough Tor's granite-piled height the bright
little Lantern went 21
'Night-riders, Night-riders, please stop!' 37
'Which is still called King Arthur's Seat' 45
Lifeboat going over the bar of doom 53
Tristram Bird could see over the maiden's head
into the pool 55
Trebetherick Bay 62
Chapel Stile 65
'It is the Mermaid's wraith,' cried an old
Granfer man 67
Tregoss Moor 73
On the way to Tamsin's Cottage 75
'I hear them laughing. Listen, Grannie!' 83
The Roche Rocks 85
He stepped on to Phillida's nose as light as the
feathers of the old Sky Woman 91
'All the crows in the parish came as they were
bidden' 101
'Perhaps you would like to hear the crows' version
of the tale?' 105
The Piskeys got in and ate up the bowl of junket,
and passed out the biscuits 118
'The Old Sky Woman sweeping out the Sky Goose's
house' 128
She took to her heels and ran for her life 135
Saw them standing on the tile-ridge 141
They galloped much faster than he could run 145
Ruins of Constantine Church 153
They began to dance round him 157
Nannie went on the moors again, and Tinker
followed her 172
INTRODUCTION
The tales contained in this little volume of North Cornwall fairy
stories, by Enys Tregarthen, are either founded on folk-lore or they
are folk-lore pure and simple.
The scene of the first story is laid amid the ancient walls and
gateways of 'Grim Dundagel thron'd along the sea,' and other places
not quite so well known by those who live beyond the Cornish land,
but which, nevertheless, have a fascination of their own, especially
Dozmare Pool, where Tregeagle's unhappy spirit worked at his hopeless
task of emptying the pool with a crozan or limpet-shell 'that had a
hole in it.'
This large inland lake, one mile in circumference, is of unusual
interest, not only because of the Tregeagle legend that centres
round Dozmare, but from a tradition, which many believe, that it
was to this desolate moor, with its great tarn, that Sir Bedivere,
King Arthur's faithful knight, brought the wounded King after the
last great battle at Slaughter Bridge, on the banks of the Camel.
A wilder and more untamed spot could hardly be found even in Cornwall
than Dozmare Pool and the barren moors surrounding it. As one stands
by its dark waters, looking away towards the bare granite-crowned
hills and listening to the wind sighing among the reeds and rushes
and the coarse grass, one can realize to the full the weird legends
connected with it, and one can see in imagination the huge figure of
Tregeagle bending over the pool, dipping out the water with his poor
little limpet-shell.
The Tregeagle legends are still believed in. When people go out to
Dozmare Pool, they do not mention Tregeagle's name for fear that the
Giant will suddenly appear and chase them over the moors!
On the golden spaces of St. Minver sand-hills the legends about this
unearthly personage are not so easily realized, except on a dark
winter's night, when the wind rages fiercely over the dunes and one
hears a fearful sound, which the natives say is Tregeagle roaring
because the sand-ropes that he made to bind his trusses of sand are
all broken. St. Minver is not only known for its connection with the
legend of Tregeagle, but it is one of the many parishes beloved by
the Small People or Fairy Folk with whom Enys Tregarthen's little
book has mostly to do.
Piskeys danced in their rings on many a cliff and common and moor in
that delightful parish, and on other wild moors, commons and cliffs
in many another parish in North and East Cornwall. Fairy horsemen,
locally known as night-riders, used to steal horses from farmers'
stables and ride them over the moors and commons till daybreak, when
they left them to perish, or to find their way back to their stalls.
Numberless stories of the little Ancient People used to be told,
which the cottagers often repeated to each other on winter evenings
as they sat round the peat fires, and some of these Enys Tregarthen
has retold. The author writes concerning them: 'Many of the legends
were told me by very old people long since dead. The legend of the
Doombar was told me when I was quite a small child by a very old person
born late in the eighteenth century. The one of Giant Tregeagle came,
I think, from the same source, but it is too far back to remember. I
only know it was one of the stories of my childhood, as were also the
Mole legend and some of the Piskey-tales, handed down from a dim past
by our Cornish forebears.
'The legends about the Little People are very old, and some assert
to-day that the tales about the Piskeys are tales of a Pigmy race
who inhabited Cornwall in the Neolithic Period, and that they are
answerable for most of the legends of our Cornish fairies. If this
be so, the older stories are legends of the little Stone Men.
'The legends are numerous. Some of them are very fragmentary; but
they are none the less interesting, for they not only give an insight
into the world of the little Ancient People, but they also show how
strongly the Cornish peasantry once believed in them, as perhaps they
still do. For, strange as it may seem in these matter-of-fact days,
there are people still living who not only hold that there are Piskeys,
but say they have actually seen them! One old woman in particular told
me not many months ago that she had seen "little bits of men in red
jackets" on the moors where she once lived. She used to be told about
the Piskeys when she was a child, and the old people of her day used
to tell how "the little bits of men" crept in through the keyhole of
moorland cottages when the children were asleep to order their dreams.'
These stories are given to the world in the hope that many besides
children, for whom they are specially written, will find them
interesting, and all lovers of folk-lore will be grateful to know
that the iron horse and other modern inventions have not yet succeeded
in driving away the Small People, nor in banishing the weird legends
from our loved 'land of haunting charm.'
H. F.
THE ADVENTURES OF A PISKEY IN SEARCH OF HIS LAUGH
'... A soft
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOLUME 93.
SEPTEMBER 17, 1887.
* * * * *
OUR IGNOBLE SELVES.
(_Lament by a Reader of "Letters to the Papers."_)
[Illustration]
OH! bless us and save us! Like men to behave us
We Britons once held it our glory;
Now Party bids fair to befool and enslave us.
We're lost between Liberal and Tory!
Some quidnunc inditeth a letter to GLADSTONE,
The style of it, "Stand and deliver!"
Its speech may be rude, and its tone quite a cad's tone,
Its logic may make a man shiver.
_Au contraire_ it _may_ be most lucid and modest,
In taste and in pertinence equal
(Though such a conjunction would be of the oddest),
But what, anyhow, is the sequel?
Rad papers _all_ cry, "We've once more before us
An instance of folly inrushing."
Whilst _all_ the Conservative Journals in chorus
Declare "it is perfectly crushing!"
"Little Pedlington's" snubbed by the Liberal Press,
And urged such fool tricks to abandon.
Cry Tories, "I guess the Old Man's in a mess,
He hasn't a leg left to stand on!"
Oh! save us and bless us! The shirt of old Nessus,
Was not such a snare to the hero,
As poisonous faction. Crass fools we confess us,
With sense and with spirit at zero.
If thus we comport us like blind sprawling kittens,
Or pitiful partisan poodles,
'Twill prove Party makes e'en of freeminded Britons,
A race of incontinent noodles!
* * * * *
"TO TEAPOT BAY AND BACK."
LONDONERS who like but are weary of the attractions of Eastend-on-Mud,
and want a change, can scarcely do better than spend twenty-four hours
in that rising watering-place Teapot Bay. I say advisedly "rising,"
because the operation has been going on for more than forty years. In
these very pages a description of the "juvenile town," appeared nearly
half a century ago. Then it was said that the place was "so infantine
that many of the houses were not out of their scaffold-poles, whilst
others had not yet cut their windows," and the place has been growing
ever since--but very gradually. The "ground plan of the High Street" of
those days would still be useful as a guide, although it is only fair to
say that several of the fields then occupied by cabbages are now to some
extent covered with empty villas labelled "To Let." In the past the High
Street was intersected by roads described as "a street, half houses,
half potatoes," "a street apparently doing a good stroke of business,"
"a street, but no houses," "a street indigent, but houseless," "a street
which appears to have been nipped in the kitchens," "a street thickly
populated with three inhabitants," and last but not least, "a street in
such a flourishing condition that it has started a boarding-house and
seminary." The present condition of Teapot Bay is much the same--the
roads running between two lines of cellars (contributions to houses that
have yet to be built) are numerous and testify to good intentions never
fulfilled. There is the same meaningless tower with a small illuminated
clock at the top of it, and if the pier is not quite so long as it was
thirty or forty years ago, it still seems to be occupying the same site.
[Illustration: Cheap and Picturesque Roots for Tourists.]
The means of getting to Teapot Bay is by railway. Although no doubt
numbered amongst the cheap and picturesque routes for tourists, the
place is apparently considered by the authorities as more or less of a
joke. Margate, Ramsgate, Westgate and Broadstairs, are taken _au
serieux_, and have trains which keep their time; but Teapot Bay,
seemingly, is looked upon as a legitimate excuse for laughter. If two
trains are fixed to start at 12, and 12.30, the twelve o'clock train
will leave at 12.30, and the 12.30 at 1. The authorities endeavour to
have a train in hand at the end of the day, and I fancy are generally
successful in carrying out their intentions. But between London and
Teapot Bay there are many slippery carriages, which stop at various
Junctions, and refuse to go any further in the required direction. When
this happens, the weary traveller has to descend, cross a platform, and
try another line. If he is a man of determination, and is not easily
disheartened, nine times out of ten he ultimately reaches Teapot Bay,
where his arrival causes more astonishment than gratification.
When I got to this "rising watering-place" the other day, I found an
omnibus in waiting, ready to carry me to the town, which is some little
distance from the station. We travelled by circular tour, which included
a trot through many of the fields of my boyhood, now, alas! potatoless,
and covered with weeds! In one of these fields I noticed a canvas booth,
three or four flags, and a group of about twenty spectators, inspecting
a gentleman in a scarlet coat, mounted on rather a large-boned horse.
"They still have a country-fair here?" I suggested to the person who had
collected my sixpence.
"That isn't a fair, Sir--them's the Races," was the reply.
"Not very well attended, I fear?" I observed.
[Illustration: A Circular Tour.]
"Better than they was last year--why the whole town has gone to see them
this time."
A little later we reached the principal inn of the place, which was
described in a local Handbook as "an old-established hotel, but
comfortable." Rather, to my annoyance (as I was anxious to preserve my
_incognito_), I was received by the landlord with respectful cordiality.
"Glad you have honoured us, Sir--proud of your presence."
I made a sign to him not to betray me, and asked for my room.
"Well, Sir, we must put _you_ into the Rotunda."
Again by a gesture inviting silence as to my identity, I mounted a
flight of stairs, and found myself in a room that once, I think, must
have been entirely arbour. Much of the arbour still remained, but a
large slice had been partitioned off affording space for a
chimney-piece, two chairs, a washstand and a bed. By opening a window
which reached to the ground, I found myself on a balcony covered in with
creepers, and beneath which was a gas-lamp labelled "Hotel Tap." In
front of me was a field with the foundation (long since completed) for
some houses at the end of it. On my left another field in the same state
of passive preparation, and on my right a side view of the Ocean. It was
growing dark, so after an "old-fashioned but comfortable" dinner, I went
out for a stroll.
"Pleased you should honour us," said the landlord, as he opened the door
to allow me to pass. Again to my annoyance, as it was vexatious to be
thus identified in this out-of-the-way place as one of the celebrities
of the hour.
The visitors and other inhabitants of Teapot Bay had returned from the
Races, and were walking on the pier listening to the band. The gentlemen
were in flannels, the ladies decorated with yards of white ribbon. The
band was more select than numerous. Its conductor beat time with his
left hand, while with his right he played the "air" of the tune at the
moment attracting his attention upon an elaborate instrument that looked
like a cross between a clarionet and an old-fashioned brass serpent.
There was not much drumming, because the drummer spent nearly all his
ample leisure on more or less successful efforts to vend programmes. The
band was in a gusty alcove at one end of the pier, a small room covered
with placards of a Wizard who, after making the acquaintance of "The
Crowned Heads of Europe," was to perform there "to-night," was at the
other. Having soon exhausted the pleasure derivable from listening to
the band, I sought out the wizard.
"Oh, he ain't going to do it again until next Saturday," was the answer
of a little girl who had charge of a turnstile, when I asked for a
ticket. "But you can see him then."
[Illustration: "You're up!"]
I retired. As all the shops (possibly a couple of dozen) were closed, I
returned to my hotel--really a very comfortable one. In the morning I
thought I would have a sea-bath. There were a few machines, which were
manipulated with ropes and windlasses. There was an elderly man in
charge, who informed me that he could not lower one of these vehicles
until his mate returned.
"Gone to breakfast?" I suggested.
"Breakfast--no one here has time for breakfast!" was the reply.
When I left, the landlord again murmured his thanks for the honour I had
done him by patronising his hotel. Still anxious to preserve my
_incognito_, in bidding him adieu I begged him not to allow my name to
appear in the Visitors' List.
"You may be sure I won't Sir," said he with a bow as he opened the door,
and a tip-inviting "boots" put my portmanteau on the omnibus starting
for the station,--"_as I don't know it!_"
On the whole I prefer Eastend-on-Mud to Teapot Bay!
* * * * *
A PRETTY CENTENARIAN.
(_Mr. Bull's Song on Miss Columbia's Hundredth Birthday._)
"The chief authorities of the several States of this Union have
resolved to celebrate, on the 15th, 16th, and 17th days of September
next, at Philadelphia, the first centennial anniversary of the
framing of the Constitution of the United States, with military and
industrial displays, and with other suitable ceremonies."--_Letter
of Invitation to Mr. Gladstone from the Constitutional Centennial
Commission._
[Illustration: _John Bull._ "A Hundred Years Old, my Dear! Who would
have thought it! But then you have such a wonderful constitution!"]
AIR.--"_I'm getting a Big Boy now._"
YOU have passed through the troubles of national youth,
(To have safely survived them's a boon,)
You have out your eye-teeth, you look pretty, in truth,
But much the reverse of a "spoon."
We gaze on you fondly, admiringly, dear;
Few traces of age on _your_ brow.
A hundred this year? Then it's perfectly clear
You are getting a great girl now.
_Chorus._
You are getting a great girl now,
And you know it, COLUMBIA, I trow.
Philadelphia's "boom"
Leaves for doubt little room
That you're getting a great girl now.
I feel like Papa, who though elderly's fresh,
And with younkers can sympathise still;
You are bone of my bone, you are flesh of my flesh,
And I bear you the warmest good-will.
_My_ centennial dates which have rapidly run,
I have given up counting, somehow;
Like me, you'll be learning life is not _all_ fun,
For you're getting a great girl now.
_Chorus._
You are getting a great girl now.
With health and that radiant brow,
One hardly would say
You're a hundred to-day,
Though you're getting a great girl now.
You've gone in for Parties.--my plague, dear, at home;
If anyone's sick of 'em _I_ am,--
Your land is so large you need hardly to roam,
Yet you're known from St. James's to Siam.
We greet you as Cousin, our family throng
Is wide, but you're welcome, I vow.
Come often, stay long, you can hardly do wrong,
Though you're getting a great girl now.
_Chorus._
You are getting a great girl now,
The rawness of youth you outgrow.
I am proud of your looks,
Like your art, and your books;
You _are_ getting a great girl now.
To your big birthday party 'twas kind to invite
My WILLIAM; I'm sure he'd have come
And danced at your ball with the greatest delight,
But for years, and some business at home.
He's really a marvel, you know, for his age;
At your great Philadelphia pow-wow
He'd have reeled you off columns of talk, I'll engage,
Though he's getting an Old Boy now.
_Chorus._
He's getting an Old Boy now,
Yet but for our big Irish row,
He'd have come like a shot,
And orated a lot,
Though he's getting an Old Boy now.
Your health, my COLUMBIA! A hundred? Seems queer!
What a sweet Centenarian you make!
I suppose it's your fine "Constitution," my dear;
Which nothing, I hope, will e'er shake.
You have proved you have not only swiftness, but stay;
Well, long may you flourish and grow!
Many happy--and hearty--returns of the Day!
You are getting a great girl now!
_Chorus._
You are getting a great girl now;
May you prosper, and keep out of row;
Shun bunkum and bawl,
All that's shoddy and small,
For you're getting a _great_ girl now!
* * * * *
THE FATHER OF THE MAN.
A CASE of some interest to Self-made Men, the conviction of a boy fined
half-a-crown for playing, with some other boys, the game of "brag,"
occasioned Mr. SHIEL, on the Southwark Bench, to observe that "Gambling
was the first step towards crime. Boys who began with gambling, very
often ended by being thieves." Too often, perhaps, but, it may be hoped,
not always. The boy who begins by playing at pitch-and-toss, surely
doesn't always grow up to be a man who actually commits manslaughter. | 2,592.85647 |
2023-11-16 19:00:16.9366970 | 1,991 | 10 |
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: "A WILD PASSION OF EXCITEMENT, UPROAR, AND TUMULT
POSSESSED THE VAST AUDIENCE."--_Page_ 216.]
*SARITA, THE
CARLIST*
BY
ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT
_Author of "In the Name of a Woman," "For Love or
Crown," "By Right of Sword," etc._
TORONTO
McLEOD & ALLEN
PUBLISHERS
Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in
the year nineteen hundred and two, by McLEOD & ALLEN,
at the Department of Agriculture.
*CONTENTS.*
CHAPTER.
I. The Victim of a Woman's Preference
II. The Gate of Hazard
III. Carlists
IV. Sarita Castelar
V. The Explanation
VI. "Counting All Renegades Lovers of Satan"
VII. Sarita, the Carlist
VIII. Sebastian Quesada
IX. The Quesada Version
X. In London
XI. "The Ways of the Carlists Will be Hard"
XII. Sarita's Welcome
XIII. The Fight
XIV. A Coward's Story
XV. The Abduction
XVI. After the Rescue
XVII. War to the Knife
XVIII. At the Opera House
XIX. A Carlist Gathering
XX. At the Hotel De l'Opera
XXI. Sarita's Flight
XXII. An Unexpected Meeting
XXIII. News of Sarita
XXIV. A Check
XXV. At Calvarro's
XXVI. The Plea of Love
XXVII. Sarita Hears the Truth
XXVIII. How Luck Can Change
XXIX. Quesada Again
XXX. Suspense
XXXI. At the Palace
XXXII. Livenza's Revenge
XXXIII. The Hut on the Hillside
XXXIV. A King's Riddle
*SARITA,
THE CARLIST*
*CHAPTER I*
*THE VICTIM OF A WOMAN'S PREFERENCE*
If A won't marry B, ought C to be exiled?
Stated in that bald fashion the problem looks not unlike an equation
that has lost caste and been relegated to a nonsense book, or lower
still, to some third-rate conundrum column. And yet it was the real
crux of a real situation, and meant everything to me, Ferdinand
Carbonnell, the victim of a woman's preference.
It came about in this way. The Glisfoyle peerage, as everyone knows, is
only a poor one, and originality not being a strong point with us,
Lascelles, my elder and only brother, having taken counsel with my
father, fell back upon the somewhat worn device of looking out for a
wife with money. He was not very successful in the quest, but at length
a desirable quarry was marked down in the person of a Mrs. Abner B.
Curwen, the young widow of an American millionaire; and great
preparations were made to lure her into the net that was spread in the
most open and unabashed manner before her very eyes.
But those eyes--bright, merry, and laughing--had a brain behind them
that was practical and penetrating, and she saw the meshes quite
plainly. She accepted the hospitality with pleasure, did her best to
make a friend of my only sister, Mercy, was properly subdued, if not
awed, in the presence of my father, and, in fact, did everything
expected of her except the one thing--she would not let Lascelles make
love to her, and completely out-manoeuvred him whenever he tried to
bring matters to a head.
Moreover, a crisis of another kind was in the brewing. Mrs. Curwen
herself was not an American, but a north-country Englishwoman, who had
used her pretty looks and sharp wits to captivate the rich American, and
she took Mercy into her confidence one day to an extent that had
results.
"I am very fond of you, Mercy dear, and would give much to have you as
my sister; but your brother, Lascelles, is too formal, too stiff in the
backbone, for me. I have made one marriage for a reason that wasn't
love: but I married an old man; and when I marry again it won't be for
either position or money. I should dearly love to have you for my
sister, as I say, but I could not marry your brother Lascelles.
Ferdinand is just awfully nice--but I suppose he's a dreadful
scapegrace."
I think Mercy laughed hugely at this--her merry heart laughs at most
things--and certainly, when she told me--as being my best particular
chum she was bound to do immediately--we laughed heartily over it
together.
"She's a bright, jolly, little soul and beastly rich, but I'm not having
any," said I, shaking my head. "I don't want to cut out poor old
Cello"--this was an unrighteous nickname of ours for Lascelles, with a
covert reference to his deep, solemn, twangy voice. "But you'd better
tell the father."
"You might do worse, Nand," declared my sister. "Her wealth would give
you just the chance you want; and it would be awfully jolly to have a
rich brother, and she's a good sort; and you could settle down and----"
"Don't be a little humbug, Mercy. She's all right, I daresay; but I'm
not made that way. If I were going to succeed the father I might think
about selling myself for a good round sum; but no, thank you, I'm not in
the market. You'd better let Cello and the father know that this little
net of theirs has got fouled;" and with that I dismissed the matter, and
with no thought of trouble went off on a fortnight's visit to an old
Oxford friend.
When I got back to town, however, matters had moved fast, and plans were
cut and dried. Lascelles had come to the conclusion that if I were out
of the way his suit would prosper, and he had grown to like the little
widow as much as a person of his importance could care for anyone who
did not wear his clothes. My father and he had, therefore, set to work
with a burst of Irish zeal, and had succeeded in getting me made a kind
of probationary attache at the Madrid Embassy; and expected me to be
mightily pleased at the result of their innocent efforts on my behalf.
My father told me the good news on my arrival, and the next morning
there came the official confirmation.
My father was in quite cheerful spirits.
"Your foot is on the ladder, Ferdinand," he said, gleefully. He was
very partial to this metaphor. Life to him was a maze of ladders,
leading up and down and in all directions, of which, by the way, he had
made very indifferent use. "You may climb where you will now, my boy.
You've a steady head at times."
"I trust I shall not be dizzied by the giddy height of this position,
sir," I answered, not wholly without guile, for I was not enamoured of
this prospective expatriation in the cause of fraternity.
"I don't think it's a subject for feeble satire," exclaimed Lascelles,
sourly. "You've not made such a brilliant success of things on your own
account and during your years of vagrancy. I trust you'll remember who
you are now, and endeavour to do the family credit, and seek to climb
the ladder which our father rightly says is open to you."
"I hope you won't marry a wretched Spanish woman to carry up with you,"
said Mercy, a little pungently. She resented my exile more than I did.
"Such a remark is scarcely called for, Mercy," said Lascelles, always
glad to pose as the much elder brother, and objecting to any reference
to the subject of marriage at such a moment. But Mercy was as resentful
as a nettle when handled tactlessly.
"You mean we ought to taboo the subject of marriage just at present.
Very well, dear," she said, demurely and humbly. My brother frowned and
fidgetted on his chair, while I shut down a smile.
"Madrid has a questionable climate, but I believe it is excellent for
young strong men," said my father, obviously glad that he had not to go.
"It is fortunate you have such a knowledge of Spanish, Ferdinand. It was
that which turned the scale in your favour. Sir John Cullingworth told
me so. It's what I've always said; all boys | 2,592.956737 |
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
PHILISTIA
BY
GRANT ALLEN
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. CHILDREN OF LIGHT
II. THE COASTS OF THE GENTILES
III. MAGDALEN QUAD
IV. A LITTLE MUSIC
V. ASKELON VILLA, GATH
VI. DOWN THE RIVER
VII. GHOSTLY COUNSEL
VIII. IN THE CAMP OF THE PHILISTINES
IX. THE WOMEN OF THE LAND
X. THE DAUGHTERS OF CANAAN
XI. CULTURE AND CULTURE
XII. THE MORE EXCELLENT WAY
XIII. YE MOUNTAINS OF GILBOA
XIV. WHAT DO THESE HEBREWS HERE
XV. EVIL TIDINGS
XVI. FLAT REBELLION
XVII. COME YE OUT AND BE YE SEPARATE!
XVIII. A QUIET WEDDING
XIX. INTO THE FIRE
XX. LITERATURE, MUSIC, AND THE DRAMA
XXI. OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE
XXII. THE PHILISTINES TRIUMPH
XXIII. THE STREETS OF ASKELON
XXIV. THE CLOUDS BEGIN TO BREAK
XXV. HARD PRESSED
XXVI. IRRECLAIMABLE
XXVII. RONALD COMES OF AGE
XXVIII. TELL IT NOT IN GATH
XXIX. A MAN AND A MAID
XXX. THE ENVIRONMENT FINALLY TRIUMPHS
XXXI. DE PROFUNDIS
XXXII. PRECONTRACT OF MARRIAGE
XXXIII. A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE
XXXIV. HOPE
XXXV. THE TIDE TURNS
XXXVI. OUT OF THE HAND OF THE PHILISTINES
XXXVII. LAND AT LAST: BUT WHAT LAND?
CHAPTER I.
CHILDREN OF LIGHT.
It was Sunday evening, and on Sundays Max Schurz, the chief of the
London Socialists, always held his weekly receptions. That night
his cosmopolitan refugee friends were all at liberty; his French
disciples could pour in from the little lanes and courts in Soho,
where, since the Commune, they had plied their peaceful trades as
engravers, picture-framers, artists'-colourmen, models, pointers,
and so forth--for most of them were hangers-on in one way or another
of the artistic world; his German adherents could stroll round,
pipe in mouth, from their printing-houses, their ham-and-beef shops,
or their naturalists' chambers, where they stuffed birds or set up
exotic butterflies in little cabinets--for most of them were more
or less literary or scientific in their pursuits; and his few English
sympathisers, chiefly dissatisfied philosophical Radicals of the
upper classes, could drop in casually for a chat and a smoke, on
their way home from the churches to which they had been dutifully
escorting their un-emancipated wives and sisters. Max Schurz kept
open house for all on Sunday evenings, and there was not a drawing-room
in London better filled than his with the very advanced and not
undistinguished set who alone had the much-prized entree of his
exclusive salon.
The salon itself did not form any component part of Max Schurz's
own private residence in any way. The great Socialist, the man whose
mandates shook the thrones of Russia and Austria, whose movements
spread terror in Paris and Berlin, whose dictates were even obeyed
in Kerry and in Chicago, occupied for his own use two small rooms
at the | 2,593.054853 |
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Produced by 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).
PERSONAL NARRATIVES
OF EVENTS IN THE
War of the Rebellion,
BEING PAPERS READ BEFORE THE
RHODE ISLAND SOLDIERS AND SAILORS
HISTORICAL SOCIETY.
Fifth Series.--No. 8.
PROVIDENCE:
PUBLISHED BY THE SOCIETY.
1898.
SNOW & FARNHAM, PRINTERS.
BATTLE OF THE CRATER
AND
Experiences of Prison Life.
BY
SUMNER U. SHEARMAN,
[Late Captain, Fourth Rhode Island Volunteers.]
PROVIDENCE:
PUBLISHED BY THE SOCIETY.
1898.
[Edition limited to two hundred and fifty copies.]
Battle of the Crater; and Experiences of Prison Life.
I have been asked by the Society under whose auspices we are gathered
to-night to tell you something of my personal experiences in the Battle
of the Mine, or of the Crater, as it is sometimes called, and to
supplement those experiences with some account of my life in a Southern
prison.
At the time of the battle I was captain of Company A, Fourth Rhode
Island Volunteers Infantry. The regiment to which I belonged was a
portion of the Ninth Army Corps, under the command of General Burnside.
The battle was fought on the 30th of July, 1864. But some months
previous, as far back as January, 1863, the regiment, as also the
corps, had been detached from the Army of the Potomac. Burnside, as you
know, succeeded McClellan after the battle of Antietam in command of
the Army of the Potomac; but he himself was removed from that command
in January, 1863, and taken away from the Army of the Potomac. But
the regiment to which I belonged ultimately became separated from the
corps, and was on detached duty in the city of Norfolk, Virginia, and
afterwards at Point Lookout, Maryland, where we were when the order
came for us to rejoin the Ninth Corps, which had been brought back to
the Army of the Potomac.
We arrived in front of Petersburg, at a point on the line where the
Ninth Army Corps was stationed, on the Fourth of July, 1864. The two
lines, our line and the enemy's, were at this point very near each
other, from one hundred and fifty to three hundred yards apart, the
distance varying according to the line of the works. We were ordered to
encamp in some woods in the rear of our line of rifle-pits, and not far
from them.
Shots from the enemy were continually coming into our camp, being fired
at the men in the breastworks in front. We had to erect a barricade in
the camp to protect ourselves, behind which we lived. Men of course
strayed more or less away from the barricade, and every now and then
some one would be wounded. Every three or four days it became our turn
to take our places in the rifle-pits, where we had to stay forty-eight
hours, and sometimes longer. We never went into the rifle-pits without
some one being killed or wounded.
While we were encamped in this way, we heard of the plan of
Lieutenant-Colonel Henry Pleasants, of the Forty-eighth Pennsylvania
Infantry, who was a practical miner, and his men were largely men who
had worked in the coal mines of Pennsylvania. He conceived the idea of
building a mine under a certain portion of the enemy's works, with the
purpose of blowing them up. At a certain point in the enemy's line,
opposite the point where we were located, was a very strong earthwork,
mounting several guns of large calibre, which did very much damage
to our fortifications and troops. It was but one hundred and fifty
yards from our line to that point. Back of it, on higher ground, was a
hill called Cemetery Hill, regarded as a strategic point. If we could
capture that hill, it was believed that much would be done to force
General Lee out of Richmond. This fort stood in the way. Colonel
Pleasants believed that he could remove it by his plan of blowing it
up. The idea was that, if the fort could be removed by the explosion,
the enemy being taken by surprise, opportunity would be afforded for
our troops, already in position, to charge in through the open space
thus made, and, taking advantage of the surprise on the part of the
enemy, to push on to the crest of Cemetery Hill.
Colonel Pleasants met with no encouragement on the part of General
Meade, in command of the Army of the Potomac; nevertheless, as General
Burnside, his corps commander, approved of it, he was allowed to
undertake it. No assistance whatever was afforded him by the Engineer
Corps of the Army. He had to devise such methods as he could to
accomplish his purpose, working at a great disadvantage all the time,
but he finally accomplished the task. He began the work inside of our
lines, under cover of a hill, at a point where the enemy could not
perceive what was being done, and carried his tunnel through the earth
the whole distance of one hundred and fifty yards, until he reached the
fort. It was twenty feet beneath the surface of the ground at the point
he reached. From thence he made a branch at right angles on either
side, making it in the form of a letter T, as it were, at that point.
In these branches he placed large wooden tanks in which powder was to
be put. Four tons of powder were placed in these wooden boxes, and
connected by a fuse at the entrance of the mine.
The 30th of July, 1864, was fixed upon as the time for the explosion to
take place. It was intended to have it take place somewhere about three
o'clock in the morning. Troops were gotten into position the night
before under cover of the darkness, ready to charge as soon as the mine
should be exploded.
I had been engaged for some days previous at the headquarters of the
Third Division of the Ninth Army Corps, General Potter commanding,
as judge advocate in connection with a court-martial. On the evening
before the battle, the evening of the 29th, an order came to me to
report to my regiment. I did so, and found that it was about to take
its place in line of battle, ready to join in the charge on the morning
of the next day. I had my supper in camp as usual, and we started to
take up our position, carrying with us no food, nor anything in the
way of clothing, except the clothes we had on.
The time arrived when the explosion was expected to take place, but
no explosion occurred. It was learned that the fuse had gone out. An
officer of the Forty-eighth Pennsylvania volunteered to go in and
relight the fuse; and, as I remember, it went out a second time,
and was relighted. Shortly before five o'clock, just as the sun was
rising, a sound as of thunder was distinctly heard, and in a moment
the earth at the point where the mine had been constructed was thrown
upward, slowly mounting into the air to a height of some two hundred
feet, and then, spreading out like a fan, fell back again into the
excavation made by the explosion. The soil was of a clayey character,
and enormous boulders of clay were thrown up and fell back around the
opening, resembling in some respects the crater of a volcano; hence the
battle has sometimes been called the Battle of the Crater. The men who
were in this fort, and the artillery, and everything pertaining to the
fortifications, huge timbers, ammunition, tents, and everything that
would be naturally located there, were all thrown heavenward. The men,
of course, were either killed or wounded, with hardly an exception. A
large number of men were in the fort. It has been estimated by some
that there were a thousand.
As soon as the explosion took place, the artillery all along the line
on our side, some one hundred and twenty pieces or more, began firing
at that point. The firing lasted some moments, and then the troops were
directed to charge. It had been the plan of General Burnside to have
his division of <DW52> troops lead the advance. There was in the Ninth
Corps at that time a division of <DW52> troops. They had been drilled
with the idea of taking the advance, but General Meade overruled
Burnside's plan, and thought it best that the <DW52> troops should
not be put in that position. So General Burnside called together his
division commanders, and told them of the change of plan on the very
night before the battle, and allowed them to draw lots to see which
one should take the lead. The lot fell to General Ledlie, the least
efficient of the division commanders in the Ninth Corps.
When the Third Division, to which my regiment belonged, charged
over our breastworks and across the space between our line and the
enemy's line, they came upon the enemy's works to the right of the
crater; but by that time the enemy had recovered from his surprise,
and was concentrating a terrible fire upon all that region. The men
instinctively sought shelter in the excavation made by the explosion,
but when we arrived at that point we found the crater filled with
troops of General Ledlie's division. There seemed to be complete chaos
reigning there. The lieutenant-colonel of our regiment, who was in
command, Colonel Buffum, tried to rally the men, as did officers of
other regiments, and to push on to Cemetery Hill; but General Ledlie,
who should have been with his command, remained behind in a bomb-proof.
I remember seeing him, as we passed the front, secure in a bomb-proof.
His troops had fallen into confusion in the way I have explained, and
he was not there to remedy the situation. It seemed impossible for the
officers to accomplish anything in the midst of the reigning confusion.
The Fourth Rhode Island, the few of us that were together at that time,
followed the colonel and the color bearer out beyond the enemy's
works towards Cemetery Hill, but we encountered such a hurricane of
shot and shell that it was impossible to face it, and we were driven
back again into the shelter of the enemy's works, where we remained.
The attempt to capture Cemetery Hill had proved a failure. Many of the
men and officers tried to get back to our own line, but the enemy by
that time had a raking fire over the space | 2,593.157028 |
2023-11-16 19:00:17.1419760 | 3,542 | 29 |
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GENERAL BOUNCE
[Illustration: "'Where have you been all day? You promised to
drive me out--you know you did!'"
_Page 77_]
GENERAL BOUNCE
or
The Lady and the Locusts
by
G. J. WHYTE-MELVILLE
Author of "Katerfelto," "The Interpreter," "Market Harborough," etc.
Illustrated by Frances E. Ewan
London
Ward, Lock & Co., Limited
New York and Melbourne
PREFACE
Where the rose blushes in the garden, there will the bee and the
butterfly be found, humming and fluttering around. So is it in the
world; the fair girl, whose sweetness is enhanced by the fictitious
advantages of wealth and position, will ever have lovers and admirers
enough and to spare.
Burns was no bad judge of human nature; and he has a stanza on this
subject, combining the reflection of the philosopher with the _canny_
discrimination of the Scot.
"Away with your follies of beauty's alarms,
The _slender_ bit beauty you clasp in your arms;
But gi'e me the lass that has acres of charms,
Oh, gi'e me the lass with the _weel-plenished_ farms."
Should the following pages afford such attractive young ladies matter
for a few moments' reflection, the author will not have written in
vain.
May he hope they will choose well and wisely; and that the withered
rose, when she has lost her fragrance, may be fondly prized and gently
tended by the hand that plucked her in her dewy morning prime.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. My Cousin 9
II. The Abigail 26
III. The Handsome Governess 41
IV. "Libitina" 58
V. Uncle Baldwin 72
VI. The Blind Boy 85
VII. Boot and Saddle 101
VIII. The Ball 116
IX. Want 130
X. Superfluity 146
XI. Campaigning Abroad 161
XII. Campaigning at Home 177
XIII. The World 194
XIV. To Persons about to Marry 204
XV. Penelope and her Suitors 212
XVI. Forgery 225
XVII. Club Law 236
XVIII. The Strictest Confidence 247
XIX. Dispatches 259
XX. Dawn in the East 276
XXI. Hospital 292
XXII. The Widow 303
XXIII. "Stop her" 309
XXIV. King Crack 323
XXV. "Dulce Domum" 333
XXVI. "Eudaemon" 347
XXVII. Flood and Field 360
XXVIII. "The Sad Sea Wave" 374
GENERAL BOUNCE
_OR, THE LADY AND THE LOCUSTS_
CHAPTER I
MY COUSIN
AN ENGLISHMAN'S HOLIDAY--ST. SWITHIN'S IN A CALM--THE
MERCHANT'S AMBITION--"MON BEAU COUSIN"--CASTLES IN THE AIR--A
LIVELY CRAFT--"HAIRBLOWER" AND HIS COLD BATH
Much as we think of ourselves, and with all our boasted civilisation,
we Anglo-Saxons are but a half-barbarian race after all. Nomadic,
decidedly nomadic in our tastes, feelings, and pursuits, it is but the
moisture of our climate that keeps us in our own houses at all, and
like our Scandinavian ancestors (for in turf parlance we have several
crosses of the old Norse blood in our veins), we delight
periodically--that is, whenever we have a fortnight's dry weather--to
migrate from our dwellings, and peopling the whole of our own
sea-board, push our invading hordes over the greater part of Europe,
nor refrain from thrusting our outposts even into the heart of Asia,
till the astonished Mussulman, aghast at our vagaries, strokes his
placid beard, and with a blessing on his Prophet that he is not as we
are, soothes his disgust with a sentiment, so often repeated that in
the East it has become a proverb--viz. that "There is one devil, and
there are many devils; but there is _no_ devil like a Frank in a round
hat!"
It was but last autumn that, stepping painfully into our tailor's
shop--for, alas! a course of London dinners cannot be persisted in,
season after season, without producing a decided tendency to gout in
the extremities--hobbling, then, into our tailor's warehouse, as he
calls it, we were measured by an unfledged jackanapes, whose voice we
had previously heard warning his brother fractions that "an old gent
was a waitin' inside," instead of that spruce foreman who, for more
years than it is necessary to specify, has known our girth to an inch,
and our weight to a pound. Fearful that in place of the grave habit of
broadcloth which we affect as most suitable to our age and manner, we
might find ourselves equipped in one of the many grotesque disguises
in which young gentlemen now-a-days deem it becoming to hide
themselves, and described by the jackanapes, aforesaid, who stepped
round us in ill-concealed admiration of our corpulence, as "a walking
coat, a riding coat, a smoking coat, or a coat _to go to the stable
in_!" we ventured to inquire for "the person we usually saw," and were
informed that "the gent as waited on us last year had gone for a few
months' holiday to the Heast." Heavens and earth, Mr. Bobstitch was
even then in Syria! What a Scandinavian! rather degenerate to be sure
in size and ferocity--though Bobstitch, being a little man, is
probably very terrible when roused--but yet no slight contrast to one
of those gaunt, grim, russet-bearded giants that made the despot of
the Lower Empire quake upon his throne. And yet Bobstitch was but
obeying the instinct which he inherits from the sea-kings his
ancestors, an instinct which in less adventurous souls than a tailor's
fills our watering-places to overflowing, and pours the wealth, while
it introduces the manners, of the capital into every bight and bay
that indents the shores of Britain.
Doubtless the citizens are right. Let us, while we are in Scandinavian
vein, make use of an old Norse metaphor, and pressing into our service
the two Ravens of Odin, named Mind and Will, with these annihilate
time and space, so as to be, like the Irish orator's bird, "in two
places at once." Let us first of all take a retrospective glance at
Mrs. Kettering's house in Grosvenor Square, one of the best houses, by
the way, to be had in London for love or money. We recollect it well,
not so many years ago, lit up for one of those great solemnities which
novelists call "a rout," but which people in real life, equally
martially as well as metaphorically, designate "a drum." To us
creeping home along the pavement outside the _fete_, it seemed the
realisation of fairyland. Row upon row, glaring carriage-lamps, like
the fabulous monsters keeping watch, illuminated the square and
adjoining streets, even to the public-house round the corner, that
night driving a highly remunerative trade; whilst on a nearer
inspection magnificent horses (horses, like ladies, look most
beautiful by candle-light), gorgeous carriages--none of your Broughams
and Clarences, but large, roomy, well-hung family coaches, with
cartoons of heraldry on the panels--gigantic footmen, and fat
coachmen, struck the beholder with admiration not totally unmixed with
awe. Then the awning that was to admit the privileged to the inner
realms of this earthly paradise, of which the uninitiated might know
but the exterior; what a gauzy, gaudy transparency it was, no
unfitting portal to that upper storey, from which the golden light was
hardly veiled by jalousies and window-blinds. Ever and anon, much
lashing of bay, brown, or chestnut sufferers, and the interference of
a tall policeman, with a hat made on purpose to be assaulted by
bludgeons, betokened the arrival of a fresh party, and angelic beings
in white robes, with glossy hair, tripped daintily up the steps over a
cloth, not of gold exactly, but of horse-hair, amongst a phalanx of
unwashed faces, gazing half enviously at such loveliness in full
dress. How beautiful we used to think these apparitions as we plodded
home to our quiet chambers! but young Bareface, our connecting link
with the great world, who goes to all the _best_ places, through the
influence of his aunt, Lady Champfront, assures us they don't look
half so beautiful inside, and that he sees quite as pretty faces, and
hair quite as nicely done, at the little gatherings in Russell Square
and Bloomsbury, to which even we might go if we liked. A radical dog!
we don't believe a word of it. Never mind, let us look at that house
in the dead time of year. Without and within, from attics to basement,
from the balcony facing the square to the empty bird-cage overlooking
a precipice of offices at the back, Repose and Ennui reign supreme.
Were it not for the knocking of the workmen next door, we might as
well be in the Great Desert. There _is_, we presume, a woman in
possession, but she has gone to "get the beer," and if you have ever
sighed for a town-house, now is the time to be satisfied with your
rustic lot, and to hug yourself that you are not paying ground-rent
and taxes, church-rate, poor's-rate, and water-rate, drainage,
lighting, and paving, for that ghastly palace of soot and cobwebs,
dust, dreariness, and decay. There is a scaffolding up in every third
house in the square; and workmen in paper caps, with foot-rules
sticking out of their fustian trousers, and complexions ingrained with
lime-dust, and guiltless of fresh water, seem to be the only
inhabitants of this deserted region, and even they are "between earth
and heaven." Brown and parched are the unfortunate shrubs in those
gardens of which discontented householders "round the corner" covet so
to possess a key; and the very birds, sparrows, every feather of 'em,
hop about in dirty suits of plumage that can only be described as of
that colour unknown to naturalists, which other people call "grimy."
Who would be in London in the autumn? Not Mrs. Kettering, certainly,
if she might be elsewhere; and although she had possessed this
excellent and commodious family mansion, with all its boudoirs,
retreats, and appurtenances, so well described in the advertisement,
but a short time, and was not the giver of that "reunion of
fashionables" we have depicted above (indeed, the hostess of that
evening has since been economising up two pair of stairs at Antwerp);
yet Mrs. Kettering having plenty of money, and being able to do what
she liked, had wisely moved herself, her fancies, her imperials, and
her family to the coast, where, obeying the instinct for freedom that
has driven Bobstitch to the desert, she was idly inhaling the salt
breezes of the Channel, and dazzling her eyes with the sun-glint that
sparkled over its dancing waves.
Some few years have elapsed since the events took place which we shall
endeavour to describe; but the white cliffs of our island change
little with the lapse of time, though the sea does make its
encroachments ever and anon when the wind has been blowing pretty
steady from the south-west for a fortnight or so, and the same scene
may be witnessed any fine day towards the middle of August as that
which we are about to contrast with the dulness, closeness, and
confinement of the great town-house in Grosvenor Square.
First, we must imagine a real summer's day, such a day as in our
island we seldom enjoy till summer has well-nigh given place to
autumn, but which, when it does come, is worth waiting for. Talk of
climate! a real fine day in England, like a really handsome
Englishwoman, beats creation. Well, we must imagine one of these
bright, hot, hay-making days, almost too warm and dusty ashore, but
enjoyable beyond conception on the calm and oily waves, unruffled by
the breeze, and literally as smooth as glass. A sea-bird occasionally
dips her wing on the surface, and then flaps lazily away, as if she
too was as much inclined to go to sleep as yonder moveless fleet of
lugger, brig, bark, and schooner, with their empty sails, and their
heads all round the compass. There is a warm haze towards the land,
and the white houses of St. Swithin's seem to glow and sparkle in the
heat, whilst to seaward a modified sort of mirage would make one fancy
one could plainly distinguish the distant coast of France.
Ashore, in those great houses, people are panting, and gasping, and
creating thorough draughts that fill their rooms with a small white
dust of a destructive tendency to all personal property. The children
up-stairs are running about in linen under-garments, somewhat more
troublesome than usual, with a settled flush on their little
peach-like cheeks, and the shining streets are deserted, save by the
perspiring pot-boy, and the fly-men drinking beer in their shirt
sleeves. Only afloat is there a chance of being cool; and
sailing-boat, gig, dinghy, and cobble, all are in requisition for the
throng of amateur mariners, rushing like ducklings to the refreshing
element.
It was on just such a day as this that Mrs. Kettering found it
extremely difficult to "trim the boat." A mile or so from the shore,
that boat was slowly progressing, impelled by the unequal strength of
her nephew Charles, commonly called "Cousin Charlie," and its worthy
proprietor, a fine specimen of the genus "seaman," who certainly had
a Christian name, and probably a patronymic, but had sunk both
distinctions under the sobriquet of "Hairblower," by which appellation
alone he was acknowledged by gentle and simple, bold and timid,
delicate ladies and bluff fishermen, along many a mile of sea-board,
up and down from St. Swithin | 2,593.162016 |
2023-11-16 19:00:17.2341960 | 2,732 | 48 |
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The Crisis of the
Naval War
By
ADMIRAL OF THE FLEET
VISCOUNT JELLICOE OF SCAPA
G.C.B., O.M., G.C.V.O.
_With 8 Plates and 6 Charts_
1920
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
1. ADMIRALTY ORGANIZATION: THE CHANGES IN 1917
2. SUBMARINE CAMPAIGN IN THE EARLY PART OF 1917
3. ANTI-SUBMARINE OPERATIONS
4. THE INTRODUCTION OF THE CONVOY SYSTEM
5. THE CONVOY SYSTEM AT WORK
6. THE ENTRY OF THE UNITED STATES: OUR NAVAL POLICY EXPLAINED
7. PATROL CRAFT AND MINESWEEPING SERVICES
8. THE DOVER PATROL AND THE HARWICH FORCES
9. THE SEQUEL
10. "PRODUCTION" AT THE ADMIRALTY DURING 1917
11. NAVAL WORK
12. THE FUTURE
INDEX
LIST OF PLATES
A Mine Exploding
A German Submarine of the U-C Type
A German Submarine of the later Cruiser Class
A Smoke Screen for a Convoy
The Dummy Deck-house of a Decoy Ship
A Convoy Zigzagging
A Convoy with an Airship
Drifters at Sea
A Paddle Minesweeper
A German Mine on the Surface
Two Depth Charges after Explosion
The Tell-tale Oil Patch
A Submarine Submerging
Periscope of Submerged Submarine Travelling at Slow Speed
A Submarine Submerged
LIST OF CHARTS
(CONTAINED IN THE POCKET AT THE END OF THE BOOK)
A. Approach Areas and Typical Routes.
B. Typical Approach Lines.
C. Barred Zones Proclaimed by the Germans.
D. Patrol Areas, British Isles.
E. Patrol and Minesweeping Zones in the Mediterranean.
F. Showing French and British Ports within Range of the
German Bases at Ostend and Zeebrugge.
To
The Officers and Men
of our
Convoy, Escort, Patrol and Minesweeping Vessels
and their
Comrades of the Mercantile Marine
by whose splendid gallantry, heroic self-sacrifice, and
unflinching endurance the submarine
danger was defeated
INTRODUCTION
Owing to the peculiar nature and demands of naval warfare, but few
dispatches, corresponding to those describing the work and achievements
of our great armies, were issued during the progress of the war. In a
former volume I attempted to supply this defect in the historical
records, which will be available for future generations, so far as the
Grand Fleet was concerned, during my period as its Commander-in-Chief.
The present volume, which was commenced and nearly completed in 1918,
was to have been published at the same time. My departure on a Naval
mission early in 1919 prevented me, however, from putting the finishing
touches to the manuscript until my return this spring.
I hesitated as to the publication of this portion of what is in effect
one complete narrative, but eventually decided not to depart from my
original purpose. There is some reason to believe that the account of
the work of the Grand Fleet gave the nation a fuller conception of the
services which the officers and men of that force rendered in
circumstances which were necessarily not easily appreciated by landsmen.
This second volume, dealing with the defeat of the enemy's submarine
campaign, the gravest peril which ever threatened the population of this
country, as well as of the whole Empire, may not be unwelcome as a
statement of facts. They have been set down in order that the sequence
and significance of events may be understood, and that the nation may
appreciate the debt which it owes, in particular, to the seamen of the
Royal Navy and the Mercantile Marine, who kept the seas during the
unforgettable days of the intensive campaign.
This book, therefore, gives the outline of the work accomplished by the
Navy in combating the unrestricted submarine warfare instituted by the
Central Powers in February, 1917. It would have been a labour of love to
tell at greater length and in more detail how the menace was gradually
overcome by the gallantry, endurance and strenuous work of those serving
afloat in ships flying the White or the Red Ensigns, but I had not the
necessary materials at my disposal for such an exhaustive record.
The volume is consequently largely concerned with the successive steps
taken at the Admiralty to deal with a situation which was always
serious, and which at times assumed a very grave aspect. The ultimate
result of all Naval warfare must naturally rest with those who are
serving afloat, but it is only just to the Naval officers and others who
did such fine work at the Admiralty in preparing for the sea effort,
that their share in the Navy's final triumph should be known. The
writing of this book appeared also to be the only way in which I could
show my keen appreciation of the loyalty and devotion to duty of the
Naval Staff, of the many clever, ingenious and audacious schemes
developed and carried through for the destruction of submarines and the
safeguarding of ocean-borne trade, and of the skilful organization which
brought into being, and managed with such success, that great network of
convoys by which the sea communications of the Allies were kept open.
The volume shows how the officers who accompanied me to the Admiralty
from the Grand Fleet at the end of 1916, in association with those
already serving in Whitehall and others who joined in 1917, with the
necessary and valuable assistance of our comrades of the Mercantile
Marine, gradually produced the measures by which the Sea Service
conquered the gravest danger which has ever faced the Empire.
There were at times inevitable set-backs as the enemy gained experience
of our methods, and new ones had then to be devised, and we were always
most seriously handicapped by the strain imposed upon the Fleet by our
numerous military and other commitments overseas, and by the difficulty
of obtaining supplies of material, owing to the pre-occupation of our
industries in meeting the needs of our Armies in equipment and
munitions; but, generally speaking, it may be said that in April, 1917,
the losses reached their maximum, and that from the following month and
onwards the battle was being slowly but gradually won. By the end of the
year it was becoming apparent that success was assured.
The volume describes the changes carried out in the Admiralty Staff
organization; the position of affairs in regard to submarine warfare in
the early part of 1917; and the numerous anti-submarine measures which
were devised and brought into operation during the year. The
introduction and working of the convoy system is also dealt with. The
entry of the United States of America into the war marked the opening of
a new phase of the operations by sea, and it has been a pleasure to give
particulars of our cordial co-operation with the United States Navy. The
splendid work of the patrol craft and minesweepers is described all too
briefly, and I have had to be content to give only a brief summary of
the great services of the Dover and Harwich forces.
Finally, an effort has been made to suggest the range and character of
the work of the Production Departments at the Admiralty. It is
impossible to tell this part of the story without conveying some
suggestion of criticism since the output never satisfied our
requirements. I have endeavoured also to indicate where it seemed to me
that changes in organization were not justified by results, so that in
future years we may benefit by the experience gained. But I would not
like it to be thought that I did not, and do not, realize the
difficulties which handicapped production, or that I did not appreciate
to the full the work done by all concerned.
It is unfortunate that attempts to draw attention to the lessons taught
us by the war are regarded by many people either as complaints of lack
of devotion to the country's interests on the part of some, or as
criticisms of others who, in the years before the war or during the war,
were responsible for the administration of the Navy. In anticipation of
such an attitude, I wish to state emphatically that, where mention is
made of apparent shortcomings or of action which, judged by results, did
not seem, to meet a particular situation, this is done solely in order
that on any future occasion of a similar character--and may the day be
long postponed--the nation may profit by experience.
Those who are inclined to indulge in criticism should ever bear in mind
that the Navy was faced with problems which were never foreseen, and
could not have been foreseen, by anyone in this country. Who, for
instance, would have ever had the temerity to predict that the Navy,
confronted by the second greatest Naval Power in the world, would be
called upon to maintain free communications across the Channel for many
months until the months became years, in face of the naval forces of the
enemy established on the Belgian coast, passing millions of men across
in safety, as well as vast quantities of stores and munitions? Who would
have prophesied that the Navy would have to safeguard the passage of
hundreds of thousands of troops from the Dominions to Europe, as well as
the movement of tens of thousands of labourers from China and elsewhere?
Or who, moreover, would have been believed had he stated that the Navy
would be required to keep open the sea communications of huge armies in
Macedonia, Egypt, Palestine, Mesopotamia and East Africa, against attack
by surface vessels, submarines and mines, whilst at the same time
protecting the merchant shipping of ourselves, our Allies, and neutral
Powers against similar perils, and assisting to ensure the safety of the
troops of the United States when they, in due course, were brought
across the Atlantic? Compare those varied tasks with the comparatively
modest duties which in pre-war days were generally assigned to the Navy,
and it will be seen how much there may be to learn of the lessons of
experience, and how sparing we should be of criticism. Wisdom distilled
from events which were unforeseeable should find expression not in
criticisms of those who did their duty to the best of their ability, but
in the taking of wise precautions for the future.
Little mention is made in this volume of the work of the Grand Fleet
during the year 1917, but, although that Fleet had no opportunity of
showing its fighting power, it must never be forgotten that without the
Grand Fleet, under the distinguished officer who succeeded me as
Commander-in-Chief at the end of 1916, all effort would have been of no
avail, since every operation by sea, as well as by land, was carried out
under the sure protecting shield of that Fleet, which the enemy could
not face.
I am conscious of many shortcomings in the book, but it may prove of
interest to those who desire to know something of the measures which
gradually wore down the German submarine effort, and, at any rate, it is
the only record likely to be available in the near future of the work of
fighting the submarines in 1917.
June, 1920.
CHAPTER I
ADMIRALTY ORGANIZATION; THE CHANGES IN 1917
It is perhaps as well that the nation generally remained to a great
extent unconscious of the extreme gravity of the situation which
developed during the Great War, when the Germans were sinking an
increasing volume of merchant tonnage week by week. The people of this
country as a whole rose superior to many disheartening events and never
lost their sure belief in final victory, but full knowledge of the
supreme crisis in our history might have tended to undermine in some
quarters that confidence in victory which it was essential should be
maintained, and, in any event, the facts could not be disclosed without
benefiting the enemy. But the position at times was undoubtedly
extremely serious.
At the opening of the war we possessed approximately half the merchant
tonnage of the world, but experience during the early part of the
struggle revealed that we had not a single ship too many for the great
and increasing oversea military liabilities which we were steadily
incurring, over and above the responsibility of bringing to these shores
the greater part of the food for a population of forty-five million
people, as well as nearly all the raw materials which were essential for
the manufacture of munitions. The whole of our war efforts, ashore | 2,593.254236 |
2023-11-16 19:00:17.2378600 | 594 | 139 | SOUTH***
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See 28491-h.htm or 28491-h.zip:
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DISHES & BEVERAGES OF THE OLD SOUTH
by
Martha McCulloch-Williams
Author of "Field Farings," "Two of a Trade," "Milre," "Next to the
Ground," etc.
Decorations by Russel Crofoot
[Illustration]
New York
McBride Nast & Company
1913
Copyright, 1913, by
Mcbride, Nast & Co.
Published, October, 1913
CONTENTS
PAGE
GRACE BEFORE MEAT 9
THE STAFF OF LIFE 26
SAVING YOUR BACON 39
HAMS AND OTHER HAMS 59
FOR THIRSTY SOULS 72
PASTE, PIES, PUDDINGS 90
CREOLE COOKERY 118
CAKES, GREAT AND SMALL 136
MEAT, POULTRY, GAME, EGGS 158
SOUPS, SALADS, RELISHES 185
VEGETABLES, FRUIT DESSERTS, SANDWICHES 202
PICKLES, PRESERVES, COFFEE, TEA, CHOCOLATE 220
WHEN THE ORCHARDS "HIT" 239
UPON OCCASIONS 257
SOAP AND CANDLES 292
Dishes & Beverages
of the
Old South
[Illustration: _Grace before Meat_]
"Let me cook the dinners of a nation, and I shall not care who makes its
laws." Women, if they did but know it, might well thus paraphrase a
famous saying. Proper dinners mean so much--good blood, good health,
good judgment, good conduct. The fact makes tragic a truth too little
regarded; namely, that while bad cooking can ruin the very best of raw
foodstuffs, all the arts of all the cooks in the world can do no more
than palliate things stale, flat and unprofitable. To buy such things is
waste, instead of economy. Food must satisfy the palate else it will
never truly satisfy the | 2,593.2579 |
2023-11-16 19:00:17.2420920 | 1,993 | 6 |
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The Works of E. P. Roe
VOLUME TEN
WHAT CAN SHE DO?
ILLUSTRATED
DEDICATION
IF I WERE
TO DEDICATE THIS
BOOK IT WOULD BE TO THOSE
GIRLS WHO RESOLVE THAT THEY WILL NOT
PLAY THE POOR ROLE OF MICAWBER, THEIR ONLY CHANCE FOR
LIFE BEING THAT SOME ONE WILL "TURN UP"
WHOM THEY MAY BURDEN WITH
THEIR HELPLESS
WEIGHT
PREFACE
This book was not written to amuse, to create purposeless excitement,
or to secure a little praise as a bit of artistic work. It would
probably fail in all these things. It was written with a definite,
earnest purpose, which I trust will be apparent to the reader.
As society in our land grows older, and departs from primitive
simplicity, as many are becoming rich, but more poor, the changes that
I have sought to warn against become more threatening. The ordinary
avenues of industry are growing thronged, and it daily involves a more
fearful risk for a woman to be thrown out upon the world with
unskilled hands, an untrained mind, and an unbraced moral nature.
Impressed with this danger by some considerable observation, by a
multitude of facts that might wring tears from stony eyes, I have
tried to write earnestly if not wisely.
Of necessity, it touches somewhat on a subject delicate and difficult
to treat--the "skeleton in the closet" of society. But the evil exists
on every side, and at some time or other threatens every home and
life. It is my belief that Christian teachers should not timidly or
loftily ignore it, for, mark it well, the evil does not let us or ours
alone. It is my belief that it should be dealt with in a plain,
fearless, manly manner. Those who differ with me have a right to their
opinion.
There is one other thought that I wish to suggest. Much of the fiction
of our day, otherwise strong and admirable, is discouraging in this
respect. In the delineation of character, some are good, some are bad,
and some indifferent. We have a lovely heroine, a noble hero,
developing seemingly in harmony with the inevitable laws of their
natures. Associated with them are those of the commoner or baser sort,
also developing in accordance with the innate principles of their
natures. The first are presented as if created of finer clay than the
others. The first are the flowers in the garden of society, the latter
the weeds. According to this theory of character, the heroine must
grow as a moss-rose and the weed remain a weed. Credit is not due to
one; blame should not be visited on the other. Is this true? Is not
the choice between good and evil placed before every human soul, save
where ignorance and mental feebleness destroy free agency? In the
field of the world which the angels of God are to reap, is it not even
possible for the tares to become wheat? And cannot the sweetest and
most beautiful natural flowers of character borrow from the skies a
fragrance and bloom not of earth? So God's inspired Word teaches me.
I have turned away from many an exquisite and artistic delineation of
human life, sighing, God might as well never have spoken words of
hope, warning, and strength for all there is in this book. The Divine
and human Friend might have remained in the Heavens, and never come to
earth in human guise, that He might press His great heart of world-wide sympathy against the burdened, suffering heart of humanity. He
need not have died to open a way of life for all. There is nothing
here but human motive, human strength, and earthly destiny. We protest
against this narrowing down of life, though it be done with the
faultless skill and taste of the most cultured genius. The children of
men are not orphaned. Our Creator is still "Emmanuel--God with us."
Earthly existence is but the prelude of our life, and even from this
the Divine artist can take much of the discord, and give an earnest of
the eternal harmonies.
We all are honored with the privilege of "co-working with Him."
If I in my little sphere can by this book lead one father to train his
children to be more strong and self-reliant, one mother to teach her
daughters a purer, more patient, more heroic womanhood--if I have
placed one more barrier in the tempter's way, and inspired one more
wholesome fear and principle in the heart of the tempted--if, by
lifting the dark curtain a moment, I can reveal enough to keep one
country girl from leaving her safe native village for unprotected life
in some great city--if I can add one iota toward a public opinion that
will honor useful labor, however humble, and condemn and render
disgraceful idleness and helplessness, however gilded--if, chief of
all, I lead one heavy-laden heart to the only source of rest, I shall
be well rewarded, whatever is said of this volume.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
THREE GIRLS
CHAPTER II
A FUTURE OP HUMAN DESIGNING
CHAPTER III
THREE MEN
CHAPTER IV
THE SKIES DARKENING
CHAPTER V
THE STORM THREATENING
CHAPTER VI
THE WRECK
CHAPTER VII
AMONG THE BREAKERS
CHAPTER VIII
WARPED
CHAPTER IX
A DESERT ISLAND
CHAPTER X
EDITH BECOMES A "DIVINITY"
CHAPTER XI
MRS. ALLEN'S POLICY
CHAPTER XII
WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP
CHAPTER XIII
THEY TURN UP
CHAPTER XIV
WE CAN'T WORK
CHAPTER XV
THE TEMPTATION
CHAPTER XVI
BLACK HANNIBAL'S WHITE HEART
CHAPTER XVII
THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS
CHAPTER XVIII
IGNORANCE LOOKING FOR WORK
CHAPTER XIX
A FALLING STAR
CHAPTER XX
DESOLATION
CHAPTER XXI
EDITH'S TRUE KNIGHT
CHAPTER XXII
A MYSTERY
CHAPTER XXIII
A DANGEROUS STEP
CHAPTER XXIV
SCORN AND KINDNESS
CHAPTER XXV
A HORROR OF GREAT DARKNESS
CHAPTER XXVI
FRIEND AND SAVIOUR
CHAPTER XXVII
THE MYSTERY SOLVED
CHAPTER XXVIII
EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY
CHAPTER XXIX
HANNIBAL LEARNS HOW HIS HEART CAN BE WHITE
CHAPTER XXX
EDITH'S AND ARDEN'S FRIENDSHIP
CHAPTER XXXI
ZELL
CHAPTER XXXII
EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME
CHAPTER XXXIII
EDITH'S GREAT TEMPTATION
CHAPTER XXXIV
SAVED
CHAPTER XXXV
CLOSING SCENES
CHAPTER XXXVI
LAST WORDS
CHAPTER I
THREE GIRLS
It was a very cold blustering day in early January, and even brilliant
thronged Broadway felt the influence of winter's harshest frown. There
had been a heavy fall of snow which, though in the main cleared from
the sidewalks, lay in the streets comparatively unsullied and
unpacked. Fitful gusts of the passing gale caught it up and whirled it
in every direction. From roof, ledges, and window-sills, miniature
avalanches suddenly descended on the startled pedestrians, and the air
was here and there loaded with falling flakes from wild hurrying
masses of clouds, the rear-guard of the storm that the biting
northwest wind was driving seaward.
It was early in the afternoon, and the great thoroughfare was almost
deserted. Few indeed would be abroad for pleasure in such weather, and
the great tide of humanity that must flow up and down this channel
every working day of the year under all skies had not yet turned
northward.
But surely this graceful figure coming up the street with quick,
elastic steps has not the aspect of one driven forth by grave business
cares, nor in the natural course of things would one expect so young a
lady to know much of life's burdens and responsibilities. As she
passes I am sure the reader would not turn away from so pleasant a
vision, even if Broadway were presenting all its numberless
attractions, but at such a time would make the most of the occasion,
assured that nothing so agreeable would greet his eyes again that
sombre day.
The fierce gusts make little impression on her heavy, close-fitting
velvet dress, and in her progress against the wind she appears so trim
and taut that a sailor's eye would be captivated. She bends her little
turbaned head to the blast, and her foot strikes the pavement with a
decision that suggests a naturally brave, resolute nature, and gives
abundant proof of vigor and health. A trimming of silver fox fur
caught and contrasted the snow crystals against the black velvet of
her dress, in which the flakes catch and mingle, increasing the sense
of lightness and airiness | 2,593.262132 |
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
MORAG:
A Tale of the Highlands of Scotland.
New York:
Robert Carter and Brothers, 530 Broadway.
1875.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I.
_The First Morning in the Glen_ 5
II.
_Blanche Clifford_ 19
III.
_Morag's Home_ 37
IV.
_The Fir-wood_ 52
V.
_A Discovery_ 75
VI.
_Kirsty Macpherson_ 104
VII.
_Morag's Visit to Kirsty, and How It Came About_ 140
VIII.
_The Gypsies At Last_ 157
IX.
_Vanity Fair_ 205
X.
_The Kirk in the Village_ 219
XI.
_The Loch_ 244
XII.
_The Empty Hut_ 274
XIII.
_Back in London_ 288
XIV.
_Visit to the Fairy_ 306
XV.
_A Ride in the Park_ 318
XVI.
_The Borders of the Far-off Land_ 331
XVII.
_Morag's Journey into the World Beyond the Mountains_ 348
MORAG
I.
_THE FIRST MORNING IN THE GLEN._
DO you know the joyous feeling of opening your eyes on the first morning
after your arrival among new scenes, and of seeing the landscape, which
has been shrouded by darkness on the previous evening, lying clear and
calm in the bright morning sunlight?
This was Blanche Clifford's experience as she stood at an eastward
window, with an eager face, straining her eye across miles of moorland,
which undulated far away, like purple seas lying in the golden light.
Away, and up and on stretched the heather, till it seemed to rear itself
into great waves of rock, which stood out clear and distinct, with the
sunlight glinting into the gray, waterworn fissures, lighting them up
like a smile on a wrinkled face. And beyond, in the dim distance, hills
on hills are huddled, rearing themselves in dark lowering masses against
the blue sky, like the shoulders of mighty monsters in a struggle for
the nearest place to the clouds. For many weeks Blanche had been
dreaming dreams and seeing visions of this scene, as she sat in her
London schoolroom. "And this is Glen Eagle!" she murmured, with a
satisfied sigh, when at last she turned her eyes from the more distant
landscape, and climbing into the embrasured window of the quaint old
room in which she awoke that morning, leant out to try and discover what
sort of a building this new home might be. A perpendicular, gaunt wall,
so lichen-spotted that it seemed as if the stones had taken to growing,
was all that she could see; and under it there stretched a smooth grassy
<DW72>, belted by a grove of ancient ash-trees. A pleasant breeze,
wafting a delicious scent of heather, came in at the open window, and
played among Blanche's curls, reminding her how delightful it would be
to go out under the blue sky; so she ran off in search of her papa, that
she might begin her explorations at once.
Mr. Clifford, Blanche's father, was very fond of sport, and generally
spent the autumn months on the moors, either in Ireland or Scotland.
Hitherto his little motherless daughter had not accompanied him on any
of his journeys, but had been left to wander among trim English lanes,
or to patrol the parade of fashionable watering-places, under the
guardianship of her governess, Miss Prosser. This year, however, Blanche
had been so earnest in her entreaties to be taken among the hills, that
her father had at last yielded, and it was arranged that she should
accompany him to Glen Eagle, where he had taken shootings. Miss Prosser
looked on the projected journey to the Highlands of Scotland as rather a
wild scheme for herself and her little charge, having no special
partiality for mountain scenery, and a dislike to change the old
routine. But to Blanche, the prospect was full of the most delicious
possibilities; the unknown mountain country was to her imagination an
enchanted land of peril and adventure, where she could herself become
the heroine of a new tale of romance. The "History of Scotland" suddenly
became the most interesting of books, and the records of its heroic days
were studied with an interest which they had never before excited. In
the daily walks in Kensington Park, on hot July afternoons, Blanche
Clifford wove many a fancy concerning these autumn days to be; but in
the midst of all her imaginings, as she peopled the hills and valleys of
Stratheagle with followers of the Wallace and the Bruce lurking among
the heather, with waving tartans and glancing claymores, she did not
guess what a lowly object of human interest was to be the centre of all
her thoughts.
On the evening of the 9th of August Blanche stood with her governess on
the platform of the Euston Station, ready to start by the crowded Scotch
mail. Mr. Clifford having seen to the travelling welfare of his dogs,
proceeded to arrange his little party for the night. The shrill whistle
sounded at last, and they were soon whirling through the darkness on
their northern way. The long railway journey was broken by a night's
rest at a hotel, which Blanche thought very uninteresting indeed, and
begged to be allowed to go on with her papa, who left her there. After
the region of railways was left behind, there was a journey in an old
mail-coach, which seemed to Blanche to be at last a beginning of the
heroic adventures, as she spied a little girl of her own size scaling a
ladder to take her place in one of the outside seats, to all appearance
delightfully suspended in mid-air. She was about to follow in great
glee, when she was pulled back by Miss Prosser, and condemned to a dark
corner inside of the coach, where a stout old gentleman entirely
obstructed her view. Neither was Blanche a pleasant companion; she felt
very restless and rebellious at her unhappy fate, and every time the
coach stopped and she was allowed to put her head out of the window for
a few precious minutes, she cast envious glances at the happy family
whose legs dangled above.
The coach stopped at last to change horses at a low white inn, and
Blanche's delight was great to recognise her father's open carriage
waiting to take them to Glen Eagle, which was still many miles distant.
The change was delicious, Blanche thought as they were driven swiftly
along the white, winding road, round the base of hills higher than she
had ever seen, through dark pine forests, which cast solemn shadows
across the road, along sea-like expanses of moor, stretching out on
either side. Blanche was lost in wonder and delight at those first
glimpses of the mountain-land of her dreams. Her geographical inquiries
were most searching, and her governess had to acknowledge ignorance when
her pupil wished to identify each hill with the mountain-ranges depicted
on a map-drawing, which Blanche had made in view of the journey. They
were still several miles from their destination, when a heavy white
cloud of mist came coiling round the hills, creeping along the lower
ridges of rock as if it started to reach the top, like some thinking
creature possessed with an evil purpose. At first the mist seemed only
to add an additional charm to the wild landscape in Blanche's eyes.
"O Miss Prosser!" she exclaimed, in great glee, "isn't it so pretty? It
seems as if the fleecy clouds that live in the sky had come to pay a
visit to the moors, and were going to take possession of everything."
"Why, Blanche, how fanciful you are! It is nothing more nor less than
that wretched wetting Scotch mist one hears of. Come, child, and get
into your furs. How thoughtful of Ellis to have brought them. Commend me
to Devonshire and muslins at this season of the year," said Miss
Prosser, as she drew the rug more closely around her, and shrugged her
shoulders.
The mist was creeping silently over the valley, and coming nearer and
nearer, till at last there seemed hardly enough space for the horses to
make their way through, and Blanche thought matters looked very
threatening indeed. Seating herself by Miss Prosser's side with a
shiver, she said, in a frightened tone, "I do wish papa were here.
These clouds look as if they meant to carry us right up with them. Don't
you begin to feel rather frightened, Miss Prosser?"
When her governess suggested that the carriage should be closed, Blanche
felt rather relieved on the whole, and becoming very quiet and
meditative, finally fell fast asleep, curled up on one of the seats,
from whence she was carried by her father, when the carriage reached its
destination. She never thoroughly awoke till the bright morning sun came
streaming in at the curtainless, deep mullioned window of the old
Highland keep where she found herself.
Attached to the shootings of Glen Eagle was a half-ruinous castle, which
Mr. Clifford had put into a sort of repair, fitting up a part of the
building for the use of his household, though there was still many an
unused room, dim with the dust of years, among the winding passages and
cork-screw stairs. In old times it had been a fortified place, and
Scottish chieftains had reigned there, and from its grey towers kept
watch and ward over the strath, where were scattered the dwellings of
the clansmen. It stood in the heart of the glen, rearing itself grim and
gaunt and grey, surrounded by a massive wall, which had once been for
defence, but was ruinous now, and pleasant turf sloped down from the
castle, and flourished along its cope.
Though so long untenanted, there were still some remains of its ancient
furnishings, which the Highland lord on whose land it stood left
unmolested, in honor of the home of his ancestors. In the large
dimly-lighted entrance-hall, there hung many relics of the olden time.
Dirks and claymores that had done deadly work long ago, were beautifully
arranged in various patterns, on the dark panelled walls; numberless
trophies from the glen were ranged round--stately stags' heads with
branching horns, and outspread wings of mountain birds; and a fox too,
whose glass eyes seemed to leer as cunningly as the original orbs when
they cast longing glances at the feathered inhabitants of the farm-yard.
Blanche had descended the broad staircase, and now gazed timidly round
at these strange ornaments of the ancient hall. She felt as if she could
not endure the leer of the fox one minute longer, and catching a glimpse
of the pleasant greensward through the great door, which stood open, she
darted out. The mountain breeze had a reassuring effect, and Blanche
felt safe and happy again, as she stood gazing on the fair scene, in
which the bleak and the beautiful strangely blended.
To the left of the castle, on banks which sloped towards the river, were
masses of feathery | 2,593.361038 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
_The_ CURLYTOPS AT UNCLE FRANK'S RANCH
HOWARD R. GARIS
[Illustration: "YOU'VE GOT TO GROAN AND PRETEND YOU'VE BEEN SHOT."
_The Curlytops at Uncle Frank's Ranch_ _Page 7_]
THE CURLYTOPS
AT
UNCLE FRANK'S RANCH
OR
_Little Folks on Ponyback_
BY
HOWARD R. GARIS
AUTHOR OF "THE CURLYTOPS SERIES," "BEDTIME
STORIES," "UNCLE WIGGILY SERIES," ETC.
_Illustrations by
JULIA GREENE_
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE CURLYTOPS SERIES
By HOWARD R. GARIS
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
_THE CURLYTOPS AT CHERRY FARM
Or, Vacation Days in the Country_
_THE CURLYTOPS ON STAR ISLAND
Or, Camping Out With Grandpa_
_THE CURLYTOPS SNOWED IN
Or, Grand Fun With Skates and Sleds_
_THE CURLYTOPS AT UNCLE FRANK'S RANCH
Or, Little Folks on Ponyback_
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, New York
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE CURLYTOPS AT UNCLE FRANK'S RANCH
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I TROUBLE'S TUMBLE 1
II NICKNACK AND TROUBLE 13
III OFF FOR THE WEST 28
IV THE COLLISION 40
V AT RING ROSY RANCH 55
VI COWBOY FUN 63
VII BAD NEWS 72
VIII A QUEER NOISE 87
IX THE SICK PONY 101
X A SURPRISED DOCTOR 114
XI TROUBLE MAKES A LASSO 122
XII THE BUCKING BRONCO 140
XIII MISSING CATTLE 153
XIV LOOKING FOR INDIANS 167
XV TROUBLE "HELPS" 175
XVI ON THE TRAIL 189
XVII THE CURLYTOPS ALONE 196
XVIII LOST 209
XIX THE HIDDEN VALLEY 222
XX BACK TO RING ROSY 237
THE CURLYTOPS AT UNCLE FRANK'S RANCH
CHAPTER I
TROUBLE'S TUMBLE
"Say, Jan, this isn't any fun!"
"What do you want to play then, Ted?"
Janet Martin looked at her brother, who was dressed in one of his
father's coats and hats while across his nose was a pair of spectacles
much too large for him. Janet, wearing one of her mother's skirts, was
sitting in a chair holding a doll.
"Well, I'm tired of playing doctor, Jan, and giving your make-believe
sick doll bread pills. I want to do something else," and Teddy began
taking off the coat, which was so long for him that it dragged on the
ground.
"Oh, I know what we can do that'll be lots of fun!" cried Janet, getting
up from the chair so quickly that she forgot about her doll, which fell
to the floor with a crash that might have broken her head.
"Oh, my _dear_!" cried Janet, as she had often heard her mother call
when Baby William tumbled and hurt himself. "Oh, are you hurt?" and
Janet clasped the doll in her arms, and hugged it as though it were a
real child.
"Is she busted?" Ted demanded, but he did not ask as a real doctor might
inquire. In fact, he had stopped playing doctor.
"No, she isn't hurt, I guess," Jan answered, feeling of her doll's head.
"I forgot all about her being in my lap. Oh, aren't you going to play
any more, Ted?" she asked as she saw her brother toss the big coat on a
chair and take off the spectacles.
"No. I want to do something else. This is no fun!"
"Well, let's make-believe you're sick and I can be a Red Cross nurse,
like some of those we saw in the drugstore window down the street,
making bandages for the soldiers. You could be a soldier, Ted, and I
could be the nurse, and I'd make some sugar pills for you, if you don't
like the rolled-up bread ones you gave my doll."
Teddy Martin thought this over for a few seconds. He seemed to like it.
And then he shook his head.
"No," he answered his sister, "I couldn't be a soldier."
"Why not?"
"'Cause I haven't got a gun and there isn't any tent."
"We could make a tent with a sheet off the bed like we do lots of times.
Put it over a chair, you know."
"But I haven't a gun," Teddy went on. He knew that he and Janet could
make a tent, for they had often done it before.
"Couldn't you take a broom for a gun?" Janet asked. "I'll get it from
the kitchen."
"Pooh! What good is a broom for a gun? I want one that shoots! Anyhow I
haven't a uniform, and a soldier can't go to war without a uniform or a
sword or a gun. I'm not going to play that!"
Janet did not know what to say for a few seconds. Truly a soldier would
not be much of one without a gun or a uniform, even if he was in a tent.
But the little girl had not given up yet.
The day was a rainy one. There was no school, for it was Saturday, and
staying in the house was no great fun. Janet wanted her brother to stay
and play with her and she knew she must do something to make him. For a
while he had been content to play that he was Dr. Thompson, come to give
medicine to Jan's sick doll. But Teddy had become tired of this after
paying half a dozen visits and leaving pills made by rolling bread
crumbs together.
Teddy laid aside his father's old hat and scratched his head. That is he
tried to, but his head was so covered with tightly twisted curls that
the little boy's fingers were fairly entangled in them.
"Say!" he exclaimed, "I wish my hair didn't curl so much! It's too long.
I'm going to ask mother if I can't have it cut."
"I wish I could have mine cut," sighed Janet. "Mine's worse to comb than
yours is, Ted."
"Yes, I know. And it always curls more on a rainy day."
Both children had the same curly hair. It was really beautiful, but they
did not quite appreciate it, even though many of their friends, and some
persons who saw them for the first time, called them "Curlytops." Indeed
the tops of their heads were very curly.
"Oh, I know how we can do it!" suddenly cried Janet, just happening to
think of something.
"Do what?" asked her brother.
"Play the soldier game. You can pretend you were caught by the enemy and
your gun and uniform were taken away. Then you can be hurt and I'll be
the Red Cross nurse and take care of you in the tent. I'll get some real
sugar for pills, too! Nora'll give me some. She's in the kitchen now
making a cake."
"Maybe she'd give you a piece of cake, too," suggested Teddy.
"Maybe," agreed Janet. "I'll go and ask her."
"Ask her for some chocolate," added Ted. "I guess, if I've got to be
sick, I'd like chocolate pills'stead of sugar."
"All right," said Janet, as she hurried downstairs from the playroom to
the kitchen. In a little while she came back with a plate on which were
two slices of chocolate cake, while on one edge of it were some crumbs
of chocolate icing.
"I'll make pills of that after we eat the cake," Janet said. "You can
pretend the cake made you sick if you want to, Ted."
"Pooh! who ever heard of a soldier getting sick on cake? Anyhow they
don't have cake in the army--lessen they capture it from the enemy."
"Well, you can pretend you did that," said Janet. "Now I'll put my doll
away," she went on, as she finished her piece of cake, "and we'll play
the soldier game. I'll get some red cloth to make the cross."
Janet looked "sweet," as her mother said afterward, when she had wound a
white cloth around her head, a red cross, rather ragged and crooked,
being pinned on in front.
The tent was made by draping a sheet from the bed across two chairs, and
under this shelter Teddy crawled. He stretched out on a blanket which
Janet had spread on the floor to be the hospital cot.
"Now you must groan, Ted," she said, as she looked in a glass to see if
her headpiece and cross were on straight.
"Groan? What for?"
"'Cause you've been hurt in the war, or else you're sick from the cake."
"Pooh! a little bit of cake like _that_ wouldn't make _me_ sick. You've
got to give me a _lot_ more if you want me to be real sick."
"Oh, Teddy Martin! I'm not going to play if you make fun like that all
the while. You've got to groan and pretend you've been shot. Never mind
about the cake."
"All right. I'll be shot then. But you've got to give me a lot of
chocolate pills to make me get better."
"I'm not going to give 'em to you all at once, Ted Martin!"
"Well, maybe in two doses then. How many are there?"
"Oh, there's a lot. I'm going to take some myself."
"You are not!" and Teddy sat up so quickly that he hit the top of the
sheet-tent with his head and made it slide from the chair.
"There! Look what you did!" cried Janet. "Now you've gone and spoiled
everything!"
"Oh, well, I'll fix it," said Ted, rather sorry for what he had done.
"But you can't eat my chocolate pills."
"I can so!"
"You cannot! Who ever heard of a nurse taking the medicine from a sick
soldier?"
"Well, anyhow--well, wouldn't you give me some chocolate candy if you
had some, and I hadn't?" asked Janet.
"Course I would, Jan. I'm not stingy!"
"Well, these pills are just like chocolate candy, and if I give 'em all
to you----"
"Oh, well, then I'll let you eat _some_," agreed Ted. "But you wanted me
to play this game of bein' a sick soldier, and if I'm sick I've got to
have the medicine."
"Yes, I'll give you the most," Janet agreed. "Now you lie down and groan
and I'll hear you out on the battlefield and come and save your life."
So, after Janet had fixed the sheet over him again, Teddy lay back on
the blanket and groaned his very best.
"Oh, it sounds as real as anything!" exclaimed the little girl in
delight. "Do it some more, Ted!"
Thereupon her brother groaned more loudly until Janet stopped him by
dropping two or three chocolate pills into his opened mouth.
"Oh! Gurr-r-r-r! Ugh! Say, you'most choked me!" spluttered Ted, as he
sat up and chewed the chocolate.
"Oh, I didn't mean to," said Janet as she ate a pill or two herself.
"Now you lie down and go to sleep, 'cause I've got a lot more sick
soldiers to go to see."
"Don't give 'em any of my chocolate pills," cautioned Ted. "I need 'em
all to make me get better."
"I'll only make-believe give them some," promised Janet.
She and her brother played this game for a while, and Teddy liked it-- | 2,593.361983 |
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produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
The Shadow of Life
The Shadow of Life
BY
Anne Douglas Sedgwick
AUTHOR OF "THE RESCUE," "THE CONFOUNDING OF
CAMELIA," "PATHS OF JUDGEMENT," ETC.
[Illustration: colophon]
NEW YORK
The Century Co.
1906
Copyright, 1906, by
The Century Co.
_Published February, 1906_
THE DE VINNE PRESS
THE SHADOW OF LIFE
[Illustration: colophon]
PART I
The Shadow of Life
I
Elspeth Gifford was five years old when she went to live at Kirklands.
Her father, an army officer, died in her babyhood, and her mother a few
years later. The uncle and aunts in Scotland, all three much her
mother's seniors, were the child's nearest relatives.
To such a little girl death had meant no more than a bewildered
loneliness, but the bewilderment was so sharp, the loneliness so aching,
that she cried herself into an illness. She had seen her dead mother,
the sweet, sightless, silent face, familiar yet amazing, and more than
any fear or shrinking had been the suffocating mystery of feeling
herself forgotten and left behind. Her uncle Nigel, sorrowful and grave,
but so large and kind that his presence seemed to radiate a restoring
warmth, came to London for her and a fond nurse went with her to the
North, and after a few weeks the anxious affection of her aunts Rachel
and Barbara built about her, again, a child's safe universe of love.
Kirklands was a large white house and stood on a <DW72> facing south,
backed by a rise of thickly wooded hill and overlooking a sea of
heathery moorland. It was a solitary but not a melancholy house. Lichens
yellowed the high-pitched slate roof and creepers clung to the roughly
"harled" walls. On sunny days the long rows of windows were golden
squares in the illumined white, and, under a desolate winter sky, glowed
with an inner radiance.
In the tall limes to the west a vast colony of rooks made their nests;
and to Eppie these high nests, so dark against the sky in the vaguely
green boughs of spring or in the autumn's bare, swaying branches, had a
weird, fairy-tale charm. They belonged neither to the earth nor to the
sky, but seemed to float between, in a place of inaccessible romance,
and the clamor, joyous yet irritable, at dawn and evening seemed full of
quaint, strange secrets that only a wandering prince or princess would
have understood.
Before the house a round of vivid green was encircled by the drive that
led through high stone gates to the moorland road. A stone wall, running
from gate to gate, divided the lawn from the road, and upon each pillar
a curiously carved old griffin, its back and head spotted with yellow
lichens, held stiffly up, for the inspection of passers-by, the family
escutcheon. From the windows at the back of the house one looked up at
the hilltop, bare but for a group of pine-trees, and down into a deep
garden. Here, among utilitarian squares of vegetable beds, went
overgrown borders of flowers--bands of larkspurs, lupins, stocks, and
columbines. The golden-gray of the walls was thickly embroidered with
climbing fruit-trees, and was entirely covered, at one end of the
garden, by a small snow-white rose, old-fashioned, closely petaled; and
here in a corner stood a thatched summer-house, where Eppie played with
her dolls, and where, on warm summer days, the white roses filled the
air with a fragrance heavy yet fresh in its wine-like sweetness. All
Eppie's early memories of Kirklands centered about the summer-house and
were mingled with the fragrance of the roses. Old James, the gardener,
put up there a little locker where her toys were stored, and shelves
where she ranged her dolls' dishes. There were rustic seats, too, and a
table--a table always rather unsteady on the uneven wooden floor. The
sun basked in that sheltered, windless corner, and, when it rained, the
low, projecting eaves ranged one safely about with a silvery fringe of
drops through which one looked out over the wet garden and up at the
white walls of the house, crossed by the boughs of a great, dark
pine-tree.
Inside the house the chief room was the fine old library, where, from
long windows, one looked south over the purples and blues of the
moorland. Books filled the shelves from floor to ceiling--old-fashioned
tomes in leather bindings, shut away, many of them, behind brass
gratings and with all the delightful sense of peril connected with the
lofty upper ranges, only to be reached by a courageous use of the
library steps.
Here Uncle Nigel gave Eppie lessons in Greek and history every morning,
aided in the minor matters of her education by a submissive nursery
governess, an English | 2,593.462905 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: THE NEEDLES]
ISLE OF WIGHT
PAINTED BY
A. HEATON COOPER
DESCRIBED BY
A. R. HOPE MONCRIEFF
[Illustration: colophon]
LONDON
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK
1908
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE ISLAND 1
II. RYDE 19
III. NEWPORT 33
IV. THE EAST SIDE 54
V. THE UNDERCLIFF 77
VI. THE BACK OF THE ISLAND 92
VII. FRESHWATER AND THE NEEDLES 104
VIII. YARMOUTH 119
IX. COWES 139
X. THE GATES OF THE ISLAND 154
List of Illustrations
1. The Needles _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
2. Ryde--Moonrise 20
3. Newchurch--the Mother Church of Ryde 24
4. Newport 34
5. Carisbrooke Castle 40
6. Godshill 50
7. Water Meadows of the Yar near Alverstone 58
8. Sandown Bay 60
9. Shanklin Village--Moonlight after rain 72
10. Shanklin Chine 74
11. Bonchurch Old Church near Ventnor 84
12. The Landslip near Ventnor 86
13. The Undercliff near Ventnor 90
14. Blackgang Chine 96
15. Shorwell 100
16. Farringford House 106
17. Freshwater Bay 112
18. Totland Bay 118
19. Yarmouth 120
20. Shalfleet 124
21. Calbourne 138
22. Yachting at Cowes 144
23. Osborne House 148
24. Whippingham Church 152
_Map at end of volume_
ISLE OF WIGHT
THE ISLAND
_The_ Island, as its people are in the way of styling it, while not
going so far as to deny existence to the adjacent islands of Great
Britain and Ireland--the Wight, as it is sometimes called by old
writers--has for the first fact in its history that it was not always an
island. It once made a promontory of Dorset, cut off from the mainland
by a channel, whose rush of encountering tides seems still wearing away
the shores so as to broaden a passage of half a dozen miles at the most,
narrowed to about a mile between the long spit of Hurst and the
north-western corner of the Island. It may be that what is now a strait
has been the estuary of a great river, flooding itself into the sea,
which, like Hengist and Horsa, is apt to prove an invading ally
difficult to get rid of. _Wight | 2,593.464895 |
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THE MUMMY!
A TALE OF THE TWENTY-SECOND CENTURY.
By Jane Webb (Mrs. Loudon).
"Why hast thou disquieted me, to bring me up?"
I SAM., xxviii. 15.
LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1827.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
CHAPTER I. CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER II. CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER III. CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER V. CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER VI. CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER VII. CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER VIII. CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER IX. CHAPTER XXV.
CHAPTER X. CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XII. CHAPTER XXVIII.
CHAPTER XIII. CHAPTER XXIX.
CHAPTER XIV. CHAPTER XXX.
CHAPTER XV. CHAPTER XXXI.
CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XXXII.
[Transcriber's note: _The Mummy!_ was originally published in three
volumes. The chapters have been renumbered in this edition, and the
volume breaks indicated (ends of chapters XI and XXIV).]
INTRODUCTION.
I have long wished to write a novel, but I could not determine what it
was to be about. I could not bear any thing common-place, and I did
not know what to do for a hero. Heroes are generally so much alike, so
monotonous, so dreadfully insipid--so completely brothers of one race,
with the family likeness so amazingly strong--"This will not do for
me," thought I as I sauntered listlessly down a shady lane, one fine
evening in June; "I must have something new, something quite out of the
beaten path:--but what?"--ay, that was the question. In vain did I rack
my brains--in vain did I search the storehouse of my memory: I could
think of nothing that had not been thought of before.
"It is very strange!" said I, as I walked faster, as though I hoped
the rapidity of my motion would shake off the sluggishness of my
imagination. It was all in vain! I struck my forehead and called wit
to my assistance, but the malignant deity was deaf to my entreaty.
"Surely," thought I, "the deep mine of invention cannot be worked out;
there must be some new ideas left, if I could but find them." To find
them, however, was | 2,593.465691 |
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Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Widger and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
HELEN
By Maria Edgeworth
Tales And Novels
In Ten Volumes
With Engravings On Steel
Vol. X.
1857
CONTENTS
HELEN
VOLUME THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII | 2,593.656839 |
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Produced by Linda M. Everhart, Blairstown, Missouri
STEEL TRAPS.
[Illustration: NEWHOUSE TRAPS--ALL SIZES.]
STEEL TRAPS.
Describes the Various Makes and Tells How
to Use Them--Also Chapters on
Care of Pelts, Etc.
BY
A. R. HARDING.
PUBLISHED BY
A. R. HARDING PUBLISHING CO.
COLUMBUS, OHIO
Copyright 1907
By A. R. Harding.
CONTENTS.
I. Sewell Newhouse
II. Well Made Traps
III. A Few Failures
IV. Some European Traps
V. Proper Sizes
VI. Newhouse Traps
VII. Double and Webbed Jaw Traps
VIII. Victor and Hawley & Norton Traps
IX. Jump Traps
X. Tree Traps
XI. Stop Thief Traps
XII. Wide Spreading Jaws
XIII. Caring For Traps
XIV. Marking Traps
XV. How to Fasten
XVI. How to Set
XVII. Where to Set
XVIII. Looking at Traps
XIX. Mysteriously Sprung Traps
XX. Good Dens
XXI. The Proper Bait
XXII. Scent and Decoys
XXIII. Human Scent and Sign
XXIV. Hints on Fall Trapping
XXV. Land Trapping
XXVI. Water Trapping
XXVII. When to Trap
XXVIII. Some Deep Water Sets
XXIX. Skinning and Stretching
XXX. Handling and Grading
XXXI. From Animal to Market
XXXII. Miscellaneous Information
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Newhouse Traps--All Sizes
Mr. Sewell Newhouse
The First Shop
Old Newhouse Trap
A Well Made Trap
Limb Growing Thru Jaws
"Bob Tail" Trap
Defective Pan Bearing
The All Steel
The Modified All Steel
Poor Setting Device
Double Jaw Without Dog
The Duplex
The "No Cross"
German Fox Trap
English Rabbit Trap
Awaiting The Trapper
Wisconsin Trapper, Furs and Traps
Mink, Trapped Under An Old Root
No. 0 Newhouse Trap
No. 1 Newhouse Trap
No. 1 1/2 or Mink Trap
No. 2 or Fox Trap
No. 3 or Otter Trap
No. 4 or Wolf Trap
No. 2 1/2 or Otter Trap With Teeth
No. 3 1/2 or Extra Strong Otter Trap
No. 21 1/2 Without Teeth
Offset Jaw Beaver Trap
Detachable Clutch Trap
Newhouse Special Wolf Trap
Small Bear Trap
Small Bear Trap With Offset Jaws
Standard Bear Trap
Regular Bear Trap With Offset Jaws
Grizzly Bear Trap
Bear Trap Chain Clevis
Steel Trap Setting Clamp
No. 81 or Webbed Jaw Trap
No. 91 or Double Jaw Trap
A Morning Catch of Skunk
No. 1 Victor Trap
No. 4 Victor Trap
No. 1 Oneida Jump
No. 4 Oneida Jump
A "Jump" Trap Trapper
The Tree Trap
Tree Trap Set and Animal Approaching
Animal Killed in Tree Trap
Stop Thief Trap
Method of Setting Stop Thief Trap
Trapper's Cabin and Pack Horses
Trapper Making Bear Set
Washing and Greasing Traps
Putting the Traps in Order
Traps and Trapper
Marked and Ready to Set
The Sliding Pole
A Staple Fastening
Shallow Water Set
Hole Set Before Covering
Another Hole Set Before Covering
Hole Set After Covering
Wrong Position Set
The Three Log Set
Marten Shelf Set
Big Game Set
Ring or Loop Fastening
Caught Within the Limits of Chicago
Fox, Wolf or Coyote Trail
Fox, Wolf or Coyote on the Run
Muskrat Tracks
Mink and Opossum Tracks
Wisconsin Trapper--Knows Where to Set
Profitable Day's Catch
Snowshoeing Over the Trapping Line
Once Over the Line--White Weasel
Caught Just Before a Cold Snap
Bait Stealer--Bird
Northern Trapper With Pack Basket
Some Northern Furs
Nebraska Trapper's One Night Catch
Night's Catch by Colorado Trapper
Both Trappers--Father and Daughter
Part of Connecticut Trapper's Catch
Eastern Trapper's Catch
Caught Where Scent Is Much Used
Young Trappers Discussing Scent
Teaching The Boy Art Of Trapping
Trapper's Home In Colorado
A Few Days' Catch
The Inside of Northern Trapper's Cabin
Coyote Trapping on the Cattle Ranches
Eastern Mink--November Caught
Muskrat House
Wolf Caught at "Bank Set"
Lynx Caught in Steel Trap
Marten Caught in Shelf Set
Shelf Set and Fastening
Squirrel Caught on Stump
Raccoon Caught in Oneida Jump
Red Fox Caught at Dry Land Set
Opossum Caught in No. 1 Newhouse
Black Skunk in No. 1 1/2 Victor
Baited and Caught at Cubby Set
There To Stay-In A Newhouse
Mountain Lion Securely Caught
Beaver, Trap and Trapper
Large Otter Caught in No. 3 Newhouse
Muskrat Caught in Double Jaw
A Morning's Catch of Rats
The Black Water Marsh
Just After the Season Opens
Deep Water Set Trap Fastening
Skinning a Bob Cat
Single and Three Board Stretcher
Some Stretching Patterns
Dakota Trapper's Method
Holder For Skinning
Wire <DW53> Method
Wire and Twig <DW53> Method
Size of Stretching Boards
Pole Stretchers
Fleshing Board
Stretching Frame
Skin on Stretcher
Hoop Stretcher
The Home Shanty
A Line Shanty
[Illustration: A. R. Harding.]
INTRODUCTION.
To those that have followed the setting of Steel Traps there is a
fascination or "fever" which comes over them every fall about the
time of the first frosts. The only remedy seems to be a few weeks on
the trap line.
While some look upon trapping as an unprofitable business, yet the
number is becoming rapidly less, for more and more people are yearly
deriving pleasure, profit and health from out-door life such as
trapping, hunting, etc. There are thousands of trappers scattered
over America who are reaping a harvest of fur each year from their
Steel Traps valued at hundreds of dollars in addition to the
healthful sport they enjoy.
In some parts of Canada and the Northwest a trapper in a year catches
fur the value of which together with the bounty brings him $1,000.00
to $2,000.00. It is said on pretty good authority that a trapper in
British Columbia a few years ago caught upwards of $6,000 worth of
fur, principally marten, in one season.
There are many thousands of trappers scattered from the Gulf of
Mexico to the Arctic Ocean and from the Pacific to the Atlantic that
make hundreds of dollars each year with Steel Traps.
There is also a vast number who trap only a few weeks each season.
This includes boys and farmers after the busy season.
The actual number engaged in trapping is not known. Neither is the
actual value of the raw fur catch, but it is thought to exceed
$10,000,000 yearly. Is it any wonder then that so many want to know
more about Steel Traps and Trapping?
Considerable of the information herein in regard to traps, scent,
decoy, etc., is gathered from old and experienced trappers from all
parts of America as well as from the great trap manufacturers, Oneida
Community Ltd., so that readers can rely upon the information
imparted in this book as being trustworthy. Some books, purporting to
be of value to hunters and trappers, are written by men who have
never followed a line of traps or been in close touch with trappers.
The author of this work has been engaged for many years in trapping
and collecting furs and has come into close contact with many of the
leading trappers of the country.
Steel Traps are far superior to Snares or Deadfalls from the fact
that they can be used for both land and water trapping while Snares
and Deadfalls are adapted to Land Trapping only.
A. R. Harding.
CHAPTER I.
SEWELL NEWHOUSE.
Mr. Sewell Newhouse, the inventor of the Newhouse Trap grew up
surrounded by the Iroquois Indians of the Oneida Tribe; that tribe
which alone of all the Red men cast in their lot with the Americans
in our great struggle for liberty.
[Illustration: MR. SEWELL NEWHOUSE.]
At an early age he learned the gunsmith's trade. In those days guns
were all made by hand, and in small shops. Mr. Newhouse soon became
very skillful both in making and shooting the rifle. At that time
"Turkey Shoots" were very popular, and Mr. Newhouse was always sure
of his bird at sixty to eighty rods. It was a puzzle to many of the
old hands how he managed to shoot so accurately, even when the wind
was blowing "half a gale" till it was finally discovered that he had
fitted his rifle with an adjustable wind sight. This was one of his
early inventions that has now come into common use in target
shooting.
The Indians were very fond of shooting at a mark both with the rifle
and the bow and arrow, but they would seldom try conclusions with
"Sewell"--as they all called him--for he could always out shoot them
with the rifle, and very few of the tribe were as skillful as he with
the bow and arrow. In wrestling too, a favorite game of the day, Mr.
Newhouse was more than a match for the best men of his time both
white and red.
Some time before the year 1840, Mr. Newhouse undertook the
manufacture of traps and so popular had his traps become that in 1842
they were well known to all the tribes of the state, so that about
this year, when a large part of the Oneidas moved to Green Bay,
Wisconsin Territory, an essential part of this outfit was a stock of
Newhouse's traps. Thus their fame spread to the West.
It is related that a delegation of chiefs from one of the Algonquin
tribes of the Great Lake region once called at Mr. Newhouse's Shop.
They had used some traps from a rival manufacturer but were much
disgusted with them for in the intense cold of their country the
springs would break. "As breaks the pipe of peace in war time." They
looked over his stock of Traps, pressed down the springs with their
moccasined feet, grunted and shook their heads in disapproval. Then
Sewell went out to the frozen creek nearby, the savages watching in
silence. He chopped out a huge piece of ice, and bringing it to the
shop broke it into pieces which he threw into a large tub of water,
then setting half a dozen of the Traps he plunged them into the
water, and in sight of the astonished and pleased Red Men he sprung
them all off.
This severe test was enough for the visitors, and at his own price
Mr. Newhouse sold them his entire stock of traps. The affair greatly
pleased the neighboring Oneidas for well they knew when their
"Sewell" made and tempered a trap spring by his secret and "magical"
process it would stand up to its work under any and all
circumstances.
[Illustration: THE FIRST SHOP.]
Early in the fifties Mr. Newhouse removed from his home at The Oneida
Castle up the Valley to a spot now known as Kenwood. Here close by
the bank of the rushing Oneida he established himself in a little
smithey and began to make his famous traps on a larger scale. He was
soon after assisted by some of the mechanics of the Oneida
Association--as the old Oneida Community was then called--of which
Mr. Newhouse had become a member. In a few years it became evident
from the increasing demand that the business must be enlarged and a
small factory was built for the purpose.
Still the demand continued to increase as the Community began to send
out an agent to solicit orders in the West. The great Hudson Bay
Company sent in some large orders a custom by the way, which they
have continued annually from that early time until the present day.
More shops were erected, water power and special machinery were
introduced but still the demand outgrew the supply, till finally the
Community was obliged to build on a much larger scale at the present
site of its factory, where the waters of Sconondoa Creek furnished
for a long time ample power for the business.
Here Mr. Newhouse for many years after he ceased to work at the bench
and forge, spent his time in perfecting the manufacture and in the
general oversight and inspection of the work. With the eye of a lynx
he was ever alert to see that no trap bearing his name went out of
the factory except in perfect condition. Here before he left this
world for his long, long rest he carefully educated and trained a
number of men to continue the business with the same painstaking
spirit he had so long maintained.
The Trap illustrated here is one of the earliest made by S. Newhouse
after the business was established in the Oneida Community Shops
about the year 1853.
[Illustration: OLD NEWHOUSE TRAP.]
Every piece was hand forged from wrought iron or steel. It was
roughly but strongly made and has endured for over half a century.
This trap belonged to one of the pioneers of Wisconsin who had used
it for many years. It is still in good working order, the spring
being as lively as on the day Mr. Newhouse so carefully and
skillfully forged and tempered it.
CHAPTER II.
WELL MADE TRAPS.
Among the first requisites and of the utmost importance to successful
trapping is the possession of an outfit of _well made Steel Traps_.
That the young trappers may understand what are the requisites of a
good trap we will describe in detail one that has held its own in the
estimation of the professional trappers for sixty years, and then we
will endeavor to point out wherein the many so-called "improvements,"
that have been put on the market, have uniformly failed of success.
What the main spring is to a watch, a trap spring is to a trap, and
unless the spring is made of a properly compounded steel and is of
the right form and proportion and correctly tempered it will surely
fail and make the whole trap worse than useless.
Certain mixtures of pig iron are used in making spring steel and if
these mixtures are varied from in any particular or if the steel has
a surplus of carbon, or is deficient in that element, it will not
take a proper temper and consequently is of no value. A proper
manipulation in the rolling mill is also necessary, or the steel may
be entirely ruined in rolling.
A good spring when set should show a nearly uniform curve throughout.
This indicates that it is properly tapered so as to bring a uniform
strain on the steel. The lasting qualities of a spring are greatly
dependent on the correctness of this point.
[Illustration: A WELL MADE TRAP.]
The "bows" or holes in the spring must be of a proportion to properly
fit the jaws and have such a "twist" as will allow them to lie flat
when set, and the temper must be so moderated as not to be brittle or
"high", otherwise they may break if sprung without anything between
the jaws. For it is well known that it is a much harder strain on any
trap to be sprung thus than to snap on to the leg of an animal.
Another very important thing is to have the strength of the spring
proportioned to the size of the trap, for an excessively stiff spring
is more apt to break the leg bone of the animal and increase the
liability of "legging" as the trappers call it, while a very weak
spring may allow a vigorous animal to draw its foot out, especially
if caught low down.
And last but more important than anything else, the spring must have
just the right temper, for a bad tempered trap spring is like a bad
tempered wife, a worse than useless encumbrance. And do not let the
tyro imagine that it is easy to temper a trap spring, for it requires
a long experience and very expensive and carefully studied conditions
and apparatus to produce anything like uniform results.
Few persons realize the unusually trying conditions under which a
trap spring has to do its work, and it is safe to say that no
mechanical contrivance performs its functions with greater precision
than a well made and tempered trap spring.
A No. 1 spring weighs less than three ounces and will exert a force
of between 70 and 80 lbs., and one of these has been known to remain
under strain for over thirty years and then spring as promptly as
though just set.
The jaw of a trap should have a good wide bearing surface, otherwise
it will be apt to break the animal's leg bone, a calamity always to
be avoided, especially in dry land trapping, for as before remarked
"legging" is thus likely to follow. Anything like a sharp cutting
edge or a saw tooth is especially objectionable, for our object in
catching an animal is to obtain its fur and not to amputate its
limbs. As a prevention of "legging" the Nos. 81, 91, 91 1/2 traps,
described elsewhere, are especially designed. The pintle or end
bearings of the jaws should fit loosely in the holes to allow for
rusting and a little freezing, and there should also be a slight end
play for the same reason.
The weight and strength of a jaw should be sufficient to prevent it
from being sprung or bent enough to throw it out of its bearing when
it is set or when sprung by the animal.
Much diversity of opinion obtains regarding the proportionate size of
the pan or treadle. Some trappers like a large pan similar to that
used in the Jump trap, but it is safe to say that the greater
majority, especially among the old and experienced trappers, prefer
the smaller sizes, and for obvious reasons. When an animal steps on a
small pan he is caught to stay, but with a large one he may be
"nipped" or his foot may be thrown out altogether. At any rate his
education has been immensely advanced and it will take a trapper with
a "long head" to get him into a trap next time.
The pan should fit loosely in its bearing for as is well known,
rusting increases the size of a piece of iron and as there are four
surfaces to rust in a pan bearing, ample room must be left.
[Illustration: LIMB GROWING THRU JAWS. This trap was made about
1875 and no part had given way from the tremendous pressure. Surely a
good Newhouse.]
The dog or latch should be thick and narrow rather than wide, as
presenting less surface for the animal to step on. It should be
curved and pointed in such a way as to hold up the pan but so as to
"go off" "easy" or "hard" in proportion to the size of the animal
trapped for. This is a nice point for each trapper to decide for
himself and it is this susceptibility to adjustment by curving or
straightening the dog that makes this old "trigger arrangement"
superior to any other that has been invented. Of course, the cross
and bottom pieces must be made in proportion to the other parts of
the trap and the experienced trapper or inspector knows how to so
bend them as to make them conform correctly therewith.
The chain should be strong enough to hold any animal for which the
trap is designed.
It goes without saying that a good swivel is indispensable, as well
as a reliable ring and wedge for fastening, and the "S" Hook
sometimes furnished will be found very convenient as a means for
attaching the trap to a drag.
CHAPTER III.
A FEW FAILURES.
We present herewith a few photos taken from a collection of
experimental traps and will endeavor to point out wherein these
failed to prove themselves of practical value.
[Illustration: BOB TAIL TRAP.]
This trap was sometimes called the "Bob Tail" on account of its lack
of a dog, and this feature was thought to be a valuable one as there
was nothing to throw the animal's foot out, but it was found to be
deficient in that it was not sensitive enough and it lacked any
adjustability in its setting device.
[Illustration: DEFECTIVE PAN BEARING.]
This model was put on the market and sold for some time and seemed to
be a very good trap. It was discovered, however, that the bearing of
the pan was too low down for a delicate set and also sometimes caused
trouble by freezing in mud.
[Illustration: THE ALL STEEL.]
This trap was at one time thought to be good and was tried by many
trappers. It was found, however, to be very faulty in many respects.
The bearing of the pan lay flat in the mud and would freeze. The
setting device lacked any kind of adjustability and might either go
off so hard that nothing could spring it or so easily that it would
not stay set at all. The jaws which were made of thin sheet steel
were not durable.
[Illustration: THE MODIFIED ALL STEEL.]
In this trap the method of attaching the pan was changed and the jaws
were rendered more durable, but as the holding edges were made much
thinner they were more liable to cut the animal's legs and on the
whole the trap was not improved.
[Illustration: POOR SETTING DEVICE.]
This trap was invented to do away with the throwing out motion of the
dog. It accomplished it, however, at such a sacrifice of other
valuable features as to render it a useless invention. Its pan like
others mentioned was liable to freeze up and it also lacked in easy
adjustability and sensitiveness. Few of them were sold as they did
not meet the approval of trappers of experience.
[Illustration: DOUBLE JAW WITHOUT DOG.]
A Double Jaw Trap was made without a dog as shown by the setting
device, although ingenious in construction, was not sensitive. The
holding power of the double jaw was good, especially in a dry land
set, as all know who have tried the Newhouse No. 91 or 91 1/2.
[Illustration: THE DUPLEX.]
This trap was designed by a man who thought it desirable to fasten
the bait to the pan. Only a novice at trapping would think of doing
such a thing as that, as drawing the animal's attention to the trap
is sure to excite his suspicion and to catch him by the head is not
desirable, even if possible. A common trap is quite certain to only
nip him and slip off. The trap as will be seen could be used also
like a common one, but presented a very awkward appearance. A few
experienced trappers gave it a trial but none of them seemed to favor
it.
[Illustration: THE NO CROSS.]
This style was never put on the market. There have been invented
quite a number of traps that have no cross piece but we do not know
that any of them have been sold.
CHAPTER IV.
SOME EUROPEAN TRAPS.
German Fox Trap.
The cut below represents a German Trap, as made at the present time,
and there are several German makers of similar traps. They are mostly
hand made and vary slightly in style of construction from one
another. The sizes cover all the different fur-bearing animals, but
the traps are clumsily made and much more expensive than those of
American Manufacture.
[Illustration: GERMAN FOX TRAP.]
It will be observed that the Pan is very large, in fact, it so nearly
fills the space between the jaws, that there is quite a good chance
that an animal would be thrown clear of the jaws when springing it.
The setting devise has no delicacy of adjustment and the fulcrum of
the pan is so low down it would be very likely to freeze solid in the
mud.
These traps are all provided with many large sharp teeth, and if the
animal is caught high up they may do great injury to a valuable pelt.
English Rabbit Trap.
This remarkably clumsy looking concern is made in England and is used
mostly in Australia and New Zealand for catching rabbits, which have
become such a pest in those far away "Islands of the Sea."
[Illustration: ENGLISH RABBIT TRAP.]
The Australian rabbit trappers are mostly of English descent and like
their forefathers are very conservative in their ideas, so in spite
of its many defects, they stick to the use of this antiquated
machine.
Notice the size of the pan almost filling the opening in the jaw,
width of the dog both tending to throw out the animal's foot. The
sharp toothed jaws with thin cutting edges so apt to break the bone
and help the rabbit to free itself.
Note also the short half spring which the trappers say will not
endure more than one or two years use and which is stationary and
sets high up, thus making it hard to conceal.
That there is need of something better than this to keep down these
pests, may be believed, for it is stated that in spite of the fact
that over two million dollars worth of their pelts and flesh are
shipped to Europe annually, they are still on the increase.
They have lately made their appearance in regions hitherto free from
them. Owing to the enormous fecundity, they soon take nearly complete
possession of a place as it is calculated that one pair may increase
to about two million in a couple of years. Until the trappers adopt
some more efficient trap it is difficult to see how they are to make
much headway against this scourge of the land.
CHAPTER V.
PROPER SIZES.
Trappers have done much, by pushing into the wilderness after
fur-bearing animals and game, to advance civilization. Had the
slower pursuits of logging, farming, etc., been depended upon the
United States and Canada today would not be nearly so far advanced as
they are. While in sections, the larger game is gone yet there is in
parts of the North, West and South, much good trapping territory that
will pay the hardy trapper for years to come. Even in the more
thickly settled districts, trapping can be made a good paying
business if the correct sizes are used and trappers pay attention to
the proper season to trap.
It seems that red | 2,593.661257 |
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AN ACCOUNT
OF
_THE LATE IMPROVEMENTS_
IN
GALVANISM,
WITH A SERIES OF CURIOUS AND INTERESTING
_EXPERIMENTS_
PERFORMED
BEFORE THE COMMISSIONERS OF THE FRENCH NATIONAL INSTITUTE,
AND REPEATED LATELY IN THE
ANATOMICAL THEATRES OF LONDON.
BY JOHN ALDINI,
PROFESSOR OF EXPERIMENTAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF BOLOGNA,
MEMBER OF THE MEDICAL AND GALVANIC SOCIETIES OF PARIS, OF THE
MEDICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON, ETC.
TO WHICH IS ADDED,
AN APPENDIX,
CONTAINING THE AUTHOR’S EXPERIMENTS
ON THE BODY OF A MALEFACTOR EXECUTED AT NEWGATE.
_&c. &c._
_ILLUSTRATED WITH ENGRAVINGS._
[Illustration: Medallions]
_LONDON_:
PRINTED FOR CUTHELL AND MARTIN, MIDDLE-ROW, HOLBORN,
AND J. MURRAY, NO. 32, FLEET-STREET,
BY WILKS AND TAYLOR, CHANCERY-LANE.
1803.
EDITOR’S PREFACE.
Few discoveries in modern times have excited so much curiosity as that
of Galvanism. Ever since it was first made known by its celebrated
Author, it has engaged the attention of the most eminent philosophers
in Europe; and various researches have been undertaken to ascertain
the principles on which it depends; and the laws to which it is
subject.
Though some of its singular properties are fully established, it must
be allowed that the discovery is still in its infancy; but enough of
it is known to prove its importance, and to induce philosophers to
continue their researches, which there is every reason to suppose may
lead to some very curious results.
The experiments, indeed, which have already been made, seem to
indicate that it may open a new field in the healing art; and it
appears by a late report presented to the Class of the Exact Sciences
of the Academy of Turin, that the medical application of it has been
attended with the most beneficial effects in a case of confirmed
hydrophobia.
While Galvanism, independently of other advantages, holds out such
hopes of utility in regard to objects so interesting to mankind; a
work containing a full account of the late improvements which have
been made in it, illustrated by a complete course of experiments,
cannot fail of being acceptable to the public in general, and in
particular to medical men, to whose department, in one point of view,
it more essentially belongs.
When Professor Aldini left this country, the manuscript, written in
French, together with two printed Latin Dissertations, was put into
the Editor’s hands, in order that they might be prepared for the
press. A translation of these forms the principal part of the work:
and an Appendix has been added, containing the author’s experiments on
the body of a malefactor executed at Newgate; experiments of a similar
kind on the bodies of three criminals decapitated at Bologna; and an
experiment lately made at Calais, which seems to show that Galvanism
is susceptible of being conveyed to a very considerable distance
through the water of the sea.
The Editor thinks it necessary to observe, that the principal
experiments, of which an account is given in this work, are
illustrated by proper engravings, and that the title page is
embellished with a representation of the gold medal presented to the
Author, as a mark of their respect, by the medical professors and
pupils of Guy’s and St. Thomas’s Hospitals.
LONDON,
_May 12th, 1803_.
CONTENTS.
PART I.
PAGE
OF THE NATURE AND GENERAL PROPERTIES OF GALVANISM.
PROPOSITION I. _Muscular contractions are excited by the
development of a fluid in the animal machine, which is
conducted from the nerves to the muscles without the
concurrence or action of metals_ 3
PROP. II. _The Galvanism excited, in the preceding experiments,
is not owing to the communication nor to the transfusion of
the general electricity, but to an electricity peculiar to
animals, which acts a very distinguished part in the animal
economy_ 6
PROP. III. _Galvanism develops itself in a powerful manner,
independently of metals, by means of the human animal machine_ 8
PROP. IV. _Muscular contractions can be excited, under certain
conditions, without establishing a continued arc from the
nerves to the muscles_ 11
PROP. V. _The effects of Galvanism, in the preceding
experiments, do not depend on the action of any stimulant,
which occurs in performing the experiments, and ought not to
be confounded with the effects of that action_ 12
PROP. VI. _Galvanism is excited in the animal machine without
any intermediate body, and merely by the application of the
nerves to the muscles_ 14
PROP. VII. _The heterogeneity of metals contributes, in a great
degree, to excite muscular contractions with more facility,
but is not absolutely necessary to their production_ 19
PROP. VIII. _The Leyden flask, the Voltaic pile, and animal
substances, have the faculty of absorbing principles from the
atmospheric air in an insulated plenum_ 21
PROP. IX. Flame _prevents the action of the Leyden flask, as
well as that of the pile, and also muscular contractions_ 27
PROP. X. _Certain fluids, applied to the whole surface of the
pile, or of animal parts, do not prevent the action of
Galvanism_ 29
PROP. XI. _Mere electrization, by means of the common kinds of
apparatus, does not increase the action of Galvanism_ 32
PROP. XII. _The Galvanic action is increased by employing as
part of the arc the apparatus of Volta, or the electrified
Leyden flask_ 34
PROP. XIII. _Galvanism, in animals and in the pile, traverses
large spaces with the same rapidity as the electric fluid_ 36
PROP. XIV. _The muscular contractions, which, according to the
observations of Galvani, are produced by an electric
atmosphere whether natural or artificial, correspond entirely
with those produced by the pile, or by similar kinds of
apparatus_ 37
PROP. XV. _Opium, cinchona, and other stimulants of a similar
kind, which exercise a powerful action on the animal machine,
contribute also to excite the action of the pile_ 41
PROP. XVI. _If the general relation between Galvanism and
electricity be examined, such a correspondence will be found
between them, as tends to confirm the analogy already stated_ 44
PROP. XVII. _The hypothesis of an animal pile, analogous to
that formed artificially, seems well calculated to explain
the sensations and contractions in the animal machine_ 47
PART THE SECOND.
ON THE INFLUENCE WHICH GALVANISM HAS ON THE VITAL POWERS 53
SECTION I. _Galvanism applied to various quadrupeds, birds, and
other warm-blooded animals_ 54
SECTION II. _Experiments made on human bodies after death_ 67
PART THE THIRD.
ON THE POWER OF GALVANISM AS APPLIED TO MEDICINE 97
SECT. I. _Advantages which the medical administration of
Galvanism has over that of common electricity_ 99
SECT. II. _Application of Galvanism to the organs of hearing
and of sight_ 101
SECT. III. _Application of Galvanism in cases of asphyxia and
drowning_ 110
SECT. IV. _Galvanism applied to the cure of melancholy madness_
113
SECT. V. _General reflections on the action and influence which
Galvanism, considered in a medical point of view, exercises
on the animal œconomy_ 123
DISSERTATION _on animal electricity, read in the Institute of
Bologna in the year 1793_ 133
SECOND DISSERTATION _on animal electricity, read in the
Institute of Bologna in the year 1794_ 155
_Conclusion_ 186
APPENDIX 189
No. I. _An account of the experiments performed, by J. Aldini,
on the body of a malefactor executed at Newgate Jan. 17,
1803_ ib.
No. II. _Report presented to the Class of the Exact Sciences of
the Academy of Turin, 15th August 1802, in regard to the
Galvanic experiments made by_ C. VASSALI-EANDI, GIULIO, _and_
ROSSI, _on the 10th and 14th of the same month, on the bodies
of three men a short time after their decapitation_. _By_ C.
GIULIO 204
No. III. _Account of an experiment made at Calais, on the
transmission of Galvanism through an arm of the sea_ 217
AN ACCOUNT
OF THE LATE
IMPROVEMENTS IN GALVANISM.
A just tribute of applause has been bestowed on the celebrated
Professor Volta for his late discovery; and I have no desire to
deprive him of any part of that honour to which he is so justly
entitled; but I am far from entertaining an idea that we ought, on
this account, to neglect the first labours of Galvani. Though these
two philosophers pursued different routes, they concurred to throw
considerable light on the same points of science; and the question now
is, to determine which of them deduced the most just consequences from
the facts he observed; and then to ascertain whether the facts
established by Galvani lead to the theory of Volta, or whether those
discovered by Volta are connected with the theory of Galvani. For my
part, I am of opinion that these two theories may serve in an eminent
degree to illustrate each other.
Last year Professor Volta announced to the public the action of the
metallic pile. I here propose to exhibit, according to the principles
of Professor Galvani, the action of the animal pile.
Such is the plan I have conceived in order to reconcile the systems of
these two illustrious philosophers: it forms the object of the present
work, which is divided into three parts. In the first I shall exhibit
the action of Galvanism independently of metals, and explain some of
its general properties. The second will contain experiments on the
power of Galvanism to excite the vital forces. In the third I shall
propose some useful applications of it to medicine, and explain the
principles on which the new medical administration of Galvanism is
founded. To render the work as methodical as possible, I have
endeavoured to arrange the experiments in such a manner that they may
serve as proofs to a series of general propositions, which, it is
hoped, will be of use to physiology and to the doctrine of the animal
economy.
PART THE FIRST.
OF THE NATURE AND GENERAL PROPERTIES OF GALVANISM.
PROPOSITION I.
_Muscular contractions are excited by the development of a fluid in
the animal machine, which is conducted from the nerves to the muscles
without the concurrence or action of metals._
EXPERIMENT I.
Having provided the head of an ox, recently killed, I thrust a finger
of one of my hands, moistened with salt water, into one of the ears
(Plate I. fig. 1.), at the same time that I held a prepared frog in
the other hand, in such a manner that its spinal marrow touched the
upper part of the tongue. When this arrangement was made, strong
convulsions were observed in the frog; but on separating the arc all
the contractions ceased.
This experiment will succeed still better if the arc be conveyed from
the tongue of the ox to the spinal marrow of the frog. This method was
found to be exceedingly convenient for trying the effect of Galvanism
on several calves.
EXPERIMENT II.
Having provided the trunk of a calf, I conveyed the arc from the
muscles of the abdomen to the spinal marrow of a frog, prepared and
arranged in the usual manner. The frog seemed much affected, and the
contractions were exceedingly violent when the arc was composed of a
chain of different persons, united together by the hands moistened
with salt water.
EXPERIMENT III.
I connected, by means of one chain of moisture, the heads of two or
three calves, and observed that by this combination the force of the
Galvanism was exerted with more energy: a frog, which was not affected
by touching one head, experienced violent contractions when applied to
a series of several heads connected together.
EXPERIMENT IV.
I think it proper here to mention a very curious observation which I
made lately at Paris, in company with professor Huzzard, and in the
presence of the Commissioners of the National Institute. On applying
the spinal marrow of a prepared frog to the cervical muscles of a
horse’s head, separated from the body, no muscular convulsions took
place; but if, at the same time, another person touched with his hand,
moistened by a solution of muriate of soda, the spinal marrow of the
horse, convulsions were always produced in the frog, though there was
no communication between the persons, except that formed by a floor on
which they stood.
PROPOSITION II.
_The Galvanism excited, in the preceding experiments, is not owing to
the communication nor to the transfusion of the general electricity,
but to an electricity peculiar to animals, which acts a very
distinguished part in the animal economy._
EXPERIMENT I.
Having placed the trunk of a calf (Plate I. fig. 2.) on an insulated
table, I made a longitudinal incision in the breast, in order to
obtain a long series of muscles uncovered. I then arranged two
insulated persons in such a manner that the one with a finger,
moistened by salt water, touched the spinal marrow of the calf, while
the other applied the spinal marrow of a frog to the muscles of the
trunk. Every time this arc was formed, muscular contractions were
produced in the frog. When the two persons let go each other’s hands,
the contractions ceased. I repeated this experiment, with the same
success, on the insulated head of an ox, conveying the arc from the
spinal marrow of the frog to the tongue. Frogs were as violently
affected when the experiment was made with the insulated trunks of
different kinds of birds.
This experiment, in my opinion, affords a decisive proof that the
Galvanic fluid is peculiar to the animal machine, independently of the
influence of metals, or of any other foreign cause. In these
experiments, indeed, we have some animal machines, so combined that
the result is strong contractions in the frog. All the bodies were
insulated; and, therefore, it cannot be supposed that the contractions
were occasioned by the direct influence of that general principle,
which pervades every body in nature. Hence it is evident, whether it
be ascribed to the action of the animal chain, formed by the arms of
the persons, or to the animal pile, formed by the trunk of the calf,
that we shall still be obliged to acknowledge the action of a
principle which belongs to the organization of the animal machine,
without having any dependence on metals.
* * * * *
To prove in the animal body the existence of a principle which
philosophers can by certain means excite and direct at pleasure in
their experiments, is a matter of the greatest importance; though the
manner in which it is put in action by nature, however wonderful, is
unknown to us. Here then we have developed a very energetic fluid,
capable of transmission, and deriving its origin from the action of
the animal forces; since the parts of bodies separated from the common
reservoir of general electricity have still of themselves the faculty
of reproducing it, and of causing it to circulate in a manner proper
for exciting muscular contractions.
PROPOSITION III.
_Galvanism develops itself in a powerful manner, independently of
metals, by means of the human animal machine._
EXPERIMENT I.
If you hold in your hand, moistened with salt water, the muscles of a
prepared frog, and apply the crural nerves to the tip of your tongue,
you will immediately see violent contractions produced in the frog.
All suspicion of any stimulant exerting an action in this case, may be
removed by repeating the experiment with the frog held in the dry
hand: the muscular contractions will then cease, unless the action of
Galvanism in the frog, or in the animal machine, be uncommonly
powerful; in which case contractions may be produced without
establishing an arc from the nerves to the muscles.
EXPERIMENT II.
I held the muscles of a prepared frog in one of my hands, moistened by
salt water, and brought a finger of the other hand, well moistened,
near to the crural nerves. When the frog possessed a great deal of
vitality the crural nerves gradually approached my hand, and strong
contractions took place at the point of contact. This experiment
proves the existence of a very remarkable kind of attraction, observed
not only by myself, but also by those whom I requested to repeat the
experiment.
EXPERIMENT III.
The above experiment requires great precision in the preparation, and
a considerable degree of vital power in the frog. I have been informed
by Professor Fontana, in a letter lately received from him, that this
phænomenon depends on very delicate circumstances, which he proposes
to explain. He assures me, at the same time, that he has twice seen
the nerve attracted, in this manner, by the muscle. Being desirous to
render this phænomenon more evident, I formed the arc, by applying one
of my hands to the spinal marrow of a warm-blooded animal, while I
held a frog in the other, in such a manner that the crural nerves were
brought very near to the abdominal muscles. By this arrangement the
attraction of the nerves of the frog became very sensible. I performed
this experiment for the first time, at Oxford, before Sir Christopher
Pegge and Dr. Bancroft, and repeated it in the anatomical theatres of
St. Thomas’s and Guy’s hospitals.
EXPERIMENT IV.
I made the same observations on the body of a man as I had before made
on the head and trunk of an ox. Having obtained the body of an
executed criminal, I formed an arc from the spinal marrow to the
muscles, a prepared frog being placed between, and always obtained
strong contractions without the aid of the pile, and without the least
influence from metals. I obtained the same result, in a certain
degree, from the bodies of men who had died a natural death.
EXPERIMENT V.
Let four or more persons hold each other by the hands, moistened by a
solution of muriate of soda, so as to form a long animal chain. If the
first hold in his hand the muscles of a prepared frog; and if the
last, at the other end of the chain, touch the spinal marrow or the
crural nerves, contractions will be produced: if the animal chain be
broken, the contractions will immediately cease. I performed this
experiment, making the animal chain to consist of two persons, before
the Galvanic Society at Paris, and in Mr. Wilson’s anatomical theatre,
Windmill-street.
PROPOSITION IV.
_Muscular contractions can be excited, under certain conditions,
without establishing a continued arc from the nerves to the muscles._
EXPERIMENT.
Having obtained the body of an executed criminal, I caused the biceps
muscle to be laid bare, and brought near to it the spinal marrow of a
prepared frog. By these means contractions were produced in it much
stronger than I had ever obtained in warm-blooded animals. I repeated
the experiment, being myself insulated, and observed no signs of
contraction. The same phænomena were exhibited with the head of an ox,
which possessed an extraordinary degree of vitality.
PROPOSITION V.
_The effects of Galvanism, in the preceding experiments, do not depend
on the action of any stimulant, which occurs in performing the
experiments, and ought not to be confounded with the effects of that
action._
EXPERIMENT I.
In the experiment of the frog applied to the uncovered biceps muscle
of the body of the malefactor, if any other body be made to touch the
frog it will remain motionless. This proves that the contractions
produced in the frog do not arise from the impulse of the mere contact
of the spinal marrow with the muscle of the human animal machine.
EXPERIMENT II.
To remove still further all suspicion of the action of stimulants, in
the preceding experiments, I prepared two frogs, and connected the
extremities of one with the spinal marrow of the other. I then held in
my hand the extremities of one of the frogs, and applied the spinal
marrow of the other to the uncovered muscles of the head of an ox,
which possessed a great degree of vitality. By these means
contractions were produced in both the frogs. It is evident, in this
experiment, that the force of the stimulant, if there were any, might
act on the second frog, but not on the first.
PROPOSITION VI.
_Galvanism is excited in the animal machine without any intermediate
body, and merely by the application of the nerves to the muscles._
Several philosophers have endeavoured to obtain this interesting
result. Professor Volta, in a letter which he addressed to me, in
Brugnatelli’s Journal, observed, “that various parts of animals can
excite Galvanism, independently of metals.” Galvani, a short time
before his death, proposed two ingenious methods of obtaining this
result, and gave me a description of them. This, however, has not been
able to destroy the incredulity of some philosophers, who hitherto
have confounded Galvanism with metallic electricity, under an idea
that all contractions proceed from irritation, produced by the action
of metals. For this reason I have, with confidence, announced my
method, which enables any one to observe this important result.
EXPERIMENT I.
Having prepared a frog in the usual manner, I hold the spinal marrow
in one hand (Plate I. fig. 3.), and with the other form an angle with
the leg and foot, in such a manner that the muscles of the leg touch
the crural nerves. On this contact strong contractions, forming a real
electrico-animal alarum (_carillon_), which continue longer or shorter
according to the degree of vitality, are produced in the extremity
left to itself. In this experiment, as well as in the following, it is
necessary that the frogs should be strong and full of vitality, and
that the muscles should not be overcharged with blood.
EXPERIMENT II.
By observing the directions already given, very strong convulsions
will be obtained; but they must not be ascribed to the impulse
produced by bringing the nerve into contact with the muscle. If the
experiment be repeated, covering the muscle, at the place of contact,
with a non-conducting substance, the contractions will entirely cease;
but they will be re-produced as soon as the nerve is made to touch the
muscular substance. In performing this experiment, in public, I
obtained several times more than two hundred successive contractions;
but this was never the case when I formed the same contact with the
muscle by means of a conducting substance, and even with a plate of
metal.
To ensure the success of this interesting experiment, the nerves must
be prepared as speedily as possible, by disengaging them from every
foreign substance. It will be proper also to apply the nerves not to
one but to several points of the muscle, throughout its whole length.
It is observed, that the contact of the nerves with the tendinous
parts which communicate with the muscles, often serves to increase the
muscular contractions. I performed the above experiment before several
able professors, among whom were the celebrated Brugnatelli and
Carcano, who, with that modesty peculiar to them, made several
ingenious observations on the precision which might be given to it.
Professor Brugnatelli was apprehensive that, as I had accidentally
touched some metals before I performed the experiment, metallic
particles might have adhered to my fingers, and thus have served, in
some measure, as invisible arming, sufficient of itself to excite
muscular contractions. This suspicion, however, I removed, by
immersing my hands in water, to detach every foreign substance. He
then observed that animal moisture, independently of the circulation
of the Galvanic fluid from the nerves to the muscles, might also
excite muscular contractions; and he requested that the crural nerves
might be washed in common water. This was accordingly done; and the
humidity of the nerves being thus externally removed, very strong
contractions were still produced, as the professor found, to his full
conviction, on repeating the experiment himself several times[1].
[1] It may not be improper here to observe, that my
method of exciting muscular contractions, without
metals, is very different from that proposed by others.
I do not know that convulsions have ever been obtained
in cold-blooded animals by means of warm-blooded. From
observations I have made, I flatter myself with the
hope of being able to obtain contractions without
metals, even in the muscles of warm-blooded-animals.
But to ensure the certainty of this method would
require long practice, and a preparation attended with
considerable difficulty. I however propose to attempt
it on my return to Italy. Some philosophers, indeed,
had conceived the idea of producing contractions in a
frog without metals; and ingenious methods proposed by
my uncle Galvani induced me to pay attention to the
subject, in order that I might attain to greater
simplicity. He made me sensible of the importance of
the experiment, and therefore I was long ago inspired
with a desire of discovering that interesting process.
It will be seen in the _Opuscoli of Milan_, that I
shewed publicly, to the Institute of Bologna,
contractions in a frog without the aid of metals, so
far back as the year 1794. The experiment, as described
in a memoir addressed to M. Amorotti, is as follows: “I
immersed a prepared frog in a strong solution of
muriate of soda. I then took it from the solution, and,
holding one extremity of it in my hand, I suffered the
other to hang freely down. While in this situation, I
raised up the nerves with a small glass rod, in such a
manner that they did not touch the muscles. I then
suddenly removed the glass rod, and every time that the
spinal marrow and nerves touched the muscular parts,
contractions were excited. Any idea of a stimulus
arising either from the action of the salt, or from the
impulse produced by the fall of the nerves, may be
easily removed. Nothing will be necessary but to apply
the same nerves to the muscles of another prepared
frog, not in a Galvanic circle; for, in this case,
neither the salt, nor the impulse even if more violent,
will produce muscular motion.
EXPERIMENT III.
The Commissioners of the French National Institute remarked, that, in
order to give the greatest precision possible to these experiments, it
would be necessary to insulate entirely the nervous and muscular
systems. For this purpose, I applied these parts to each other by
means of glass rods, and each time they were brought into contact I
obtained muscular contractions. The case was the same when an animal
arc was applied to two insulated frogs: contractions were produced in
them both. The apparatus employed for this purpose may be seen in
Plate I. fig. 5 and 6.
EXPERIMENT IV.
Having prepared a frog according to the usual method, I cut one of its
crural nerves in such a manner that the trunk was united to the spinal
marrow by means of the other nerve, which remained uncut, and also by
a blood-vessel contiguous and parallel to the cut nerve. I then
repeated the above experiment; and, though only one nerve was in
contact with the muscles, I obtained the same results.
EXPERIMENT V.
A ligature was placed loosely around the middle of the crural nerves,
and one of these nerves at the ligature applied to the corresponding
muscles: strong contractions ensued; which, however, did not take
place, when the ligature was drawn tight, at the insertion of the
nerves into the muscles of the thigh.
PROPOSITION VII.
_The heterogeneity of metals contributes, in a great degree, to excite
muscular contractions with more facility, but is not absolutely
necessary to their production._
This proposition I could demonstrate in a direct manner, by means of
experiments, which I published formerly, on the contractions excited
by very pure mercury, and which were repeated, in different ways, by
the celebrated Humboldt. I am, however, happy to have an opportunity
of examining the influence of arming with heterogeneous substances;
and I shall endeavour to prove that it cannot, of itself, produce the
effect of muscular contractions.
EXPERIMENT I.
If several prepared frogs, ten or more for example, be placed on a
table (Plate I. fig. 7.), and arranged parallel to each other, in such
a manner that the whole system of the nerves shall be at one end, and
that of the muscles at the other,—on applying two armatures and a
metallic arc to the first of these frogs, muscular convulsions will be
immediately excited, not only in the first frog, but in all the rest.
EXPERIMENT II.
If the experiment be repeated with the frogs arranged in such a manner
that the spinal marrow and muscles are not each at one end (Plate I.
fig. 8.), but disposed alternately so that the spinal marrow of one
touches sometimes the muscles of another, or vice versa, convulsions
will then be produced only in some of the frogs, and not in the whole
series. This experiment proves that the effect does not, in any
manner, depend on the action of metals; because metallic electricity
in the first experiment ought to exercise an action only on the first
frog, and not on the rest; and, in the second, ought to cause them all
to move together, or to leave them motionless.
I shall now proceed to those experiments which appear to be best
calculated to support the opinion of the great analogy between
electricity and Galvanism.
PROPOSITION VIII.
_The Leyden flask, the Voltaic pile, and animal substances, have the
faculty of absorbing principles from the atmospheric air in an
insulated plenum._
EXPERIMENT I.
By means of a metallic point, I electrified the interior side of a
glass jar, which I inverted and placed on a plate of metal, so as to
form an insulated plenum. In a little time, I saw the water rise in
the glass several lines; and I then flattered myself with the hopes of
obtaining some remarkable effects by another method.
EXPERIMENT II.
I provided for this experiment a Leyden flask, seven inches in height
and about three in diameter, coated in the usual manner with tin foil:
the exterior end of the wire terminated in a sharp point, so that the
electric fluid which escaped from it could easily combine with the
principles of the atmospheric air, with which it had a greater
affinity. I then electrified the jar, and covered it with a glass
receiver of such a size that its electricity could not be weakened by
the sides of the latter. I thus formed an insulated plenum, and at the
end of half an hour I saw the water ascend in the receiver in a very
sensible manner.
EXPERIMENT III.
Having made the wire to terminate, not in a point, but in a metallic
knob, as usual, I again charged the jar, and having placed it under a
common receiver, at the end of about half an hour I found that the
elevation of the water was much greater. To remove every suspicion
that this might arise from the water employed in the preceding
experiment, to insulate the plenum, I substituted mercury in its
stead; and though the elevations were less, they were, however,
analogous to those which had been observed a little before with water.
By repeating this experiment with a similar jar, not electrified, one
may be easily convinced, that the elevation of the water in the bell
ought not to be ascribed to a difference in the temperature of the air
within it.
EXPERIMENT IV.
I placed under a bell-glass, forming | 2,593.66206 |
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Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
POLLY
OF LADY GAY COTTAGE
BY
EMMA C. DOWD
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY EMMA C. DOWD
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[Illustration: HAROLD WESTWOOD!]
TO
MY CRITIC, COUNSELOR
AND COMRADE
CONTENTS
I. THE ROSEWOOD BOX 1
II. LEONORA'S WONDERFUL NEWS 12
III. A WHIFF OF SLANDER 20
IV. COUSINS 36
V. A MONOPOLIST AND A FANFARON 46
VI. "NOT FOR SALE" 66
VII. THE BLIZZARD 73
VIII. THE INTERMEDIATE BIRTHDAY PARTY 89
IX. THE EIGHTH ROSE 105
X. A VISIT FROM ERASTUS BEAN 119
XI. UNCLE MAURICE AT LADY GAY COTTAGE 125
XII. LITTLE CHRIS 138
XIII. ILGA BARRON 152
XIV. POLLY IN NEW YORK 165
XV. AN UNEXPECTED GUEST 175
XVI. ROSES AND THORNS 184
XVII. A SUMMER NIGHT MYSTERY 194
XVIII. AT MIDVALE SPRINGS 212
XIX. TWO LETTERS 237
XX. MRS. JOCELYN'S DINNER-PARTY 250
POLLY OF LADY GAY COTTAGE
CHAPTER I
THE ROSEWOOD BOX
The telephone bell cut sharp into Polly's story.
She was recounting one of the merry hours that Mrs. Jocelyn had given
to her and Leonora, while Dr. Dudley and his wife were taking their
wedding journey. Still dimpling with laughter, she ran across to the
instrument; but as she turned back from the message her face was
troubled.
"Father says I am to come right over to the hospital," she told her
mother. "Mr. Bean--you know, the one that married Aunt Jane--has got
hurt, and he wants to see me. I hope he isn't going to die. He was
real good to me that time I was there, as good as he dared to be."
"I will go with you," Mrs. Dudley decided.
And, locking the house, they went out into the early evening darkness.
The physician was awaiting them in his office.
"Is he badly hurt?" asked Polly anxiously. "What does he want to see
me for?"
"We are afraid of internal injury," was the grave answer. "He was on
his way to you when the car struck him."
"To me?" Polly exclaimed.
"He was fetching a little box that belonged to your mother. Do you
recollect it--a small rosewood box?"
"Oh, yes!" she cried. "I'd forgotten all about it--there's a wreath of
tiny pearl flowers on the cover!"
The Doctor nodded.
"Mr. Bean seems to attach great value to the box or its contents."
"Oh, what is in it?"
"I don't know. But he kept tight hold of it even after he was knocked
down, and it was the first thing he called for when he regained
consciousness. I thought he had better defer seeing you until
to-morrow morning; but he wouldn't hear to it. So I let him have his
own way."
"Have you sent word to Aunt Jane?" inquired Polly, instinctively
shrinking from contact with the woman in whose power she had lived
through those dreadful years.
Dr. Dudley gave a smiling negative. "He begged me not to let her
know."
"I don't blame him!" Polly burst out. "I guess he's glad to get away
from her, if he did have to be hurt to do it."
"Probably he wishes first to make sure that the box is in your hands,"
observed the Doctor, rising. "She will have to be notified. Come, we
will go upstairs. The sooner the matter is off Mr. Bean's mind, the
better."
Polly was dismayed at sight of the little man's face. In their
whiteness his pinched features seemed more wizen than ever. But his
smile of welcome was eager.
"How do you do, my dear? My dear!" the wiry hand was extended with
evident pain.
Polly squeezed it sympathetically, and told him how sorry she was for
his accident.
Mr. Bean gazed at her with tender, wistful eyes.
"My little girl was'most as big as you," he mused. "Not quite; she
wasn't but six when she--went. But you look consider'ble like
her--wish't I had a picture o' Susie! I wish't I had!" He drew his
breath hard.
Polly patted the wrinkled hand, not knowing what to say.
"But I've got a picture here you'll like," the little man brightened.
"Yer'll like it first-rate."
His hand moved gropingly underneath the bed covers, and finally
brought out the little box that Polly instantly recognized.
"Oh, thank you! How pretty it is!" She received it with a radiant
smile.
Mr. Bean's face grew suddenly troubled.
"Yer mustn't blame Jane too much," he began pleadingly. "I guess she
kind o' dassent give it to yer, so long afterwards. It's locked,"--as
Polly pulled at the cover,--"and there ain't no key," he mourned. "I
do' know what Jane's done with it. Yer'll have to git another,--there
wa'n't no other way." His voice was plaintive.
"That's all right," Polly reassured him.
The pleasure of once more holding the little box in her hand was
enough for the moment.
"I see it in her bureau drawer the day we was first married," he went
on reminiscently, "an' she opened it and showed me what was in it.
Ther''s a picture of yer mother--"
"Oh!" Polly interrupted excitedly, "of mamma?"
"Yis, so she said. Looks like you, too,--same kind o' eyes. It was
goin' to be for your birthday--that's what she had it took for, Jane
said."
Polly had been breathlessly following his words, and now broke out in
sudden reproach:--
"Oh! why didn't Aunt Jane let me have it! How could she keep it, when
I wanted a picture of mamma so!"
The reply did not come at once. A shadow of pain passed over the man's
face, leaving it more drawn and pallid.
"It's too bad!" he lamented weakly. "I tol' Jane so then; but she
thought 'twould kind o' upset yer, likely, and so--" His voice
faltered. He began again bravely. "You mustn't blame Jane too much, my
dear! Jane's got some good streaks, real good streaks."
Polly looked up from the little box. Her eyes were wet, but she smiled
cheerfully into the anxious face.
"I ought not to blame her, now she's sent it," she said sweetly; "and
I thank you ever so much for bringing it."
A hint of a smile puckered the thin lips.
"Guess if I'd waited f'r her to send it," he murmured, "'t 'ud been
the mornin' Gabriel come! But Jane's got her good streaks," he
apologized musingly.
Then he lay silent for a moment, feeling after courage to go on.
"Ther''s a letter, too," he finally hazarded. "Jane said it was about
some rich relations o' yours some'er's--I forgit where. She said
likely they wouldn't care nothin' 'bout you, seein''s they never'd
known yer, and it would only put false notions into yer head, and so
she didn't"--he broke off, his eyes pleading forgiveness for the woman
whose "good streaks" needed constant upholding.
But Polly was quite overlooking Aunt Jane. This astonishing bit of
news had thrown her mind into a tumult, and she breathlessly awaited
additional items.
They were slow in coming, and she grew impatient.
"What relatives are they?" she prodded. "Papa's, or mamma's?"
Mr. Bean could not positively say. He had not read the letter, and
recollected little that his wife had told him.
"Seems kind o''s if they was Mays," he mused; "but I ain't noways
sure. Anyhow they was millionaires, Jane said she guessed, and she was
afraid 't 'ud spile yer to go and live with 'em,--"
At this juncture Dr. Dudley interposed, his fingers trying his
patient's pulse.
"No more visiting to-night," he smiled, yet the smile was grave and of
short life.
Polly went away directly, carrying the little rosewood box, after
again expressing her grateful thanks to Mr. Bean.
Down in the office her tongue ran wild, until her mother was quite as
excited as she. But there was a difference; Polly's wondering thoughts
flew straight to her lips, Mrs. Dudley's stayed in her heart, restless
and fearsome.
Next morning the injured man seemed no worse, though the physicians
still had grave doubts of his recovery. Dr. Dudley, while appreciating
Mr. Bean's kind intentions towards Polly, and putting out of account
the serious accident, grimly wished to himself that the little man had
suffered the rosewood box to remain hidden in his wife's bureau
drawer. Of course, Polly was legally his own, yet these unknown
relatives of hers,--with what convincing arguments might they confront
him, arguments which he could not honestly refute! Yet he carried the
box to the locksmith's, and he conjectured cheerfully with Polly
regarding the contents of the letter.
Late in the afternoon he put both box and key into Polly's hands.
"Oh!" she squealed delightedly. "Have you opened it?"
"Most certainly not. That pleasure is left for you."
She eagerly placed the key in the lock, and carefully raised the
cover.
A folded tissue paper lay on top, which she caught up, and the
photograph was disclosed.
"Mamma!" she half sobbed, pressing the picture to her lips.
But Dr. Dudley scarcely noticed her emotion, for the displacement
of the card had revealed only an empty box--the letter was gone!
He looked across at his wife, and their eyes met in perfect
understanding. The moment they had both dreaded was postponed, and
they felt a sudden relief. Still, there had been a letter, the Doctor
silently reasoned, and sooner or later its contents must be faced.
"See!" Polly was holding before him the portrait of a lovely, girlish
woman, with dark, thoughtful eyes and beautiful, curving mouth.
"It looks just like her!" came in tremulous tones. "Isn't she sweet?"
She leaned lightly against her father, drawing a long breath of joy
and sorrow.
As he threw his arm about her, the Doctor could feel her efforts to be
calm.
"But where's the letter?" she asked, with sudden recollection, turning
from their satisfying praise of the one she loved, to gaze into the
empty box. She regarded it disappointedly when she heard the truth.
"Now I shan't ever know," she lamented, "whether I have any
grandfather or grandmother, or uncles or aunts,--or anybody! And I
thought, may be, there'd be some cousins too! But, then," she went on
cheerfully, "it isn't as if the letter was from somebody I'd ever
known. I'm glad it is that that's lost, instead of this," clasping the
photograph to her heart.
Mrs. Dudley glanced over to her husband. "Better not tell her!" his
eyes said, and her own agreed. It seemed that Polly did not dream of
what was undoubtedly the case,--that the letter was from her mother,
written as a birthday accompaniment to the picture, and giving
hitherto withheld information concerning her kindred.
It was far better for Polly's peace of heart that the probable truth
was not even surmised, and presently she carried the photograph up to
her own little room, there to feast her eyes upon the well-remembered
face until time was forgotten.
CHAPTER II
LEONORA'S WONDERFUL NEWS
"Polly!"
Dr. Dudley waited at the foot of the short staircase. He had just come
in from an early morning visit to a hospital patient.
"Yes, father," floated down to him, followed by a scurry of light feet
in the corridor overhead.
Directly Polly appeared at the top of the flight, one side of her hair
in soft, smooth curls, the other a mass of fluffy waves.
"Leonora sent word for you to come over 'just as soon as you possibly
can,'" smiled the Doctor. "She has something to tell you."
"I don't see what it can be," replied Polly. "Do you know, father?"
"You wouldn't wish me to rob Leonora of the first telling of her
news," he objected.
"No," she admitted slowly; "but I can't imagine why she's in such a
hurry. I wonder if she is to stay at the hospital longer than she
expected--that isn't it, is it?"
Dr. Dudley shook his head.
"My advice is to make haste with your toilet and run over to the
hospital and find out."
"Yes," Polly agreed, "I will." Yet she stood still, her forehead
puckered over the possible good things that could have happened to her
friend.
Dr. Dudley turned away, and then halted.
"Isn't your mother waiting for you?" he suggested.
"Oh, I forgot!" she cried, and flew back to where Mrs. Dudley sat,
brush and comb in hand.
"How my hair grows!" commented Polly, after discussing the news
awaiting her, and silently concluding that whatever her mother knew
she did not intend to disclose. "It will be a year next week since it
was cut. I shall have mermaid tresses before I | 2,593.758421 |
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Produced by Polly Stratton and Andrew Sly
The Broad Highway
by Jeffery Farnol
To
Shirley Byron Jevons
The friend of my boyish ambitions
This book is dedicated
As a mark of my gratitude, affection and esteem
J. F.
ANTE SCRIPTUM
As I sat of an early summer morning in the shade of a tree, eating
fried bacon with a tinker, the thought came to me that I might some day
write a book of my own: a book that should treat of the roads and
by-roads, of trees, and wind in lonely places, of rapid brooks and lazy
streams, of the glory of dawn, the glow of evening, and the purple
solitude of night; a book of wayside inns and sequestered taverns; a
book of country things and ways and people. And the thought pleased me
much.
"But," objected the Tinker, for I had spoken my thought aloud, "trees
and suchlike don't sound very interestin'--leastways--not in a book,
for after all a tree's only a tree and an inn, an inn; no, you must
tell of other things as well."
"Yes," said I, a little damped, "to be sure there is a highwayman--"
"Come, that's better!" said the Tinker encouragingly.
"Then," I went on, ticking off each item on my fingers, "come Tom
Cragg, the pugilist--"
"Better and better!" nodded the Tinker.
"--a one-legged soldier of the Peninsula, an adventure at a lonely
tavern, a flight through woods at midnight pursued by desperate
villains, and--a most extraordinary tinker. So far so good, I think,
and it all sounds adventurous enough."
"What!" cried the Tinker. "Would you put me in your book then?"
"Assuredly."
"Why then," said the Tinker, "it's true I mends kettles, sharpens
scissors and such, but I likewise peddles books an' nov-els, an' what's
more I reads 'em--so, if you must put me in your book, you might call
me a literary cove."
"A literary cove?" said I.
"Ah!" said the Tinker, "it sounds better--a sight better--besides, I
never read a nov-el with a tinker in it as I remember; they're
generally dooks, or earls, or barronites--nobody wants to read about a
tinker."
"That all depends," said I; "a tinker may be much more interesting than
an earl or even a duke."
The Tinker examined the piece of bacon upon his knifepoint with a cold
and disparaging eye.
"I've read a good many nov-els in my time," said he, shaking his head,
"and I knows what I'm talking of;" here he bolted the morsel of bacon
with much apparent relish. "I've made love to duchesses, run off with
heiresses, and fought dooels--ah! by the hundred--all between the
covers of some book or other and enjoyed it uncommonly well--especially
the dooels. If you can get a little blood into your book, so much the
better; there's nothing like a little blood in a book--not a great
deal, but just enough to give it a 'tang,' so to speak; if you could
kill your highwayman to start with it would be a very good beginning to
your story."
"I could do that, certainly," said I, "but it would not be according to
fact."
"So much the better," said the Tinker; "who wants facts in a nov-el?"
"Hum!" said I.
"And then again--"
"What more?" I inquired.
"Love!" said the Tinker, wiping his knife-blade on the leg of his
breeches.
"Love?" I repeated.
"And plenty of it," said the Tinker.
"I'm afraid that is impossible," said I, after a moment's thought.
"How impossible?"
"Because I know nothing about love."
"That's a pity," said the Tinker.
"Under the circumstances, it is," said I.
"Not a doubt of it," said the Tinker, beginning to scrub out the
frying-pan with a handful of grass, "though to be sure you might learn;
you're young enough."
"Yes, I might learn," said I; "who knows?"
"Ah! who knows?" said the Tinker. And after he had cleansed the pan to
his satisfaction, he turned to me with dexter finger upraised and brow
of heavy portent. "Young fellow," said he, "no man can write a good
nov-el without he knows summat about love, it aren't to be expected--so
the sooner you do learn, the better."
"Hum!" said I.
"And then, as I said afore and I say it again, they wants love in a
book nowadays, and wot's more they will have it."
"They?" said I.
"The folk as will read your book--after it is written."
"Ah! to be sure," said I, somewhat taken aback; "I had forgotten them."
"Forgotten them?" repeated the Tinker, staring.
"Forgotten that people might went to read it--after it is written."
"But," said the | 2,593.758584 |
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Produced by Chris Pinfield and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note.
Apparent typographical errors have been corrected. The use of hyphens has
been rationalised. Variations in the use of accents have been retained.
Italics are indicated by _underscores_. Small capitals have been
replaced by full capitals. Two lines in blackletter font are indicated
by +plus signs+.
IN A SYRIAN SADDLE
BY
A. GOODRICH-FREER
AUTHOR OF
"INNER JERUSALEM," "OUTER ISLES," ETC.
METHUEN & CO
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published in 1905_
THIS RECORD IS DEDICATED
BY THE LADY
TO THE DOCTOR
ON THE EVE OF STARTING TOGETHER UPON A LONGER JOURNEY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
IN MOAB
I. GOING TO JERICHO 1
II. STEPPING EASTWARD 20
III. MADABA 51
IV. MSHATTA 64
V. AMMÂN 93
VI. JERASH, AND THE FORDS OF JABBOK 116
VII. ES-SALT 145
VIII. THE JORDAN VALLEY 161
IN GALILEE AND SAMARIA
I. TO NABLUS 178
II. TO SAMARIA 194
III. TO TAANAK AND MEGIDDO 217
IV. HAIFA AND CARMEL 244
V. NAZARETH AND TABOR 258
VI. THE SEA OF GALILEE 277
VII. TIBERIAS AND BESAN 302
VIII. WEST OF THE JORDAN 323
INDEX 347
IN A SYRIAN SADDLE
IN MOAB
CHAPTER I
GOING TO JERICHO
"A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho"
Life is, in many respects, made very easy in the Holy Land. You can
return home in the afternoon with no anxious forebodings as to how much
waste of time is awaiting you in the shape of cards and notes on the
hall table; you may wear clothes for covering, you may eat for
nourishment; without taking thought for fashion in the one case, or of
competition with your neighbour's cook or gardener in the other.
But—according | 2,593.855343 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing, Heather Clark and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| VOL. I. JANUARY, 1847. NO. 1. |
| |
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| NEW ENGLAND |
| Historical & Genealogical Register: |
| |
| |
| PUBLISHED QUARTERLY, |
| |
| UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE |
| NEW ENGLAND HISTORIC, GENEALOGICAL SOCIETY. |
| |
| REV. WILLIAM COGSWELL, D. D., EDITOR. |
| |
| [Illustration] |
| |
| BOSTON: |
| SAMUEL G. DRAKE, PUBLISHER, |
| NO. 56 CORNHILL. |
| 1847. |
| |
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| COOLIDGE & WILEY. Printers, Water Street. |
| |
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
CONTENTS.
Page.
Memoir of John Farmer, M. A., 9
Genealogical Memoir of the Farmer Family, 21
Memoirs of Graduates of Harvard College, 34
Congregational Ministers and Churches in Rockingham County,
N. H., 40
Foreign Missionaries from Norwich, Ct., 46
Passengers in the Mayflower in 1620, 47
Major Pendleton's Letter, 53
Capt. Miles Standish's Inventory of Books, 54
Juridical Statistics of Merrimack County, N. H., 54
Biographical Notices of Deceased Physicians in Massachusetts, 60
Extract from a Letter of Hon. William Cranch, 65
Letter from Rev. John Walrond to Rev. William Waldron, 66
Form of a Family Register, 67
Genealogy of the Chase Family, 68
" " " Dudley Family, 71
Epitaphs, 72
Instances of Longevity in Belfast, Me., 73
Scraps from Interleaved Almanacs, 73
Decease of the Fathers of New England, 74
Notice of Governor Bradstreet, 75
Sketches of Alumni at the different Colleges in New England, 77
The Fathers of New England, 91
Governor Hinckley's Verses on the Death of his second Consort, 92
Biographical Notices of Physicians in Kingston, N. H., 95
Register of Births in Dedham, 99
Anniversary of the New England Society at Cincinnati, 100
Notices of New Publications, 100
[Illustration: G. L. Brown.
S. Schoff.
LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS AT PLIMOUTH 11ᵗʰ DEC. 1620.]
[Illustration: _T. Moore direxit, Boston._
JOHN FARMER, M. A.
Cor. Sec'ry N. H. Historical Society.
From a miniature painted in 1824.
_Engraved for the American Quarterly Register._]
NEW ENGLAND
HISTORICAL AND GENEALOGICAL REGISTER.
=====================================
VOL. I. JANUARY, 1847. NO. 1.
=====================================
MEMOIR OF JOHN FARMER, M. A.,
LATE CORRESPONDING SECRETARY OF THE NEW HAMPSHIRE HISTORICAL SOCIETY.
John Farmer, who was the most distinguished Genealogist and Antiquary
of this country, was born at Chelmsford, Ms., June 12, 1789.[1] He was
the eldest son of John Farmer, who married, January 24, 1788, Lydia
Richardson, daughter of Josiah Richardson of Chelmsford, Ms. His father
was the son of Oliver Farmer, born July 31, 1728, who was the son of
Edward, born at Ansley, Warwickshire, England, who emigrated to this
country about the year 1670, and settled at Billerica, Ms.[2]
Mr. Farmer inherited a feeble constitution. From early life till death,
his appearance was that of a person in the last stage of a consumption.
But notwithstanding his great bodily infirmity, he was enabled by his
industry and perseverance to accomplish wonders.
From childhood, he was fond of books and study; ever diligent as a
scholar, and excelling most of his school-fellows in his acquisitions
of knowledge. Hours which, during recess or vacation, the more hardy
and robust would spend in athletic games and youthful sports, he was
disposed to employ in poring over books of history, geography and
chronology, inquiring after ancient records and papers, looking into
the genealogy of families, and copying and treasuring up anecdotes and
traditions of Indians and Revolutionary struggles. In his fondness
for writing, and for copying antiquarian, civil, ecclesiastical and
literary matters, he almost insensibly acquired a beautiful style
of penmanship, which gave to all his manuscripts a peculiar air of
neatness and grace. A favorite of the clergyman of his native place, he
was allowed free access to his books and papers, and thus he imbibed
those impressions of filial respect for the ministers of the gospel,
which he exhibited on all occasions through life. He regarded, with
great reverence, the clerical profession, looking upon the ministers of
the cross as indeed "the messengers of God."
At the age of sixteen, he became a clerk in a store at Amherst, N. H.
Here he remained five years, giving diligent attention to the business
of his employers, and devoting his leisure hours to literary studies
and correspondence. In a letter to the Rev. Hezekiah Packard, D. D.,
who had been his teacher before he went to Amherst, Mr. Farmer spoke
with affection and gratitude of his early Instructor; and in a reply,
dated Wiscasset, Me., Dec. 4, 1809, the Doctor says, "If any of my
friendly and religious counsels, or any books I put into your hands,
made deep and lasting impressions upon your tender mind, you will
join me in giving praise and glory to God and the Redeemer. I can
truly say of my pupils, as St. John did of those he had converted to
the Christian faith, 'I have no greater joy than seeing them walking
in the truth.' I am much pleased with the account you give of your
industry and progress. If you have no idea of a college education,
it might appear as useful to you to become more familiar with your
favorite branches, geography, history, the constitutions of our State
governments and that of our common country, as well as with the origin
and progress of wars, and other calamities of the eastern world." No
pupil, probably, ever more highly valued an instructor, than did young
Farmer; and that he placed a high estimate upon the teachings of Dr.
Packard, is sufficiently shown by his affectionate remembrance of him,
and by his pursuits in after life, and the results of his many labors.
In the course of the year 1810, finding the labors of his station too
arduous for his feeble health, Mr. Farmer left the store, and engaged
in teaching school, an employment in which he is said to have greatly
excelled. Two or three years previous to this, a literary association
for mutual improvement was formed at Amherst, the members of which
met weekly for debate, the rehearsal of pieces, and reading original
compositions. Of this society, Mr. Farmer was for about eleven
years the chief supporter, contributing largely to the interest and
usefulness of the meetings by his own performances, and by inviting
and attracting to it the young men of promise that were about him. The
neighboring clergy were made honorary members of it, and frequently
attended its meetings, and participated in the discussions.
While engaged in school-keeping, Mr. Farmer cultivated his natural
taste, and pursued, with industry, historical inquiries. In 1813,
becoming known to some of the Members of the Massachusetts Historical
Society, he was elected a Corresponding Member of it, and immediately
became a contributor to its Collections, which have been published.
In 1816, he published, in a pamphlet form, his "Historical Sketch of
Billerica," and furnished many valuable facts towards the materials for
the History of Chelmsford, afterwards published by the Rev. Mr. Allen.
In 1820, he published "An Historical Sketch of Amherst from the first
settlement of the town," in pamphlet form. In these two publications,
the marked peculiarities of his mind are strongly exhibited. He evinced
a memory wonderfully tenacious of particular facts, dates, and names,
sound judgment in collecting, selecting, and arranging his materials,
and an exquisite niceness and exactness in all the details of these
histories.
About this time, Mr. Farmer commenced the study of medicine with
Dr. Matthias Spalding, an eminent Physician of Amherst; but after
a few months, foreseeing that he should be unfitted to discharge
the laborious duties of the profession, he relinquished the study;
and in 1821, removed to Concord. He there formed a connection in
business with Dr. Samuel Morril, and opened an apothecary's store,
from which circumstance he received the title of _Doctor_. His feeble
health not allowing any kind of hard manual labor, or exposure to the
changes of weather out of doors, he, partly of necessity and partly
of choice, adopted a very sedentary mode of life. He was rarely away
from his place of residence. He deemed it hazardous for him to leave
home. In 1836, however, after a lapse of eighteen years, he visited
Boston, where he was treated with marked respect and attention by the
_literati_ of the city; but was quite ill, while there, and unable to
enjoy very much of what he expected from his visit. He soon returned
home, restored to comparative health.
From the time of his removal to Concord, Mr. Farmer devoted himself
_principally_ to what had become his favorite studies and pursuits. He
gathered together books of ancient date, early records of the towns,
and notices of the first settlers of the country; inquired into the
names, ages, characters and deaths of distinguished men of every
profession; and entered into extensive correspondence with individuals
who might be able to furnish him with facts, relating to the subjects
of his inquiry. In short, he soon became known as an Antiquary,
distinguished beyond any of his fellow-citizens, for exact knowledge of
facts and events relative to the history of New Hampshire, and of New
England generally. His mind was a wonderful repository of names, and
dates, and particular incidents; and so general and well established
was his reputation for accuracy of memory, that his authority was
relied on as decisive in historical and genealogical facts. And though
at times, he might have been inaccurate, it is to be remembered, that,
while he was the greatest Genealogist and Antiquary of the country,
he was also the _Pioneer_ in this department of knowledge; and while
some, who shall follow him, may _occasionally_ discover a mistake, the
_honor_ of _this_ is not to be compared to the _honor_ of _projecting_
and _executing_ such works as Mr. Farmer's.
In 1822, Mr. Farmer, in connection with Jacob B. Moore, Esq., commenced
a Periodical Miscellany, devoted principally to, "1. Historical
Sketches of Indian wars, battles, and exploits; of the adventures and
sufferings of the captives: 2. Topographical Descriptions of towns and
places in New Hampshire, with their history, civil and ecclesiastical:
3. Biographical Memoirs and Anecdotes of eminent and remarkable
persons who lived in New Hampshire, or who have had connection with
its settlement and history: 4. Statistical Tables; Tables of Births,
Diseases, and Deaths: 5. Meteorological Observations, and facts
relating to climate." Three volumes of this work were published.
In the same year he received the honorary degree of Master of Arts
from Dartmouth College; and in the following year he was complimented
with the appointment of Justice of the Peace for the newly constituted
county of Merrimack, but he did not deem the office of sufficient
importance, ever to act under his commission.
The New Hampshire Historical Society was established, May 20, 1823;
and, although Mr. Farmer was unable to be present at any of the early
meetings of its founders, he took a deep interest in its establishment,
and contributed much towards its organization and success. Though
he was never more than once or twice present at the meetings of the
Society, yet he never failed to communicate with the members, by letter
or otherwise, on such occasions. He was Corresponding Secretary of
the Society till his death, the duties of which office he discharged
with rare ability and fidelity. Of the five volumes of Collections,
published by the Society, he was on the Publishing Committee of four.
The fifth volume was wholly compiled by him, and all the preceding
volumes are enriched by his contributions.
In 1823, Mr. Farmer, with an associate, Jacob B. Moore, Esq., published
"A Gazetteer of the State of New Hampshire, comprehending, 1. A concise
description of the several towns in the State, in relation to | 2,593.859958 |
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The Irish Ecclesiastical Record
Volume 1.
November, 1864
CONTENTS
The Holy See And The Liberty Of The Irish Church At The Beginning Of The
Present Century.
I. From Mgr. Brancadoro to Father Concanen, O.P., Agent at Rome for the
Irish Bishops. Dalla Propaganda. 7 Agosto, 1801.
II. From the same to the same. Dalla Propaganda, 25 Settembre, 1805.
A Recent Protestant View Of The Church Of The Middle Ages.
The Mss. Remains Of Professor O'Curry In The Catholic University. No. II.
The Destiny Of The Irish Race.
Liturgical Questions. (_From M. Bouix's __"__Revue des Sciences
Ecclesiastiques__"_).
Documents.
I. Condemnation Of Dr. Froschammer's Works.
II. Decree Of The Congregation Of Rites.
Notices Of Books.
Footnotes
THE HOLY SEE AND THE LIBERTY OF THE IRISH CHURCH AT THE BEGINNING OF THE
PRESENT CENTURY.
All students of Irish Catholic affairs must feel, at every moment, that we
are at a great loss for a collection of ecclesiastical documents connected
with our Church. The past misfortunes of Ireland explain the origin of
this want. During the persecutions of Elizabeth, of James the First, and
Cromwell, our ancient manuscripts, and the archives of our convents and
monasteries, were ruthlessly destroyed. At a later period, whilst the
penal laws were in full operation, it was dangerous to preserve official
ecclesiastical papers, lest they should be construed by the bigotry and
ignorance of our enemies into proofs of sedition or treason. Since liberty
began to dawn on our country, things have undergone a beneficial change,
and recently great efforts have been made to rescue and preserve from
destruction every remaining fragment of our ancient history, and every
document calculated to throw light on the annals of our Church. We are
anxious to cooeperate in this good work, and we shall feel deeply grateful
to our friends if they forward to us any official ecclesiastical papers,
either ancient or modern, that it may be desirable to preserve. Receiving
such papers casually, we cannot insert them in the RECORD in chronological
order, but by aid of an Index, to be published at the end of each volume,
the future historian will be able to avail himself of them for his
purposes.
To-day we insert in our columns two letters never published before, as far
as we can learn, in their original language. They were addressed, in the
beginning of this century, by the learned Archbishop of Myra, Monsignore
Brancadoro, Secretary of the Propaganda, to a distinguished Dominican,
Father Concanen, then agent of the Irish bishops, who was afterwards
promoted to the See of New York, and who died at Naples, in the year 1808,
before he could take possession of his diocese.
The first letter, dated the 7th August, 1801, refers to certain
resolutions adopted by ten Irish prelates, in January, 1799, at a sad
period of our history, when Ireland was in a state of utter prostration,
and abandoned to the fury of an Orange faction. In such circumstances, we
are not to be surprised that the Catholics of Cork, Waterford, Wexford,
and many other parts of Ireland, in the hope of preserving their lives and
property, should have petitioned to be united to England; or that Catholic
prelates, anxious to gain protection for their flocks, should have
endeavoured to propitiate those who had the power of the government in
their hands, by taking into consideration the proposals then made--that the
state should provide for the maintenance of the clergy, and that a right
should be given to the state to inquire into the loyalty of such
ecclesiastics as might be proposed for the various sees of Ireland.
The celebrated Dr. Milner, treating of the resolutions just referred to,
observes in his _Supplementary Memoirs_, p. 115, that they had nothing in
common with the veto which was afterwards proposed by government in 1805,
and several times in succeeding years, and adds, that the prelates
"stipulated for their own just influence, and also for the consent of the
Pope in this important business."
According to the wise determination of the prelates, the matters they had
agreed to were referred to the judgment of the Supreme Head of the Church.
A speedy answer, however, could not be obtained. At that time the great
Pontiff, Pius the Sixth, was a captive in the hands of the French
Republicans, and soon after died a martyr at Valence in France. The Holy
See was then vacant for several months, until, by the visible
interposition of Providence, Italy was freed from her invaders, and the
cardinals were enabled to assemble in conclave to elect a new Pope. Soon
after his promotion, Pius the Seventh occupied himself with the affairs of
our Church, and the secretary of the Propaganda received instructions to
communicate through Father Concanen to the Irish Prelates the wishes of
his Holiness.
The substance of the official note of Monsignore Brancadoro is, 1. That
his Holiness is thankful to the British government for the relaxation of
the penal laws to which Catholics had been so long subjected, and for any
other acts of liberality or kindness conferred on them. 2. That the Irish
prelates, whilst manifesting their gratitude for the favours they had
received, should prove, by their conduct, that it was not through a
feeling of self-interest, or through hopes of temporal advantages, that
they inculcated on their flocks the necessity of obedience to the laws and
the conscientious fulfilment of the duties of good citizens; but that they
did so through a spirit of religion, and in conformity with the dictates
of the gospel. 3. That to prove how sincerely they were animated with
those feelings, the Irish prelates should refuse the proffered pension,
and continue to act and support themselves as they have done for the past,
thus giving an example of Christian perfection which would not fail to
give general edification.
The second letter is also from the secretary of Propaganda to Father
Concanen, and is dated 25th of Sept., 1805, in which year Dr. Milner had
just brought under the notice of the Holy See some new projects of
government interference with the Catholic clergy, which had lately been
introduced into Parliament by Sir John Hippisley, at that time a supporter
of Emancipation, but who afterwards gave proofs of a great desire to
enslave the Catholic Church.
In the second letter Monsignore Brancadoro states the apprehension felt by
the S. Congregation, lest the moment of the Catholic triumph should prove
the one most dangerous to the purity and stability of the Catholic
religion since the Reformation; that it would be no injustice to suspect
the British Government of being influenced by designs to that very effect;
that the Bishops should, therefore, as a general principle, renounce all
idea of advancing their own proper interests, or of securing any temporal
advantages, lest through human frailty they should inadvertently be
surprised into any concessions which in course of time might prove
injurious to the interests of religion. The Secretary then goes on to say
that the S. Congregation found serious difficulties, more or less, in all
the plans which, as Dr. Milner had reported, had been proposed by the
statesmen of the day in England. These plans were:--1. The pensioning of
the clergy. 2. State interference in the nomination of Bishops. 3. The
restoration of the Hierarchy in England. 4. The concession to the ministry
of the right to examine the communications which might pass between the
English and Irish Catholics and the Holy See.
As to the plan of pensioning the clergy, Monsignore Brancadoro points out
the dangers to which its adoption would expose them. If they accept a
pension from government, the offerings of the faithful will be undoubtedly
withdrawn, and the priesthood will be left quite dependent on the caprice
of those in power. He recalls to Father Concanen's memory, that in his
previous letter of the 7th of August, 1801, he had announced to him the
Pope's wish that the Irish clergy should decline all pensions from the
government, and mentions that the Irish Bishops, in reply, had stated that
they willingly renounced all temporal advantages in order to preserve
religion uninjured.
The secretary of the Propaganda next reminds his correspondent that Pius
VI., in a brief of 20th March, 1791, had condemned a decree of the
National Assembly of France, by which the clergy of that country were made
pensioners of the state; and he adds that the Holy See had resisted a
similar attempt of the English government in regard to the clergy of
Corsica, when that island had fallen into their hands.
Examining the various vetoistical plans mentioned by Dr. Milner,
Monsignore Brancadoro quotes the authority of the great and learned
Pontiff, Benedict XIV., to show how decidedly opposed the Holy See has
always been to every project directed to vest Catholic ecclesiastical
appointments in the hands of a Protestant sovereign. This question is
discussed in a brief of that Pope addressed to the Bishop of Breslau on
the 15th of May, 1748, and his words are as follows: "There is not
recorded in the whole history of the Church a single example in which the
appointment of a bishop or abbot was conceded to a sovereign of a
different religion". He adds "that he would not, and could not, introduce
a practice calculated to scandalize the Catholic world, and which, besides
bringing on him a dreadful judgment in another world, would render his
name odious and accursed during life, and much more so after death".
2. The learned writer then proceeds to examine the various plans of
granting to government certain powers in regard to the nomination of
bishops, and explodes them all as replete with danger to religion, and
well calculated to enslave the Church.
The plans proposed to lessen the Pope's unwillingness to grant to the
sovereign the right of nomination were the following:--Some thought that
the nomination should be limited to a certain class of persons who should
have been approved of by the episcopal body after an examination and
trial. Such a body might be the vicars-general, of whom two should be
appointed for each diocese. The government was to be bound to choose the
bishops out of this body. This plan was rejected, first, because it would
really amount to vesting the nomination of bishops in a non-Catholic
sovereign; and secondly, on account of difficulties created by the
circumstances of the time and place.
Others proposed to give the government the right of excluding from the
episcopal charge those obnoxious to itself. Monsignore Brancadoro says of
this plan, that unless this right of exclusion were restricted by limits,
it would be equivalent to a real power of nomination. But even so, even
after due limitation, it was an absolute novelty in the Church, and no one
could tell what its consequences might be. Besides, it was uncalled for,
since the experience of so many centuries ought to have convinced the
government that the ecclesiastics appointed to govern dioceses were always
excellent citizens. Besides, it was the custom of the Holy See not to
appoint to a vacant diocese until it had received the recommendation of
the metropolitans and the diocesan clergy. This was a safeguard against
improper appointments.
3. With respect to the restoration of the Hierarchy in England, Monsignore
Brancadoro blames the motive which induced the English nobles to petition
for such a change of church government, namely, the desire they felt to
have bishops less bound to the Holy See. He declares that, although
differing _quoad jus_, bishops and vicars-apostolic did not differ in
reality, and that the Holy See was equally well satisfied with the bishops
of Ireland, and the vicars-apostolic of England and Scotland.
4. The Secretary condemns, as worst of all, the plan of giving to the
ministers the right to examine the communications that pass between the
Holy See and the British and Irish Catholics. Such a right has never been
allowed, even to a Catholic power, much less should it be allowed to a
Protestant government. The case of France was not to the point, for there
the right was limited to provisions of benefices alone. The government has
no reason to be afraid: the Holy See has expressly declared to bishops and
vicars-apostolic, that it does not desire any political information from
them.
The two official notes we insert will be read in their original language
with great interest. They are noble monuments of the zeal of the holy
Pontiff, Pius VII., and of the vigilance with which the Holy See has
always endeavoured to uphold the rights and independence of our ancient
Church. Undoubtedly the wise instructions given in those letters had no
small share in arousing that spirit with which a few years later our
clergy and people resisted and defeated all the efforts of British
statesmen to deprive our Church of her liberties, and to reduce her to the
degraded condition of the Protestant establishment. The notes of the
secretary of Propaganda are a fine specimen of ecclesiastical writing,
illustrating the maxim _fortiter in re, suaviter in modo_.
I. From Mgr. Brancadoro to Father Concanen, O.P., Agent at Rome for the
Irish Bishops. Dalla Propaganda. 7 Agosto, 1801.
Informata la Santita di Nostro Signore del nuovo piano ideato de Governo
Brittannico in supposto vantaggio della ecclesiastica Gerarchia dei
cattolici d'Irlanda, non ha punto esitato a manifestare la piu viva
reconoscenza verso la spontanea e generosa liberalita del prelodato
Governo, cui professera sempre la massima gratitudine, per l'assistenze, e
favori, che accorda ai mentovati cattolici de' suoi dominj. Tenendo poi la
Santita Sua per indubitato, che la sperimentata fedelta di quel Clero
Cattolico Romano al legittimo suo Sovrano derivi interamente dalle massime
di nostra S. Religione, le quali non possono mai esser soggette a verun
cambiamento, desidera il suddetto Governo resti assicurato, che i
Metropolitani, i Vescovi e il Clero tutto della Irlanda conoscera sempre
un tal suo stretto dovere, e lo adempira esattamente in qualunque
incontro. Brama pero ad un tempo vivissimamente il S. Padre, che
l'anzidetto Clero seguitando il plausibile sistema da lui osservato finora
si astenga scrupolosamente dall' avere in mira qualunque suo proprio
temporale vantaggio, e che dimostrando sempre con parole, e con fatti la
sincera invariabilita del suo attacamento, riconoscenza, e sommissione al
Governo Brittanico, gli faccia vieppiu conoscere la realta di sua
gratitudine alle offerte nuove beneficenze, dispensandosi dal profittarne,
e dando con cio una luminosa prova di quel costante disinteresse stimato
tanto conforme all' Apostolico zelo dei ministri del Santuario, e tanto
giovevole, e decoroso alla stessa cattolico Religione, come quello che
concilia in singular modo la stima, e il respetto verso dei sagri
ministeri, e che li | 2,593.860012 |
2023-11-16 19:00:17.8410520 | 22 | 6 |
Produced by David Garcia, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading | 2,593.861092 |
2023-11-16 19:00:17.8418500 | 2,234 | 13 |
Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Lesley Halamek and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was made using scans of
public domain works from the University of Michigan Digital
Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note: As far as possible, I have followed the
layout of the original book, which is somewhat irregular...
(T. N. cont. at end of book).
-----------------------------------------
"A COMEDY OF ERRORS"
IN
SEVEN ACTS
BY
SPOKESHAVE
ALIAS
OLD FOGY
SUPPLEMENTED BY
"SIR WINDBAG CONSULTS COUNT LUIE," "AN
IMAGINARY OFFICIAL CONSULTATION,"
"A DEMOCRATIC WAKE," "A
COUNCIL OF WAR" AND "A
SOLEMN CONCLAVE"
BY
OLD FOGY
LUZON PRESS
E. J. HABERER, PUBLISHER. 1914
_PREFACE_
_As many were not able to secure all the Acts of "A Comedy of Errors"
owing to the editions having been exhausted, and as numerous friends
have expressed a desire to secure it entire, the author has concluded
to publish it, supplemented by four more recent compositions._
_With malice towards none and charity to all, this modest booklet is
launched on the uncertain sea of literature._
_--Old Fogy._
_Manila, November 15th, 1914._
A COMEDY OF ERRORS
BY SPOKESHAVE
* * * * *
ACT I
Dramatis Personae
_Caesar_... _Ruler of the State._
_Francos_ .. _Governor General of a Province._
_Quezox_... _Resident Delegate from the Province._
_Page._
_Scene: Throne Room at the Capitol_
_Caesar:_ Most noble Francos, I greet thee heartily.
A function truly noble falls within thy grasp;
And thou wilt with it deal as only sages can.
The distant Isles are now crushed by the pow'r
Of ruthless tyrants, who on plunder bent,
Oppress a helpless, but a worthy race,
Which groans beneath a yoke of foreign make,
And hence it fitteth not the sable necks
On which it now, relentless, firmly rests.
'Tis well, we know, how, filled with visions vain,
Our predecessor sought to stuff those minds
With mental food fit only for those born
To skins of whiter tint, and hence with grasp
Of firmer structure, built by kindly Time,
Who fashioned us in more ennobled mold;
While power divine to cap the climax grand,
With hand so deft, gave it its final touch.
These men with vision faint who planned so vain
Knew not the knightly thought bred in the south.
The north winds chill and stunt the subtle power
Which flourishes alone 'neath southern skies,
To read unerring from the page of truth
That God has fashioned some to mount aloft,
While others grovel on a lower plane.
Hence we must cherish ever in our hearts,
The thought that pigment marks the subtle line;
And so throw off a burden on us laid
By those who blindly cast their shoulders down,
To bear a load which deep ingratitude
Alone will be the recompense for all our pains.
_Francos:_ My liege, I grasp the thought: a burden dark,
Which now each year a golden tribute calls,
Must be disposed of quickly, but so sly
That watching nations may not fling a slur
Upon our honor as we cast adrift
This alien race to face the world alone.
_Caesar:_ Sweet Francos, truly thou hast quick discerned
The thought which wisdom fathered in my mind.
"Be wise as serpent, harmless as the dove,"
Should be our watchword as we scuttle ship,
For there be those who speak with venomed tongues
Of serpents, as we cast them helpless off.
But if we of politicos make use,
And to their clamour lend approving smile,
We may while coolly thrusting them aside,
Meet with the thoughtless world's approving nod.
_Francos:_ Ha! Ha! methinks I see my path made clear
'Twere wise to fellowship with only those
Who, longing for the flesh pots, lend their aid
To further us in this our deep design.
_Caesar:_ Hold! Francos, hold! The very walls have ears.
Suspicion once aroused our game is up
In silence let our worthy scheme mature;
An utterance unwise may spell defeat.
_Francos:_ Most noble Caesar, thou at wisdom's fount
Hast drunk until the fountain hath run dry.
I ready stand to follow each command
Ignoring every judgment of mine own.
_Caesar:_ When I before the gods did minister,
I learned that strategy cured many ills;
And when Parnassus high I made my throne,
I found it well to wield an iron hand.
And now to work our pleasure in these Isles,
'Twere best to blend these methods in our scheme,
Whilst thou with honeyed tongue shall words employ
The callow forum shall my will obey.
But silence! put a padlock on thy tongue;
A word unspoken never worketh harm.
While he who babbles layeth down his shield,
And thus an enemy may work his death.
_Francos:_ Mine ears are open to thine every word,
Would that they could but hear in distant Isles;
For when I beard the lion in his den,
Thy potent thoughts were then a healing balm.
_Caesar:_ Thou sayest well, Francos, but lend an ear;
Avoid our enemies; they counsel ill.
_(To Page)_ But, page, entreat sweet Quezox to attend
While we in converse measure every act.
_Enter Quezox:_ Most honored sire, I come at thy command,
And wait your pleasure; if by any means
My words, convincing, can this matter solve:
The land that bore me bids me loud proclaim.
So we consider wisely, let us call
The Commoner, whose wisdom is renowned.
That he may with us weigh each tangled point,
And thus make our solution doubly sure.
_Caesar:_ Sweet Quezox, caution is a precious thing.
And while 'tis known that council oft is wise,
Yet it were better Wilhelm were left out
For he hath visions which from tender plants
To forest monarchs grow, with roots so deep
Emplanted in the soil, that naught can stir.
Beside, financial ills have him beset,
And he now eager, filthy lucre seeks.
_Francos:_ Most honored sire, I would from Quezox learn
What stern encounters I must early meet.
He from the first did see the canker grow
And hath a remedy, methinks, conceived.
_Caesar:_ Speak, Quezox, speak! and free thy surging mind.
For well I know abuses rankle there.
Our enemies politic, firm entrenched,
Have borne with heavy hand upon thy race.
_Quezox:_ Ah noble sire, how well thy mind conceives
The ills which bear my hapless people down.
Much learning fits thee for the ruler's seat
And keen discernment flashes from thine eye.
There pigmies move within a circle charmed
And fatten on rich spoils with cruel glee.
They force their alien ways with tyrant hands
Upon my people; and with cold disdain
Refuse our council, when 'twere meet and wise.
I beg thee, cast them out, both root and branch
And clean official nests from grafty filth.
Our patriots, able, then can claim their own
And on the ruins build a blissful state.
_Caesar:_ Most noble Quezox, thou hast touched the sore.
In Francos thou wilt find a helping hand,
Council him wise for he the subtle wiles
Of crafty scheming men may not discern.
_Quezox:_ Ah, noble sir, if I advice may breathe,
It were to shun the brood of vultures well.
They're skilled indeed to sing the siren's song,
And play with flattery on honest minds.
I feel 'twere well to journey to these Isles
In company with Francos, at thy will,
Thus guarding him from every idle tongue,
Which might make impress on an open heart.
_Caesar:_ Sweet Quezox, thou art wise, it shall be done.
And as you journey, meditate and plan
To lop off every head that blocks thy way,
Or lacks in sympathy for thy great work.
For Francos hath been trained for civic life
Where virtue reigns and intrigue hath no place.
But with thine aid and to guide a fearless soul,
And Tammany his pattern, all were well.
_Francos:_ Great Caesar, trust me well; I smell the rot
that distance cannot smother, and will clean
The halls of state, and there implant true men.
_Caesar:_ And silence! speak nor write not idle words,
For they are often swords which cleave the soul;
When enemies who wield a cunning hand
Shall thrust them back, and laugh in gleeful scorn.
E'en I regret what in an idle hour,
I thoughtless paged regarding freedom's gift.
And now they sting me, sting me to the soul.
Oh that I ne'er had penned such childish thoughts!
Hence hold thy tongue or honeyed words proclaim
Which may mean little or perchance mean much.
And now farewell, and hie thee on thy way:
Again I say a padlock on thy tongue.
_Quezox and Francos moving backward, and making obeisances._
| 2,593.86189 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Diane Monico, and The Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: (cover)]
[Illustration: (frontispiece)]
"SOME SAY"
NEIGHBOURS IN CYRUS
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
Author of "Captain January," "Melody," "Queen Hildegarde,"
"Five-Minute Stories," "When I Was Your Age,"
"Narcissa," "Marie," "Nautilus," etc.
TWELFTH THOUSAND
[Illustration]
BOSTON
DANA ESTES & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1896_,
BY ESTES & LAURIAT
_All rights reserved_
Colonial Press:
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
Electrotyped by Geo. C. Scott & Sons
"SOME SAY"
TO MY
Dear Sister,
FLORENCE HOWE HALL,
THIS VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
* * * * *
"SOME SAY."
Part I.
"And some say, she expects to get him married to Rose Ellen before the
year's out!"
"I want to know if she does!"
"Her sister married a minister, and her father was a deacon, so mebbe
she thinks she's got a master-key to the Kingdom. But I don't feel so
sure of her gettin' this minister for Rose Ellen. Some say he's so
wropped up in his garden truck that he don't know a gal from a
gooseberry bush. He! he!"
The shrill cackle was answered by a slow, unctuous chuckle, as of a
fat and wheezy person; then a door was closed, and silence fell.
The minister looked up apprehensively; his fair face was flushed, and
his mild, blue eyes looked troubled. He gazed at the broad back of his
landlady, as she stood dusting, with minute care, the china ornaments
on the mantelpiece; but her back gave no sign. He coughed once or
twice; he said, "Mrs. Mellen!" tentatively, first low, then in his
ordinary voice, but there was no reply. Was Mrs. Mellen deaf? he had
not noticed it before. He pondered distressfully for a few moments;
then dropped his eyes, and the book swallowed him again. Yet the sting
remained, for when presently the figure at the mantelpiece turned
round, he looked up hastily, and flushed again as he met his hostess'
gaze, calm and untroubled as a summer pool.
"There, sir!" said Mrs. Mellen, cheerfully. "I guess that's done to
suit. Is there anything more I can do for you before I go?"
The minister's mind hovered between two perplexities; a glance at the
book before him decided their relative importance.
"Have you ever noticed, Mrs. Mellen, whether woodcocks are more apt to
fly on moonshiny nights, as White assures us?"
"Woodbox?" said Mrs. Mellen. "Why, yes, sir, it's handy by; and when
there's no moon, the lantern always hangs in the porch. But I'll see
that Si Jones keeps it full up, after this."
Decidedly, the good woman was deaf, and she had not heard. Could those
harpies be right? If any such idea as they suggested were actually in
his hostess' mind, he must go away, for his work must not be
interfered with, and he must not encourage hopes,--the minister
blushed again, and glanced around to see if any one could see him.
But he was so comfortable here, and Miss Mellen was so intelligent, so
helpful; and this seemed the ideal spot on which to compile his New
England "Selborne."
He sighed, and thought of the woodcock again. Why should the bird
prefer a moonshiny night? Was it likely that the creature had any
appreciation of the beauties of nature? Shakespeare uses the woodcock
as a simile of folly, to express a person without brains. Ha!
The door opened, and Rose Ellen came in, her eyes shining with
pleasure, her hands full of gold and green.
"I've found the 'Squarrosa,' Mr. Lindsay!" she announced. "See, this
is it, surely!"
The minister rose, and inspected the flowers delightedly. "This is it,
surely!" he repeated. "Stem stout, hairy above; leaves large, oblong,
or the lower spatulate-oval, and tapering into a marginal petiole,
serrate veiny; heads numerous; seeds obtuse or acute; disk-flowers, 16
x 24. This is, indeed, a treasure, for Gray calls it 'rare in New
England.' I congratulate you, Miss Mellen."
"Late, sir?" said Mrs. Mellen, calmly. "Oh, no, 'tisn't hardly five
o'clock yet. Still, 'tis time for me to be thinkin' of gettin'
supper."
"Don't you want I should make some biscuit for supper, mother?" asked
Rose Ellen, coming out of her rapt contemplation of the goldenrod that
Gray condescended to call rare, he to whom all things were common.
Her mother made no answer.
"Don't you want I should make a pan of biscuit?" Rose Ellen repeated.
Still there was no reply, and the girl turned to look at her mother in
some alarm.
"Why, mother, what is the matter? why don't you answer me?"
"Your mother's deafness," the minister put in, hurriedly, "seems
suddenly increased: probably a cold,--"
"Was you speakin' to me, Rose Ellen?" said Mrs. Mellen.
"Why, yes!" said the girl, in distress.
"Why, mother, how did you get this cold? you seemed all right when I
went out."
"Gettin' old!" cried Mrs. Mellen. "'Tis nothin' of the sort, Rose
Ellen! I've took a cold, I shouldn't wonder. I went out without my
shawl just for a minute. I expect 'twas careless, but there! life is
too short to be thinkin' all the time about the flesh,'specially when
there's as much of it as I have. I've ben expectin' I should grow hard
of hearin', though, these two years past. The Bowlers do, you know,
Rose Ellen, 'long about middle life. There was your Uncle Lihu. I can
hear him snort now, sittin' in his chair, like a pig for all the
world, and with no idea he was makin' a sound."
"But it's come on so sudden!" cried Rose Ellen, in distress.
"That's Bowler!" said her mother. "Bowler for all the world! They take
things suddin, whether it's hoarsin' up, or breakin' out, or what it
is. There! you've heard me tell how my Aunt Phoebe 'Lizabeth come out
with spots all over her face, when she was standin' up to be married.
Chicken-pox it was, and they never knew where she got it; but my
grand'ther said 'twas pure Bowler, wherever it come from."
She gazed placidly at her daughter's troubled face; then, patting her
with her broad hand, pushed her gently out of the room before her.
"Mr. Lindsay's heard enough of my bein' hard of hearin', I expect,"
she said, cheerfully, as they passed into the kitchen.
"Don't you fret, Rose Ellen! You won't have to get a fog-horn yet
awhile. I don't know but it would be a good plan for you to mix up a
mess o' biscuit, if you felt to: Mr. Lindsay likes your biscuit real
well, I heard him say so."
"That's what I was going to do," said Rose Ellen, still depressed. "I
wish't you'd see the doctor, mother. I don't believe but he could help
your hearing, if you take it before it's got settled on you."
"Well, I won't, certain!" said Mrs. Mellen. "The idea, strong and well
as I be! Bowler blood's comin' out, that's all; and the only wonder is
it hasn't come out before."
All that day, and the next, the minister did not seem like himself. He
was no more absent-minded than usual, perhaps,--that could hardly be.
But he was grave and troubled, and the usual happy laugh did not come
when Rose Ellen checked him gently as he was about to put pepper into
his tea. Several times he seemed about to speak: his eye dwelt
anxiously on the cream-jug, in which he seemed to be seeking
inspiration; but each time his heart failed him, and he relapsed with
a sigh into his melancholy reverie.
Rose Ellen was silent, too, and the burden of the talk fell on her
mother. At supper on the second day, midway between the ham and the
griddle-cakes, Mrs. Mellen announced:
"Rose Ellen, I expect you'd better go down to Tupham to-morrow, and
stay a spell with your grandm'ther. She seems to be right poorly, and
I expect it'd be a comfort to her to have you with her. I guess you'd
better get ready to-night, and Calvin Parks can take you up as he goes
along."
Rose Ellen and the minister both looked up with a start, and both
flushed, and both opened wide eyes of astonishment.
"Why, mother!" said the girl. "I can't go away and leave you now, with
this cold on you."
Her mother did not hear her, so Rose Ellen repeated the words in a
clear, high-pitched voice, with a note of anxiety which brought a
momentary shade to Mrs. Mellen's smooth brow. The next moment,
however, the brow cleared again.
"I guess you'd better go!" she said again. "It'd be a pity if Mr.
Lindsay and I couldn't get along for a month or six weeks; and I wrote
mother yesterday that you would be up along to-morrow, so she'll be
looking for you. I don't like to have mother disappointed of a thing
at her age, it gives her the palpitations."
"You--wrote--that I was coming!" repeated Rose Ellen. "And you never
told me you was writing, mother? I--I should have liked to have known
before you wrote."
"Coat?" said | 2,593.86378 |
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Keren Vergon, Gene Smethers and PG
Distributed Proofreaders
CHOICE SPECIMENS
OF
AMERICAN LITERATURE,
AND
LITERARY READER,
BEING SELECTIONS FROM THE CHIEF AMERICAN WRITERS,
BY
PROF. BENJ. N. MARTIN, D.D., L.H.D., PROFESSOR OF THE UNIVERSITY OF THE
CITY OF NEW YORK. 1874
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The former edition of this work was prepared simply as a supplement to
Shaw's "Choice Specimens of English Literature." Though it extended to
a larger size than had been anticipated, and was therefore issued in a
separate volume, it still proved so straitened in point of space as to
be in some important respects defective and inadequate. The decision of
the publishers to reprint it in an enlarged form furnishes to the editor
a welcome opportunity to correct its deficiencies, and to make several
important emendations.
When the work of collecting suitable extracts from the great body of our
literature was fairly entered upon, it soon became apparent that little
aid could be had from the earlier manuals. Besides being in great
measure obsolete, they were from the beginning disproportionate, and
geographically too local in subject and spirit; both of which may be
deemed grave defects.
The last twenty years have made great changes in American authorship.
Many new names must now be added to the older lists, and many formerly
familiar ones must be dropped from them. Hence these extracts have for
the most part been derived, with assiduous care, directly from the
collected works of our standard authors. This part of my labor has been
greatly facilitated by the courtesy of the gentlemen connected with the
Society, the Mercantile, and the Astor, Library, whose constant kindness
I gratefully acknowledge.
The principal alterations which will be found in this edition are the
following.
1. The extracts, formerly, of necessity, brief and fragmentary, have
given place to more extended and coherent passages.
2. A much larger space has been allotted to the more eminent authors.
Such writers as Franklin, Jefferson, Calhoun, Webster, Wirt, Irving,
Cooper, Hawthorne, Channing, Beecher, Prescott, Motley, Shea, Bryant,
Poe, Emerson, and Lowell, have been much more adequately exhibited.
3. Many later writers have been added, so that the work more fully
represents the rapid development of literary effort among us.
4. A few writers, formerly included, have been dropped from the list,
not always as less deserving a place, but sometimes as having less
adaptation to the purposes of the book.
Much care has been bestowed upon the dates of the several authors, and
in bringing up details of information to the latest period. The same
pains have been taken to furnish a just representation of the writers,
too often overlooked in our manuals, of the Southern and Western
portions of our country. Though often wanting in mere grace of style,
they are apt to be original and vigorous; and often possessing valuable
material, they are well worthy of perusal. In all these respects this
collection has been carefully elaborated; and the editor hopes that it
will be found to give a somewhat proportionate and complete view for its
compass, of our best literature.
In adapting the selections to Mr. Tuckerman's interesting "Sketch of
American Literature," specimens have generally been taken from several
authors in each of his groups. Some names not found in his "Sketch,"
have been introduced, chiefly for the fuller illustration of the
literature of the south and west. In this particular, Coggeshall's
"Poets and Poetry of the West" has afforded great assistance. Among
the more recent aids of the same kind, I must also mention Davidson's
"Living Writers of the South," and Raymond's "Southland Writers."
Especial acknowledgment is due to the "Cyclopedia" of the Messrs.
Duyckinck; Appleton's "Annual Cyclopedia" has furnished many important
dates; and I have occasionally been indebted to the works of Allibone,
Cheever, Griswold, Cleveland, Hart, and Underwood. Not only the local
literature however, but the several professions, and the great religious
denominations, are also represented by prominent writers.
It seemed unnecessary to treat the female writers as a distinct class;
they are, therefore, arranged under the departments to which they
respectively belong, as Essayists, Novelists, Poets, &c.
I should be claiming a merit which does not belong to me, should I fail
to say, that, for much of the labor which this treatise has involved, I
am indebted to the co-operation of my brother, Mr. William T. Martin,
whose acquaintance with our literature has not often been surpassed, and
whose valuable aid and counsel have been freely afforded me.
The hours which have been spent in culling extracts from so many able
and entertaining writers, though laborious, have been to the editor full
of interest, and often of delight. He trusts that these fruits of his
labor will be useful, in imparting, especially to his youthful readers,
not only an acquaintance with the best of our national authors, but a
taste for literature, and a good ideal of literary excellence, than
which few things in intellectual education are more to be esteemed. If
successful in these respects, he will be abundantly satisfied; and in
this | 2,594.057016 |
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Produced by Patricia C. Franks, Lisa Carter, Danette Dulny,
Charles Duvall, Cheri Ripley, and Cheryl Sullivan
BIRDS AND BEES
SHARP EYES
AND OTHER PAPERS
By John Burroughs
With An Introduction
By Mary E. Burt
And A Biographical Sketch
CONTENTS
Biographical Sketch
Introduction By Mary E. Burt
Birds
Bird Enemies
The Tragedies of the Nests
Bees
An Idyl of the Honey-Bee
The Pastoral Bees
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.
Nature chose the spring of the year for the time of John Burroughs's
birth. A little before the day when the wake-robin shows itself, that
the observer might be on hand for the sight, he was born in Roxbury,
Delaware County, New York, on the western borders of the Catskill
Mountains; the precise date was April 3, 1837. Until 1863 he remained
in the country about his native place, working on his father's farm,
getting his schooling in the district school and neighboring academies,
and taking his turn also as teacher. As he himself has hinted, the
originality, freshness, and wholesomeness of his writings are probably
due in great measure to the unliterary surroundings of his early life,
which allowed his mind to form itself on unconventional lines, and to
the later companionships with unlettered men, which kept him in touch
with the sturdy simplicities of life.
From the very beginnings of his taste for literature, the essay was his
favorite form. Dr. Johnson was the prophet of his youth, but he soon
transferred his allegiance to Emerson, who for many years remained his
"master enchanter." To cure himself of too close an imitation of
the Concord seer, which showed itself in his first magazine article,
Expression, he took to writing his sketches of nature, and about this
time he fell in with the writings of Thoreau, which doubtless confirmed
and encouraged him in this direction. But of all authors and of all men,
Walt Whitman, in his personality and as a literary force, seems to have
made the profoundest impression upon Mr. Burroughs, though doubtless
Emerson had a greater influence on his style of writing.
Expression appeared in The Atlantic Monthly in 1860, and most of his
contributions to literature have been in the form of papers first
published in the magazines, and afterwards collected into books. He more
than once paid tribute to his teachers in literature. His first book,
now out of print, was Notes on Walt Whitman, as Poet and Person,
published in 1867; and Whitman: A Study, which appeared in 1896, is a
more extended treatment of the man and his poetry and philosophy. Birds
and Poets, too, contains a paper on Whitman, entitled The Flight of the
Eagle, besides an essay on Emerson, whom he also treated incidentally in
his paper, Matthew Arnold on Emerson and Carlyle, in Indoor Studies; and
the latter volume contains his essay on Thoreau.
In the autumn of 1863 he went to Washington, and in the following
January entered the Treasury Department. He was for some years an
assistant in the office of the Comptroller of the Currency, and later
chief of the organization division of that Bureau. For some time he was
keeper of one of the vaults, and for a great part of the day his only
duty was to be at his desk. In these leisure hours his mind traveled off
into the country, where his previous life had been spent, and with the
help of his pen, always a faithful friend and magician, he lived over
| 2,594.058503 |
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Transcribed from the 1913 Hodder and Stoughton edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
[Picture: Woman in church]
THE REVOLUTION IN
TANNER’S LANE
BY
MARK RUTHERFORD
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
HODDER & STOUGHTON’S
SEVENPENNY LIBRARY
* * * | 2,594.058638 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.0393380 | 2,439 | 6 |
E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 28531-h.htm or 28531-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/8/5/3/28531/28531-h/28531-h.htm)
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(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/8/5/3/28531/28531-h.zip)
THE BANNER BOY SCOUTS SNOWBOUND
Or
A Tour on Skates and Iceboats
by
GEORGE A. WARREN
Author of "The Banner Boy Scouts,"
"The Musket Boys of Old Boston," Etc.
Illustrated
[Illustration: "LOOK OUT! THE SECOND CAT!" YELLED PAUL.
_The Banner Boy Scouts Snowbound Page 161_]
The Saalfield Publishing Co.
Akron, Ohio--New York
Made In U. S. A.
Copyright, 1916, by
Cupples & Leon Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. On the Frozen Bushkill 1
II. When the Old Ice-House Fell 8
III. The Rescue 15
IV. A Quick Return for Services Rendered 23
V. A Startling Interruption 30
VI. A Gloomy Prospect for Jud 38
VII. Paul Takes a Chance 46
VIII. Bobolink and the Storekeeper 54
IX. "Fire!" 62
X. The Accusation 69
XI. Friends of the Scouts 76
XII. The Iceboat Squadron 84
XIII. On the Way 91
XIV. The Ring of Steel Runners 98
XV. Tolly Tip and the Forest Cabin 105
XVI. The First Night Out 112
XVII. "Tip-Ups" for Pickerel 119
XVIII. The Helping Hand of a Scout 126
XIX. News of Big Game 134
XX. At the Beaver Pond 141
XXI. Setting the Flashlight Trap 149
XXII. Waylaid in the Timber 157
XXIII. The Blizzard 165
XXIV. The Duty of the Scout 172
XXV. Among the Snowdrifts 180
XXVI. Dug Out 187
XXVII. "First Aid" 194
XXVIII. More Startling News 202
XXIX. The Wild Dog Pack 211
XXX. A Change of Plans 219
XXXI. Good-Bye to Deer Head Lodge 227
XXXII. The Capture of the Hobo Yeggmen 235
XXXIII. Conclusion 243
PREFACE
DEAR BOYS:--
Once more it is my privilege to offer you a new volume wherein I have
endeavored to relate further interesting adventures in which the
members of Stanhope Troop of Boy Scouts take part. Most of my readers,
I feel sure, remember Paul, Jud, Bobolink, Jack and many of the other
characters, and will gladly greet them as old friends.
To such of you who may be making the acquaintance of these manly young
chaps for the first time I can only say this. I trust your interest in
their various doings along the line of scoutcraft will be strong
enough to induce you to secure the previous volumes in this series in
order to learn at first hand of the numerous achievements they have
placed to their credit.
The boys comprising the original Red Fox Patrol won the beautiful
banner they own in open competition with other rival organizations.
From that day, now far in the past, Stanhope Troop has been known as
the Banner Boy Scouts. Its possession has always served as an
inspiration to Paul and his many staunch comrades. Every time they see
its silken folds unfurled at the head of their growing marching line
they feel like renewing the vows to which they so willingly subscribed
on first joining the organization.
Many of their number, too, are this day proudly wearing on their
chests the medals they have won through study, observation, service,
thrift, or acts of heroism, such as saving human life at the risk of
their own.
I trust that all my many young readers will enjoy the present volume
fully as much as they did those that have appeared before now. Hoping,
then, to meet you all again before a great while in the pages of
another book; and with best wishes for every lad who aspires to climb
the ladder of leadership in his home troop, believe me,
Cordially yours,
GEORGE A. WARREN.
THE BANNER BOY SCOUTS SNOWBOUND
CHAPTER I
ON THE FROZEN BUSHKILL
"Watch Jack cut his name in the ice, fellows!"
"I wish I could do the fancy stunts on skates he manages to pull off.
It makes me green with envy to watch Jack Stormways do that trick."
"Oh, shucks! what's the use of saying that, Wallace Carberry, when
everybody knows your strong suit is long-distance skating? The fact is
both the Carberry twins are as much at home on the ice as I am when I
get my knees under the supper table."
"That's kind of you to throw bouquets my way, Bobolink. But, boys,
stop and think. Here it is--only four days now to Christmas, and the
scouts haven't made up their minds yet where to spend the glorious
holidays."
"Y-y-yes, and b-b-by the same token, this year we're g-g-going to
g-g-get a full three-weeks' vacation in the b-b-bargain, b-b-because
they have t-t-to overhaul the f-f-furnaces."
"Hold on there, Bluff Shipley! If you keep on falling all over
yourself like that you'll have to take a whole week to rest up."
"All the same," remarked the boy who answered to the odd name of
Bobolink, "it's high time we scouts settled that important matter for
good."
"The assistant scout-master, Paul Morrison, has called a meeting at
headquarters for to-night, you understand, boys," said the fancy
skater, who had just cut the name of Paul Morrison in the smooth, new
ice of the Bushkill river.
"We must arrange the programme then," observed Bobolink, "because it
will take a couple of days to get everything ready for the trip, no
matter where we go."
"Huh!" grunted another skater, "I can certainly see warm times ahead
for the cook at _your_ house, Bobolink, provided you've still got that
ferocious appetite to satisfy."
"Oh! well, Tom Betts," laughed the other, "I notice that you seldom
take a back seat when the grub is being passed around. As for me I'm
proud of my stowage ability. A good appetite is one of the greatest
blessings a growing boy can have."
"Pity the poor father though," chuckled Wallace Carberry, "because he
has to pay the freight."
"Just to go back to the important subject," said Bluff Shipley, who
could speak as clearly as any one when not excited, "where do you
think the scouts will hike to for their Christmas holidays?"
"Well, now, a winter camp on Rattlesnake Mountain wouldn't be such a
bad stunt," suggested Tom Betts, quickly.
"For my part," remarked Bobolink, "I'd rather like to visit Lake
Tokala again, and see what Cedar Island looks like in the grip of Jack
Frost. The skating on that sheet of water must be great."
"We certainly did have a royal good time there last summer," admitted
Jack, reflectively.
"All the same," ventured Tom, "I think I know one scout who couldn't
be coaxed or hired to camp on Cedar Island again."
"Meaning Curly Baxter," Bobolink went on to say scornfully, "who
brazenly admits he believes in ghosts, and couldn't be convinced that
the place wasn't haunted."
"Curly won't be the only fellow to back out," suggested Jack. "While
we have a membership of over thirty on the muster roll of Stanhope
Troop, it isn't to be expected that more than half of them will agree
to make the outing with us."
"Too much like hard work for some of the boys," asserted Tom.
"I know a number who say they'd like to be with us, but their folks
object to a winter camp," Wallace announced. "So if we muster a
baker's dozen we can call ourselves lucky."
"Of course it must be a real snow and ice hike this time," suggested
Bluff.
"To be sure--and on skates at that!" cried Wallace, enthusiastically.
"Oh! I hope there's a chance to use our iceboats too!" sighed Tom
Betts, who late that fall had built a new flier, and never seemed
weary of sounding the praises of his as yet untried "Speedaway."
"Perhaps we may--who knows?" remarked Jack, mysteriously.
The others, knowing that the speaker was the nearest and dearest chum
of Paul Morrison, assistant scout-master of Stanhope Troop of Boy
Scouts, turned upon him eagerly on hearing this suggestive remark.
"You know something about the plans, Jack!"
"Sure he does, and he ought to give us a hint in the bargain!"
"Come, take pity on us, won't you, Jack?"
But the object of all this pleading only shook his head and smiled as
he went on to say:
"I'm bound to secrecy, fellows, and you wouldn't have me break my word
to our patrol leader. Just hold your horses a little while longer and
you'll hear everything. We're going to talk it over to-night and
settle the matter once for all. Now let's drop the subject. Here's a
new wrinkle I'm trying out."
With that Jack started to spin around on his skates, and fairly
dazzled his mates with the wonderful ability he displayed as a fancy
skater.
While they are thus engaged a few words of explanation may not come in
amiss.
Stanhope Troop consisted of three full patrols, with another almost
completed. Though in the flood tide of success at the time we make the
acquaintance of the boys in this volume there were episodes in the
past history of the troop to which the older scouts often referred
with mingled emotions of pride and wonder.
The present status of the troop had not been maintained without many
struggles. Envious rivals had tried to make the undertaking a failure,
while doubting parents had in many cases to be shown that association
with the scouts would be a thing of unequalled advantage to their
boys.
Those who have read the previous books of this series have doubtless
already formed a warm attachment for the members of the Red Fox Patrol
and their friends, and will be greatly pleased | 2,594.059378 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.2387950 | 286 | 8 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Two Years Before the Mast
by Richard Henry Dana
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Feb 2000 Two Years Before the Mast, by Richard Henry Dana [2yb4mxxx.xxx]2055
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LORD'S LECTURES
BEACON LIGHTS OF HISTORY, VOLUME XIII
GREAT WRITERS.
Dr Lord's Uncompleted Plan, Supplemented with Essays by
Emerson, Macaulay, Hedge, And Mercer Adam
BY JOHN LORD, LL.D.,
AUTHOR OF "THE OLD ROMAN WORLD," "MODERN EUROPE,"
ETC., ETC.
PUBLISHERS' PREFACE.
This being the last possible volume in the series of "Beacon Lights of
History" from the pen of Dr. Lord, its readers will be interested to
know that it contains all the lectures that he had completed (although
not all that he had projected) for his review of certain of the chief
Men of Letters. Lectures on other topics were found among his papers,
but none that would perfectly fit into this scheme; and it was thought
best not to attempt any collection of his material which he himself had
not deemed worthy or appropriate for use in this series, which embodies
the best of his life's work,--all of his books and his lectures that he
wished to have preserved. For instance, "The Old Roman World," enlarged
in scope and rewritten, is included in the volumes on "Old Pagan
Civilizations," "Ancient Achievements," and "Imperial Antiquity;" much
of his "Modern Europe" reappears in "Great Rulers," "Modern European
Statesmen," and "European National Leaders," etc.
The consideration of "Great Writers" was reserved by Dr. Lord for his
final task,--a task interrupted by death and left unfinished. In order
to round out and complete this volume, recourse has been had to some
other masters in literary art, whose productions are added to Dr. Lord's
final writings.
In the present volume, therefore, are included the paper on
"Shakspeare" by Emerson, reprinted from his "Representative Men" by
permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the authorized publishers
of Emerson's works; the famous essay on "Milton" by Macaulay; the
principal portion--biographical and generally critical--of the article
on "Goethe," from "Hours with the German Classics," by the late Dr.
Frederic H. Hedge, by permission of Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., the
publishers of that work; and a chapter on "Tennyson: the Spirit of
Modern Poetry," by G. Mercer Adam.
A certain advantage may accrue to the reader in finding these masters
side by side for comparison and for gauging Dr. Lord's unique life-work
by recognized standards, keeping well in view the purpose no less than
the perfection of these literary performances, all of which, like those
of Dr. Lord, were aimed at setting forth the services of _selected
forces_ in the world's life.
NEW YORK, September 15, 1902.
CONTENTS.
ROUSSEAU.
SOCIALISM AND EDUCATION.
Jean Jacques Rousseau and Edmund Burke
Rousseau representative of his century
Birth
Education and early career; engraver, footman
Secretary, music teacher, and writer
Meets Therese
His first public essay in literature
Operetta and second essay
Geneva; the Hermitage; Madame d'Epinay.
The "Nouvelle Heloise;" Comtesse d'Houdetot
"Emile;" "The Social Contract"
Books publicly burned; author flees
England; Hume; the "Confessions"
Death, career reviewed
Character of Rousseau
Essay on the Arts and Sciences
"Origin of Human Inequalities"
"The Social Contract"
"Emile"
The "New Heloise"
The "Confessions"
Influence of Rousseau
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
THE MODERN NOVEL.
Scott and Byron
Evanescence of literary fame
Parentage of Scott
Birth and childhood
Schooling and reading
Becomes an advocate
His friends and pleasures
Personal peculiarities
Writing of poetry; first publication
Marriage and settlement
"Scottish Minstrelsy"
"Lay of the Last Minstrel;" Ashestiel rented
The Edinburgh Review: Jeffrey, Brougham, Smith
The Ballantynes
"Marmion"
Jeffrey as a critic
Quarrels of author and publishers; Quarterly Review
Scott's poetry
Duration of poetic fame
Clerk of Sessions; Abbotsford bought
"Lord of the Isles;" "Rokeby"
Fiction; fame of great authors
"Waverley"
"Guy Mannering"
Great popularity of Scott
"The Antiquary"
"Old Mortality;" comparisons
"Rob Roy"
Scotland's debt to Scott
Prosperity; rank; correspondence
Personal habits
Life at Abbotsford
Chosen friends
Works issued in 1820-1825
Bankruptcy through failure of his publishers
Scott's noble character and action
Works issued in 1825-1831
Illness and death
Payment of his enormous debt
Vast pecuniary returns from his works
LORD BYRON.
POETIC GENIUS.
Difficulty of depicting Byron
Descent; birth; lameness
Schooling; early reading habits
College life
Temperament and character
First publication of poems
Savage criticism by Edinburgh Review
"English Bards and Scotch Reviewers"
Byron becomes a peer
Loneliness and melancholy; determines to travel
Portugal; Spain
Malta; Greece; Turkey
Profanity of language in Byron's time
"Childe Harold"
Instant fame and popularity
Consideration of the poem
Marries Miss Milbanke; separation
Genius and marriage
"The Corsair;" "Bride of Abydos"
Evil reputation; loss of public favor
Byron leaves England forever
Switzerland; the Shelleys; new poems
Degrading life in Venice
Wonderful labors amid dissipation
The Countess Guiccioli
Two sides to Byron's character
His power and fertility
Inexcusable immorality; "Don Juan"
"Manfred" and "Cain" not irreligious but dramatic
Byron not atheistical but morbid
Many noble traits and actions
Generosity and fidelity in friendship
Eulogies by Scott and Moore
Byron's interest in the Greek Revolution
Devotes himself to that cause
Raises L10,000 and embarks for Greece
Collects troops in his own pay
His latest verses
Illness from vexation and exposure
Death and burial
The verdict
THOMAS CARLYLE.
CRITICISM AND BIOGRAPHY.
Froude's Biography of Carlyle
Brief resume of Carlyle's career
Parentage and birth
Slender education; school-teaching
Abandons clerical intentions to become a writer
"Elements of Geometry;" "Life of Schiller;" "Wilhelm Meister"
Marries Jane Welsh
Her character
Edinburgh and Craigenputtock
Essays: "German Literature"
Goethe's "Helena"
"Burns"
"Life of Heyne;" "Voltaire"
"Characteristics"
Wholesome and productive life at Craigenputtock
"Dr. Johnson"
Friendship with Ralph Waldo Emerson
"Sartor Resartus"
Carlyle removes to London
Begins "The French Revolution"
Manuscript accidentally destroyed
Habits of great authors in rewriting
Publication of the work; Carlyle's literary style
Better reception in America than in England
Carlyle begins lecturing
Popular eloquence in England
Carlyle and the Chartists
"Heroes and Hero Worship"
"Past and Present"
Carlyle becomes bitter
"Latter-Day Pamphlets"
"Life of Oliver Cromwell"
Carlyle's confounding right with might
Great merits of Carlyle as historian
Death of Mrs. Carlyle
Success of Carlyle established
"Frederick the Great"
Decline of the author's popularity
Public honors; private sorrow
Final illness and death
Carlyle's place in literature
LORD MACAULAY.
ARTISTIC HISTORICAL WRITING.
Macaulay's varied talents
Descent and parentage
Birth and youth
Education
Character; his greatness intellectual rather than moral
College career
Enters the law
His early writings; poetry; essay on Milton
Social success; contemporaries
Enters politics and Parliament
Sent to India; secretary board of education
Essays in the Reviews
Limitations as a statesman
Devotion to literature
Personal characteristics
Return to London and public office
Still writing essays; "Warren Hastings," "Clive"
Special public appreciation in America
Drops out of Parliament; begins "History of England"
Prodigious labor; extent and exactness of his knowledge
Self-criticism; brilliancy of style
Some inconsistencies
Public honors
Remarkable successes; re-enters Parliament
Illness and growing weakness
Conclusion of the History; foreign and domestic honors
Resigns seat in Parliament
Social habits
Literary tastes
Final illness and death; his fame
SHAKSPEARE; OR, THE POET.
BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
The debt of genius to its age and preceding time.
The era of Shakspeare favorable to dramatic entertainments.
The stage a substitute for the newspaper of his era.
The poet draws upon extant materials--the lime and mortar to his hand.
Plays which show the original rock on which his own finer stratum is
laid.
In drawing upon tradition and upon earlier plays the poet's memory is
taxed equally with his invention.
All originality is relative; every thinker is retrospective.
The world's literary treasure the result of many a one's labor;
centuries have contributed to its existence and perfection.
Shakspeare's contemporaries, correspondents, and acquaintances.
Work of the Shakspeare Society in gathering material to throw light upon
the poet's life, and to illustrate the development of the drama.
His external history meagre; Shakspeare is the only biographer of
Shakspeare.
What the sonnets and the dramas reveal of the poet's mind and character.
His unique creative power, wisdom of life, and great gifts of
imagination.
Equality of power in farce, tragedy, narrative, and love-songs.
Notable traits in the poet's character and disposition; his tone pure,
sovereign, and cheerful.
Despite his genius, he shares the halfness and imperfection of humanity.
A seer who saw all things to convert them into entertainments, as master
of the revels to mankind.
JOHN MILTON: POET AND PATRIOT.
BY THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.
His long-lost essay on Doctrines of Christianity.
As a poet, his place among the greatest masters of the art.
Unfavorable circumstances of his era, born "an age too late".
A rude era more favorable to poetry.
The poetical temperament highest in a rude state of society.
Milton distinguished by the excellence of his Latin verse.
His genius gives to it an air of nobleness and freedom.
Characteristics and magical influence of Milton's poetry.
Mechanism of his language attains exquisite perfection.
"L'Allegro" and "II Penseroso," "Comus" and "Samson Agonistes"
described.
"Comus" properly more lyrical than dramatic.
Milton's preference for "Paradise Regained" over "Paradise Lost".
Contrasts between Milton and Dante.
Milton's handling of supernatural beings in his poetry.
His art of communicating his meaning through succession of associated
ideas.
Other contrasts between Milton and Dante--the mysterious and the
picturesque in their verse.
Milton's fiends wonderful creations, not metaphysical abstractions.
Moral qualities of Milton and Dante.
The Sonnets simple but majestic records of the poet's feelings.
Milton's public conduct that of a man of high spirit and powerful
intellect.
Eloquent champion of the principles of freedom.
His public conduct to be esteemed in the light of the times, and of its
great question whether the resistance of the people to Charles I. was
justifiable or criminal.
Approval of the Great Rebellion and of Milton's attitude towards it.
Eulogium on Cromwell and approval of Milton's taking office (Latin
Secretaryship) under him.
The Puritans and Royalists, or Roundheads and Cavaliers.
The battle Milton fought for freedom of the human mind.
High estimate of Milton's prose works.
JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE.
GERMANY'S GREATEST WRITER.
BY FREDERIC HENRY HEDGE.
Fills highest place among the poets and prose-writers of Germany.
Influences that made the man.
Self-discipline and educational training.
Counsellor to Duke Karl August at Weimar, where he afterwards resides.
Visits Italy; makes Schiller's acquaintance; Goethe's personal
appearance.
His unflagging industry; defence of the poet's personal character.
The "Maerchen," its interpretation and the light it throws on Goethe's
political career.
Lyrist, dramatist, novelist, and mystic seer.
His drama "Goetz von Berlichingen," and "Sorrows of Werther".
Popularity of his ballads; his elegies, and "Hermann und Dorothea".
"Iphigenie auf Tauris;" his stage plays "Faust" (First Part) and
"Egmont".
The prose works "Wilhelm Meister" and the "Elective Affinities".
His skill in the delineation of female character.
"Faust;" contrasts in spirit and style between the two Parts.
Import of the work, key to or analysis of the plot.
ALFRED (LORD) TENNYSON.
THE SPIRIT OF MODERN POETRY.
BY G. MERCER ADAM.
Tennyson's supreme excellence--his transcendent art.
His work the perfection of literary form; his melody exquisite.
Representative of the age's highest thought and culture.
Keen interpreter of the deep underlying spirit of his time.
Contemplative and brooding verse, full of rhythmic beauty.
The "Idylls of the King," their deep ethical motive and underlying
purpose.
His profound religious convictions and belief in the eternal verities.
Hallam Tennyson's memoir of the poet; his friends and intimates.
The poet's birth, family, and youthful characteristics
Early publishing ventures; his volume of 1842 gave him high rank.
Personal appearance, habits, and mental traits.
"In Memoriam," its noble, artistic expression of sorrow for Arthur
Hallam.
"The Princess" and its moral, in the treatment of its "Woman Question"
theme.
The metrical romance "Maud," and "The Idylls of the King," an epic of | 2,594.357135 |
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—This work is divided into three volumes, all of them available on PG;
index is on third volume. It has been splitted replacing every item in
the volume where they belong. A full version of index has been
mantained at the end of third volume.
HISTORICAL
PARALLELS.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
CHARLES KNIGHT & Co., LUDGATE STREET.
1846.
LONDON: WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET
CONTENTS.
Page
CHAPTER VII.
Marathon—Battle of Tours—Poema del Cid—Siege of Vienna by the
Turks in 1683—Battle of Morgarten—Battle of Sempach 5
CHAPTER VIII.
Thermopylæ—Battle of St. Jacques, near Basle—Siege of Malta in
1565—Destruction of the “Sacred Band” in the Greek
Revolution—Roncesvalles 55
CHAPTER IX.
Salamis—Siege of Leyden—Spanish Armada 86
CHAPTER X.
Sequel of the Life of Miltiades—of Aristides—of Themistocles 127
CHAPTER XI.
Prosecution of the Persian war—Rise of Athens to maritime
empire and consequent undermining of the aristocratical
interest—Administration of Cimon—of Pericles—Education of the
Athenians—Commencement of the Peloponnesian war 141
CHAPTER XII.
Historians of the Plague—Sketch of the four chief pestilences
recorded—Origin of the disease—Plague of Athens—Of
Constantinople—Of Florence—Of Milan—State of medical
knowledge—Plague of London 164
INDEX 232
HISTORICAL PARALLELS.
CHAPTER VII.
[Illustration]
Marathon—Battle of Tours—Poëma del Cid—Siege of Vienna by the Turks in
1683—Battle of Morgarten—Battle of Sempach.
Upon the expulsion of Hippias the direction of Athenian politics
passed into the hands of Cleisthenes, son of Megacles, the head of
the Alemæonidæ. He soon found a rival in Isagoras, a man of noble
extraction, whose popularity with the rich and noble preponderated
over his own; and being in consequence driven to advocate the popular
cause, and thus recovering the ascendant, he introduced several changes
tending to make the constitution more democratical. Isagoras sought to
regain his advantage by foreign aid; and at his suggestion Cleomenes,
one of the kings of Sparta, required the expulsion of the Alemæonidæ,
as an atonement for the sacrilegious murder of Cylon’s partisans, in
which they had been the chief actors. Offensive as such an interference
appears, the religious feelings of Greece gave weight to the
requisition, which was besides backed by the whole power of Sparta: and
in obedience to it, Cleisthenes and his chief supporters withdrew. Not
content with this, the Spartan king went with a small force to Athens,
and proceeded to banish seven hundred families as concerned in the
sacrilege, to change the forms of the constitution, and place all power
in the hands of Isagoras and his friends. But he miscalculated the
forbearance of the Athenians. Fearful as they were of a rupture with
their powerful rival, they flew to arms, and besieged Cleomenes in the
citadel. On the third day he and his troops surrendered on condition
that they should be allowed to depart, and Cleisthenes, returning,
reassumed the direction of affairs.
His first object was to find some assistance in the war which appeared
inevitable; and as the Persian empire was now at its height, he sent
ambassadors to Sardis, where the satrap or governor of Lydia resided,
to request admission to the Persian alliance. The satrap inquired who
the Athenians were, and where they lived, and then scornfully answered,
that if they would give earth and water to King Darius, in token of
subjection, their request should be granted; otherwise they must
depart. The ambassadors complied, but on returning to Athens they were
strongly censured. This was the first public transaction between Greece
and Persia.
As was expected, the Lacedæmonians invaded Attica, but the Corinthians
refused to support them, and this attempt to procure the restoration
of Hippias failed. Thus baffled, they summoned a meeting of their
allies, at which the banished chief was invited to be present; but here
again their views were frustrated by the agency of the Corinthians.
Hippias returning to Sigeum went thence to Sardis, with the view of
persuading the satrap Artaphernes to reduce Athens, and replace him in
the monarchy, under vassalage to the Persian monarch. The Athenians on
receiving these tidings sent to request Artaphernes not to listen to
their banished subjects; but they were met by a peremptory command to
receive back Hippias as they wished to be safe. From this time they
considered themselves openly at war with Persia.
Under these circumstances, when an insurrection broke out among the
Asiatic Greeks of Ionia and Æolis, the Athenians readily gave their
assistance to the revolters. Twenty ships of theirs, with five of the
Eretrians, joined the Ionian fleet; the collective force disembarked
at Ephesus, marched sixty miles into the interior, took Sardis by
surprise, and burnt it. Returning, they were entirely defeated under
the walls of Ephesus, and the Athenians then withdrew their ships, and
took no further part in the war. These events took place B.C.
499.
After the Ionians were subdued, Darius bent himself to revenge the
destruction of Sardis upon the Athenians and Eretrians. In the year 492
Mardonius led an army against them through Macedonia, but it suffered
such severe losses by land and sea, that he returned to winter in
Asia, without having reached even the borders of Greece. The following
year heralds were sent into Greece to demand of every city earth and
water in token of submission. Many obeyed, but Lacedæmon and Athens
refused, and cruelly threw the heralds at the one place into a pit,
at the other into a well, bidding them take from thence earth and
water. In 490 Darius sent a second armament under command of Datis and
Artaphernes. They crossed the Ægean Sea, to avoid the tedious march
through Macedonia, landed in Eubœa, reduced and enslaved the Eretrians,
and thence under the guidance of Hippias sailed to Marathon, on the
north–east coast of Attica.
Athens was fortunate in numbering among her citizens, at this critical
period, men able, in the proud boast of Themistocles, to make a great
city of a small one. In the time of Pisistratus, the Dolonci, a tribe
of Thracians who lived in the Thracian Chersonese, being pressed in
war by the Apsinthii, sent to the Delphic oracle to request advice.
They were directed to invite him who should first admit them to his
hospitality, to become the founder of a colony in their country.
Departing, they passed through Phocis and Bœotia without being offered
entertainment by any person; then entering Attica, they passed the
house of Miltiades, son of Cypselus, an Athenian of the noblest
extraction, being descended from the heroes Æacus and the Salaminian
Ajax, whose son Philæus became an Athenian citizen, and founded the
family of which we speak. Miltiades was sitting in his porch, and
observing persons in a foreign dress pass by, bearing lances in their
hands, a practice long disused by the Athenians, he called to them,
and offered them refreshment and rest. Upon this they explained the
object of their mission, and entreated him to comply with the god’s
directions. Miltiades, discontented with the superiority assumed by
Pisistratus, was well inclined to accede | 2,594.360644 |
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at http://www.pgdp.net
The Iron Boys on the
Ore Boats
OR
Roughing It on the Great Lakes
By
JAMES R. MEARS
Author of The Iron Boys in the Mines, The Iron Boys as Foremen,
The Iron Boys in the Steel Mills, etc.
Illustrated
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY
HOWARD E. ALTEMUS
Illustration: Both Boys Were Hurled Forward
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TO THE INLAND SEAS 7
II. THE IRON BOYS AS CARGO 20
III. A SURPRISED SKIPPER 31
IV. THE BOYS STAND THE TEST 42
V. TROUBLE IN THE STOKE HOLE 54
VI. THE FIRST STEP UPWARD 63
VII. THE IRON BOYS ON DECK 70
VIII. THE CRASH IN THE FOG 82
IX. A TRAGEDY OF THE LAKES 93
X. TOSSED UP BY THE WAVES 104
XI. BY PLUCK ALONE 113
XII. ON THE ROAD TO CONNEAUT 122
XIII. IN THE GRIP OF A GIANT SHELL 129
XIV. STEVE SAVES THE CAPTAIN 135
XV. AT THE WHEEL 151
XVI. THROUGH THE ROCKY CUT 163
XVII. THE BLOW IN THE DARK 172
XVIII. VISITORS ON THE "RICHMOND" 181
XIX. IN THE GRIP OF THE WAVES 190
XX. AN EXCITING RESCUE 202
XXI. A NEW HAND AT THE WHEEL 210
XXII. LEADING A LIVELY CHASE 219
XXIII. THE WIRELESS MESSAGE 223
XXIV. CONCLUSION 245
The Iron Boys on the Ore Boats
CHAPTER I
TO THE INLAND SEAS
"WHAT are we to do?"
"The first duty of an inspector is to inspect, I should say," answered
Steve Rush, with a soft laugh, in answer to his companion's question.
Bob Jarvis made a wry face.
"You think you are very smart this morning, seeing that you have been
complimented by the president of the mining company," grumbled Jarvis.
"I don't know whether I like this new job or not. We were making pretty
good money in the mines and we were bosses at that. Are we going to do
any bossing when we get on the lakes?"
"I think not. We shall be ordinary seamen. Somebody else will do the
bossing in this instance and we shall be the victims. Mr. Carrhart will
tell us all about it in a minute. He is arranging for our work now. It
will be a great change, and while we shall be working pretty hard we
shall be adding to our store of knowledge, Bob. We are lucky to possess
so fully the confidence of our superiors. Let's try to show that we are
worthy of their confidence in our new places."
"When do we start?"
"I don't know. Mr. Carrhart is looking that matter up now."
The lads were sitting in the private office of the president of the
mining company, whither they had been summoned from their work at the
mines. Mr. Carrhart, the president, stepped briskly into the office at
that juncture.
"Well, lads, I have arranged for your transportation."
"May I ask on what ship we are to sail, sir?" questioned Steve.
"The 'Wanderer.' She is not one of our newest ships, but she is a
staunch old vessel with about as many conveniences as are to be found on
the newer and more modern boats. I sometimes think we are getting
further away from what a ship should be--but then, I am not a sailor. I
am not supposed to know anything about ships," laughed the president.
"When do we sail?"
"Some time to-night. The 'Wanderer' is not yet in. She passed the Soo
nearly forty hours ago and should dock some time this afternoon. She is
coming up light this time, for a change."
"How long does it take to load the ship with ore?" asked Steve, his
active mind already in search of knowledge along the line of their new
calling.
"Eight hours or so."
"That is quick time," nodded Jarvis.
"It strikes me as being a long time," remarked Rush.
"That is the point exactly," agreed Mr. Carrhart. "If you boys can find
a way to shorten the loading time you will have served your purpose
well. That is exactly why we are sending you out on this inspecting
tour--that is, it is one of the reasons. We want to know where we can
save money and time in the shipment of ores to the furnaces."
"But, sir, we know nothing about this branch of the business," protested
Steve. "Are there not others better qualified than ourselves?"
"They think they are," answered the president reflectively. "We have
tried them out. Most of them are wedded to old methods. What we want is
new methods as well as new blood. Besides, you lads have expressed
yourselves as being anxious to learn everything about the mining and
steel business. I am taking you at your word. You are thoroughly posted
on the mining end. I do not believe you could be much more so were you
to spend three years more underground. The shipment of the ore is the
next step. You have followed the ore down from the mines to the shipping
point, here in Duluth. Now I am going to have you spend a few months on
the Great Lakes."
"That will be a fine experience, sir."
"I think so."
"Is the purpose of our going to sea on the lakes known, or is it not to
be known to any one outside of ourselves?"
"Certainly not. The mission might fail of its purposes were such to be
the case. To all intents and appearances, you two boys will be plain,
everyday sailors. You will find many hardships in the life of a Great
Lakes sailor, but then, if I know you, I do not believe you will mind
these very much," added Mr. Carrhart, with an indulgent smile.
"We certainly shall not," answered Rush, with emphasis. "The harder the
work the better it seems to agree with me."
"But not with me," retorted Jarvis.
The president laughed.
"That doesn't agree with what the reports show. For industry and
attention to duty you are a close second to your friend Rush. I
presume, Rush, that we shall be losing you one of these days?"
"What do you mean, sir?"
"You will wish to go on to the mills, eh?"
Steve thought briefly.
"Yes, sir; that is our ambition."
"I thought so. You may depend upon me to use my influence to further
your ambition, though I shall very much dislike to lose you."
"You are very kind, sir."
"What I hoped you would do was to remain with the mining end of our
business, where one of these days you would rise to the grade of general
superintendent. Perhaps after you have had your experiences at the other
end of the line, you will decide to come back. If I am still president
of the mining company you will be well taken care | 2,594.36324 |
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by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: لا لابرار كلّ شي تبر]
“TO THE PURE ALL THINGS ARE PURE.”
(Puris omnia pura)
—_Arab Proverb._
“Niuna corrotta mente intese mai sanamente parole.”
—“_Decameron_”—_conclusion_.
“Erubuit, posuitque meum Lucretia librum
Sed coram Bruto. Brute! recede, leget.”
—_Martial._
“Mieulx est de ris que de larmes escripre,
Pour ce que rire est le propre des hommes.”
—RABELAIS.
“The pleasure we derive from perusing the Thousand-and-One Stories makes
us regret that we possess only a comparatively small part of these truly
enchanting fictions.”
—CRICHTON’S “_History of Arabia_.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_A PLAIN AND LITERAL TRANSLATION OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS.
NOW ENTITULED_
_THE BOOK OF THE_
Thousand Nights and a Night
_WITH INTRODUCTION EXPLANATORY NOTES ON THE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF
MOSLEM MEN AND A TERMINAL ESSAY UPON THE HISTORY OF THE NIGHTS_
VOLUME VI.
BY
RICHARD F. BURTON
[Illustration]
PRINTED BY THE BURTON CLUB FOR PRIVATE SUBSCRIBERS ONLY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Shammar Edition
Limited to one thousand numbered sets, of which this is
Number _547_
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I INSCRIBE THIS VOLUME
TO MY OLD AND VALUED CORRESPONDENT,
IN WHOSE DEBT I AM DEEP,
PROFESSOR ALOYS SPRENGER
(OF HEIDELBERG),
ARABIST, PHILOSOPHER AND FRIEND.
R. F. BURTON.
CONTENTS OF THE SIXTH VOLUME.
PAGE
SINDBAD THE SEAMAN AND SINDBAD THE LANDSMAN 1
(_Lane, Vol. III., Chapt. XXII., Story of Es Sindbad of the Sea and Es
Sindbad of the Land. pp. 1–78._)
_a._ THE FIRST VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 4
_b._ THE SECOND VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 14
_c._ THE THIRD VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 22
_d._ THE FOURTH VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 34
_e._ THE FIFTH VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 48
_f._ THE SIXTH VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 58
_g._ THE SEVENTH VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 68
THE SEVENTH VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN (_according to 78
the version of the Calcutta Edition_)
THE CITY OF BRASS 83
(_Lane, Vol. III., Chapt. XXIII. Story of the City of Brass. pp.
118–152._)
THE CRAFT AND MALICE OF WOMAN 122
(_Lane, Vol. III., Chapt. XXI., Abstract of the Story of the King and
his Son and the Damsel and the Seven Wezeers. pp. 158–183._)
_a._ THE KING AND HIS WAZIR’S WIFE 129
_b._ THE CONFECTIONER, HIS WIFE, AND THE PARROT 132
_c._ THE FULLER AND HIS SON 134
_d._ THE RAKE’S TRICK AGAINST THE CHASTE WIFE 135
_e._ THE MISER AND THE LOAVES OF BREAD 137
_f._ THE LADY AND HER TWO LOVERS 138
_g._ THE KING’S SON AND THE OGRESS 139
_h._ THE DROP OF HONEY 142
_i._ THE WOMAN WHO MADE HER HUSBAND SIFT DUST 143
_j._ THE ENCHANTED SPRING 145
_k._ THE WAZIR’S SON AND THE HAMMAM-KEEPER’S WIFE 150
_l._ THE WIFE’S DEVICE TO CHEAT HER HUSBAND 152
_m._ THE GOLDSMITH AND THE CASHMERE SINGING-GIRL 156
_n._ THE MAN WHO NEVER LAUGHED DURING THE REST OF HIS DAYS 160
_o._ THE KING’S SON AND THE MERCHANT’S WIFE 167
_p._ THE PAGE WHO FEIGNED TO KNOW THE SPEECH OF BIRDS 169
_q._ THE LADY AND HER FIVE SUITORS 172
_r._ THE THREE WISHES, OR THE MAN WHO LONGED TO SEE THE NIGHT 180
OF POWER
_s._ THE STOLEN NECKLACE 182
_t._ THE TWO PIGEONS 183
_u._ PRINCE BEHRAM AND THE PRINCESS AL-DATMA 184
_v._ THE HOUSE WITH THE BELVEDERE 188
_w._ THE KING’S SON AND THE IFRIT’S MISTRESS 199
_x._ THE SANDAL-WOOD MERCHANT AND THE SHARPERS 202
_y._ THE DEBAUCHEE AND THE THREE-YEAR-OLD CHILD 208
_z._ THE STOLEN PURSE 209
_aa._ THE FOX AND THE FOLK 211
JUDAR AND HIS BRETHREN 213
(_Lane, Vol. III, Chapt. XXII., Story of Joodar. pp. 183–233._)
THE HISTORY OF GHARIB AND HIS BROTHER AJIB 257
SINDBAD THE SEAMAN[1] AND SINDBAD THE LANDSMAN.
There lived in the city of Baghdad, during the reign of the Commander of
the Faithful, Harun al-Rashid, a man named Sindbád the Hammál,[2] one in
poor case who bore burdens on his head for hire. It happened to him one
day of great heat that whilst he was carrying a heavy load, he became
exceeding weary and sweated profusely, the heat and the weight alike
oppressing him. Presently, as he was passing the gate of a merchant’s
house, before which the ground was swept and watered, and there the air
was temperate, he sighted a broad bench beside the door; so he set his
load thereon, to take rest and smell the air,——And Shahrazad perceived
the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.
Now when it was the Five Hundred and Thirty-seventh Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the Hammal
set his load upon the bench to take rest and smell the air, there came
out upon him from the court-door a pleasant breeze and a delicious
fragrance. He sat down on the edge of the bench, and at once heard from
within the melodious sound of lutes and other stringed instruments, and
mirth-exciting voices singing and reciting, together with the song of | 2,594.363341 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.4371360 | 1,455 | 27 |
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Gutenberg
Transcriber's note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully
as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other
inconsistencies. Text that has been changed to correct an
obvious error is noted at the end of this ebook.
Many occurrences of mismatched single and double quotation marks
remain as they were in the original.
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(=bold=).
THE GREAT WAR AND HOW IT AROSE
1915
Parliamentary Recruiting Committee
12, Downing Street, London, S.W.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
Serbia's Position 3
Russia's Position 6
Germany's Position 6
Italy's Position 8
Germany's Selected Moment 8
Peace Thwarted by Germany 10
I. Attempt to Extend Time-Limit of Austro-Hungarian
Ultimatum 11
II. Question of Delay of Hostilities between Austria-Hungary
and Serbia 11
III. Suggested Mediation by the Four Powers 12
IV. Germany Asked to State Form of Mediation between
Russia and Austria-Hungary 13
V. Russia Suggests Direct Negotiations with Austria-Hungary 14
VI. Russia's Final Attempt at Peace 15
German Militarism Wins 17
How France Came In 19
How Great Britain Came In 19
War with Austria 22
Japan's Ultimatum to Germany 22
Allies' Declaration of Common Policy 23
Turkey Joins Germany 24
More German Intrigues 26
The Near East 26
The Far East 27
West Africa 28
South Africa 28
How the Germans Make War 29
Germany's Attempted Bribery 36
APPENDIXES.
A. Germany's Knowledge of Contents of Austro-Hungarian
Ultimatum 40
B. How Germany Misled Austria-Hungary 46
C. Some German Atrocities in Belgium 48
D. Germany's Employment of Poisonous Gas 52
E. Efforts of German Ministers of State to lay Blame on
England 52
F. List of Parliamentary Publications respecting the War 55
THE GREAT WAR.
SERBIA'S POSITION.
On June 28, 1914, the Austrian Archduke Ferdinand and the Archduchess
were assassinated on Austrian territory at Serajevo by two Austrian
subjects, both Bosniaks. On a former occasion one of these assassins had
been in Serbia and the "Serbian authorities, considering him suspect and
dangerous, had desired to expel him, but on applying to the Austrian
authorities, found that the latter protected him, and said that he was
an innocent and harmless individual."[1] After a "magisterial"
investigation, the Austro-Hungarian Government formally fixed upon the
Serbians the guilt both of assisting the assassins and of continually
conspiring against the integrity of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and on
July 23, 1914, sent an ultimatum to Serbia of which the following were
the chief terms[2]:--
"The Royal Serbian Government shall publish on the front page of
their 'Official Journal' of the 13-26 July the following
declaration:--
"'The Royal Government of Serbia condemn the propaganda directed
against Austria-Hungary--_i.e._, the general tendency of which the
final aim is to detach from the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy
territories belonging to it, and they sincerely deplore the fatal
consequences of these criminal proceedings.
"'The Royal Government regret that Serbian officers and
functionaries participated in the above-mentioned propaganda...."
"The Royal Serbian Government further undertake:
"To suppress any publication which incites to hatred and contempt
of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy and the general tendency of which
is directed against its territorial integrity;...
"To eliminate without delay from public instruction in Serbia, both
as regards the teaching body and also as regards the methods of
instruction, everything that serves, or might serve, to foment the
propaganda against Austria-Hungary;
"To remove from the military service, and from the administration
in general, all officers and functionaries guilty of propaganda
against the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy whose names and deeds the
Austro-Hungarian Government reserve to themselves the right of
communicating to the Royal Government;
"To accept the collaboration in Serbia of representatives of the
Austro-Hungarian Government for the suppression of the subversive
movement directed against the territorial integrity of the
Monarchy;
"To take judicial proceedings against accessories to the plot of
the 28th June who are on Serbian territory; delegates of the
Austro-Hungarian Government will take part in the investigation
relating thereto."
In effect Austria wished to force Serbia (_a_) to admit a guilt which
was not hers; (_b_) to condemn officers in her army without trial at
Austria's direction[3]; (_c_) to allow Austrian delegates to dispense
such justice in Serbian Courts as they might think fit. In other words,
Serbia was to lose her independence as a Sovereign State. And to all
these claims Austria demanded an acceptance within 48 hours--until 6
p.m. on July 25, 1914. Yet, in spite of this, Serbia, within the
specified time, sent her reply[4], which amounted to an acceptance of
Austria's demands, subject, on certain points, to the delays necessary
for passing new laws and amending her Constitution, and subject to an
explanation by Austria-Hungary of her precise wishes with regard to the
participation of Austro-Hungarian officials in Serbian judicial
proceedings. The reply went far beyond anything which any Power--Germany
not excepted--had ever thought probable. But the same day the British
Ambassador at Vienna reported that the tone of the Austrian press left
the impression that a settlement was not desired, and he later reported
that the impression left on his mind was that the Austrian note was so
drawn up as to make war inevitable. In spite of the conciliatory nature
of Serbia | 2,594.457176 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.4414230 | 1,184 | 10 |
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[Illustration: Portrait of Thoreau]
MR. THOREAU'S WRITINGS.
I. WALDEN. 1 vol. 16mo. Price $1.25.
II. A WEEK ON THE CONCORD AND MERRIMACK RIVERS. 1 vol. 12mo. Price $1.50.
EXCURSIONS.
BY
HENRY D. THOREAU.
1863
CONTENTS.
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
NATURAL HISTORY OF MASSACHUSETTS
A WALK TO WACHUSETT
THE LANDLORD
A WINTER WALK
THE SUCCESSION OF FOREST TREES
WALKING
AUTUMNAL TINTS
WILD APPLES
NIGHT AND MOONLIGHT
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.
BY R.W. EMERSON.
HENRY DAVID THOREAU was the last male descendant of a French ancestor who
came to this country from the Isle of Guernsey. His character exhibited
occasional traits drawn from this blood in singular combination with a
very strong Saxon genius.
He was born in Concord, Massachusetts, on the 12th of July, 1817. He was
graduated at Harvard College in 1837, but without any literary
distinction. An iconoclast in literature, he seldom thanked colleges for
their service to him, holding them in small esteem, whilst yet his debt to
them was important. After leaving the University, he joined his brother in
teaching a private school, which he soon renounced. His father was a
manufacturer of lead-pencils, and Henry applied himself for a time to this
craft, believing he could make a better pencil than was then in use. After
completing his experiments, he exhibited his work to chemists and artists
in Boston, and having obtained their certificates to its excellence and to
its equality with the best London manufacture, he returned home contented.
His friends congratulated him that he had now opened his way to fortune.
But he replied, that he should never make another pencil. "Why should I?
I would not do again what I have done once." He resumed his endless walks
and miscellaneous studies, making every day some new acquaintance with
Nature, though as yet never speaking of zoology or botany, since, though
very studious of natural facts, he was incurious of technical and textual
science.
At this time, a strong, healthy youth, fresh from college, whilst all his
companions were choosing their profession, or eager to begin some
lucrative employment, it was inevitable that his thoughts should be
exercised on the same question, and it required rare decision to refuse
all the accustomed paths, and keep his solitary freedom at the cost of
disappointing the natural expectations of his family and friends: all the
more difficult that he had a perfect probity, was exact in securing his
own independence, and in holding every man to the like duty. But Thoreau
never faltered. He was a born protestant. He declined to give up his large
ambition of knowledge and action for any narrow craft or profession,
aiming at a much more comprehensive calling, the art of living well.
If he slighted and defied the opinions of others, it was only that he was
more intent to reconcile his practice with his own belief. Never idle or
self-indulgent, he preferred, when he wanted money, earning it by some
piece of manual labor agreeable to him, as building a boat or a fence,
planting, grafting, surveying, or other short work, to any long
engagements. With his hardy habits and few wants, his skill in wood-craft,
and his powerful arithmetic, he was very competent to live in any part of
the world. It would cost him less time to supply his wants than another.
He was therefore secure of his leisure.
A natural skill for mensuration, growing out of his mathematical
knowledge, and his habit of ascertaining the measures and distances of
objects which interested him, the size of trees, the depth and extent of
ponds and rivers, the height of mountains, and the air-line distance of
his favorite summits,--this, and his intimate knowledge of the territory
about Concord, made him drift into the profession of land-surveyor. It had
the advantage for him that it led him continually into new and secluded
grounds, and helped his studies of Nature. His accuracy and skill in this
work were readily appreciated, and he found all the employment he wanted.
He could easily solve the problems of the surveyor, but he was daily beset
with graver questions, which he manfully confronted. He interrogated every
custom, and wished to settle all his practice on an ideal foundation. He
was a protestant _a l'outrance_, and few lives contain so many
renunciations. He was bred to no profession; he never married; he lived
alone; he never went to church; he never voted; he refused to pay a tax to
the State: he ate no flesh, he drank no wine, he never knew the use of
tobacco; and, though a naturalist, he used neither trap nor gun. He chose,
wisely, no doubt, for himself, to be the bachelor of thought and Nature.
He had no talent for wealth, and knew how to be poor without the least
hint of s | 2,594.461463 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.5371080 | 3,543 | 14 |
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)
Idle Hours in a Library
------------------------------------------------------------------------
┌───────────────────────────────────┐
│ │
│ By the same Author │
│ │
│ _The Church and the Stage_ │
│ │
│ _Introduction to the Philosophy │
│ of Herbert Spencer_ │
│ │
│ _Studies in Interpretation_ │
│ │
└───────────────────────────────────┘
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Idle Hours in a Library
By
William Henry Hudson
Professor of English Literature, Stanford University
[Illustration]
William Doxey
At the Sign of the Lark
San Francisco
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1897
WILLIAM DOXEY
THE DOXEY PRESS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO
F. E. H.
IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE
DEAR OLD DAYS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Preface
The title of this little volume was chosen because it seems to indicate
a characteristic possessed in common by the otherwise unrelated essays
here brought together. They may all be described in a general way as
holiday tasks—the results of many hours of quiet but rather aimless
browsing among books, and not of special investigations, undertaken with
a view to definite scholastic ends. They are, moreover, as will readily
be seen, completely unacademic in style and intention. Three of the
papers were originally put into shape as popular lectures. The remaining
one—that on the Restoration novelists—was written for a magazine which
appeals not to a special body of students, but to the more general
reading public. The title, hit upon after some little searching, will, I
believe, therefore be accepted as fairly descriptive, and will not, I
hope, be condemned as overfanciful.
A word or two of more detailed explanation may, perhaps, be permitted.
Of the essays on Pepys’s Diary and the “Scenes of Bohemian Life,” I
would simply say that they may be taken to testify to the unfailing
sources of unalloyed enjoyment I have found in these delightful books;
and I should be pleased to think that, while they may renew for some
readers the charm of old associations, they may perhaps send others here
and there for the first time to the works themselves—in which case I
shall be sure of the gratitude of some at least of those into whose
hands this little volume may chance to fall. I can scarcely say as much
as this for the study of Mrs. Behn and Mrs. Manley—for most readers will
be quite as well off if they leave the lucubrations of these two ladies
alone. But in these days we all read novels; and it has seemed to me,
therefore, that my brief account of some of the early experiments in
English fiction may not be altogether lacking in interest and
suggestiveness. Thus, after some hesitation, I decided to find a place
for the authors of “Oroonoko” and “The New Atalantis” in these pages. So
far as the chapter on Shakspere’s London is concerned, it is needless to
do more than indicate the way in which it came to be written. A number
of years ago, while engaged for other purposes in the study of
Elizabethan popular literature, and more especially of the drama of the
period, I began, for my own satisfaction, to jot down, as I lighted upon
them, the more striking references and allusions to manners, customs,
and the social life of the time. I presently found that I had thus
gathered a good deal of miscellaneous material; and it then occurred to
me that, properly organized, my memoranda might be made into an
interesting popular lecture. The lecture was presently prepared, and was
frequently delivered, both in England and in this country. Naturally
enough, the paper can lay no claim to exhaustiveness; it is scrappy,
formless, and sometimes superficial. But the reader of Shakspere may
find it of some value, so far as it goes.
The essay on the Restoration novel is reproduced, greatly changed and
somewhat amplified, from the English magazine, “Time.” The remainder of
the volume has not before been in print.
In such a book as this, it would be pedantic to make a display of
authorities and references, though I hope that any direct indebtedness
has always been duly recorded in the proper place. But I must do myself
the pleasure of adding, that here, as elsewhere in my work, I have
gained more than I can say from the help and encouragement of my wife.
WILLIAM HENRY HUDSON.
_Stanford University, California, 1897_
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Contents
Page
London Life in Shakspere’s Time 1
Pepys and His Diary 65
Two Novelists of the English Restoration 125
A Glimpse of Bohemia 181
------------------------------------------------------------------------
London Life in Shakspere’s Time
------------------------------------------------------------------------
London Life in Shakspere’s Time
It is the purpose of the present paper to give some glimpses of
every-day life in the English metropolis in the latter part of the
sixteenth and the early part of the seventeenth centuries. Our subject
will take us from the main highways of history into by-paths illuminated
by the popular literature of the time. It is not the grave historian,
the statesman, or the philosopher, but rather the common playwright, the
ballad-monger, the pamphleteer, whom we must take here as our guides.
Yet ere we intrust ourselves to their care it will not be amiss if, with
the view of making the clearer what we shall presently have to say, we
pause for a moment at the outset to consider some of the more general
aspects of the period with which we are to deal.
Looking, then, first of all, at the political conditions of the time, we
may describe the history of the reign of Elizabeth as the history of
consolidation rather than of superficial change. What strikes us most is
not the addition of fresh culture-elements, but the reorganization and
expansion of elements already existing. The forces of evolution had
turned inward, acting more upon the internal structure than upon the
external forms of society. The Wars of the Roses were now things of
recollection only, the fierce contentions which the struggle between
York and Lancaster had produced having subsided with most of the bitter
feelings engendered by them. Save for the collision with Spain, which
ended in the defeat of the great Armada, England enjoyed a singular
immunity from complications with foreign powers; and an opportunity,
freely made use of, was thus offered for the development of foreign
trade. The growth of a strong commercial sentiment, consequent on this,
acted as a powerful solvent in the dissolution of feudal ideas and the
disintegration of feudal forms of life. The conflict was now mainly
between opinions—between rival forces of an intellectual and moral
character. The power of the upper classes—the representatives of the
ancient _régime_ of chivalry—was on the wane; the power of the middle
classes—the representatives of the modern _régime_ of commerce—showed
corresponding growth. The voice of the people, through their delegates
in Parliament, began to be acknowledged by the caution exhibited on
sundry critical occasions by the crown; the country at large was growing
richer and stronger; the sense of English unity was intensified by the
very dangers which menaced the national life; and as men came more and
more to recognize their individualities, they demanded greater freedom
of thought and speech. “England, alone of European nations,” as Mr.
Symonds pointed out, “received the influences of both Renaissance and
Reformation simultaneously.” The mighty forces generated by these two
movements in combination—one emancipating the reason, the other the
conscience, from the trammels of the Middle Ages—told in countless ways
upon the masses of society. But with all this,—partly, indeed, in
consequence of all this,—there was a deep-seated restlessness at the
very springs of life. The contests of opposing parties were carried on
with a fierceness and acerbity of which we know little in these more
moderate days; the minds of men were set at variance and thrown into
confusion by a thousand distracting issues; and, unrealized as yet in
all their significance and power, those Titanic religious and political
agencies were beginning to take shape which were by and by to rend
English society to its very core.
When we turn from the political character of the age to the moral
character of the people, we find it difficult to avoid having recourse
to a series of antitheses, after the familiar manner of Macaulay, so
violent and surprising are the contrasts, so diverse the component
qualities which analysis everywhere brings to light. The age was virile
in its power, its restlessness, its amazing energy and fertility; it was
virile, too, in its unrestraint, its fierceness, its licentiousness and
brutality. Men gloried in their newly conquered freedom, and in that
wider knowledge of the world which had been opened up to them by the
study of the past, by the scientific researches of Copernicus, Kepler,
and Galileo, by the discoveries of Amerigo Vespucci, Columbus,
Jenkinson, Willoughby, Drake. National feeling was strong; the national
pulse beat high. Yet, in spite of Protestantism and an open Bible, it
was essentially a pagan age; in spite of its Platonism and Euphuism, a
coarse and sensual one. You had only to scratch the superficial polish
to find the old savagery beneath. Your smiling and graceful courtier
would discourse of Seneca and Aristotle, but he would relish the
obscenest jest and act his part in the grossest intrigue. Your young
gallant would turn an Italian sonnet, or “tune the music of an ever vain
tongue,” but within an hour he might have been found in all the blood
and filth and turmoil of the cockpit or the bear-ring. The unseemliest
freedom prevailed throughout society—amidst the noble ladies in
immediate attendance upon the queen, and thence all down the social
scale. Laws were horribly brutal, habits revoltingly rude. All the
powerful instincts of a fresh, buoyant, self-reliant, ambitious, robust,
sensuous manhood had burst loose, finding expression now in wild
extravagance, indulgence, animalism, now in great effort on distant
seas, now in the mighty utterances of the drama; for these things were
but different facets of the same national character. Still, with all its
gigantic prodigality of energy, with all its untempered misuse of genius
and power, the English Renaissance kept itself free from many of the
worst features of the Spanish and Italian revivals. It was all very well
for Benvenuto Cellini to call the English “wild beasts.” Deep down
beneath the casuistry and Euphuism, beneath the artificiality and the
glittering veneer, beneath the coarseness and the brutalism, there was
ever to be found that which was lacking in the Southern character—a
stern, hardy, tough-fibred moral sense, which in that critical period of
disquietude and upheaval formed indeed the very sheet-anchor of the
nation’s hopes. It must never be forgotten that it was this age of
new-found freedom, and of that license which went with it like its
shadow, that produced such types of magnificent manhood as Raleigh,
strong “the fierce extremes of good and ill to brook”; as Spenser,
sweetest and purest of poets and of men; as Sidney, whom that same
Spenser might well describe as “the most noble and virtuous gentleman,
most worthy of all titles, both of learning and chivalry”; as Shakspere,
whom, all slanders notwithstanding, we, like his own close friends,
still think and speak of as our “Gentle Will.”
Such, so far as we are able to sum them up in a few brief sentences,
were some of the salient characteristics of the great age of the Virgin
Queen—an age, as Dean Church has said, “of vast ambitious adventure,
which went to sea, little knowing whither it went, and ill-provided with
knowledge or instrument”; but an age of magnificent enterprise and
achievement, none the less. And now it is for us to follow down into
some of the details of their private, every-day existence the men and
women who, to use a suggestive phrase of Goethe’s, were the citizens of
this period, and whose little lives shared, no matter in how small and
obscure a way, in the movements and destinies of the large world into
which they were born.
* * * * *
Just a quarter of a century before Queen Elizabeth’s death, a
proclamation was issued, reciting that her Majesty foresaw that “great
and manifold inconveniences and mischiefs” were likely to arise “from
the access and confluence of the people” to the metropolis, and making
certain stringent provisions with a view to keeping down the population
of the city. This enactment is useful as showing us that even at that
early date,—as later on, in the time of Smollett,—the enormous growth of
London was held to be matter for alarm. London was indeed increasing
rapidly in extent, population, wealth, and power; and Lyly was hardly
guilty of extravagance when, in his “Euphues,” he wrote of it as a place
that “both for the beauty of building, infinite riches, variety of all
things,” “excelleth all the cities of the world; insomuch that it may be
called the storehouse or mart of all Europe.” Yet we are most of us
probably unable without much effort to realize how different was the
English metropolis of Elizabeth’s time from the metropolis of the
present day.
We have to remember, in the first place, that the London with which we
are now concerned was a walled city, and that the territory which lay
within the walls,—that is, the metropolis proper,—represented but a very
small portion of what is now included within the civic area. Newgate,
Ludgate, Aldgate, Bishopsgate, Cripplegate, and Aldersgate, still mark
out and perpetuate by their names the narrow lines of those protecting
walls which held snug and secure the mere handful of folk of which
London was then composed. At nine o’clock in the evening, when Bow-bell
rang, and the voices of the other city churches took up the
curfew-strain, the gates were shut for the night, and the citizens
retired to their dwellings under the protection of armed watchmen who
guarded their slumbers along the walls. Westward from Fleet Street and
Holborn, beyond which so much of modern London lies, the city had not
then penetrated.
Within and about the walls there were many “fair churches for divine
service,” with old St. Paul’s in their midst—the Gothic St. Paul’s of
the days before the great fire; and many prisons to help the churches in
their philanthropic work. Open spaces were very numerous; trees were
everywhere to be seen; fields invaded the most sacred strongholds of
commercial activity; conduits and brooks (whereof Lamb’s Conduit Street
to-day carries a nominal reminiscence) flowed through every part of the
town. The narrow, straggling streets ran hither and thither with no very
marked definity of aim; for county councils had not as yet come into
existence, and metropolitan improvements were still hidden in the womb
of time; and so unsanitary were the general conditions that they were
seldom free from epidemic disease. Cheap, with its old cross just
opposite the entrance to Wood Street, | 2,594.557148 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.5399920 | 1,915 | 139 |
Produced by Al Haines
The Orpheus Series No. 1
THE
HERO IN MAN
BY
A. E.
[Transcriber's note: "A.E." is a pseudonym of George William Russell]
The Orpheus Press, 1910
First Edition (1,000 copies), May, 1909.
Second Edition (1,000 copies), September, 1910.
PRELUDE.
[Greek: _lampadia echontes diadosousin allelois_.]--PLATO.
We who live in the great cities could not altogether avoid, even if we
would, a certain association with the interests of our time. Wherever
we go the minds of men are feverishly debating some new political
measure or some new scheme for the reconstruction of society. Now, as
in olden times, the rumours of an impending war will engulf the subtler
interests of men, and unless we are willing to forego all intercourse
we find ourselves involved in a hundred sympathies. A friendly group
will gather one evening and open their thoughts concerning the
experiences of the soul; they will often declare that only these
matters are of profound interest, and yet on the morrow the most of
them regard the enthusiasms of the mind as far away, unpractical, not
of immediate account. But even at noon the stars are above us and
because a man in material difficulties cannot evoke the highest
experiences that he has known they have not become less real. They
pertain to his immortal nature and if in the circumstance of life he
loses memory of them it is because he is likewise mortal. In the
measure that we develop our interior selves philosophy becomes the most
permanent of our interests and it may well be that the whole aim of Man
is to acquire an unbroken and ever-broadening realisation of the
Supreme Spirit so that in a far-off day he may become the master of all
imaginable conditions. He, therefore, who brings us back to our
central selves and shows us that however far we may wander it is these
high thoughts which are truly the most real--he is of all men our
greatest benefactor.
Now those who thus care for the spiritual aspect of life are of two
kinds,--the intellectual and the imaginative. There are men of keen
intellect who comprehend some philosophic system, who will defend it
with elaborate reasonings and proclaim themselves its adherents, but
the earth at their feet, the stars in the firmament, man himself and
their own souls have undergone no transfiguration. Their philosophies
are lifeless, for imagination is to the intellect what breath is to the
body. Thoughts that never glow with imagination, that are never
applied to all that the sense perceives or the mind remembers--thoughts
that remain quite abstract, are as empty husks of no value.
But there are those who have studied by the light of imagination and
these know well that the inner life of thought, of experiment, and of
wonder, though it may often be over-clouded, is the only life which can
henceforth give them content. They know that it was not when they were
most immersed in the affairs of the day but rather when the whole world
appeared for a little while to be pulsating with an almost
uncontainable splendour, that they were most alive. For the best mood
we have ever known, though it be lost for long, is yet the clearest
revelation of our true selves, and it is then that we learn most nearly
what marvels life may hold.
If we read with imagination the Dialogues of Plato we dwell for a while
among those ardent Greeks for whom the universe was changed by the
words of the poet-philosopher. So too when we read the letter that was
written by Plotinus to Flaccus, perhaps the serenest height the human
soul has ever attained, we become ourselves the recipients. In either
case we feel that we have lived in the presence of a princely soul. It
is an inspiration to realise that we are of the one race with these and
may look out on the same beauty of earth and heaven.
Yet the magic of the mind is not enduring and to dream overlong of a
bygone beauty is to make sorrowful the present. What imaginative
reader of Plato but has desired with a fruitless ardour that he might
in truth have been numbered with those who walked on the daisied lawns
of the Academy, might in truth have heard the voice of the hardly human
initiate, have seen him face to face, have responded to the influence
of his presence? who but would willingly translate his life to another
century if he could but hear Plotinus endeavouring to describe in human
language an ecstasy which makes of man a god?
I know that one may easily injure whatever one most loves by speaking
of it in superlative praise to those who as yet remain aloof with
interest unaroused, but for me it is hard to refrain from an expression
of that admiration, and I would fain say also that affection, which
burns up within me when I read the writings of A.E. For they cause me
to think of him as one of those rare spirits who bring to men the
realisation of their own divinity, who make the spiritual life seem
adventurous, attractive, and vivid, so that we go forth into the world
with a new interest and a new joy at heart. That, as I have sought to
show in the opening of this note, is the greatest of all things that
anyone can do. The life of such a man makes beautiful the generation
with which it coincides. If we penetrate the human words and inhabit,
so far as we are able, the mood which was passing in the soul as it
shaped them, we may learn from the reveries that are here reprinted how
to the mystic of this material age the world remains equally wonderful
and human life equally holy as either seemed in the far-off days when
beauty was more greatly desired. For of deeper value at all times than
any particular thought is the pervading mood. Perhaps the reader will
remember here the following passage by Robert Louis Stevenson:--"Such
are the best teachers; a dogma learned is only a new error--the old one
was perhaps as good; but a spirit communicated is a perpetual
possession. These best teachers climb beyond teaching to the plane of
art; it is themselves, and what is best in themselves, that they
communicate." To read the essays that follow, or the three volumes of
poetry that A.E. has published, is to recognise one who has endeavoured
always to communicate the "best in himself," and the mood which they
induce is a mood from which we may see the world once more in its
primal beauty, may recover a sense of the long-forgotten but
inextinguishable grandeur of the soul.
CLIFFORD BAX.
_April_, 1909.
THE HERO IN MAN.
I.
There sometimes comes on us a mood of strange reverence for people and
things which in less contemplative hours we hold to be unworthy; and in
such moments we may set side by side the head of Christ and the head of
an outcast, and there is an equal radiance around each, which makes of
the darker face a shadow and is itself a shadow around the head of
light. We feel a fundamental unity of purpose in their presence here,
and would as willingly pay homage to the one who has fallen as to him
who has become a master of life. I know that immemorial order decrees
that the laurel and the crown be given only to the victor, but in those
moments I speak of a profound intuition changes the decree and sets the
aureole on both alike.
We feel such deep pity for the fallen that there must needs be a
justice in it, for these diviner feelings are wise in themselves and do
not vaguely arise. They are lights from the Father. A justice lies in
uttermost pity and forgiveness, even when we seem to ourselves to be
most deeply wronged; or why is it that the awakening of resentment or
hate brings such swift contrition? We are ever self-condemned; and the
dark thought which went forth in us brooding revenge, when suddenly
smitten by the light, withdraws and hides within itself in awful
penitence. In asking myself why it is that the meanest are safe from
our condemnation when we sit on the true seat of judgment in the heart,
it seemed to me that their shield was the sense we have of a nobility
hidden in them under the cover of ignoble things; that their present
darkness | 2,594.560032 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.5425560 | 3,562 | 22 |
Produced by 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)
ROMA BEATA
[Illustration: _Terrace of the Palazzo Rusticucci_
From a pencil drawing in the Collection of Miss Mabel Norman]
ROMA BEATA
Letters from the Eternal City
BY
MAUD HOWE
AUTHOR OF “A NEWPORT AQUARELLE,” “THE SAN ROSARIO RANCH,”
“MAMMON,” “PHILLIDA,” “LAURA BRIDGMAN,” ETC.
_With Illustrations from Drawings by John Elliott
and from Photographs_
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1909
_Copyright, 1903, 1904_,
BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT & COMPANY.
_Copyright, 1904_,
BY THE CENTURY CO.
_Copyright, 1904_,
BY AMERICA COMPANY.
_Copyright, 1904_,
BY THE OUTLOOK COMPANY.
_Copyright, 1904_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
TO MY SISTER
LAURA E. RICHARDS
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. LOOKING FOR A HOME 1
II. CADENABBIA--WOERISHOVEN--PFARRER SEBASTIAN KNEIPP 31
III. A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET 50
IV. A PRESENTATION TO LEO THE THIRTEENTH 76
V. IN THE ABRUZZI MOUNTAINS 97
VI. SCANNO 119
VII. VIAREGGIO--LUCCA--RETURN TO ROME 142
VIII. ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES 163
IX. BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE--WITCH’S NIGHT 187
X. ISCHIA 215
XI. OLD AND NEW ROME--PALESTRINA 239
XII. THE ANNO SANTO 264
XIII. THE QUEEN’S VISIT 292
XIV. STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI 314
XV. THE KING IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE KING 338
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Terrace of the Palazzo Rusticucci _Frontispiece_
From a pencil drawing in the Collection of Miss Mabel Norman
The Appian Way 30
From a photograph
The Madonna of St. Agostino 72
From a photograph
The Pincian Gate and Wall of Rome 76
From a photograph
Roccaraso 98
From a pencil drawing
Marta, a Vestal of the Abruzzi 107
From a pencil drawing in the Collection of Mrs. Whitman
The Tiber, at the Ponte Nomantana 158
From a photograph
A Lost Love 202
From a red chalk drawing in the Collection of Mr. Thomas W. Lawson
Ischia 216
From a photograph
The Lady K. 250
From a red chalk drawing in the Collection of Mr. Thomas W. Lawson
Dante 311
From a pastel drawing in the Collection of Mrs. David Kimball
The Palace of the Orsini at Nemi 318
From a photograph
ROMA BEATA
I
LOOKING FOR A HOME
ROME, January 20, 1894.
Rome, which we reached Thursday, is very much changed since I last saw
it; imagine the Fountain of Trevi, all the principal streets, even many
of the smaller ones, gleaming with electric lights!
We at once engaged an apartment bathed with sun in the Piazza di Spagna,
sun from early morning till late afternoon. But when we moved into it,
the day was overcast. The apartment which had been tropical with the sun
when we hired it was arctic without it!
We interviewed our _padrona_ (landlady), an immense woman, and demanded
a fire.
“But, Excellency, it is not good for the health.”
We told her we understood our health better than she, and reminded her
that fires had been promised.
“Excellency, yes, if it makes cold; but to-day it makes an immense heat.
_Diamine!_ this saloon is a furnace.”
The thermometer could not have stood above forty-two degrees, but she
was not to be bullied or cajoled. Then J. went out and bought wood
“unbeknownst” to her and lighted a fire in the parlor grate. All the
smoke poured into the room. The _padrona_ charged with fixed bayonets.
“Gentry, we are ruined! Not is possible to make fire here.”
“Why did you not say so before?”
“Who could figure to himself that gentry so instructed would do a thing
so strange?”
These people are so polite that this was an insult, meant as such, taken
as such. In the end J. prevailed. A small fireplace was unearthed from
behind the wardrobe in our bedroom. He worked like a stoker, but the
badly constructed chimney swallowed all the heat. For three days I was
never warm, save when in bed. Monday we forfeited three months’ rent,
paid in advance, and went, tame and crestfallen, to a _pension_, a
sadder and a wiser pair.
PALAZZO SANTO CROCE, March 10, 1894.
The warm weather has come, bright and beautiful, and here we are again,
in a furnished apartment, but with what a difference! These pleasant
rooms belong to Marion Crawford. That princely soul, having let his
lower suite to the William Henry Hurlburts, lends us the pretty little
suite he fitted up for the “four-in-hand,” as he calls his quartette of
splendid babes. We are to remain here till our own apartment is found.
We have bought our linen, blankets, _batterie de cuisine_, and other
beginnings of housekeeping, and yesterday--am I not my mother’s own
child?--I gave a tea-party for two American girls. They wanted to see
some artists, so I asked the few I know, Apolloni (well named the big
Apollo), Sartorio, and Mr. Ross, he who spoke of the cherubs in a
certain Fra Angelico picture as “dose dear leetle angles bimbling round
in de corner.” I invited also Mr. and Mrs. Muirhead; he is the author of
the American Baedeker, the editor of all English Baedekers. I expected
to see him bound in scarlet instead of dressed in hodden-gray. We had
much tea, more talk, and most _panettone_--half bread, half cake, with
_pignoli_ and currants; when fresh, it seems the best thing to eat in
the world, until you get it the next day toasted for breakfast, when it
is better.
My rooms are still ablaze with yesterday’s flowers. I bought for two
francs in the Piazza di Spagna what I thought a very extravagant bunch
of white and purple flags and white and purple lilacs, like those in our
old garden at Green Peace. Helen came in a little later with a bunch
twice as big and a glow of pink peonies added; in the middle of the
tea-drinking Sartorio arrived with a gigantic armful of yellow gorse.
Spring is really here! The trees are all green now. When we first came
the stone pines were the chief glory; now the Pincio is gay with
snow-white maple trees and flowering shrubs, mostly white and purple. Is
there any rotation of color in flowers? It has often struck me there
must be! Sometimes everything in blossom seems to be lilac, another
season it is all yellow, then all red. I notice the reds come last, in
midsummer chiefly,--has this to do with the heat? Max Nordau--cheerful
person that, by the way--says that red is hysterical peoples’ favorite
color; violet, melancholiacs’. There is a boy who sits all day under my
window selling bird whistles, on which he warbles pleasantly. He is
never without a red rosebud worn over his left ear. I wonder if he is
hysterical!
Now that the good weather has come, I often go to the churches to hear
the music. At the _festa_ of Our Lady of Good Counsel the scholars of
the Blind Institution furnished the music--a good band, though not equal
to that of the Perkins Institution, in Boston. The church was crammed
with very dirty people and many children. One mother carried a strapping
yearling, a splendid angel of a child; three toddlers clung to her
skirts, and a newborn baby howled in the grandam’s arms. After a time
the two women exchanged babies, the grandam took the heavy youngster,
the mother took the new-born, and, squatting down, calmly suckled it.
The music was marred by the wailing of this and other infants, but no
one seemed to mind. After all, it was the only way the women could have
heard mass; the little ones were too young to be left alone at home.
The Romans are devoted to their children, although their ways are not
our ways; no woman of the upper class nurses her child, baby carriages
are unknown, and swaddling is still in vogue, at least with the lower
classes. I know a young American lady, married to a Roman, who imported
a perambulator for her first baby. The _balia_ (wet-nurse), a superb cow
of a woman, refused to trundle it, saying she was not strong enough,
although I saw her carry a heavy trunk upstairs on her head while I was
calling at the house! The baby is now a big eighteen-months-old boy;
every day the _balia_ goes out to give him an airing, carrying him in
her arms! Here, leading-strings are facts, not symbols. In Trastavere,
where I went sightseeing yesterday with Helen--peering, as she calls
it,--the best sight we saw was a darling red-haired baby in
leading-strings stumbling along in front of its grandmother. In the
division of labor, the care of the children falls upon the grandmother;
the mother’s time is too valuable; if she is not actually employed in
earning money, there is the heavier work of the household to do. To use
the pet phrase of the boarders, “things are different here from what
they are at home.”
PALAZZO RUSTICUCCI, July 10, 1894.
Here we are in a home of our own! One moonlight night J. came in with
the news that he had found the very apartment he had been looking for;
if I didn’t mind, we would go and see it at once. Naturally, I didn’t
“mind.” We took a _botte_ and threaded the network of narrow streets
that lead down to the Tiber. We crossed the river, a huge brown flood,
silver where it swirled about the piers; drove past the Castle of St.
Angelo to the dingy old palace at the junction of the Borgo Nuovo and
the Piazza San Pietro. He would not let me stop to look at anything, but
hurried me through the entrance, along the corridor, past a courtyard
with orange trees and a fountain where the nightingales were singing, up
a high, wide stairway guarded by recumbent statues of terra-cotta
Etruscan ladies, to a rusty old green door. We pulled a bell-rope and
set a bell jangling inside. The door was opened by the _esattore_
(agent), a brisk young man, who carried a three-beaked brass lamp by
whose light we explored the apartment. They hurried me so that I could
only see that the high ceilings were of carved wood, that the windows
were large, and that I liked the shape of the rooms. J. kept saying,
“Wait till you see the terrace.” The terrace, or house-top, is a flat
roof; it covers the whole length and breadth of the apartment, and
belongs exclusively to it. A parapet three feet high runs around it; at
one end is a small room with a second smaller terrace on its roof,
reached by a flight of stone steps; at the other end is a high wall with
a little, open belfry on top. The view is sublime; you look down into
the Square of St. Peter’s with the Egyptian obelisk in the middle,
Bernini’s great colonnades on either side, the Church of St. Peter’s at
the end, with the Vatican, a big, awkward mass of a building, behind it,
and in the foreground the twin fountains sending up their columns of
powdered spray. On the left loomed the Castle of St. Angelo; it was
light enough to see the time by the clock. You can imagine all the
rest,--the city spread out like a map, the dark masses of trees marking
the Pincio and the Villa Borghese, the Campagna, the Sabine and the
Alban hills beyond, Mt. Soracte, our familiar friend, on the left, over
and under all the soft deep notes of the big bell of St. Peter’s
throbbing out the Angelus.
The bargain was struck that very night! But when we went over the next
day J. let the cat out of the bag by saying, “I was afraid if you went
by daylight, and saw what an old ruin it was, you would never consent to
our taking it!”
It did look discouraging. The last tenant, a monsignore, who lived here
thirty years, never allowed the owners to make any repairs; he said he
could not be bothered with workmen. He died a short time ago, leaving a
red rose growing in a wooden half-barrel on the terrace. The owner of
the palace, Signor Mazzocchi, armorer to the Pope, waited till the new
tenant should turn up before making any changes. The palace was built in
1661. It has gone to wrack and ruin, but it is a magnificent old wreck.
It stands on the site of the house the great architect Bramante built
for Raphael, one pier of which is still standing, built into our walls.
It once belonged to a Cardinal Rusticucci, whose arms are cut in stone
over one of the doors; he was of the same family as the gentleman Dante
met in one of the lower circles of the Inferno.
“_Ed io, che posto son con loro in croce, Jacopo Rusticucci fui; e
certo la fiera moglie più ch’altro mi nuoce._”
“And I who am placed on the cross with these was Jacob Rusticucci. It is
certain my proud wife harmed me more than another!”
The palace seems to be called indifferently Rusticucci, Accoramboni, and
Mazzocchi. We hesitated for some time between the three names; finally
the Dantesque name carried the day, and I have had Palazzo Rusticucci
engraved upon our cards. It is considered very plebeian here to have
your address on your cards, but I cling to my American ideas.
The monsignore’s red rose on the terrace looked so lonely that I went
last Wednesday to Rag Fair in the Campo dei Fiori and bought a pink ivy
geranium, some <DW29>s, and a white carnation to keep it company; they
were absurdly cheap; flowers are a necessity here, not a luxury. I also
bought a sack of earth, some flower-pots, and a watering-can. I got up
at dawn the next morning and potted my plants; hard work! When J. came
up at seven o’clock for coffee, there they stood in a row at the end of
the terrace. | 2,594.562596 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.6363570 | 3,333 | 60 | BIRDS, SECOND SERIES***
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 41550-h.htm or 41550-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41550/41550-h/41550-h.htm)
or
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/nestseggsoffamil00adamiala
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
NESTS AND EGGS OF FAMILIAR BRITISH BIRDS,
Described and Illustrated; With an Account of the Haunts and Habits
of the Feathered Architects, and Their Times and Modes of Building;
SECOND SERIES.
by
H. G. ADAMS.
Author of "Favorite Song Birds," "Beautiful Butterflies,"
"Humming Birds," &c., &c.
With Eight Coloured Plates of Eggs,
Containing Thirty-Eight Different Species.
London:
Groombridge and Sons, 5, Paternoster Row.
M DCCC LVII.
INTRODUCTION.
WHAT IS AN EGG?
It may at first strike our young readers that this is a question very
easily answered; if they think so, let them try what sort of an answer
they can give to it, and if they break down in the definition, we will
endeavour to help them, as we are told in the old fable, Jupiter did
the waggoner; but it is best for young people to _try_, and, for that
matter, old people too; let them never believe that they _can't_ do a
thing--"where there's a will there's a way." Many a boy that will take
a deal of pains, and incur no inconsiderable risk of life and limb, to
climb up a tree after a bird's nest, finds it too much trouble to read
and learn about the habits of the creature he is thus ready to deprive
of its warm comfortable home and beautiful eggs. He cannot tell you, if
you ask him, of what the nest is composed, nor how, nor when it was
built, much less can he answer the question which we have just put to
our readers,--
WHAT IS AN EGG?
"Well," we hear some one say, "an Egg is a thing of an oval shape,
large or small, white or coloured and speckled, as the case may be; it
has a shell which breaks if you knock it, because it is brittle; and
inside is a yellow substance called the yolk, surrounded by a white,
clear liquid; if you boil it for a little time it becomes _set_, so
that you can take it up in a spoon, and in this state it is good to
eat. Oh! very good, I like an egg, especially for breakfast, with a
little salt; and then eggs, and other things with them, make custards,
and pancakes, and puddings, and all sorts of nice things; and then I
recollect some such funny '_Stanzas to an Egg by a Spoon_,' which begin,
'Pledge of a feathered pair's affection,
Kidnapped in thy downy nest,
Soon for my breakfast--sad reflection!
Must thou in yon pot be drest.'"
Well, never mind the rest. Now listen to our definition of an Egg. The
word itself, we may observe first of all, is of Saxon origin; that this
is how the ancient dwellers on our island used to write it aeg, you may
call it _aeg_ or _oeg_, which you like. Johnson says the term means,
"That which is laid by feathered and some other animals, from which
their young is produced;" it is also, we are told by the same
authority, "the spawn or sperm of other creatures," as fish, which
are said, you know, not to lay eggs, but to _spawn_. Another
dictionary-maker defines it to be "the _ovum_ of birds," giving us here
the Latin for egg, hence that peculiar shape is called _oval_, and the
science of eggs is sometimes termed
OVOLOGY.
As we have told you in the first volume of this series, _Oology_ is
another term for this science, which has occupied the attention of many
learned men, who have gone deeper into Eggs than ever you or I shall,
and told us such strange things about them, as would scarcely be
believed by the very hens that laid them. Little does the happy mother
think, when she goes cackling about the yard, proclaiming the event,
that she has produced such a wonderful object. It looks a simple affair
enough, one might make a thing very like it with a piece of chalk;
touch it, roll it about; boil it, eat it, or crack it, and let the
inside flow out; there's the yellow, and there's the white; there's
nothing very particular in that, all eggs are so. Well, who made them
so? and of what _are_ they made? and what reason is there for this
peculiar arrangement of the different parts of an Egg? and how is it
that, under certain circumstances, so complete a change should take
place in the nature of its contents--that the fluids should be
gradually absorbed into a solid body, and that, by and by, at the end
of a period which can be calculated to a nicety, the shell should be
burst open, and there should come forth a living creature? Truly this
_is_ wonderful; but we are surrounded by wonders, and only heed them
not because they are so common.
_Common_ is the vital air,
_Common_ is the azure sky,
_Common_ flowers are everywhere,
_Common_ stars shine out on high:
Music of the forest bird,
Cometh without stint or measure,
Friendly smile and loving word,
_Common_ are as joy and pleasure;
Why from _common_ things then turn,
And for the _uncommon_ yearn?
But about this common thing, an Egg? It is the germ or seed, so to
speak, of animal life; in it is contained all that is necessary for the
formation of the perfect living creature; in that little oval case lie
snugly packed up, bones, and muscles, and sinews, and all the delicate
parts, organs, as they would be called, from a Greek word signifying an
instrument, thus the tongue is an organ of speech, the eye of sight,
and so on. But all these organs are in an _undeveloped_ state, as the
flower is in the bud; develope is a French word, and signifies to
unroll, or unfold. The animal is there in _embryo_; this again is
Greek, and means a thing unperfected, or unfinished, so the poet
Thompson says:--
"While the promised fruit
Lies yet a little _embryo_ unperceived,
Within its crimson folds."
And so with closer reference to our subject, we might say,
While the promised bird
Lies yet a little _embryo_ unperceived,
Within its oval shell.
Dr. Harvey, who made that great discovery, the circulation of the
blood, uttered a truth when he said _omne animal ex ovo_, every animal
is born of an egg, for although some animals are _oviparous_, and
others _viviparous_,--the two words come from _ovum_ egg, _vivum_ life,
and _pario_ to bring forth--yet may the first stage of all animal life
be compared to an Egg. From the smallest insect up to the most huge and
unwieldy creature that swims in the deep sea, or walks upon the land.
All were at one time alike, mere specks, surrounded by fluid matter,
which afforded the material for growth and nourishment, and enclosed in
some kind of a case, which if not exactly like an egg shell, answers
the same purpose of protection from injury.
What a vast difference is there between the bright-winged insect, whose
history we traced in our volume on Butterflies, and the bird with downy
plumage and the voice of melody; between that again and the great
crocodile, in his scaly coat of mail; the mighty boa constrictor, king
of serpents; or that tyrant of the deep, the fierce voracious shark;
and yet all these come from Eggs, very similar in form, and precisely
so in their nature and internal construction. Look too at the
difference in size, between the egg of the Humming Bird, no bigger than
a pea, and that of the Ostrich, as large as a man's head nearly, or
bigger still that of the Epyornis, of which fossil remains have been
found in Madagascar, the contents of which must have been equal to six
ostrichs', or one hundred and forty-eight common hens' eggs, that is
about seventeen English pints; and yet in all these the germ, or as it
would be called, the vital principle, that is, the principle of life,
is but a tiny speck, or circle, which is attached to the membrane that
surrounds the yellow portion, or yolk; it is from this that the animal
in embryo derives nourishment, and the size of it, and consequently of
the whole egg, is in proportion to the quantity that is required to
sustain life, until the protection of the shell is no longer necessary.
There is only so much food stored up as the bird, or reptile, or
whatever it may be, requires before it is strong enough to make an
opening in its prison, and come forth to provide for itself, or be fed
by the parent. Some creatures that eventually attain a large size are
born, or _hatched_, as it is termed, comparatively small; thus the size
of the egg is not always in proportion to that of the animal which lays
it; the crocodile's egg, for instance, is but little larger than that
of the common fowl; the young comes forth like a small lizard, about
two or three inches long, takes to the water at once, and begins to
catch insects on its own account; its mother may be twenty or thirty
feet in length. Most creatures that produce eggs small in proportion to
their size lay a great many; this is especially the case with fish,
whose _spawn_ must be numbered by millions: it has been calculated that
if the young of a single pair of herrings were suffered to breed
undisturbed, they would in twenty years together make up a bulk six
times the size of the earth; but so many creatures feed upon this
spawn, that few of the eggs of which it is composed ever come to young
fish, that is comparatively few, for the vast shoals which every year
visit our shores, for the purpose of depositing their spawn in shallow
water, shew that immense numbers must escape the dangers to which they
are exposed. There are some fish of the fierce and rapacious kind, such
as the Ray, the Dog-fish, and the Shark, which attain a considerable
size before they lose the protection of the egg-shell, which is of a
very peculiar shape and construction, being of a leathery texture,
flat, and four-cornered, with a long curling string-like projection
from each corner; frequenters of the coast, to whom they are very
familiar objects, being often cast up on the beach, call them Mermaid's
purses, and Fairy-purses, while the clustered Eggs of the Cuttle-fish
they term Sea Grapes.
All eggs require warmth to hatch them; the fishes know this, not as we
know it, because we have read, or been told so, and can _reason_ upon
causes and consequences, and so understand _why_, but they know it
_instinctively_; they possess, in common with all unreasoning
creatures, what we call _instinct_, that is, a natural impulse to do in
the right way, and at the proper time, whatever may be necessary for
the maintenance of that state of existence in which God has placed
them; so instinct directs the fishes when the time for spawning has
arrived, to leave the deep waters, where they generally remain safe
from the pursuit of man, for the shores, where the warmth of the sun
can reach the eggs, and awaken the principle of life within them. So
instinct teaches the bird to leave its winter home, in some far
southern country, and fly hundreds of miles across land and ocean, to
reach a spot suitable for the purpose of breeding and rearing its
young; to collect the materials and to build its nest, and after the
eggs are laid, to sit patiently on them the appointed time; to select
the food proper for those little gaping bills, and to tend the
fledglings carefully, until they are able to fly and provide for
themselves, and then, when their wings are strong enough for the
journey, and their food begins to get scarce, away they go back to the
south of Europe, or Africa, straight as an arrow, and the young ones,
which have never flown that way before, seem to know it as well as
those which have been backwards and forwards, often and often.
But the egg, what of that? Can we describe its nature and construction
in a way sufficiently clear for our readers to understand? Let us
try:--it is like a series of cases or envelopes, one within the other;
the outer one only, which is the last formed, being hard and unelastic,
that is, it will not stretch or change its shape. Like the shells of
some fish, and other testaceous animals, it is composed of carbonate of
lime, which the animal has the power of secreting, as it is called,
from its food. Hens sometimes lay soft eggs, without a shell; this
shews a deficiency of the secreting power, or a want of the necessary
material, and may generally be remedied by mixing some chalk with the
food, or scattering it about the yard. Next to the shell is a skin
called the _membrana putaminis_, that means the membrane or skin of the
shell; it has also a Greek name--_chorian_; it is divided into two
layers, which separate at the larger end, and leave a space called the
_vesicula aeris_, that is, air vesicle, or little bladder; this
contains the air necessary for the chick to breathe before it chips the
shell. Enclosed in this membrane is the _albumen_, or white fluid,
sometimes called the _glair_, from the Latin _glarea_; in the same
language _albus_ means white; and our readers who live in Albion, so
called from her chalky cliffs, ought to see at once from whence we
derive the word _albumen_; the little chords by which this bag of fluid
is suspended are called _chalaza_; this word comes | 2,594.656397 |
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AT START AND FINISH
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
APPLES OF ISTAKHAR
AT
START AND FINISH
William Lindsey
[Illustration]
Boston
Small, Maynard & Company
1899
_Copyright, 1896,_ by
COPELAND AND DAY
* * * * *
_Copyright, 1899,_ by
SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY
TO THE
ATHLETIC TEAMS OF OLD ENGLAND
AND NEW ENGLAND, OXFORD, CAMBRIDGE,
HARVARD, AND YALE, WHO
MET IN LONDON JULY 22, 1899, GOOD
WINNERS AND PLUCKY LOSERS,
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
NOTE.
In the present volume I have drawn freely on my previous collection (now
out of print), "Cinder-path Tales," omitting some material, but adding
much more that is new.
I have also added headpieces, in which my suggestions have been very
cleverly carried out by the artist, W. B. Gilbert.
W. L.
CONTENTS
PAGE
OLD ENGLAND AND NEW ENGLAND 1
MY FIRST, FOR MONEY 36
THE HOLLOW HAMMER 62
HIS NAME IS MUD 91
HOW KITTY QUEERED THE "MILE" 107
ATHERTON'S LAST "HALF" 131
THE CHARGE OF THE HEAVY BRIGADE 153
A VIRGINIA JUMPER 176
AND EVERY ONE A WINNER 213
[Illustration: Old England and New England]
It is something of an experience for an Englishman, after thirty years'
absence, to stand on the steps of "Morley's" and face the sunlight of
Trafalgar Square. He may not own a foot of English soil, he may have no
friend left to meet him, he may even have become a citizen of the Great
Republic, but he cannot look at the tall shaft on which the "little
sailor" stands without a breath of pride, a mist in his eye, and a lump
in his throat.
It was early afternoon of a warm July day. There was barely enough wind
to blow the spray of the fountains, and the water itself rose straight
in the soft air. I stood contentedly watching the endless procession of
busses, hansoms, and four-wheelers, with the occasional coster's cart,
and asked for nothing more. Long-eared "Neddy" dragging "Arry,"
"Arriet," and a load of gooseberries was a combination on which my eye
rested with peculiar fascination. No amateur "whip" in a red coat on a
bottle-green coach could handle the "ribbons" over four "choice uns"
with a finer air than "Arry" as he swung through the line and came
clicking up the street. I would rather see him pass than the Lord Mayor
in his chariot. I must have stood on the top step of "Morley's" for a
good half-hour, not caring even to smoke, so sweet was the smell of a
London street to me.
I was thinking, as a man must at such a time, of old days and old
friends,--not dismally, but with a certain sense of loss,--when a tall
gentleman came slowly up the steps and stopped immediately in front of
me. I moved aside, although there was plenty of room for him to pass;
but still he looked at me gravely, and at last held out a big brown hand
and said, as if we had parted only yesterday, "Well, Walter, old man,
how are you?" I was a bit in doubt at first. He was so tall that his
eyes were nearly on a level with my own, his figure erect and soldierly,
his face bronzed as if from long exposure to a tropic sun. Only when he
smiled did I know him, and then we gripped hands hard, our fingers
clinging until we saw we were attracting the notice of those around us.
Then our hands unclasped, and feeling a bit foolish over our emotion, we
sat down together.
At first we talked of commonplaces, though all the time I was thinking
of an evening more than thirty years ago when we stood together on the
river path, under the shadows of old Oxford towers, and said,
"Good-bye." He then offered to stand by me when the friendship would
have cost him something, and I declined the sacrifice. Would it have
been better? Who can tell?
Our first thoughts were a bit serious, perhaps, but our second became
decidedly cheerful at meeting again after so long a time. I learned that
he was "Colonel" Patterson, having gained his regiment a good ten years
ago; that he had spent nearly all his time in India; that he had been
invalided home; that he was, like myself, unmarried, and that he found
himself rather "out of it" after all these years away from the "old
country."
I told how I had gone to America, where, finding all other talents
unmarketable, I had become first a professional runner, and later a
college trainer. To this occupation, in which I had been something of a
success, I had given many years until a small invention had made me
independent, and a man of leisure in a modest way. I saw he was a bit
disappointed when I told him I had been forced to "turn pro." in order
to obtain my bread and butter. I knew exactly how he felt, and well did
I remember my sorrow when I dropped the "Mr." from my name. It is not a
particularly high-sounding title, but to appreciate it at its true value
a man need only to lose it and become plain "Smith," "Jones," or
"Robinson." That nothing could raise the "pale spectre of the salt"
between Frank Patterson and myself, not even going outside the pale of
the "gentleman amateur," I was very certain.
But when I told him a little later that I had become a full-fledged
citizen of the United States, he could not conceal his surprise,
although he said but little at first.
We talked of other things for a while, and then my friend came back to
what I knew he had been thinking about all the time, and he asked me
bluntly how it was I had come to give up the nation of my birth.
"It seemed only fair," I answered, "that I should become a citizen of
the country in which I obtained my living, whose laws protected me, in
which most of my friends were resident, and where I expected sometime to
be buried."
At this the Colonel was silent for a little while, and then he remarked
rather doubtfully: "I cannot make up my mind just what the Americans are
like. Are they what Kipling declared them in the 'Pioneer Mail' some
ten years ago, when he cursed them root and branch, or what the same man
said of them a few years later, when he affirmed just as strongly, 'I
love them' and 'They'll be the biggest, finest, and best people on the
surface of the globe'? Such contradictory statements are confusing to a
plain soldier with nothing more than the average amount of intelligence.
What is the use, too, of calling them Anglo-Saxon? They are, in fact, a
mixture of Celt, Teuton, Gaul, Slav, with a modicum of Saxon blood, and
I know not what else."
I could not help smiling a little at the Colonel's earnestness. I tried
to tell him that the American was essentially Anglo-Saxon in spite of
all the mixture; that his traditions, aims, and sentiments were very
much like his own; that he had the same language, law, and literature;
that the boys read "Tom Brown at Rugby," and the old men Shakespeare,
Browning, and Kipling. I told him that the boys played English games
with but slight changes, and that they boxed like English boys, and
their fathers fought like English men.
"Yes," said the Colonel, at last interrupting my flow of eloquence, "I
heard the statement made at the Army and Navy Club only last night, that
the American soldier was close to our 'Tommy,' and that the Yankee
sailor was second to none. Yet all the time I cannot adjust myself to
the fact that he is 'one of us.' Perhaps if I saw some typical Americans
I should be a little less at sea."
"Well," I answered, "if that is what you want, | 2,594.6565 |
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WOODSTOCK
AN HISTORICAL SKETCH
BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN, PH.D.
READ AT ROSELAND PARK, WOODSTOCK, CONNECTICUT, AT THE BI-CENTENNIAL
CELEBRATION OF THE TOWN, ON TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1886
NEW YORK & LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1886
COPYRIGHT BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN
1886
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
New York
As a full history of Woodstock has been in preparation for several
years and will, it is hoped, be published in the course of another
year, this brief sketch is issued as it was read at the Bi-Centennial
Anniversary of the town.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 7
II. THE SETTLEMENT OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY
AND OF ROXBURY 8
III. THE NIPMUCK COUNTRY AND THE VISIT OF
JOHN ELIOT TO THE INDIANS AT WABBAQUASSET,
OR WOODSTOCK 12
IV. THE SETTLEMENT OF NEW ROXBURY, OR
WOODSTOCK 20
V. THE CHANGE OF THE NAME OF NEW ROXBURY
TO WOODSTOCK 28
VI. THE GROWTH OF THE NEW TOWNSHIP--1690-1731 32
VII. ECCLESIASTICAL AFFAIRS 36
VIII. THE TRANSFER OF WOODSTOCK FROM MASSACHUSETTS
TO CONNECTICUT 43
IX. MILITARY RECORD 46
X. EDUCATIONAL MATTERS 53
XI. DISTINGUISHED CITIZENS 55
XII. CHARACTERISTICS OF WOODSTOCK 58
XIII. CONCLUSION 61
INDEX 63
I.
The history of the town of Woodstock is associated with the beginnings
of history in New England. The ideas of the first settlers of Woodstock
were the ideas of the first settlers of the Colony of Plymouth and
the Province of Massachusetts Bay. The planting of these colonies
was one of the fruits of the Reformation. The antagonism between the
Established Church of England and the Non-Conformists led to the
settlement of New England. The Puritans of Massachusetts, at first
Non-Conformists, became Separatists like the Pilgrims of Plymouth.
Pilgrims and Puritans alike accepted persecution and surrendered the
comforts of home to obtain religious liberty. They found it in New
England; and here, more quickly than in the mother country, they
developed also that civil liberty which is now the birthright of every
Anglo-Saxon.
II.
The settlement of Woodstock is intimately connected with the first
organized settlement on Massachusetts Bay; and how our mother town
of Roxbury was first established is best told in the words of Thomas
Dudley in his letter to the Countess of Lincoln under date of Boston,
March 12, 1630-1:
"About the year 1627 some friends, being together in Lincolnshire,
fell into discourse about New England and the planting of the
gospel there. In 1628 we procured a patent from his Majesty for
our planting between the Massachusetts Bay and Charles River on
the South and the River of Merrimack on the North and three miles
on either side of those rivers and bay... and the same year we
sent Mr. John Endicott and some with him to begin a plantation. In
1629 we sent divers ships over with about three hundred people. Mr.
Winthrop, of Suffolk (who was well known in his own country and
well approved here for his piety, liberality, wisdom, and gravity),
coming in to us we came to such resolution that in April, 1630, we
set sail from Old England.... We were forced to change | 2,594.660388 |
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SINISTER STREET
BY
COMPTON MACKENZIE
AUTHOR OF "CARNIVAL," "YOUTH'S ENCOUNTER," ETC.
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1919
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
CONTENTS
BOOK ONE
DREAMING SPIRES
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE FIRST DAY 3
II. THE FIRST WEEK 32
III. THE FIRST TERM 47
IV. CHEYNE WALK 63
V. YOUTH'S DOMINATION 84
VI. GRAY AND BLUE 110
VII. VENNER'S 143
VIII. THE OXFORD LOOKING-GLASS 165
IX. THE LESSON OF SPAIN 183
X. STELLA IN OXFORD 209
XI. SYMPATHY 225
XII. 202 HIGH 245
XIII. PLASHERS MEAD 269
XIV. 99 ST. GILES 288
XV. THE LAST TERM 308
XVI. THE LAST WEEK 319
XVII. THE LAST DAY 333
BOOK TWO
ROMANTIC EDUCATION
CHAPTER PAGE
I. OSTIA DITIS 349
II. NEPTUNE CRESCENT 371
III. THE CAFE D'ORANGE 401
IV. LEPPARD STREET 427
V. THE INNERMOST CIRCLE 481
VI. TINDERBOX LANE 496
VII. THE GATE OF IVORY 552
VIII. SEEDS OF POMEGRANATE 583
IX. THE GATE OF HORN 602
X. THE OLD WORLD 652
EPILOGICAL LETTER TO
JOHN NICOLAS MAVROGORADATO 655
BOOK ONE
DREAMING SPIRES
Bright memories of young poetic pleasure
In free companionship, the loving stress
Of all life-beauty, lull'd in studious leisure,
When every Muse was jocund with excess
Of fine delight and tremulous happiness;
The breath of an indolent unbridled June,
When delicate thought fell from the dreamy moon:
But now strange care, sorrow, and grief oppress.
ROBERT BRIDGES.
CHAPTER I
THE FIRST DAY
Michael felt glad to think he would start the adventure of Oxford from
Paddington. The simplicity of that railway station might faintly
mitigate alarms which no amount of previous deliberation could entirely
disperse. He remembered how once he had lightly seen off a Cambridge
friend from Liverpool Street and, looking back at the suburban tumult of
the Great Eastern Railway, he was grateful for the simplicity of
Paddington.
Michael had been careful that all his heavy luggage should be sent in
advance; and he had shown himself gravely exacting toward Alan in this
matter of luggage, writing several times to remind him of his promise
not to appear on the platform with more than a portmanteau of moderate
size and a normal kit-bag. Michael hoped this precaution would prevent
at any rate the porters from commenting upon the freshness of him and
his friend.
"Oxford train?" inquired a porter, as the hansom pulled up. Michael
nodded, and made up his mind to show his esteem when he tipped this
promethean.
"Third class?" the porter went on. Michael mentally doubled the tip, for
he had neglected to assure himself beforehand about the etiquette of
class, and nothing could have suited so well his self-consciousness as
this information casually yielded.
"Let me see, you didn't have any golf-clubs, did you, sir?" asked the
porter.
Michael shook his head regretfully, for as he looked hurriedly up and
down the platform in search of Alan, he perceived golf-clubs everywhere,
and when at last he saw him, actually even he had a golf-bag slung over
his shoulder.
"I never knew you played golf," said Michael indignantly.
"I don't. These are the governor's. He's given up playing," Alan
explained.
"Are you going to play?" Michael pursued. He was feeling rather envious
of the appearance of these veteran implements.
"I may have a shot," Alan admitted.
"You might have told me you were going to bring them," Michael grumbled.
"My dear old ass, I never knew I was, until the governor wanged them
into my lap just as I was starting."
Michael turned aside and bought a number of papers, far too many for the
short journey. Indeed, all the way they lay on the rack unregarded,
while the train crossed and recrossed the silver Thames. At first he was
often conscious of the other undergraduates in the compartment, who
seemed to be eying him with a puzzled contempt; but very soon, when he
perceived that this manner of looking at one's neighbor was general, he
became reconciled to the attitude and ascribed it to a habit of mind
rather than to the expression of any individual distaste. Then suddenly,
as Michael was gazing out of the window, the pearly sky broke into
spires and pinnacles and domes and towers. He caught his breath for one
bewitched moment, before he busied himself with the luggage on the rack.
On the platform Michael and Alan decided to part company, as neither of
them felt sure enough whether St. Mary's or Christ Church were nearer to
the station to risk a joint hansom.
"Shall I come and see you this afternoon?" Michael rashly offered.
"Oh, rather," Alan agreed, and they turned away from one another to
secure their cabs.
All the time that Michael was driving to St. Mary's, he was regretting
he had not urged Alan to visit him first. A growing sensation of shy
dread was making him vow that once safe in his own rooms at St. Mary's
nothing should drag him forth again that day. What on earth would he say
when he arrived at the college? Would he have to announce himself? How
would he find his rooms? On these points he had pestered several Old
Jacobeans now at Oxford, but none of them could remember the precise
ceremonies of arrival. Michael leaned back in the hansom and cursed
their inefficient memories.
Then the cab pulled up by the St. Mary's lodge, and events proceeded
with unexpected rapidity. A cheerful man with red hair and a round face
welcomed his luggage. The cabman was paid the double of his correct
fare, and to Michael's relief drove off instantly. From a sort of glass
case that filled half the interior of the lodge somebody very much like
a family butler inquired richly who Michael was.
"Mr. C. M. S. Fane?" rolled out the unctuous man.
Michael nodded.
"Is there another Fane?" he asked curiously.
"No, sir," said the head porter, and the negative came out with the
sound of a drawn cork. "No, sir, but I wished to hessateen if I had your
initials down correct in my list. Mr. C. M. S. Fane," he went on,
looking at a piece of paper. "St. Cuthbert's. Four. Two pair right. Your
servant is Porcher. Your luggage has arrived, and perhaps you'll settle
with me presently. Henry will show you to your rooms. Henry! St.
Cuthbert's. Four. Two pair right."
The red-headed under-porter picked up Michael's bag, and Michael was
preparing to follow him at once, when the unctuous man held up a warning
hand. Then he turned to look into a large square pigeon-hole labeled
Porcher.
"These letters are for you, sir," he explained pompously. Michael took
them, and in a dream followed Henry under a great gothic gateway, and
along a gravel path. In a doorway numbered IV, Henry stopped and shouted
"Porcher!" From an echoing vault came a cry in answer, and the scout
appeared.
"One of your gentlemen arrived," said Henry. "Mr. Fane." Then he touched
his cap and retired.
"Any more luggage in the lodge, sir?" Porcher asked.
"Not much," said Michael apologetically.
"There's a nice lot of stuff in your rooms," Porcher informed him. "Come
in yesterday morning, it did."
They were mounting the stone stairway, and on each of the floors Michael
was made mechanically aware by a printed notice above a water-tap that
no slops must be emptied there. This prohibition stuck in his mind
somehow as the first ascetic demand of the university.
"These are your rooms, sir, and when you want me, you'll shout, of
course. I'm just unpacking Mr. Lonsdale's wine."
Michael was conscious of pale October sunlight upon the heaped-up
packing-cases; he was conscious of the unnatural brilliancy of the fire
in the sunlight; he was conscious that life at Oxford was conducted with
much finer amenities than life at school. Simultaneously he was aware of
a loneliness; yet as he once more turned to survey his room, it was a
fleeting loneliness which quickly perished in the satisfaction of a
privacy that hitherto he had never possessed. He turned into the
bedroom, and looked out across the quad, across the rectangle of vivid
green grass, across the Warden's garden with its faint gaiety of
autumnal flowers and tufted gray walls, and beyond to where the elms of
the deer-park were massed against the thin sky and the deer moved in
leisurely files about the spare sunlight.
It did not take Michael long to arrange his clothes; and then the
problem of undoing the packing-cases presented itself. A hammer would be
necessary, and a chisel. He must shout for Porcher. Shouting in the
tremulous peace of this October morning would inevitably attract more
attention to himself than would be pleasant, and he postponed the
summons in favor of an examination of his letters. One after another he
opened them, and every one was the advertisement of a tailor or
hairdresser or tobacconist. The tailors were the most insistent; they
even went so far as to announce that representatives would call upon him
at his pleasure. Michael made up his mind to order his cap and gown
after lunch. Lunch! How should he obtain lunch? Where should he obtain
lunch? When should he obtain lunch? Obviously there must be some precise
manner of obtaining lunch, some ritual consecrated by generations of St.
Mary's men. The loneliness came back triumphant, and plunged him
dejectedly down into a surprisingly deep wicker-chair. The fire crackled
in the silence, and the problem of lunch remained insoluble. The need
for Porcher's advice became more desperate. Other freshmen before him
must have depended upon their scout's experience. He began to practice
calling Porcher in accents so low that they acquired a tender and
reproachful significance. Michael braced himself for the performance
after these choked and muffled rehearsals, and went boldly out on to the
stone landing. An almost entranced silence held the staircase, a
silence that he could not bring himself to violate. On the door of the
rooms opposite he read his neighbor's name--_Mackintosh_. He wished he
knew whether Mackintosh were a freshman. It would be delightful to make
him share the responsibility of summoning Porcher from his task of
arranging Lonsdale's wine. And who was Lonsdale? _No slops must be
emptied here! Mackintosh! Fane!_ Here were three announcements hinting
at humanity in a desolation of stillness. Michael reading his own name
gathered confidence and a volume of breath, leaned over the stone
parapet of the landing and, losing all his courage in a sigh, decided to
walk downstairs and take his chance of meeting Porcher on the way.
On the floor beneath Michael read _Bannerman_ over the left-hand door
and _Templeton-Collins_ over the right-hand door. While he was pondering
the personality and status of Templeton-Collins, presumably the
gentleman himself appeared, stared at Michael very deliberately, came
forward and, leaning over the parapet, yelled in a voice that combined
rage, protest, disappointment and appeal with the maximum of sound:
"Porcher!" After which, Templeton-Collins again stared very deliberately
at Michael and retired into his room, while Michael hurried down to
intercept the scout, hoping his dismay at Templeton-Collins' impatience
would not be too great to allow him to pay a moment's attention to
himself.
However, on the ground floor the silence was still unbroken, and
hopelessly Michael read over the right-hand door _Amherst_, over the
left-hand door _Lonsdale_. What critical moment had arrived in the
unpacking of Lonsdale's wine to make the scout so heedless of
Templeton-Collins' call? Again it resounded from above, and Michael
looking up involuntarily, caught the downward glance of
Templeton-Collins himself.
"I say, is Porcher down there?" the latter asked fretfully.
"I think he's unpacking Lonsdale's wine."
"Who's Lonsdale?" demanded Templeton-Collins. "You might sing out and
tell him I want him."
With this request Templeton-Collins vanished, leaving Michael in a
quandary. There was only one hope of relieving the intolerable
situation, he thought, which was to shout "Porcher" from where he was
standing. This he did at the very moment the scout emerged from
Lonsdale's rooms.
"Coming, sir," said Porcher in an aggrieved voice.
"I think Mr. Templeton-Collins is calling you," Michael explained,
rather lamely he felt, since it must have been obvious to the scout that
Michael himself had been calling him.
"And I say," he added hurriedly, "you might bring me up a hammer or
something to open my boxes, when you've done."
Leaving Porcher to appease the outraged Templeton-Collins, Michael
retreated to the security of his own rooms, where in a few minutes the
scout appeared to raise the question of lunch.
"Will you take commons, sir?"
Michael looked perplexed.
"Commons is bread and cheese. Most of my gentlemen takes commons. If you
want anything extra, you go to the kitchen and write your name down for
what you want."
This sounded too difficult, and Michael gratefully chose commons.
"Ale, sir?"
Michael nodded. If the scout had suggested champagne, he would have
assented immediately.
Porcher set to work and undid the cases; he also explained where the
china was kept and the wood and the coal. He expounded the theory of
roll-calls and chapels, and was indeed so generous with information on
every point of college existence that Michael would have been glad to
retain | 2,594.75725 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.7415840 | 811 | 8 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Hazel Batey, Joseph Cooper and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY
SIR ROGER L'ESTRANGE
CITT AND BUMPKIN
(1680)
_INTRODUCTION_
BY
B. J. RAHN
[Illustration]
PUBLICATION NUMBER 117
WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES
1965
GENERAL EDITORS
Earl Miner, _University of California, Angeles_
Maximillian E. Novak, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Lawrence Clark Powell, _Wm. Andrews Clark Memorial Library_
ADVISORY EDITORS
Richard C. Boys, _University of Michigan_
John Butt, _University of Edinburgh_
James L. Clifford, _Columbia University_
Ralph Cohen, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Vinton A. Dearing, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Arthur Friedman, _University of Chicago_
Louis A. Landa, _Princeton University_
Samuel H. Monk, _University of Minnesota_
Everett T. Moore, _University of California, Los Angeles_
James Sutherland, _University College, London_
H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., _University of California, Los Angeles_
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY
Edna C. Davis, _Wm. Andrews Clark Memorial Library_
INTRODUCTION
According to discoveries made by Titus Oates in the autumn of 1678,
England was threatened by a Roman Catholic conspiracy headed by the Pope
and the King of France, whose objectives were: 1) to murder the King, 2)
to overthrow the government, and 3) to destroy the Protestant religion.
Although Oates was subsequently exposed as a charlatan, in 1678-81 a
panic held the nation in an iron grip, and belief in the Plot fostered
irrational and reprehensible excesses. The Popish Plot was not so much a
religious fraud as a political _cause celebre_, the significance of
which can be assessed only in the context of the republican movement of
the seventeenth century to redistribute power within the state. The
conflict which developed between Charles II and the Parliament during
the 1670's reflects the struggle for ascendance of two opposing theories
of government: absolute versus limited monarchy. Charles, supported by
the Tories and the Anglican clergy, was determined to maintain all the
hereditary privileges and powers of an English monarch, while the Whig
coalition in Parliament, led by the Earl of Shaftesbury, was intent upon
subordinating the power of the Crown to the will of Parliament. The
Opposition realized almost immediately that in the Popish Plot lay means
for furthering their schemes of political reform. Under the guise of
counteracting the Plot, they hoped to enact legislation to: 1) increase
parliamentary power, 2) limit the prerogatives of the King, 3) control
the succession, and 4) curtail the influence of the prelacy. Published
in 1680 when the Plot crisis was at its peak, _Citt and Bumpkin_ is one
of a series of pamphlets by Sir Roger L'Estrange written to support the
policies of Charles II and to defend the government from attacks by the
Whig Opposition.
Since James, Duke of York, had given the Whigs every reason to believe
that he would oppose their policies vehemently after he came to the
throne, they decided to take advantage of the public resentment against
him as a Roman Catholic to try to pass a bill in Parliament to exclude | 2,594.761624 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.7427560 | 2,236 | 21 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Supplemental Nights, Volume 2
by Richard F. Burton
#13 in our series by Sir Richard Francis Burton
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Title: Supplemental Nights, Volume 2
Author: Richard F. Burton
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intellectual property infringement, a defective | 2,594.762796 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.7436730 | 1,008 | 6 |
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A HUMBLE ENTERPRISE
BY ADA CAMBRIDGE
AUTHOR OF
"THE THREE MISS KINGS," "FIDELIS,"
"A LITTLE MINX," ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ST. CLAIR SIMMONS_
Second Edition
LONDON
WARD, LOCK, & BOWDEN, LIMITED
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE
1896
[_All rights reserved_]
[Illustration: "Pinned the fragrant morsel to her throat."
_A Humble Enterprise._ _Page 97._]
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL 9
II. HER FIRST FRIEND 24
III. AFLOAT 33
IV. THE HERO 45
V. HE MEETS THE HEROINE 56
VI. THE INEVITABLE ENSUES 69
VII. THERE ARE SUCH WOMEN IN THE WORLD 82
VIII. ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW 92
IX. THE POTENTIAL HUSBAND 105
X. AS THE WIND BLOWS 115
XI. NATURE SPEAKS 125
XII. TWO WISE MEN 138
XIII. TWO UNWISE WOMEN 150
XIV. A WEAK FATHER 159
XV. A STRAW AGAINST THE TIDE 171
XVI. A STAR IN TWILIGHT 184
XVII. "YOU NEED NOT EXPECT ME BACK" 193
XVIII. JENNY IS TREATED LIKE A LADY 204
XIX. WOMAN'S RIGHTS REFUSED 216
XX. SHE CARES NOT 228
XXI. THE BEST AVAILABLE 236
A HUMBLE ENTERPRISE
CHAPTER I
THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL
Joseph Liddon was deaf, and one day, when he was having a holiday in the
country, he crossed a curving railway line, and a train, sweeping round
the corner when he was looking another way, swept him out of existence.
On his shoulder he was carrying the infrequent and delightful
gun--reminiscent of happy days in English coverts and stubble
fields--and in his hand he held a dangling hare, about the cooking of
which he was dreaming pleasantly, wondering whether his wife would have
it jugged or baked. When they stopped the train and gathered him up, he
was as dead as the hare, dissolved into mere formless tatters, and his
women-folk were not allowed to see him afterwards. They came up from
town to the inquest and funeral--wife and two daughters, escorted by a
downy-lipped son--all dazed and bewildered in their suddenly transformed
world; and a gun and a broken watch and a few studs, that had been
carefully washed and polished, were the only "remains" on which they
could expend the valedictory kiss and tear. Their last memory of him was
full of the gay bustle of farewell at Spencer Street when he set forth
upon his trip. It was such an event for him to have a holiday, and to go
away by himself, that the whole family had to see him off. Even young
Joe was on the platform to carry his father's bag, and buy him the
evening papers, his train being the Sydney express, which did not leave
till after office hours. When they knew how the holiday had ended, their
bitter regrets for not having accompanied him further were greatly
soothed by the knowledge that they had gone with him so far--had closed
their life together with an act of love that had made him happy.
He had been born a gentleman in the technical sense, and had lived a
true man in every sense. In spite of this--to a great extent, probably,
because of it--he had not been very successful in the world; that is to
say, he had not made himself important or rich. Money had not come to
him with his gentle blood, and he had not had the art to command it, nor
ever would have had. It is a pursuit that requires the whole energies of
one's mind, and his mind had been distributed a good deal | 2,594.763713 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.7446410 | 1,667 | 30 |
Produced by Bryan Ness, Chris Logan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
FROM SAIL TO STEAM
RECOLLECTIONS OF NAVAL LIFE
BY
CAPT. A. T. MAHAN
U.S.N. (RETIRED)
AUTHOR OF
"THE INFLUENCE OF SEA-POWER UPON HISTORY" ETC.
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MCMVII
Copyright, 1906, 1907, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
Published October, 1907.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
PREFACE v
INTRODUCING MYSELF ix
I. NAVAL CONDITIONS BEFORE THE WAR OF SECESSION--THE
OFFICERS AND SEAMEN 3
II. NAVAL CONDITIONS BEFORE THE WAR OF SECESSION--THE
VESSELS 25
III. THE NAVAL ACADEMY IN ITS RELATION TO THE NAVY AT
LARGE 45
IV. THE NAVAL ACADEMY IN ITS INTERIOR WORKINGS--PRACTICE
CRUISES 70
V. MY FIRST CRUISE AFTER GRADUATION--NAUTICAL CHARACTERS 103
VI. MY FIRST CRUISE AFTER GRADUATION--NAUTICAL SCENES
AND SCENERY--THE APPROACH OF DISUNION 127
VII. INCIDENTS OF WAR AND BLOCKADE SERVICE 156
VIII. INCIDENTS OF WAR AND BLOCKADE SERVICE--CONTINUED 179
IX. A ROUNDABOUT ROAD TO CHINA 196
X. CHINA AND JAPAN 229
XI. THE TURNING OF A LONG LANE--HISTORICAL, NAVAL, AND
PERSONAL 266
XII. EXPERIENCES OF AUTHORSHIP 302
PREFACE
When I was a boy, some years before I obtained my appointment in the
navy, I spent many of those happy hours that only childhood knows
poring over the back numbers of a British service periodical, which
began its career in 1828, with the title _Colburn's United Service
Magazine_; under which name, save and except the Colburn, it still
survives. Besides weightier matters, its early issues abounded in
reminiscences by naval officers, then yet in the prime of life, who
had served through the great Napoleonic wars. More delightful still,
it had numerous nautical stories, based probably on facts, serials
under such entrancing titles as "Leaves from my Log Book," by Flexible
Grommet, Passed Midshipman; a pen-name, the nautical felicity of which
will be best appreciated by one who has had the misfortune to handle a
grommet[1] which was not flexible. Then there was "The Order Book," by
Jonathan Oldjunk; an epithet so suggestive of the waste-heap, even to
a landsman's ears, that one marvels a man ever took it unto himself,
especially in that decline of life when we are more sensitive on the
subject of bodily disabilities than once we were. Old junk, however,
can yet be "worked up," as the sea expression goes, into other uses,
and that perhaps was what Mr. Oldjunk meant; his early adventures as a
young "luff" were, for economical reasons, worked up into their
present literary shape, with the addition of a certain amount of
extraneous matter--love-making, and the like. Indeed, so far from
uselessness, that veteran seaman and rigid economist, the Earl of St.
Vincent, when First Lord of the Admiralty, had given to a specific
form of old junk--viz., "shakings"--the honors of a special order, for
the preservation thereof, the which forms the staple of a comical
anecdote in Basil Hall's _Fragments of Voyages and Travels_; itself a
superior example of the instructive "recollections," of less literary
merit, which but for Colburn's would have perished.
Any one who has attempted to write history knows what queer nuggets of
useful information lie hidden away in such papers; how they often help
to reconstruct an incident, or determine a mooted point. If the
Greeks, after the Peloponnesian war, had had a Colburn's, we should
have a more certain, if not a perfect, clew to the reconstruction of
the trireme; and probably even could deduce with some accuracy the
daily routine, the several duties, and hear the professional jokes and
squabbles, of their officers and crews. The serious people who write
history can never fill the place of the gossips, who pour out an
unpremeditated mixture of intimate knowledge and idle trash.
Trash? Upon the whole is not the trash the truest history? perhaps not
the most valuable, but the most real? If you want contemporary color,
contemporary atmosphere, you must seek it among the impressions which
can be obtained only from those who have lived a life amid particular
surroundings, which they breathe and which colors them--dyes them in
the wool. However skilless, they cannot help reproducing, any more
than water poured from an old ink-bottle can help coming out more or
less black; although, if sufficiently pretentious, they can
monstrously caricature, especially if they begin with the modest
time-worn admission that they are more familiar with the marling-spike
than with the pen. But even the caricature born of pretentiousness
will not prevent the unpremeditated betrayal of conditions, facts, and
incidents, which help reconstruct the _milieu_; how much more, then,
the unaffected simplicity of the born story-teller. I do not know how
Froissart ranks as an authority with historians. I have not read him
for years; and my recollections are chiefly those of childhood, with
all the remoteness and all the vividness which memory preserves from
early impressions. I think I now might find him wearisome; not so in
boyhood. He was to me then, and seems to me now, a glorified Flexible
Grommet or Jonathan Oldjunk; ranking, as to them, as Boswell does
towards the common people of biography. That there are many solid
chunks of useful information to be dug out of him I am sure; that his
stories are all true, I have no desire to question; but what among it
all is so instructive, so entertaining, as the point of view of
himself, his heroes, and his colloquists--the particular contemporary
modification of universal human nature in which he lived, and moved,
and had his being?
If such a man has the genius of his business, as had Froissart and
Boswell, he excels in proportion to his unconsciousness of the fact;
his colors run truer. For lesser gobblers, who have not genius, the
best way to lose consciousness is just to IT themselves go; if they
endeavor to paint artistically the muddle will be worse. To such the
proverb of the cobbler and his last is of perennial warning. As a
barber once sagely remarked to me, "You can't trim a beard well,
unless you're born to it." It is possible in some degree to imitate
Froissart and Boswell in that marvellous diligence to | 2,594.764681 |
2023-11-16 19:00:18.8371270 | 3,336 | 7 |
Produced by Irma Spehar, Jennifer Linklater and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
THE
ORNITHOLOGY
OF
SHAKESPEARE.
[Illustration: WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
From the Chandos Portrait]
THE
ORNITHOLOGY
OF
SHAKESPEARE.
CRITICALLY EXAMINED, EXPLAINED, AND ILLUSTRATED.
BY
JAMES EDMUND HARTING, F.L.S., F.Z.S.,
MEMBER OF THE BRITISH ORNITHOLOGISTS' UNION,
AUTHOR OF "THE BIRDS OF MIDDLESEX,"
ETC., ETC.
[Illustration: Publisher's Logo]
LONDON:
JOHN VAN VOORST, PATERNOSTER ROW.
MDCCCLXXI.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WOODFALL AND KINDER,
MILFORD LANE, STRAND, W.C.
PREFACE.
Of no other author, perhaps, has more been written than of Shakespeare.
Yet whatever other knowledge his commentators professed, few of them
appear to have been naturalists, and none, so far as I am aware, have
examined his knowledge of Ornithology.
An inquiry upon this subject, undertaken in the first instance for my
own amusement, has resulted in the bringing together of so much that is
curious and entertaining, that to the long list of books already
published about Shakespeare, I have been bold enough to add yet another.
In so doing, I venture to hope that the reader may so far appreciate the
result of my labour as not to consider it superfluous.
As regards the treatment of the subject, a word or two of explanation
seems necessary. In 1866, from the notes I had then collected, I
contributed a series of articles on the birds of Shakespeare to _The
Zoologist_. In these articles, I referred only to such birds as have a
claim to be considered British, and omitted all notice of domesticated
species. I had not then considered any special arrangement or grouping,
but noticed each species _seriatim_ in the order adopted by Mr. Yarrell
in his excellent "History of British Birds." Since that date, I have
collected so much additional information on the subject, that, instead
of eighty pages (the extent of my first publication), three hundred have
now passed through the printers' hands. With this large accession of
material, it was found absolutely necessary to re-arrange and re-write
the whole. The birds therefore have been now divided into certain
natural groups, including the foreign and domesticated species, to each
of which groups a chapter has been devoted; and I have thought it
desirable to give, by way of introduction, a sketch of Shakespeare's
general knowledge of natural history and acquaintance with field-sports,
as bearing more or less directly on his special knowledge of
Ornithology, which I propose chiefly to consider.
After I had published the last of the series of articles referred to, I
received an intimation for the first time, that, twenty years
previously, a notice of the birds of Shakespeare had appeared in the
pages of _The Zoologist_. I lost no time in procuring the particular
number which contained the article, and found that, in December, 1846,
Mr. T. W. Barlow, of Holmes Chapel, Cheshire, had, to a certain extent,
directed attention to Shakespeare's knowledge as an Ornithologist. His
communication, however, did not exceed half a dozen pages, in which
space he has mentioned barely one-fourth of the species to which
Shakespeare has referred. From the cursory nature of his remarks,
moreover, I failed to discover a reference to any point which I had not
already investigated. It would be unnecessary for me, therefore, to
allude to this article, except for the purpose of acknowledging that Mr.
Barlow was the first to enter upon what, as regards Shakespeare, may be
termed this new field of research.
The labour of collecting and arranging Shakespeare's numerous allusions
to birds, has been much greater than many would suppose, for not only
have I derived little or no benefit from the various editions of his
works which I have consulted, but reference to a glossarial index, or
concordance, has, in nine cases out of ten, resulted in disappointment.
It is due to Mr. Staunton, however, to state that I have found some of
the foot-notes to his library edition of the Plays very useful.
Although oft-times difficult, it has been my endeavour, as far as
practicable, to connect one with another the various passages quoted or
referred to, so as to render the whole as readable and as entertaining
as possible. With this view, many allusions have been passed over as
being too trivial to deserve separate notice, but a reference to them
will be found in the Appendix at the end of the volume,[1] where all the
words quoted are arranged, for convenience, in the order in which they
occur in the plays and poems.
In spelling Shakespeare's name, I have adopted the orthography of his
friends Ben Jonson and the editors of the first folio.[2]
As regards the illustrations, it seems desirable also to say a few
words.
In selecting for my frontispiece a portrait of Shakespeare as a falconer
(a character which I am confident could not have been foreign to him), I
have experienced considerable difficulty in making choice of a likeness.
Those who have made special inquiries into the authenticity of the
various portraits of Shakespeare, are not agreed in the results at which
they have arrived. This is to be attributed to the fact that, with the
exception of the Droeshout etching, to which I shall presently state my
objection, no likeness really exists of which a reliable history can be
given without one or more missing links in the chain of evidence.
There are four portraits which have all more or less claim to be
considered authentic. These are "the Jansen portrait," 1610; "the
Stratford bust," prior to 1623; "the Droeshout etching," 1623; and "the
Chandos portrait," of which the precise date is uncertain, but which
must have been painted some years prior to 1616, the year of
Shakespeare's death.
It would be impossible, within the compass of this preface, to review
all that has been said for and against these four portraits. Neither
will space permit me to give the history of each in detail. I can only
briefly allude to the chief facts in connection with each, and state the
reasons which have influenced me in selecting the Chandos portrait.
Mr. Boaden, who was the first to examine into the authenticity of
reputed Shakespeare portraits,[3] has evinced a preference for the
so-called "Jansen portrait," in the collection of the Duke of Somerset,
considering it to have been painted by Cornelius Jansen, in 1610, for
Lord Southampton, the great patron, at that date, of art and the drama.
The picture, indeed, bears upon the face of it an inscription--
AE^te 46
1610
--which gives much weight to the views expressed by Mr. Boaden.
It is certain that, in the year mentioned, Jansen was in England, and
that he painted several pictures for Lord Southampton; it is equally
true, that at that date Shakespeare was in his forty-sixth year. But Mr.
Boaden fails to prove that this particular picture was painted by
Jansen, and that it was ever in the possession of Lord Southampton, or
painted by his order.
As a fine head, and a work of art, it is the one of all others that I
should like to think resembled Shakespeare, could its history be more
satisfactorily detailed.
Many regard as a genuine portrait, the Bust at Stratford-on-Avon, which
is stated to have been executed by Gerard Johnson, and "probably" under
the superintendence of Dr. John Hall. The precise date of its erection
is not known, but we gather that it was previous to 1623, from the fact
that Leonard Digges has referred to it in his Lines to the Memory of
Shakespeare, prefixed to the first folio edition of the Plays published
in that year. Mr. Wivell relies very strongly on the circumstance of its
having been originally to nature.[4] Hence tradition informs us
that the eyes were hazel, the hair and beard auburn. It must be
admitted, however, that a portrait after death can never be so faithful
as a picture from the life, while no sculptor who examines this bust can
maintain that it was executed from a cast.[5]
Those who approve of the Droeshout etching, published in 1623, as a
frontispiece to the first folio, find a strong argument in favour of its
being a likeness in the commendatory lines by Ben Jonson, which
accompany it. Jonson knew Shakespeare well, and he says of this
picture:--
"This figure that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut;
Wherein the graver had a strife
With Nature to outdoo the life.
O, could he but have drawne his wit
As well in brasse as he hath hit
His face, the print would then surpasse
All that was ever writ in brasse;
But since he cannot, reader, looke
Not on his picture, but his booke."
As a work of art it is by no means skilful, and is confessedly inferior
not only to other engravings of that day, but also to other portraits by
Martin Droeshout.
That it bore some likeness to Shakespeare _as an actor_, I do not doubt,
but that it resembled him as a private individual when off the stage, I
cannot bring myself to believe. The straight hair and shaven chin which
are not found in other portraits having good claims to be considered
authentic, and the unnaturally high forehead, which would be caused by
the actor's wearing the wig of an old man partially bald, suggest at
once that when the original portrait was taken, from which Droeshout
engraved, Shakespeare was dressed as if about to sustain a part in which
he was thought to excel as an actor.
Boaden has conjectured that this portrait represents Shakespeare in the
character of old Knowell, in Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his Humour_, a
part which he is known to have played in 1598, and this would easily
account for Ben Jonson's commendation.[6] This conjecture is so
extremely probable, that I have no hesitation in endorsing it.
We come, then, now to "the Chandos portrait." With the longest pedigree
of any, it possesses at least as much collateral evidence of
probability, and is, moreover, important as belonging to the nation.[7]
It has been traced back to the possession of Shakespeare's godson,
William, afterwards Sir William, Davenant, and all that seems to be
wanting materially, is the artist's name. The general opinion is, that
it was painted either by Burbage or Taylor, both of whom were
fellow-players of Shakespeare. It is styled the Chandos portrait from
having come to the trustees of the National Portrait Gallery from the
collection of the Duke of Chandos and Buckingham, through the Earl of
Ellesmere, by whom it was purchased and presented. The history of the
picture, so far as it can be ascertained, is as follows:--
It was originally the property of Taylor, the player (our poet's
Hamlet), by whom, or by Richard Burbage, it was painted.[8]
Taylor dying about the year 1653, at the advanced age of seventy,[9]
left this picture by will to Davenant.[10] At the death of Davenant, who
died intestate in 1663, it was bought, probably at a sale of his
effects, by Betterton, the actor.
While in Betterton's possession, it was engraved by Van der Gucht, for
Rowe's edition of Shakespeare, in 1709. Betterton dying without a will
and in needy circumstances, his pictures were sold. Some were bought by
Bullfinch, the printseller, who sold them again to a Mr. Sykes. The
portrait of Shakespeare was purchased by Mrs. Barry, the actress, who
afterwards sold it for forty guineas to Mr. Robert Keck, of the Inner
Temple.
While in his possession, an engraving was made from it, in 1719, by
Vertue, and it then passed to Mr. Nicholls, of Southgate, Middlesex, who
acquired it on marrying the heiress of the Keck family.
The Marquis of Caernarvon, afterwards Duke of Chandos, marrying the
daughter of Mr. Nicholls, it then became his Grace's property. When his
pictures were sold at Stowe, in September, 1848, this portrait was
purchased for three hundred and fifty-five guineas by the Earl of
Ellesmere, who, in March, 1856, presented it to the Trustees of the
National Portrait Gallery, in whose hands it still remains.
Notwithstanding this pedigree, the picture has been objected to on the
ground that the dark hair and foreign complexion could never have
belonged to our essentially English Shakespeare. Those who make this
objection, seem to forget entirely the age of the portrait, and the fact
that it is painted in oil and on canvas, a circumstance which of itself
is quite sufficient, after the lapse of two centuries and a half, to
account for the dark tone which now pervades it, to say nothing of the
numerous touches and retouches to which it has been subjected at the
hands of its various owners.
Notwithstanding the missing links of evidence, it seems to me that,
having traced the picture back to the possession of Shakespeare's
godson, we have gone far enough to justify us in accepting it as an
authentic portrait in preference to many others. For we cannot suppose
that Sir William Davenant would retain in his possession until his death
a picture of one with whom he was personally acquainted, unless he
considered that it was sufficiently faithful as a likeness to remind him
of the original.
On the score of pedigree, then, and because I believe that the only
well-authenticated portrait (_i.e._, the Droeshout) represents
Shakespeare as an actor, and not as a private individual, I have
selected the Chandos portrait for my frontispiece.
By obtaining a reduced photograph of this _upon wood_, from the best
engraving, and "vignetting" it, I have been enabled to place upon the
left hand a hooded falcon, drawn by the unrivalled pencil of Mr. Wolf,
and thus to entrust to the engraver, Mr. Pearson, a faithful likeness of
man and bird.
As regards the other illustrations, my acknowledgments are due to Mr. J.
G. Keulemans for the artistic manner in which he has executed my
| 2,594.857167 |
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possible.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
Bold text has been marked with =equals signs=.
Money:
Thoughts for God's Stewards
By Rev. Andrew Murray.
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Fleming H. Revell Company
NEW YORK: 112 Fifth Ave.
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TRAVELS
TO DISCOVER THE
SOURCE OF THE NILE,
In the Years 1768, 1769, 1770, 1771, 1772, and 1773.
IN FIVE VOLUMES.
BY JAMES BRUCE OF KINNAIRD, ESQ. F.R.S.
[Illustration: _Heath Sc_]
VOL. III.
_Nilus in extremum fugit perterritus orbem_,
_Occuluitque caput, quod adhuc latet._----
OVID. Metam.
EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY J. RUTHVEN, FOR G. G. J. AND J. ROBINSON,
PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
M.DCC.XC.
CONTENTS
OF THE
THIRD VOLUME.
BOOK V.
ACCOUNT OF MY JOURNEY FROM MASUAH TO GONDAR--TRANSACTIONS
THERE--MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF
THE ABYSSINIANS.
CHAP. I.
_Transactions at Masuah and Arkeeko_, 1
CHAP. II.
_Directions to Travellers for preserving Health--Diseases
of the Country--Music--Trade_, &c. _of Masuah--Conferences
with the Naybe_, 31
CHAP. III.
_Journey from Arkeeko over the Mountain Taranta, to Dixan_, 64
CHAP. IV.
_Journey from Dixan to Adowa, Capital of Tigré_, 93
CHAP. V.
_Arrive at Adowa--Reception there--Visit Fremona--And Ruins
of Axum--Arrive at Siré_, 118
CHAP. VI.
_Journey from Siré to Addergey, and Transactions there_, 152
CHAP. VII.
_Journey over Lamalmon to Gondar_, 172
CHAP. VIII.
_Reception at Gondar--Triumphal Entry of the King--The
Author’s first Audience_, 197
CHAP. IX.
_Transactions at Gondar_, 233
CHAP. X.
_Geographical Division of Abyssinia into Provinces_, 248
CHAP | 2,594.954205 |
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John Brown
Soldier of Fortune
A Critique
[Illustration: John Brown]
JOHN BROWN
SOLDIER OF FORTUNE
_A Critique_
BY
HILL PEEBLES WILSON
[Illustration]
_Mr. Vallandigham_: Mr. Brown, who sent you here?
_John Brown_: No man sent me here; it was my own prompting
and that of my Maker, or that of the Devil, whichever you
please to ascribe it to. I acknowledge no master in human
form.
_Post, 313_
THE CORNHILL COMPANY
BOSTON
Copyright, 1913
HILL PEEBLES WILSON
Copyright, 1918
THE CORNHILL COMPANY
TO THE MEMORY OF
MRS. SARA T. D. ROBINSON
OF KANSAS
PREFACE
The writer of this book is not an iconoclast, neither has he prejudged
John Brown. In 1859 the character was impressed upon his attention in a
personal way. An older brother, Joseph E. Wilson, was a member of the
company of marines that made the assault on the engine-house at Harper's
Ferry, on the morning of October 18th; and from him he heard the story
of the fight, and about Brown.
In 1889 the Topeka (Kansas) _Daily Capital_ took a poll of the members
of the Kansas Legislature on the question: "Who was the most
distinguished Kansan?" or something to that effect. At that time the
writer held the opinion that the public services rendered by John Brown
in Kansas Territory, were of paramount importance in the settlement of
the Free-State contention; and since the course which the nation was at
that time pursuing had been arrested by the result of that contention,
and diverted into the path which led to the marvelous achievements of
the succeeding years; he, therefore, over his signature cast his vote in
favor of John Brown; saying, among other things, in his little
panegyric, that Brown is the only Kansan whose fame was immortal.
In 1898 he reformed his opinions concerning Brown's character and
conduct, and the importance of his public services in Kansas. The change
came about through an effort on his part to write a sketch of his life
for a work entitled "Eminent Men of Kansas." In good faith, and with
much of the confidence and enthusiasm characteristic of Brown's
eulogists, he began an investigation of the available historical data
relating to the subject; when he found to his surprise, and disgust,
that the history of Brown's career contained nothing to justify the
public estimate of him.
Reporting to his associate that he would not write the sketch, he said
that he "could find but little in the record of his life which gave him
creditable distinction, and that he did not wish to write the
discreditable things about him which it contained."
Later he gathered up the threads of Brown's life and has woven them,
conscientiously, into the web of history. The story reveals little which
is creditable to Brown or worthy of emulation and much that is
abhorrent. But he indulges the hope that he has made it clear that his
conceptions of the character have not been inspired by "prejudice,"
"blind" or otherwise, for he has examined the records in the case; an
examination which has led him through all the existing testimony
concerning Brown; except, that he has not explored the writings which
have been put forth by those who have sought, viciously, to attack
Brown's character. The opinions therefore which he has set forth are
convictions resulting from serious investigation and thought.
In conclusion, the author takes great pleasure in acknowledging the deep
sense of his obligation to the late Mrs. Sara T. D. Robinson, wife of
Charles Robinson of Kansas, whose generosity, and deep interest in the
history of our country, made the publication of this book possible.
Also, he desires to express his gratitude to Dr. William Watson Davis,
of the University of Kansas, for the cordial encouragement which he
received from him while preparing the work, and for his kindly
assistance in molding the text into its present form. Also, to Dr.
William Savage Johnson, and to Professor William Asbury Whitaker, Jr.,
both of the University of Kansas, he wishes to return his thanks for
many valuable suggestions.
Lawrence, Kansas, April 15, 1913.
CONTENTS
I THE SUBJECT MATTER 15
II THE MAN 26
III KANSAS--A CRISIS IN OUR NATIONAL HISTORY 55
IV HIS PUBLIC SERVICES 72
V ROBBERY AND MURDER ON THE POTTAWATOMIE 95
VI BLACK JACK 135
VII OSAWATOMIE 154
VIII HYPOCRISY 181
IX A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE 223
X THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT 243
XI THE SHUBEL MORGAN PLUNDER COMPANY 259
XII MOBILIZING THE PROVISIONAL ARMY 283
XIII THE FIASCO 296
XIV A PERVERSION OF HISTORY 323
XV HIS GREAT ADVENTURE 341
XVI A SOLDIER OF THE CROSS 364
XVII "YET SHALL HE LIVE" 395
APPENDICES
I CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE LATE D. W.
WILDER CONCERNING JOHN BROWN 411
II RECOLLECTIONS OF JOHN BROWN AT HARPER'S
FERRY BY ALEXANDER BOTELER, A VIRGINIAN
WHO WITNESSED THE FIGHT 414
III CONSTITUTION AND ORDINANCE FOR THE PEOPLE
OF THE UNITED STATES 417
IV JOHN BROWN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY 431
ILLUSTRATIONS
JOHN BROWN Frontispiece
Steel engraving made from a photograph compared with a
photogravure. The photograph was taken about 1859. Original
in the Kansas State Historical Society. The photogravure is
from Mr. Oswald Garrison Villard's book: John Brown--A
Biography Fifty Years After.
JOHN BROWN facing page 98
Steel engraving, made as above. The photograph was copied
from a daguerreotype taken in 1856. Original in the Kansas
State Historical Society.
CHAPTER I
THE SUBJECT MATTER
_Truth, crushed to earth shall rise again;_
--BRYANT
The object of the writer, in publishing this book, is to correct a
perversion of truth, whereby John Brown has acquired fame, as an
altruist and a martyr, which should not be attributed to him.
The book is a review of the historical data that have been collected and
published by his principal biographers: Mr. James Redpath, Mr. Frank B.
Sanborn and Mr. Oswald Garrison Villard. It is also a criticism of these
writers, who have sought to suppress, and have suppressed, important
truths relating to the subject of which they wrote, and who have
misinformed and misled the public concerning the true character of this
figure in our national history; and have established in its stead a
fictitious character, which is wholly illogical and inconsistent with
the facts and circumstances of Brown's life.
Mr. Redpath, his first and most lurid biographer, was a newspaper
correspondent of the type now generally called "yellow." He was a
"Disunionist," and seems to have been a malcontent, who went to Kansas
Territory to oppose the policy which the Free-State men had adopted for
a safe and sane solution of the Free-State problem; and who sought to
thwart their efforts to create a free state by peaceable means. He
said:[1]
I believed that a civil war between the North and South
would ultimate in insurrection and that the Kansas troubles
would probably create a military conflict of the sections.
Hence, I left the South, and went to Kansas; and endeavored
personally, and by my pen, to precipitate a revolution.
After Brown's spectacular fiasco in Virginia, and tragical death, his
cultured partisans, in most conspicuous eloquence proclaimed him to have
been a philanthropist--an altruistic hero; and placed a martyr's crown
upon his brow. Mr. Redpath's purpose, in putting forth his work, was to
make Brown over to fit the part; to make his life appear to conform with
the extravagant attributes of his improvised estate. In pursuance
thereof he sought to conceal the facts concerning the actions and
purposes of his life, rather than to develop them; and to blind the
trails leading to the facts with masses of sentimental rubbish; and to
divert public attention away from them. Upon the publication of his
book, _The Public Life of Captain John Brown_, Mr. Charles Eliot Norton,
in a review of the work, expressed his disapproval of it in vigorous
language. He said:[2]
It would be well had this book never been written. Mr.
Redpath has understood neither the opportunities opened to
him, nor the responsibilities laid upon him, in being
permitted to write the "authorized" life of John Brown. His
book, in whatever light it is viewed--whether as the
biography of a remarkable man, as an historic narrative of
a series of important events, or simply as a mere piece of
literary job-work--is equally unsatisfactory....
There never was more need for a good life of any man than
there was for one of John Brown.... Those who thought best
of him, and those who thought the worst, were alike
desirous to know more of him than the newspapers had
furnished, and to become acquainted with the course of his
life, and the training which had prepared him for Kansas
and brought him to Harper's Ferry. Whatever view be taken
of his character, he was a man so remarkable as to be well
worthy of study....
In seasons of excitement, and amid the struggles of
political contention, the men who use the most extravagant
and the most violent words have, for a time, the advantage;
but, in the long run, they damage whatever cause they may
adopt; and the truth, which their declamations have
obscured or their falsehoods have violated, finally asserts
itself.... Extravagance in condemnation has been answered
by extravagance in praise of his life and deeds.
Twenty-five years later, when Mr. Sanborn published his book, _Life and
Letters of John Brown, Liberator of Kansas, and Martyr of Virginia_, Mr.
John F. Morse, Jr., voiced the disappointment felt by discriminating
persons, in an article published in February, 1886.[3] He said:
So grand a subject cannot fail to inspire a writer able to
do justice to the theme; and when such an one draws Brown,
he will produce one of the most attractive books in the
language. But meantime the ill-starred "martyr" suffers a
prolongation of martyrdom, standing like another St.
Sebastian to be riddled with the odious arrows of fulsome
panegyrists. With other unfortunate men of like stamp, he
has attracted a horde of writers, who, with rills of
versicles and oceans of prose, have overwhelmed his simple
noble memory beneath torrents of wild extravagant
admiration, foolish thoughts expressed in appropriately
silly language, absurd adulation inducing only protest and
a dangerous contradictory emotion. Amid this throng of ill
advised worshippers, Mr. Sanborn, by virtue of his lately
published biographical volume, has assumed the most
prominent place.
Referring to the opinions expressed by these writers, Mr. Villard, in
the preface to his book, _John Brown, A Biography Fifty Years After_,
says: "Since 1886 there have appeared five other lives of Brown,[4] the
most important being that of Richard J. Hinton, who, in his preface
gloried in holding a brief for Brown and his men." Concerning his book
he says:
The present volume is inspired by no such purpose, but is
due to a belief that fifty years after the Harper's Ferry
tragedy, the time is ripe for a study of John Brown, free
from bias, from the errors of taste and fact of the mere
panegyrist, and from the blind prejudice of those who can
see in John Brown nothing but a criminal. The pages that
follow were written to detract from or champion no man or
set of men, but to put forth the essential truths of
history as far as ascertainable, and to judge Brown, his
followers and associates, in the light thereof. How
successful this attempt has been is for the reader to
judge. That this volume in no wise approaches the
attractiveness which Mr. Morse looked for, the author fully
understands. On the other hand no stone has been left
unturned to make accurate the smallest detail; the original
documents, contemporary letters and living witnesses, have
been examined in every quarter of the United States.
Materials never before utilized have been drawn upon, and
others discovered whose existence has heretofore been
unknown....
Under this broad pledge of personal fidelity to the subject, this
historian introduced his volume, and has asked the public to give him
its full confidence and to accept his work as a faithful and complete
record of the ascertainable truths of history relating to the subject.
For the ardor which he has exhibited, and for the great labor which he
has expended in his compilation, and for much material of minor
importance, which he has uncovered, the student of history will not fail
to acknowledge to Mr. Villard the sense of his obligation. In these
respects, and in the scholarly features characteristic of the writings,
it is an interesting and dramatic contribution to this literature. But,
he will not be stampeded by protestations of zeal, and by professions of
integrity, to accept it as a presentation of the ascertainable truth.
The work is more conspicuous for the absence from its pages of important
historical truths, and for the contradiction of others which have been
authenticated, than it is for the great volume of trivial facts which
it presents. A line of derelictions conspicuously prevailing throughout
the pages of the book, amply justify the charge that it was not written,
primarily, for an historical purpose--"to put forth the truths of
history as far as ascertainable, and to judge Brown and his followers in
the light thereof." The true purpose seems to be ulterior to that which
is effusively proclaimed in the prefatory declarations. He has written
into the history of our country a concept of the character of John Brown
which is incongruous with the actions and circumstances of Brown's
life. He has created a semi-supernatural person--"a complex
character"--embodying the virtues of the "Hebrew prophets" and
"Cromwellian Roundheads" with the depraved instincts and practices of
thieves and murderers. He presents a man who, for righteous purposes,
"violated the statute and moral laws"; whose conduct was vile, but whose
aims were pure; whose actions were brutal and criminal, but whose
motives were unselfish.
If this author had redeemed the pledge which he solemnly gave to the
public, to put forth the truths of history as far as ascertainable, and,
judging Brown and his followers in the light of them, had justified his
"terrible violation of the statute and moral laws," the nature of this
criticism would be different; it would be directed against his
discrimination or, perhaps, against his intelligence. But that is not
the case. The author referred to has sifted the truths of this history,
and from the fragments has framed an hypothetical case; and has judged
Brown and his followers in the light of that creation. "How may the
killings on the Pottawatomie, this terrible violation of the statute and
the moral law be justified? This is the question that has confronted
every student of John Brown's life since it was definitely established
that Brown was, if not actually a principal in the crime, an accessory
and an instigator,"[5] is not the language of an impartial historian;
but it is consistently the language of an advocate who writes for a
specious, for an ulterior purpose. Why should an historian seek to
justify a crime? Why should this author, if he intended to write
impartially, seek for evidence to justify this horror? It was the desire
to justify the crime that impelled the author to seek for pretexts for
justification of it among the surviving criminals, and to garble the
historical facts concerning it.
The crime was the theft of a large number of horses; to accomplish it,
and to safeguard the loot, it was necessary to kill the owners thereof.
It was a premeditation. The plans for it were laid several weeks before
it was executed, and during a time of profound peace. The principals
were John Brown; his unmarried sons; Henry Thompson, his son-in-law;
Theodore Weiner, and four confederates: Jacob Benjamin, B. L. Cochrane,
John E. Cook and Charles Lenhart, whose names are herein associated with
this crime for the first time in history. These confederates received
from Brown's party the horses which belonged to the men whom they
murdered, and ran them out of the country; leaving with Brown a number
of horses, "fast running horses," which they had stolen in the northern
part of the Territory. That is the crime which this author seeks to
justify; he has concealed these truths, and has suppressed the evidence
concerning them. Pretending to put forth the "exact facts as to the
happenings on the Pottawatomie," he has suppressed the evidence
concerning the most important of the happenings, and has added no
material fact concerning them which James Townsley had not, years
before, put forth in his confession.
The public should know that as early as April 16, 1856, John Brown and
his unmarried sons planned to abandon Kansas and the Free-State Cause
and had disbanded the Free-State company to which they belonged, the
"Liberty Guards," of which John Brown was captain; also, that the
"Pottawatomie Rifles" had been organized in its stead, with John Brown,
Jr., as captain; and that neither John Brown nor his unmarried sons
belonged to it. They were "a | 2,595.056282 |
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Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg.
THE TRIBES AND CASTES OF THE CENTRAL PROVINCES OF INDIA
By
R.V. RUSSELL
Of the Indian Civil Service Superintendent of Ethnography, Central
Provinces
Assisted by
Rai Bahadur Hira Lal
Extra Assistant Commissioner
Published Under the Orders of the Central Provinces Administration
In Four Volumes
Vol. III.
Macmillan and Co., Limited St. Martin's Street, London.
1916
| 2,595.057258 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE
GOLD OF FAIRNILEE
By Andrew Lang
TO
JEANIE LANG,
LARRA
Dear Jeanie,
For you, far away on the other side of the world, I made this little
tale of our own country. Your father and I have dug for treasure in the
Camp of Rink, with our knives, when we were boys. We did not find it:
the story will tell you why.
Are there Fairies as well as Bunyips in Australia? I hope so.
Yours always,
WHUPPITY STOORIE'S SONG IN THIS TALE
IS BY THE AUTHOR'S FRIEND, F. De Q. M.
THE GOLD OF FAIRNILEE
[Illustration: Page 237]
[Illustration: Chapter One]
CHAPTER I.--_The Old House_
YOU may still see the old Scotch house where Randal was born, so long
ago. Nobody lives there now. Most of the roof has fallen in, there is no
glass in the windows, and all the doors are open. They were open in the
days of Randal's father--nearly four hundred years have passed since
then--and everyone who came was welcome to his share of beef and broth
and ale. But now the doors are not only open, they are quite gone, and
there is nobody within to give you a welcome.
So there is nothing but emptiness in the old house where Randal lived
with Jean, three hundred and sixty years or so before you were born. It
is a high old house, and wide, with the broken slates still on the roof.
At the corner there are little round towers, like pepperboxes, with
sharp peaks. The stems of the ivy that covers the walls are as thick
as trees. There are many trees crowding all round, and there are hills
round it too; and far below you hear the Tweed whispering all day. The
house is called Fairnilee, which means "the Fairies' Field;" for people
believed in fairies, as you shall hear, when Randal was a boy, and even
when my father was a boy.
Randal was all alone in the house when he was a little fellow--alone
with his mother, and Nancy the old nurse, and Simon Grieve the butler,
who wore a black velvet coat and a big silver chain. Then there were
the maids, and the grooms, and the farm folk, who were all friends of
Randal's. He was not lonely, and he did not feel unhappy, even before
Jean came, as you shall be told. But the grown-up people were sad and
silent at Fairnilee. Randal had no father; his mother, Lady Ker, was
a widow. She was still quite young, and Randal thought her the most
beautiful person in the world. Children think these things about their
mothers, and Randal had seen no ladies but his mother only. She had
brown hair and brown eyes and red lips, and a grave kind face, which
looked serious under her great white widow's cap with the black hood
over it. Randal never saw his mother cry; but when he was a very little
child indeed, he had heard her crying in the night: this was after his
father went away.
[Illustration: Chapter Two]
CHAPTER II.--_How Randal's Father Came Home_
RANDAL remembered his father's going to fight the English, and how he
came back again. It was a windy August evening when he went away: the
rain had fallen since morning. Randal had watched the white mists
driven by the gale down through the black pine-wood that covers the hill
opposite Fairnilee. The mist looked like armies of ghosts, he thought,
marching, marching through the pines, with their white flags flying and
streaming. Then the sun came out red at evening, and Randal's father
rode away with all his men. He had a helmet on his head, and a great axe
hanging from his neck by a chain, and a spear in his hand. He was riding
his big horse, _Sir Hugh_, and he caught Randal up to the saddle and
kissed him many times before he clattered out of the courtyard. All the
tenants and men about the farm rode with him, all with spears and a flag
embroidered with a crest in gold. His mother watched them from the tower
till they were out of sight. And Randal saw them ride away, not on
hard, smooth roads like ours, but along a green grassy track, the water
splashing up to their stirrups where they crossed the marshes.
[Illustration: Page 240]
Then the sky turned as red as blood, in the sunset, and next it grew
brown, like the rust on a sword; and the Tweed below, when they rode the
ford, was all red and gold and brown.
Then time went on; that seemed a long time to Randal. Only the women
were left in the house, and Randal played with the shepherd's children.
They sailed boats in the mill-pond, and they went down to the boat-pool
and watched to see the big copper- salmon splashing in the
still water. One evening Randal looked up suddenly from his play. It was
growing dark. He had been building a house with the round stones and wet
sand by the river. He looked up, and there was his own father! He was
riding all alone, and his horse, _Sir Hugh_, was very lean and lame, and
scarred with the spurs. The spear in his father's hand was broken, and
he had no sword; and he looked neither to right nor to left. His eyes
were wide open, but he seemed to see nothing.
Randal cried out to him, "Father! Father!" but he never glanced at
Randal. He did not look as if he heard him, or knew he was there, and
suddenly he seemed to go away, Randal did not know how or where.
Randal was frightened.
He ran into the house, and went to his mother.
"Oh, mother," he said, "I have seen father! He was riding all alone, and
he would not look at me. _Sir Hugh_ was lame!"
"Where has he gone?" said Lady Ker, in a strange voice.
"He went away out of sight," said Randal. "I could not see where he
went."
Then his mother told him it could not be, that his father would not have
come back alone. He would not leave his men behind him in the war.
But Randal was so sure, that she did not scold him. She knew he believed
what he said.
He saw that she was not happy.
All that night, which was the Fourth of September, in the year 1513, the
day of Flodden fight, Randal's mother did not go to bed. She kept moving
about the house. Now she would look from the tower window up Tweed; and
now she would go along the gallery and look down Tweed from the other
tower. She had lights burning in all the windows. All next day she was
never still. She climbed, with two of her maids, to the top of the hill
above Yair, on the other side of the river, and she watched the roads
down Ettrick and Yarrow. Next night she slept little, and rose early.
About noon, Randal saw three or four men riding wearily, with tired
horses. They could scarcely cross the ford of Tweed, the horses were so
tired. The men were Simon Grieve the butler, and some of the tenants.
They looked very pale; some of them had their heads tied up, and there
was blood on their faces. Lady Ker and Randal ran to meet them.
Simon Grieve lighted from his horse, and whispered to Randal's mother.
Randal did not hear what he said, but his mother cried, "I knew it! I
knew it!" and turned quite white.
"Where is he?" she said.
Simon pointed across the hill. "They are bringing the corp," he said.
Randal knew the "corp" meant the dead body.
He began to cry. "Where is my father?" he said, "where is my father?"
His mother led him into the house. She gave him to the old nurse, who
cried over him, and kissed him, and offered him cakes, and made him a
whistle with a branch of plane tree, So in a short while Randal only
felt puzzled. Then he forgot, and began to play. He was a very little
boy.
Lady Ker shut herself up in her own room--her "bower," the servants
called it.
Soon Randal heard heavy steps on the stairs, and whispering. He wanted
to run out, and his nurse caught hold of him, and would not have let him
go, but he slipped out of her hand, and looked over the staircase.
They were bringing up the body of a man stretched on a shield.
It was Randal's father.
He had been slain at Flodden, fighting for the king. An arrow had gone
through his brain, and he had fallen beside James IV., with many another
brave knight, all the best of Scotland, the Flowers of the Forest.
What was it Randal saw, when he thought he met his father in the
twilight, three days before?
He never knew. His mother said he must have dreamed it all.
The old nurse used to gossip about it to the maids. "He's an unco'
bairn, oor Randal; I wush he may na be fey."
She meant that Randal was a strange child, and that strange things would
happen to him.
[Illustration: Chapter Three]
CHAPTER III.--_How Jean was brought to Fairnlee_
THE winter went by very sadly. At first the people about Fairnilee
expected the English to cross the Border and march against them. They
drove their cattle out on the wild hills, and into marshes where
only they knew the firm paths, and raised walls of earth and
stones--_barmkyns_, they called them--round the old house; and made many
arrows to shoot out of the narrow windows at the English. Randal used
to like to see the arrow-making beside the fire at! night. He was not
afraid; and said he would show the English what he could do with his
little bow. But weeks went on and no enemy came. Spring drew near, the
snow melted from the hills. One night Randal was awakened by a great
noise of shouting; he looked out of the window, and saw bright torches
moving about. He heard the cows "routing," or bellowing, and the women
screaming. He thought the English had come. So they had; not the English
army, but some robbers from the other side of the Border. At that time
the people on the south side of Scotland and the north side of England
used to steal each other's cows time about. When a Scotch squire, or | 2,595.06244 |
2023-11-16 19:00:19.0424640 | 3,337 | 6 |
Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and Hall "Christmas Stories" edition by
David Price, email [email protected]
MRS. LIRRIPER'S LEGACY
CHAPTER I--MRS. LIRRIPER RELATES HOW SHE WENT ON, AND WENT OVER
Ah! It's pleasant to drop into my own easy-chair my dear though a little
palpitating what with trotting up-stairs and what with trotting down, and
why kitchen stairs should all be corner stairs is for the builders to
justify though I do not think they fully understand their trade and never
did, else why the sameness and why not more conveniences and fewer
draughts and likewise making a practice of laying the plaster on too
thick I am well convinced which holds the damp, and as to chimney-pots
putting them on by guess-work like hats at a party and no more knowing
what their effect will be upon the smoke bless you than I do if so much,
except that it will mostly be either to send it down your throat in a
straight form or give it a twist before it goes there. And what I says
speaking as I find of those new metal chimneys all manner of shapes
(there's a row of 'em at Miss Wozenham's lodging-house lower down on the
other side of the way) is that they only work your smoke into artificial
patterns for you before you swallow it and that I'd quite as soon swallow
mine plain, the flavour being the same, not to mention the conceit of
putting up signs on the top of your house to show the forms in which you
take your smoke into your inside.
Being here before your eyes my dear in my own easy-chair in my own quiet
room in my own Lodging-House Number Eighty-one Norfolk Street Strand
London situated midway between the City and St. James's--if anything is
where it used to be with these hotels calling themselves Limited but
called unlimited by Major Jackman rising up everywhere and rising up into
flagstaffs where they can't go any higher, but my mind of those monsters
is give me a landlord's or landlady's wholesome face when I come off a
journey and not a brass plate with an electrified number clicking out of
it which it's not in nature can be glad to see me and to which I don't
want to be hoisted like molasses at the Docks and left there telegraphing
for help with the most ingenious instruments but quite in vain--being
here my dear I have no call to mention that I am still in the Lodgings as
a business hoping to die in the same and if agreeable to the clergy
partly read over at Saint Clement's Danes and concluded in Hatfield
churchyard when lying once again by my poor Lirriper ashes to ashes and
dust to dust.
Neither should I tell you any news my dear in telling you that the Major
is still a fixture in the Parlours quite as much so as the roof of the
house, and that Jemmy is of boys the best and brightest and has ever had
kept from him the cruel story of his poor pretty young mother Mrs. Edson
being deserted in the second floor and dying in my arms, fully believing
that I am his born Gran and him an orphan, though what with engineering
since he took a taste for it and him and the Major making Locomotives out
of parasols broken iron pots and cotton-reels and them absolutely a
getting off the line and falling over the table and injuring the
passengers almost equal to the originals it really is quite wonderful.
And when I says to the Major, "Major can't you by _any_ means give us a
communication with the guard?" the Major says quite huffy, "No madam it's
not to be done," and when I says "Why not?" the Major says, "That is
between us who are in the Railway Interest madam and our friend the Right
Honourable Vice-President of the Board of Trade" and if you'll believe me
my dear the Major wrote to Jemmy at school to consult him on the answer I
should have before I could get even that amount of unsatisfactoriness out
of the man, the reason being that when we first began with the little
model and the working signals beautiful and perfect (being in general as
wrong as the real) and when I says laughing "What appointment am I to
hold in this undertaking gentlemen?" Jemmy hugs me round the neck and
tells me dancing, "You shall be the Public Gran" and consequently they
put upon me just as much as ever they like and I sit a growling in my
easy-chair.
My dear whether it is that a grown man as clever as the Major cannot give
half his heart and mind to anything--even a plaything--but must get into
right down earnest with it, whether it is so or whether it is not so I do
not undertake to say, but Jemmy is far out-done by the serious and
believing ways of the Major in the management of the United Grand
Junction Lirriper and Jackman Great Norfolk Parlour Line, "For" says my
Jemmy with the sparkling eyes when it was christened, "we must have a
whole mouthful of name Gran or our dear old Public" and there the young
rogue kissed me, "won't stump up." So the Public took the shares--ten at
ninepence, and immediately when that was spent twelve Preference at one
and sixpence--and they were all signed by Jemmy and countersigned by the
Major, and between ourselves much better worth the money than some shares
I have paid for in my time. In the same holidays the line was made and
worked and opened and ran excursions and had collisions and burst its
boilers and all sorts of accidents and offences all most regular correct
and pretty. The sense of responsibility entertained by the Major as a
military style of station-master my dear starting the down train behind
time and ringing one of those little bells that you buy with the little
coal-scuttles off the tray round the man's neck in the street did him
honour, but noticing the Major of a night when he is writing out his
monthly report to Jemmy at school of the state of the Rolling Stock and
the Permanent Way and all the rest of it (the whole kept upon the Major's
sideboard and dusted with his own hands every morning before varnishing
his boots) I notice him as full of thought and care as full can be and
frowning in a fearful manner, but indeed the Major does nothing by halves
as witness his great delight in going out surveying with Jemmy when he
has Jemmy to go with, carrying a chain and a measuring-tape and driving I
don't know what improvements right through Westminster Abbey and fully
believed in the streets to be knocking everything upside down by Act of
Parliament. As please Heaven will come to pass when Jemmy takes to that
as a profession!
Mentioning my poor Lirriper brings into my head his own youngest brother
the Doctor though Doctor of what I am sure it would be hard to say unless
Liquor, for neither Physic nor Music nor yet Law does Joshua Lirriper
know a morsel of except continually being summoned to the County Court
and having orders made upon him which he runs away from, and once was
taken in the passage of this very house with an umbrella up and the
Major's hat on, giving his name with the door-mat round him as Sir
Johnson Jones, K.C.B. in spectacles residing at the Horse Guards. On
which occasion he had got into the house not a minute before, through the
girl letting him on the mat when he sent in a piece of paper twisted more
like one of those spills for lighting candles than a note, offering me
the choice between thirty shillings in hand and his brains on the
premises marked immediate and waiting for an answer. My dear it gave me
such a dreadful turn to think of the brains of my poor dear Lirriper's
own flesh and blood flying about the new oilcloth however unworthy to be
so assisted, that I went out of my room here to ask him what he would
take once for all not to do it for life when I found him in the custody
of two gentlemen that I should have judged to be in the feather-bed trade
if they had not announced the law, so fluffy were their personal
appearance. "Bring your chains, sir," says Joshua to the littlest of the
two in the biggest hat, "rivet on my fetters!" Imagine my feelings when
I pictered him clanking up Norfolk Street in irons and Miss Wozenham
looking out of window! "Gentlemen," I says all of a tremble and ready to
drop "please to bring him into Major Jackman's apartments." So they
brought him into the Parlours, and when the Major spies his own curly-
brimmed hat on him which Joshua Lirriper had whipped off its peg in the
passage for a military disguise he goes into such a tearing passion that
he tips it off his head with his hand and kicks it up to the ceiling with
his foot where it grazed long afterwards. "Major" I says "be cool and
advise me what to do with Joshua my dead and gone Lirriper's own youngest
brother." "Madam" says the Major "my advice is that you board and lodge
him in a Powder Mill, with a handsome gratuity to the proprietor when
exploded." "Major" I says "as a Christian you cannot mean your words."
"Madam" says the Major "by the Lord I do!" and indeed the Major besides
being with all his merits a very passionate man for his size had a bad
opinion of Joshua on account of former troubles even unattended by
liberties taken with his apparel. When Joshua Lirriper hears this
conversation betwixt us he turns upon the littlest one with the biggest
hat and says "Come sir! Remove me to my vile dungeon. Where is my
mouldy straw?" My dear at the picter of him rising in my mind dressed
almost entirely in padlocks like Baron Trenck in Jemmy's book I was so
overcome that I burst into tears and I says to the Major, "Major take my
keys and settle with these gentlemen or I shall never know a happy minute
more," which was done several times both before and since, but still I
must remember that Joshua Lirriper has his good feelings and shows them
in being always so troubled in his mind when he cannot wear mourning for
his brother. Many a long year have I left off my widow's mourning not
being wishful to intrude, but the tender point in Joshua that I cannot
help a little yielding to is when he writes "One single sovereign would
enable me to wear a decent suit of mourning for my much-loved brother. I
vowed at the time of his lamented death that I would ever wear sables in
memory of him but Alas how short-sighted is man, How keep that vow when
penniless!" It says a good deal for the strength of his feelings that he
couldn't have been seven year old when my poor Lirriper died and to have
kept to it ever since is highly creditable. But we know there's good in
all of us,--if we only knew where it was in some of us,--and though it
was far from delicate in Joshua to work upon the dear child's feelings
when first sent to school and write down into Lincolnshire for his pocket-
money by return of post and got it, still he is my poor Lirriper's own
youngest brother and mightn't have meant not paying his bill at the
Salisbury Arms when his affection took him down to stay a fortnight at
Hatfield churchyard and might have meant to keep sober but for bad
company. Consequently if the Major _had_ played on him with the garden-
engine which he got privately into his room without my knowing of it, I
think that much as I should have regretted it there would have been words
betwixt the Major and me. Therefore my dear though he played on Mr.
Buffle by mistake being hot in his head, and though it might have been
misrepresented down at Wozenham's into not being ready for Mr. Buffle in
other respects he being the Assessed Taxes, still I do not so much regret
it as perhaps I ought. And whether Joshua Lirriper will yet do well in
life I cannot say, but I did hear of his coming, out at a Private Theatre
in the character of a Bandit without receiving any offers afterwards from
the regular managers.
Mentioning Mr. Baffle gives an instance of there being good in persons
where good is not expected, for it cannot be denied that Mr. Buffle's
manners when engaged in his business were not agreeable. To collect is
one thing, and to look about as if suspicious of the goods being
gradually removing in the dead of the night by a back door is another,
over taxing you have no control but suspecting is voluntary. Allowances
too must ever be made for a gentleman of the Major's warmth not relishing
being spoke to with a pen in the mouth, and while I do not know that it
is more irritable to my own feelings to have a low-crowned hat with a
broad brim kept on in doors than any other hat still I can appreciate the
Major's, besides which without bearing malice or vengeance the Major is a
man that scores up arrears as his habit always was with Joshua Lirriper.
So at last my dear the Major lay in wait for Mr. Buffle, and it worrited
me a good deal. Mr. Buffle gives his rap of two sharp knocks one day and
the Major bounces to the door. "Collector has called for two quarters'
Assessed Taxes" says Mr. Buffle. "They are ready for him" says the Major
and brings him in here. But on the way Mr. Buffle looks about him in his
usual suspicious manner and the Major fires and asks him "Do you see a
Ghost sir?" "No sir" says Mr. Buffle. "Because I have before noticed
you" says the Major "apparently looking for a spectre very hard beneath
the roof of my respected friend. When you find that supernatural agent,
be so good as point him out sir." Mr. Buffle stares at the Major and
then nods at me. "Mrs. Lirriper sir" says the Major going off into a
perfect steam and introducing me with his hand. "Pleasure of knowing
her" says Mr. Buffle. "A--hum!--Jemmy Jackman sir!" says the Major
introducing himself. "Honour of knowing you by sight" says Mr. Buffle.
"Jemmy Jackman sir" says the Major wagging his head sideways in a sort of
obstinate fury "presents to you his esteemed friend that lady Mrs. Emma
Lirriper of Eighty-one Norfolk Street Strand London in the County of
Middlesex in the United Kingdom | 2,595.062504 |
2023-11-16 19:00:19.2355050 | 144 | 7 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Cindy Horton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold
text by =equal signs=.
THE LABOUR-SAVING HOUSE
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
WAR RATION COOKERY (The Eat-less-meat Book)
LEARNING TO COOK
10/- A HEAD FOR HOUSE BOOKS
NOVELS
THE HAT SHOP
MRS. BARNET-ROBES | 2,595.255545 |
2023-11-16 19:00:19.6465590 | 4,154 | 30 |
Produced by Giovanni Fini, 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/American Libraries.)
FROM DARTMOUTH
TO THE DARDANELLES
SOLDIERS’ TALES OF THE GREAT WAR
Each volume cr. 8vo, cloth. 3_s._ 6_d._ net.
I. WITH MY REGIMENT. By “PLATOON COMMANDER.”
II. DIXMUDE. The Epic of the French Marines. Oct.-Nov. 1914. By
CHARLES LE GOFFIC.
_Illustrated_
III. IN THE FIELD (1914-15). The Impressions of an Officer of Light
Cavalry.
IV. UNCENSORED LETTERS FROM THE DARDANELLES. Notes of a French Army
Doctor.
_Illustrated_
V. PRISONER OF WAR. By ANDRÉ WARNOD.
_Illustrated_
VI. “CONTEMPTIBLE.” By “CASUALTY.”
VII. ON THE ANZAC TRAIL. By “ANZAC.”
VIII. IN GERMAN HANDS. By CHARLES HENNEBOIS.
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
21 BEDFORD STREET, W.C.
FROM DARTMOUTH
TO THE DARDANELLES
A MIDSHIPMAN’S LOG
EDITED BY
HIS MOTHER
LONDON
[Illustration: LOGO]
WILLIAM HEINEMANN
_First Published June 1916._
_New Impressions July, September, October 1916._
_London: William Heinemann, 1916._
_FOREWORD_
_THE responsibility for the publication of this book lies with me, and
with me alone. I trust that that great “Silent Service,” one of whose
finest traditions is to “do” and not to “talk,” will see in it no
indiscretion._
_To state that these pages make no claim to literary merit seems almost
superfluous, since they are simply a boy’s story of ten months of the
Great War as he saw it. In deference to the said tradition the names
of officers and ships concerned have been suppressed—those of the
midshipmen mentioned are all fictitious._
_The story has been compiled from a narrative written by my son during
a short spell of sick leave in December 1915. Considering that all his
diaries were lost when his ship was sunk, it may at least be considered
a not inconsiderable feat of memory. Originally it was intended only
for private circulation, but many who have read it have urged me
to put it into print; and I have decided to do so in the hope that
their prediction that it would prove of interest to the public may be
justified._
_In so far as was practicable, I have tried to tell the story in my
son’s own words; but it may possibly be argued that at times words
and phrases are such as would not normally be used by a boy of barely
sixteen. To that charge I can only reply that in the main even the
words are his own, and I have faithfully reproduced his ideas and
opinions._
_Those who have come in contact with the boys who left us as children,
and returned to us dowered by their tremendous experiences with
knowledge and insight so far in advance of their years, will find
nothing incongruous in reflections commonly foreign to such extreme
youth. It is one of the logical results of the fiery crucible of War._
_Let it be remembered that these boys have looked Death in the
face—not once only, but many times; and that, like our soldiers in
the trenches—who no longer say of their “pals” “He is dead,” but only
“He has gone west”—they have learned to see in the Great Deliverer not
a horror, not an_ end, _but a mighty and glorious Angel, setting
on the brows of their comrades the crown of immortality; and so when
the call comes they, like Sir Richard Grenville of old, “with a joyful
spirit die.”_
_What would be unnatural is that their stupendous initiation could
leave them only the careless children of a few months back._
_The mobilisation of the Dartmouth Cadets came with a shock of rather
horrified surprise to a certain section of the public, who could not
imagine that boys so young could be of any practical utility in the
grim business of War. There was, indeed, after the tragic loss of
so many of them in the_ Cressy, _the_ Aboukir, _and the
_Hogue, _an outburst of protest in Parliament and the Press. In
the first shock of grief and dismay at the sacrifice of such young
lives, it was perhaps not unnatural; but it argued a limited vision.
Did those who agitated for these Cadets to be removed from the post of
danger forget, or did they never realise, that on every battle-ship
there is a large number of boys, sons of the working classes, whose
service is indispensable?_
_It seemed to me that if my son was too young to be exposed to such
danger, the principle must apply equally to the son of my cook, or my
butcher, or my gardener, whose boys were no less precious to them than
mine was to me._
_In the great band of Brothers who are fighting for their country and
for the triumph of Right and Justice there can be no class distinction
of values. Those who belong to the so-called “privileged classes” can
lay claim only to the privilege of being_ leaders—_first in the
field and foremost at the post of danger. It is the only possible
justification of their existence; and at the post of danger they have
found their claim to priority hotly and gloriously contested by the
splendid heroes of the rank and file._
_Presumably the Navy took our boys because they were needed, and no
one to-day will feel inclined to deny that those Dartmouth Cadets have
abundantly proved their worth._
_For the rest, if there be any merit in this record, the credit lies
with the boy who provided the material from which it has been written:
for any feebleness, inadequacy, or indiscretion the blame must fall on
that imperfect chronicler—_
_HIS MOTHER_
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I DARTMOUTH COLLEGE 1
II MANŒUVRES 12
III THE BEGINNING OF THE “REAL THING” 24
IV WE JOIN OUR SHIP 34
V ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS 49
VI WE LEAVE HOME WATERS 65
VII FROM EGYPT TO MOMBASA 88
VIII THE BOMBARDMENT OF DAR-ES-SALAAM 118
IX ORDERED TO THE DARDANELLES 130
X IN ACTION 140
XI THE SINKING OF THE SHIP 152
XII HOME 165
CHAPTER I
DARTMOUTH COLLEGE
MY first term at Dartmouth commenced on the 7th of May 1914—previously
I had, of course, been through the regulation two years at Osborne
College in the Isle of Wight.
Most of my term-mates came down from London by the special cadet train,
and I should have greatly preferred to have travelled with them, but my
home was so far away that I had to do the journey in solitary state,
and when I arrived at Kingswear Station at 9.30 on that beautiful
spring evening, I found myself a belated last comer.
A servant had been sent to meet me, and when he had collected my
luggage we embarked on the _Otter_, one of the steamboats belonging to
the College, which was lying alongside the pontoon. The passage of the
river Dart only took a few minutes, and we landed at Sandquay, where
are situated the engineering shops, in which no small proportion of my
brief time at Dartmouth was destined to be spent. Compared with the
collection of low, one-storied, bungalow-like buildings which comprise
the Osborne premises, the College, standing high upon a hill above
the river, appeared to me a very imposing structure, and pleasantly
suggestive of a distinct advance towards the goal of my ambitions—a
goal destined to be reached so swiftly, and by such unexpected paths,
as I at that moment little dreamed of.
A long flight of stone steps leads up through the grounds from
the workshops, and after climbing these I found myself in the big
entrance-hall of the College, where I was met by a warrant officer, who
took me to his office, and, after filing my health certificate, showed
me the way to the vast mess-room where the five hundred or so of cadets
in residence have all their meals. Here I had supper, consisting of
cold meat and bread-and-cheese; and when I had finished, the gunner
took me to my dormitory, pointed out my sea-chest and bed, and then
left me to turn in.
By this time it was about 10.30, my messmates were all asleep, and the
long room was only dimly illuminated by the “dead lights” which are
kept burning all night, as no matches or candles are allowed. Removing
my boots, I tiptoed round the chests adjoining mine to see by the
nameplates who my immediate neighbours might be, and then, folding up
my clothes in regulation fashion, I jumped into bed and was soon fast
asleep.
At 6 o’clock next morning we were all awakened by the réveillé, and
trooped down in a body to the bath-rooms for the cold plunge with
which, unless excused by doctor’s orders, every cadet must begin the
day. Then, having been informed by the senior cadets who were placed in
authority over us that if we were not dressed in one and a half minutes
the consequences would be unpleasant, we threw on as many clothes as
possible, and ran out of the dormitory surreptitiously carrying boots,
ties and collars, and finished dressing in the gun-room. Then we waited
about, greeted friends, and exchanged reminiscences of the past “leave”
until summoned to breakfast at 7.30.
This meal was served in the mess-room in which I had had my supper the
night before, and we all scrambled and fought our way up some stairs to
a gallery where were situated the four long tables reserved for the use
of the junior term.
Breakfast over, the cadet captains (who correspond to the monitors of
our public schools) showed us over the College grounds, and drew our
attention to the various rules, regulations, and notices posted up
at different points. We also paid a visit to the canteen, where may
be purchased ices, buns, sweets, and similar delicacies dear to all
schoolboys. As a more detailed description of my first day would not
be particularly interesting, I will just describe one in mid-term as
fairly typical of the College routine.
At 6 o’clock, roused by the réveillé, we scurry to the bath-room,
take the prescribed cold plunge, and then dress. Hot cocoa and ship’s
biscuit are served in the mess-room and followed by an hour’s study.
At 7.30 “fall in” in the long corridor called the “covered way,” which
leads from the dormitories to the mess-room. All the other terms having
gone in to breakfast, our particular batch of cadets is called to
“attention.” Then comes the order: “Right turn! Double march!”—and
helter-skelter, as fast as we can lay foot to the ground, we rush along
the hundred yards of corridor to the mess-room door and fight our way
through that narrow opening. Woe betide the unfortunate who falls in
the _mêlée_! He will get trampled on by all behind, and when finally he
is able to rise to his feet, dazed and bruised, after the rush has gone
by, he will be assisted on his way by the unsympathetic toes of the
cadet captain’s boots. Moral: Keep your footing!
After a brief grace we fall to and devour porridge with brown sugar and
fresh, creamy, Devon milk, rolls and butter, supplemented by kippers,
bacon and eggs, or some similar fare.
As no grace is said after breakfast, each cadet is at liberty to leave
as soon as he has finished, and to repair to his own gun-room until
the bugle sounds for divisions at 9 o’clock. At the call we all “fall
in” by terms in the big hall which is called the quarter-deck. The
Lieutenant of each term then inspects his cadets and reports to the
Commander that they are “correct,” after which the Commander in his
turn reports the whole six terms to the Captain. Then the Chaplain
comes in, the Commander calls all present to “attention,” and gives the
order “Off caps.” The Padre gives out the number of some familiar hymn,
and, after a few verses have been sung, he reads some short prayers.
Then caps are replaced, and, in obedience to the word of command, the
respective terms in order of seniority march off to the studies.
Let it be supposed that my term has to go to the engineering works at
Sandquay on this particular morning.
Procedure is as follows: “Divisions” over, we fall in on a path
outside the College and the Engineer Lieutenant marches us down to the
workshops. Dismissed from marching order we go into the lobby and shift
into overalls, after which we repair in batches to the various shops.
Here we construct and fit together parts of the many different types of
marine engines; dealing in the process with such work as the casting,
forging, and turning of steel and brass.
After two hours of this practical work we shift out of our overalls,
resume our uniform jackets and caps, and go to one of the lecture-rooms
where, for the remaining hour an engineer officer instructs us in
the theory of motors, and turbines, and various other engineering
technicalities. Then we are again fallen in outside the shops and
marched up to the College, where we have a “break” of a quarter of an
hour in which to collect the books required for the succeeding hour of
ordinary school work.
One o’clock finds us once more assembled in the covered way to double
along to the mess-room for lunch.
After this meal every one must stay in his place until grace is said,
when each term rises in order of seniority and doubles out of the
mess-room to the different gun-rooms.
It may be here noted that everything at Dartmouth is done at the
“double,” _i.e._ at a run. Strolling around with your hands in your
pockets after the fashion of most public schools is of course not
allowed in an establishment where naval discipline prevails.
After half an hour allowed for digestion we collect our books and go to
the studies for another two hours’ work.
At 4 o’clock we are mustered again for “quarters” as at “divisions” in
the morning, and when dismissed double away to shift into flannels for
recreation.
The choice of play and exercise is very varied, but no one is allowed
to “loaf.” Every cadet must do what is called a “log,” and the manner
in which he has spent his recreation time is duly entered against his
name each day. The “log” in question may consist of a game of cricket,
a two-mile row on the river, two hours’ practice at the nets followed
by the swimming of sixty yards in the baths, or a set of tennis or
fives.
Any cadet who cannot swim must learn without delay. The bath, eight
feet deep at one end and three feet at the other, is thirty yards long.
It is opened at 6 p.m., and there is always a large attendance. A
spring board for diving is provided, as well as various ropes suspended
six feet above the water by means of which the more agile spirits swing
themselves along, as monkeys swing from tree to tree.
All exercise is purposely strenuous, for the four years’ preparation
is a test of physical as much as of mental strength, and every year
some boys are “chucked,” to their bitter disappointment, because they
cannot attain to the standard of physical fitness indispensable for the
work they, as naval officers, would be expected to perform. Defective
eyesight is one of the commonest causes of rejection, for it is obvious
that full normal vision is essential for the Navy.
On the river there is the choice of two kinds of boat—five-oared gigs
and skiffs. A long and muddy creek, known as Mill Creek, branches off
from the river just above the College. Great trees overhang its banks
on either side and, if one cares to risk disobedience to orders, a very
pleasant way of passing an afternoon is to tie up one’s boat in the
shade and settle down with a book and some smuggled cigarettes. But it
is well to remember that the tide here is very treacherous. Once I saw
three cadets marooned on a mud-bank quite forty yards from the water’s
edge.
At 6.30 every one must be within the College buildings, and by a
quarter to 7 all cadets must have shifted into proper uniform and be
ready for tea.
At 7.30 there is “prep.,” which lasts till 8.30, when the “cease fire”
bugle sounds. Then the band plays on the quarter-deck, and there is
dancing till 9, after which every one “falls in” for five minutes’
prayer. Then the terms double away to their dormitories. At 9.30 the
Commander goes “rounds,” and every one must be in bed. As soon as he
has passed lights are put out and the day is over.
CHAPTER II
MANŒUVRES
THIS summer term of 1914, destined surely to be the most momentous
in the whole history of the College, nevertheless pursued its normal
course until July 18, on which date began the great test mobilisation
of the “Fleet in being,” to which we had all been eagerly looking
forward for some weeks.
It is, perhaps, too soon to speculate on the influence which this most
opportune concentration of sea power brought to bear on the course
of the War. Was it due to foresight? Was it a deliberate warning to
trespassers not to tread on Great Britain’s toes? Or was it just a
gorgeous piece of luck? Who shall say? Certainly not a mere “snottie”!
Anyway, it is a matter of history that after manœuvres the Fleet was
not demobilised, with the result that the swift, murderous assault on
our open sea-coast towns which, judging by the light of subsequent
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project.)
AN HISTORICAL SUMMARY
OF THE POST OFFICE IN SCOTLAND,
COMPILED FROM AUTHENTIC RECORDS AND DOCUMENTS.
BY T. B. LANG, ESQ.
CONTROLLER, SORTING DEPARTMENT, GENERAL POST OFFICE, EDINBURGH.
FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY W. H. LIZARS, ST. JAMES' SQUARE.
1856.
NOTE.
_This Historical Summary, compiled by_ MR. LANG, _was originally
contained in a Letter addressed to the Secretary to the General Post
Office in Scotland, with a view to its being included in the Annual
Report of the Postmaster-General, presented to both Houses of Parliament
at the commencement of the present Session, but it not being considered
necessary to include the whole Summary in the Report, Extracts only were
published in the Appendix. The whole Summary is therefore now printed,
with his Grace's sanction, for private distribution._
AN HISTORICAL SUMMARY
OF THE POST OFFICE IN SCOTLAND.
The earliest records that can be found relating to the conveyance of
Despatches or Letters in Scotland, do not date earlier than the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In these early records, special
messengers for the conveyance of the King's Despatches and
Correspondence are called "_Nuncii_" or "_Cursores_;" but the
information as to their mode of travelling, and regulations for their
guidance, is imperfect and limited. Messengers of this description were
also employed to convey despatches from foreign countries, for which
they received gratuities on their arrival at the Scottish Court. About
the year 1500, the name of Post is found to apply to messengers
travelling with the utmost rapidity then attainable in charge of
despatches.[1] On the 1st of April 1515, the English envoy in Scotland
wrote from Stirling to Henry VIII. of England--"This Friday, when I came
home to dyner, I received your most honorable letters by Post, dated at
your mansion, Greenwich, 26th March."[2] These letters, which appear to
have occupied five or six days in transit from Greenwich to Stirling,
must have been conveyed by one of these special Court Messengers.
It was not long after this period that the municipal corporations and
private persons of consequence also introduced messengers of this
description. For example, in 1590, a Post was established by the
Magistrates of Aberdeen for carrying their despatches to and from
Edinburgh and other places of royal residence. They appointed a person
for conducting these despatches, under the name of the Council Post,
who was dressed in a garment of blue cloth, with the town's armorial
bearings in silver upon the right sleeve.[3]
In 1635 a public Post was first established in Britain, under Government
authority by Charles I.[4] Its main object was to establish regular and
certain communication between London and Edinburgh. The journey was
limited to three days, and the rate of Postage for a single letter was
fixed at 6d. sterling. Mails were despatched between these two cities
usually twice a week, sometimes only once.
About two years after this period, the Post as the medium of
communication, became so insecure, that in 1638 a person in England
wrote to his friend in Scotland--"I hear the Posts are waylaid, and all
letters taken from them, and brought to Secretary Cooke; therefore will
I not, nor do you, send by that way hereafter." The Post at this time
was called the Merchant Post, but it did not prosper.[5]
In 1649, the Commonwealth took the Scottish Posts under its
jurisdiction, and in connection with that measure they appear to have
removed many, if not all the officers. The Posts were then placed upon a
better footing, and the system was still further improved by Cromwell.
In 1654 the Postage from England to Scotland was lowered to 4d.
sterling. In 1656 the revenues of the Post Office in Great Britain and
Ireland were farmed to John Manley, Esq., who was appointed
Postmaster-General, and the rate of Postage in Scotland was fixed at 2d.
for a single letter under 80 miles, for all distances above 80 miles
3d., to England 4d., and to Ireland 6d.[6]
On the 16th December 1661, Charles II. re-appointed Robert Mein "Sole
Keeper of the Letter Office in Edinburgh," an office from which he had
been removed during the Commonwealth.[7]
By grant under the Privy Seal, dated at Whitehall on the 14th September
1662, King Charles II. bestowed upon Patrick Grahame of Inchbrakie the
office of Postmaster-General of Scotland[8]--"officium precipui
magistri cursoris lie Postmaster-Generall et Censoris omnium cursorum
dicti regni Scotie"--for all the days of his life, with power to appoint
Postmasters at the stages necessary for forwarding the King's letters
from place to place. The grant conveyed to Grahame all the rights and
privileges which any Postmaster-General had previously enjoyed in
Scotland, and specially bestowed on him a salary of L500 Scots
yearly.[9]
On the 16th September 1662, the Privy Council of Scotland commissioned
Robert Mein, merchant,[10] and Keeper of the Letter Office, Edinburgh,
to establish posts between Scotland and Ireland, and ordained that
Linlithgow, Kilsyth, Glasgow, Kilmarnock, Dumboag, Ballintrae, and Port
Patrick, should be stages on the route, and granted him the sum of L200
sterling, to build a packet boat to carry the Mail from Port Patrick to
Donaghadee, and further gave him the sole privilege of carrying letters
on this line of road, for which he was allowed to charge for each letter
to Glasgow, 2s. Scots, and from thence to any part within Scotland, 3s.
Scots, and for letters to Ireland, 6s. Scots.[11]
In 1665, by grant under the Privy Seal dated at Edinburgh on the 1st
March, King Charles II. bestowed the office of Postmaster of Haddington
upon William Seton, who was at the time Provost and Postmaster. The
office which had been previously held by Cornelius Ramsay, is described
to be "allswell for the carrieng and convoyeing of all such packetts
from Haddington by Post to Colbrandspath as shall be directed to
them,[12] and for the despatching and carrieng by Post frae Haddingtoune
to Canongait, and carieng and convoyeing of all such packetts as shall
be directed to England to anie of our Privie Counsell of this our
kingdome of Scotland, or to anie of our officers for our affairs and
service." The salary is stated to be L600 Scots yearly.[13]
In 1669 the Privy Council passed an Act for erecting a Foot Post
between Edinburgh and Inverness once a week, and between Edinburgh and
Aberdeen twice a week, "wind and weather serving," and fixed the rate of
Postage for a letter not exceeding one sheet of paper, carried 40 miles
Scots (about 60 English), at 2s. Scots; for a single letter carried 60
miles, 3s. Scots; and for an ounce weight, 7s. 6d. Scots; and for every
single letter carried above 80 miles Scots, within Scotland, 4s. Scots;
for an ounce weight 10s., and so proportionably.[14] The same Act, "for
the more effectual prosecution and performance of the premises,"
discharges "all other Posts established, or pretending to be established
upon the Aberdeen and Inverness roads."[15]
To show the difficulties in the way of rapid communication at this
period, from the condition of the roads in Scotland, it may be stated,
that in 1678 an agreement was made to run a coach between Edinburgh and
Glasgow (a distance of forty-four miles), which was to be drawn by six
horses, and to perform the journey to Glasgow and back in six days. The
undertaking was considered so arduous, that the contractor was to
receive "200 merks a-year for five years, to assist him; but the
speculation turned out so unprofitable that it was soon abandoned."[16]
In 1685, the intelligence of the death of Charles II., who died on 6th
February, was received in Edinburgh at one o'clock in the morning of
the 10th, by an express from London.[17] In 1688 it occupied three
months to convey the tidings of the abdication of James II. of England
and VII. of Scotland to the Orkneys.
The Post Office in Scotland again received the sanction of parliamentary
authority in 1695, although "several public Posts" had already been
established for carrying letters "to and from most parts and places in
this kingdom," for the maintaining of mutual correspondence, and
preventing the many inconveniences that happen by private Posts. And the
"well ordering of these public Posts being a matter of general concern,
and of great advantage, and that the best means for that end will be the
settling and establishing a General Post Office," the Scottish
Parliament "ordains and appoints a General Post Office to be kept within
the city of Edinburgh, from whence all letters and pacquets whatsoever
may be with speed and expedition sent into any part of the kingdom, or
any other of his Majesty's dominions, or into any kingdom or country
beyond seas, by the pacquet that goes sealed to London." It is also
enacted, that a Postmaster-General shall be appointed by letters patent
under the Privy Seal, or that the office of Postmaster-General may be
set in tack by the Lords of Treasury and Exchequer. The rates of Postage
were fixed at 2d. for a single letter to Berwick, or within fifty miles
of Edinburgh; above fifty miles and not exceeding 100 miles, 3d.; and
all single letters to any place in Scotland, above 100 miles, to pay
4d.: common carriers were prohibited from carrying letters, except where
no Post Offices were established, and if convicted, they became liable
"to be imprisoned for six days for ilk fault, and fined in the sum of
six pounds Scots 'toties quoties.'" This Act also authorizes a weekly
Post between Scotland and Ireland, and orders boats to be maintained for
carrying the Mails between Portpatrick and Donaghadee; and a special
provision is made, that Ireland is not to be put to any expense, but
that the Postmaster-General should be allowed the sum expended on the
packet boats in his intromissions with the Treasury. And lastly, the
Postmaster-General is ordered to take care that Posts are established
over all the kingdom at places most convenient.[18]
In 1698, Sir Robert Sinclair of Stevenson, had a grant from King
William of the whole revenue of the Post Office in Scotland, with a
pension of L300 per annum to keep up the Post. The Post Office at this
time appears to have been any thing but a profitable concern, as Sir
Robert, after due deliberation, gave up the grant, thinking it
disadvantageous.[19]
From the 11th November 1704 till Whitsunday 1707, George Main, jeweller
in Edinburgh, accounts in Exchequer for the duties of | 2,595.755561 |
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Produced by Geoff Palmer
A MINSTREL IN FRANCE
BY
HARRY LAUDER
[ILLUSTRATION: _frontispiece_ Harry Lauder and his son, Captain John
Lauder. (see Lauder01.jpg)]
TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED SON
CAPTAIN JOHN LAUDER
First 8th, Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders
Killed in France, December 28, 1916
Oh, there's sometimes I am lonely
And I'm weary a' the day
To see the face and clasp the hand
| 2,595.758751 |
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Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES
Italic text in the original is surrounded by _underscores_.
Blackletter (Gothic type) text is surrounded by =equals=.
Corrections and other notes are recorded at the end of the text.
=My Father.=
[Illustration: Wm. Scoresby]
MEMORIALS OF THE SEA.
=My Father:=
BEING RECORDS OF THE ADVENTUROUS LIFE OF THE LATE
WILLIAM SCORESBY, ESQ. OF WHITBY.
BY HIS SON
THE REV. WILLIAM SCORESBY, D.D.
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL SOCIETIES OF LONDON AND EDINBURGH; MEMBER OF THE
INSTITUTE OF FRANCE; OF THE AMERICAN INSTITUTE, PHILADELPHIA, ETC. ETC.
LONDON:
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS.
1851.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY M. MASON, IVY LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW.
TO THE LADY MATILDA MAXWELL,
WHOSE DISCERNMENT OF AN UNUSUAL AND SUPERIOR CHARACTER IN A MERCHANT
SEAMAN, WHEN KNOWN ONLY BY REPORT, FIRST LED TO THE GATHERING OF RECORDS
CONCERNING HIM;
AND TO WHOSE EXPRESSIONS OF DEEP AND ADMIRING INTEREST IN THE RELATION,
REPEATEDLY SOLICITED, OF MANY CHARACTERISTIC INCIDENTS, THEIR
PUBLICATION IS STRICTLY DUE,--
=This Volume,=
COMPRISING THE OFT-TOLD STORIES, WITH ADDITIONAL RECORDS, OF THE
ADVENTUROUS LIFE OF
=His Father,=
IS, WITH GREAT RESPECT AND SINCERE REGARD, NOW ADDRESSED, BY HER
LADYSHIP'S FAITHFUL AND OBLIGED FRIEND,
THE AUTHOR.
_Torquay, Feb. 3, 1851._
=My Father.=
CONTENTS.
Page
CHAPTER I.--EARLY LIFE AND PROGRESS AS A SEAMAN 3
SECT. 1. My Father's early Life 3
2. His First Year's Apprenticeship 12
3. His Progress as a Seaman, with Incidents of
Sea-life 20
4. Capture by the Enemy, and Escape from a
Spanish Prison 26
5. Rewards of Masterly Seamanship 31
6. Entrance on, and Progress in Training in, the
Greenland Whale-fishery 36
CHAPTER II.--COMMENCEMENT AND PROGRESS IN WHALE-FISHING
ENTERPRISE AS COMMANDER 42
SECT. 1. Disappointment in his First Command 42
2. His Second Adventure and commencing Prosperity 52
3. Further Successes, with their comparative Relations,
in the Ship Henrietta 55
4. Episodical Incident--the Rescue of endangered
Pleasurers 65
5. The Greenland Doctor 71
6. Taming of a Bear--interesting Recognition 78
CHAPTER III.--THE SHIP DUNDEE, OF LONDON 86
SECT. 1. Entrance on, and general Results of, this new
Command 86
2. Dangerous Accident--admirable Tact 89
3. The Dandy Sailor, or "Fine Tommy" 92
4. Unfortunate Voyage, and Adventure in the
Greenland Ices 96
5. Successful Stratagem in War 103
6. Extraordinary Exploit in "cutting in," single-handed,
a moderately-grown young Whale 108
CHAPTER IV.--THE SHIP RESOLUTION, OF WHITBY 116
SECT. 1. Continued Prosperity; the Results, comparatively
and generally, of this fresh Enterprise 116
2. Treatment and Recovery of a half-frozen Seaman 126
3. Judicious Treatment of Men having suffered
from severe Exposure 129
4. The Crow's Nest 135
5. Extraordinary Celerity in preparing an empty
Boat for the Fishery 139
6. Tact and Bravery in attacking and killing a
dangerously-resisting Whale 144
7. Remarkable Enterprise: the nearest Approach
to the North Pole 152
8. Devotional Habits, at Sea and on Shore 164
CHAPTER V.--FURTHER ENTERPRISES: GENERAL RESULTS 171
SECT. 1. The Greenock Whale-fishing Company 171
2. "Cum au greim a gheibhthu" 174
3. Subsequent and concluding Enterprises 178
4. General Results of his entire Whale-fishing
Adventures 185
5. Unusual Capture of Walruses 189
CHAPTER VI.--GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS, AND MISCELLANEOUS
NOTICES 195
SECT. 1. Superiority as an Arctic Navigator 195
2. Natural Science 203
3. Improvements and Inventions 215
4. Miscellaneous and concluding Notices 224
MEMORIALS OF THE SEA.
=My Father.=
CHAPTER I.
EARLY LIFE AND PROGRESS AS A SEAMAN.
SECTION I.--_My Father's early Life._
The name of SCORESBY, it is believed, is entirely unknown, in this country,
except in the case of the family, and one or two relations, of the subject
of the present records.
My Father's "more immediate ancestors," as a short biographical account of
him by a friend, states,[A] "occupied respectable stations in the middle
walks of life, supporting, in each case, unblemished character, and
possessing, at times, considerable property;" and, in periods rather
remote, holding conspicuous stations.
In Drake's History of York, the family name, varying in the spelling in a
progress through several centuries, repeatedly occurs. But the single line
traceable through my Father's ancestors, now alone appears to exist in
Britain. Walter de Scourby was "bayliffe of York," in the year 1312; and
in the seventh and ninth years of Edward III., Nicholas de Scor[=e]by, it
appears, was Member for York. Subsequently, we find, under the date of
1463, Thomas Scawsby, holding the office of Lord Mayor of that city. Some
member of the family, after the name assumed its present form, must have
given the designation of "Scoresby Manor" and "Scoresby Lodge," to places
still known in the neighbourhood of York.
At the period, however, of this memoir, the family occupied more humble
stations in life, chiefly in the class of yeomen,--a class once of much
importance in this country, but now, unhappily, so diminished in numbers,
under the absorbing influence of extensive properties, as to be scarcely
recognised as a designation.
William Scoresby, my Father, 'was born on the 3d of May 1760, on a small
estate farmed by his parent, called Nutholm, in the township of Cropton,
about twenty miles south-west of Whitby, in the county of York. In this
place the periods of his childhood and boyhood were spent.'
The memoir, here again quoted, refers to some incidents among his earliest
recollections, by which his life was greatly imperilled, marking 'the
superintending providence of God, which, on all occasions, he gratefully
acknowledged.'
At an endowed school, in the nearest adjoining village, Cropton, his early,
and indeed chief, education was received. But the distance being
considerable, and the roads indifferent, his attendance was much
interrupted, and, in winter, totally suspended. His progress, therefore,
was far from being satisfactory. Nor was this disadvantage compensated by
any long continuance of opportunities for obtaining scholastic instruction;
for, at the age of nine, he was removed, and from that time forward
employed, as his strength and years might qualify him, in occupations among
the cattle, and about the farm.
Occasionally, during his advance towards manhood, he was engaged with the
neighbouring farmers, when, during such occupation, an incident, of
_apparently_ no material importance, occurred, which constituted, under the
ordering of an allwise and gracious Providence, the grand turning-point in
his destiny, from a probable ordinary and unobserved occupation, to a
stirring, adventurous and conspicuous life. The change was induced by some
unpleasant treatment he received from the family with whom he was residing.
He became disgusted with a position which, without satisfying the natural
capabilities and enterprise of his mind, exposed him to such indignities.
The idea had, probably, been often in his mind before; but he now first
resolved on leaving the occupation for which his father had destined him,
and on trying at the nearest sea-port, Whitby, the adventure of a seafaring
life.
It is somewhat curious that the course of life, in respect to the adoption
of a seafaring profession, of two individuals,--Captain Cook and my
Father,--whose names are associated with much of interest in the history
of Whitby, and who became, in their relative degrees, conspicuous as
adventurous seamen,--turned upon apparently trifling incidents; and, as to
the exciting of feelings of disgust with their previous occupations, of a
similar character.
James Cook, like my Father, was, in early youth, employed along with his
father, in agricultural labours.[B] His turn of mind, however, being suited
to something requiring more tact than the ordinary toils in which farmers'
boys were wont to be engaged, he was removed from the work of the field to
that of the counter, with the view of learning the business of a country
shopkeeper. It was at the fishing town of Staiths, about ten miles
north-west of Whitby, and at the shop of a Mr. W. Sanderson, haberdasher,
where Cook, at the age of sixteen or seventeen, entered on his new
employment; and it was whilst there that the incident, which led to his
abandonment of domestic trade for sea-life, occurred.
It happened, as the early record goes, that, at a period when the coinage
generally in circulation was much defaced and worn, a new and fresh looking
shilling was paid in by a customer. Cook, attracted by the comparative
beauty of the coin, and thinking with regret of its going forth again in
the ordinary progress of business, substituted the sterling value, and
appropriated the new coin, as "a pocket-piece," to himself. It was
ill-advised that he did so without previously asking permission or
intimating his purpose; for the shilling had been observed by his master,
its abstraction was detected, and Cook was suspected and charged with
dishonesty,--a charge which the production of the shilling from his pocket
_seemed_ to confirm. His keen sense of right feeling, and of what was due
to himself, rendered this incident so painful, that he determined, if he
could get permission to do so, to leave his employment, as a shopkeeper,
and, indulging a strongly imbibed prepossession, turn to the sea. The
unmerited suffering was abundantly compensated by that good and gracious
Providence, whose dispensations reach to the humblest, and specially
regards the oppressed. The young shopkeeper--turned apparently by this
fretful incident from his monotonous pursuits, and stimulated to seek an
adventurous profession, and not opposed, but kindly aided, by his master,
who had become perfectly satisfied of his integrity--was led into those
paths of distinction whereby he became so highly conspicuous, if not chief
among the circumnavigators of the globe!
"It is worthy of remark," says Dr. Young, in his life of Cook, "that the
coin which so forcibly attracted his notice was what is called a
_South-sea_ shilling, of the coinage of George I., marked on the reverse
S.S.C., for _South-sea Company_; as if the name of the piece had been
intended to indicate the principal fields of his future discoveries."
If the result of disgust at his experienced indignity turned not to
account, with my Father, in so eminent a degree,--it yet was so over-ruled
for good as to place him at the head of the adventurers engaged in the
whale-fishery of the Greenland seas, and to render his example,
perseverance, and talent, highly beneficial to his country in the
furtherance of that, then, extremely important branch of national
enterprise.
It was in the winter of 1779-80, that my Father proceeded to carry his
resolve into effect, by leaving his place and travelling to Whitby. Guided
by the suggestions of a relative, to whom he had communicated his
intentions, he was recommended to Mr. Chapman,--an opulent and respectable
ship-owner, and a member of the Society of Friends,--with whom he engaged
himself to serve as an apprentice, for three years, in a ship called the
Jane, commanded by a son of the owner.
As his services, however, were not required till the ensuing
spring,--because of the practice, as to ships trading to the Baltic and
Archangel, "of laying them up" for the winter,--he returned immediately
home, informed his father of what he had done, and then, at his suggestion,
went back to the farm he had somewhat abruptly left, and there remained
until his place could be satisfactorily supplied. This being speedily
accomplished, he set himself arduously to work to the studying, by the help
of whatever suitable books he could get hold of, of the subjects connected
with his new profession.
On the 1st of February 1780, according to previous arrangement, he
repaired to Whitby for the ratification of his agreement, and for receiving
directions as to when and how his services would be required. His anxiety
on this occasion, to proceed with his studies in the manner in which he
found himself making gradual and encouraging progress, led him at once into
an adventure of much peril, and into circumstances in which his
acquirements in the _principles_ of navigation had their first, yet most
successful and important, application.
Finding that his services would not be required until the month of April,
he determined, being full of ardour for self-improvement, not to lose a
single day; so that, although the afternoon had arrived before he finished
his arrangements with Mr. Chapman, he set out on his pedestrian course
towards the Moors, intending to sleep at the village of Sleights. Urged,
however, by his feelings, and tempted by the fineness of the evening, and
the brilliant sunset, by which the distant hills (then covered with snow)
were illumined and gilded, he resolved on proceeding to Salter Gate, a
position, in the midst of the Moors, eight miles further in advance, and
attainable only by a not very well-defined line of road across a heath-clad
and totally uninhabited country. It was a region, therefore, of complete
desolateness, through which he prepared to pass, and, on occasions of
snow-storms, one of great danger to any travellers who might be
unfortunately overtaken by them whilst in the midst of the Moors;--for, at
the period of which we now write, there were neither fences to confine,
nor poles (as in subsequent years were erected) to mark, the line of road,
so that an hour's continuance of thick drifting snow might totally
obliterate, in many places, the distinctions betwixt the highway and the
general trackless heath. Hence it happened, that scarcely a winter passed
over without yielding the records of perilous or fatal adventures; and,
whenever snow-storms abounded, of travellers, more or less in number,
perishing by being overwhelmed in the snow-drifts.
It was not long before our traveller, advancing rapidly with vigorous and
elastic step within the region of lonesome moorland, became aware that he
had entered upon a critical adventure; for having arrived near the sixth
milestone on the high-moors over Whitby, he became unexpectedly encircled
by a dense and gloomy cloud, attended with a sudden and furious storm of
wind and fleecy snow, the snow descending so thick as to envelope him in
such dark obscurity, that, for some little time, he could neither see his
way to advance nor to return.
Recovering somewhat from his first embarrassment, and considering what
might be well to be done, he determined, adventurous as the attempt might
be, to go forward toward Salter Gate, yet six miles distant, and not a
house on the road. He had made but little progress, however, | 2,595.860392 |
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THE WALCOTT TWINS
BY
LUCILE LOVELL
ILLUSTRATED BY IDA WAUGH
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA MCM
Copyright 1900 by The Penn Publishing Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I Gay and May 5
II The First Separation 11
III Just for Fun 16
IV A Remarkable Household 23
V More Confusion 30
VI Being a Boy 37
VII Being a Girl 44
VIII A Scene at Rose Cottage 49
IX Saw and Axe 56
X A Course of Training 62
XI The Training Begins 68
XII A Silver-haired Lady 75
XIII A Plan that Failed 82
XIV The Boy Predominates 89
XV Gay's Popularity Begins 97
XVI A Squad of One 106
XVII Concerning Philip 114
XVIII Dark Days 122
XIX The Event of the Season 130
XX The Belle of Hazelnook 141
XXI The Sky Brightens 151
XXII The Dearest Girl 162
XXIII A Great Game 172
XXIV The Idol Totters 181
XXV The Girls make Peace 189
XXVI All's Right Again 194
XXVII Happy People 199
THE WALCOTT TWINS
CHAPTER I
GAY AND MAY
The Mistress of the house lay among her pillows, her brows drawn into
the nearest semblance of a frown that her gentle countenance could
assume. Nurse—bearing a tiny, moving bundle of muslin and flannel—and
the father were at the bedside.
The father's forehead wore an unmistakable frown. It was evident that
something displeased him, but who would have dreamed that it was the
gurgling mite in the flannel blanket? Yet he pointed in that direction
as he said,—
"Take him away. He has made trouble enough."
"H'indeed, Mr. Walcott," cried nurse, "'E's the best baby h'I' ave ever
seen h'in this 'ouse! 'E's never cried before."
"Take him away!" repeated the father, still frowning. "He may be
the best baby in the world—a future President of the United States,
even,—but he can't stay in this room another minute. Do you
understand?"
"Certainly, sir," nurse replied somewhat tartly.
Nurse thought the father a great bear. Of course she could not tell
him so, but she could and she did show him that an imported English
nurse chooses her own rate of speed. She moved slowly toward the door,
holding her head with its imposing white cap well up in the air, and
looking at Baby as though he were a Crown Prince, instead of the
youngest nursling in an American flock of five. While the door was open
for nurse and her precious burden to pass through, sounds of boisterous
mirth floated into the quiet chamber. It was only the twins, Gay and
May, and little Ned—Alice was in the country—at play in the nursery,
but one would have said that half the children in New York city were
shouting together. The invalid tried to stifle a sigh which did not
escape the father's ear.
"Those torments must go, Elinor!" he exclaimed. "That is the only way
to ensure your recovery."
"Oh, Edward, how can I live without my dear little ones!" murmured the
gentle mother.
Mr. Walcott took his wife's transparent hands in his own and caressed
them tenderly. "Do you want our children's mother to have nerves as
much out of tune as a cracked bell?" said he.
"No."
"Then they must go to-morrow."
"Not Ned—he is too young to be sent away from me."
"Very well; Ned shall stay—three servants may be able to keep him in
order! Now let me see those letters."
Mrs. Walcott drew two letters from beneath her pillow and passed them
to her husband. "Read them aloud," said she; "I half-read them."
Mr. Walcott drew from one of the envelopes a single sheet of blue thin
paper covered with small precise characters traced in the blackest
of ink, with the bluntest of quills. As he moved it a gritty shower
fell, showing the writer to be of the old school which prefers sand to
blotting paper.
"My Dear Nephew," Mr. Walcott began, "It gives me great pain to learn
that your dear wife remains ill. Now, I have a proposition to make;
send Gay up here for a fortnight. His presence will be inexpressibly
grateful to me, and his absence may be a relief to you at this time.
Wire me your decision. My compliments to Elinor, and believe me to be,
"Yours truly,
"HAROLD S. HAINES."
"P. S. You may think it singular that I have not included May in
my invitation, but, candidly, a woman child under my roof would be
sufficient excuse for me to leave it altogether, so I trust you will
understand and pardon my omission. Tell Elinor that Sarah will take
the best of care of the young rascal.
"H. S. H."
"Cedarville, N. Y. Aug. 6, 19——."
"A characteristic postscript," laughed Mr. Walcott. "Uncle Harold's
antipathy to 'a petticoat', as he is fond of calling one of your sex,
dear, seems to increase."
"His antipathy is quite out of proportion to our little daughter's
half-yard petticoat," responded the Mistress, smiling faintly. "But go
on, please, with Auntie's letter."
The second letter was quite unlike the first; it was penned in the
most delicate handwriting, on fine white paper, ornamented with a
silver crest, and as Mr. Walcott unfolded it a faint odor of that
old-fashioned scent, lavender, was shed on the air. "A gentlewoman's
letter," one would have said at once.
"Dear Niece Elinor," read Mr. Walcott. "We were deeply grieved to
hear of your protracted illness, and we are sure that if you were to
be relieved of the care of one of the children your recovery would
be rapid. Will you not send May to us for a fortnight? You need give
yourself no uneasiness about the dear child's welfare; it will be
Celia's and my pleasure to take the best care of her. Let us know by
telegram when she will leave New York and we will make arrangements
for her to come from the railway station by the stage that passes our
door—the driver is a most reliable person. With best wishes for your
speedy return to health, and with kind remembrances to Edward, in
which Celia joins, I am, my dear niece,
"Your affectionate aunt,
"BEULAH LINN."
"P. S. Celia suggests that you may think it odd that we have not
included Gay in our invitation, but the truth is, we should not know
what to do with a lively, noisy boy. We shall enjoy May very much if
she is like Alice, wholly without those failings of modern childhood—a
pert tongue, boisterous manners, and slang.
"B. L."
"Hazelnook, N. Y., Aug. 6, 19——."
"It is rather strange, isn't it, Edward, that the aunts will have none
of Gay, while the uncle disdains May? It will break their hearts to
separate them."
"It is better so, my dear. Doting father that I am I cannot deny that
Gay and May make a team that gentle maiden ladies or a quiet old
bachelor would find difficult to manage! Shall I go out now and wire
our good relatives that they may expect the children to-morrow?"
"Yes," the Mistress replied, with a sigh of resignation. "And send Gay
and May to me, please—they will receive their sentence of banishment
best from my lips."
CHAPTER II
THE FIRST SEPARATION
They stole across the nursery floor and through the hall on tiptoe;
because they had promised father to be "as still as mice."
So far so good! Not the slyest nibbler of cheese in the house could
have moved more softly than Gay and May. It was the quietest procession
that ever marched until it reached the threshold of the Mistress's
chamber when it fell into wild confusion; Gay, in his desire to catch
the first glimpse of mother, stepped on May's heel and that made May
scream. It wasn't a loud scream, to be sure, but it was louder than the
most frantic mouse could squeak, and quite loud enough to rouse the
mother from the light slumber into which she had fallen. She opened
her eyes, then closed them again as she lay there on her couch so
motionless that her children crept to her side and touched her to see
if she slept. Then she opened her eyes once more and smiled; not her
old joyous smile, but one so faint that Gay's eyes filled with tears.
Taking his mother's pale, beautiful face between his hands he kissed it
gently—not very gently, perhaps, for a boy's kiss is rarely as light
as a fairy's, although his heart is quite as tender—and this won for
him a kiss in return.
"We meant to be very quiet, mother," said Gay, with another penitent
kiss. "But something always happens."
"Yes, something always happens," said May, who invariably echoed Gay's
sentiments and followed his example, as became a twin sister.
"Mother understands, my darlings," the Mistress softly murmured.
"It was one of our mishaps," continued Gay. "You know we can't keep out
of them, mother. When we don't go to them they just follow right round
after us, as if they were alive!"
In truth, it seemed as if this were so. Their eleven years had been
crowded with adventures; not particularly stirring nor remarkable,
but harmless and ludicrous adventures such as seem to come to some
children unsought. It must be owned, however, in their case, that had
not the adventure appeared promptly on the scene they would have gone
in search of it, Gay leading and May a close second. As they apparently
led a charmed life, emerging unscathed from their scrapes, no one was
disposed to criticise them severely. Alice once said:
"Gay and May are just like cats; no matter how badly they may be
placed, when they jump they always land on their feet!" And the | 2,666.054136 |
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(This file was produced from images generously made
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[Illustration]
DIARY
OF
AN ENLISTED MAN
BY
LAWRENCE VAN ALSTYNE
SHARON, CONN.
NEW HAVEN, CONN.
THE TUTTLE, MOREHOUSE & TAYLOR COMPANY
1910
Copyrighted 1910
by
LAWRENCE VAN ALSTYNE
WITH LOVING REGARD
FOR THE MEMORY OF MY PARENTS
WHO WATCHED FOR AND EAGERLY READ THE DIARY
AS FROM TIME TO TIME IT CAME TO THEM
AND TO MY COMRADES-IN-ARMS
WHETHER LIVING OR DEAD
THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE
In the multitude of books written about the Civil War, very little is
said of the enlisted man. His bravery and his loyalty are admitted and
that is about all. Of his everyday life, the very thing his family and
friends cared most to know about, there is hardly anything said.
It is to remedy this omission in some degree that the following pages
are published. They were written by an enlisted man and are mostly about
enlisted men. They are filled with details that history has no room for,
and for that reason may have an interest quite their own.
They were written at different times, in different places, and under a
great variety of circumstances and conditions. Some were written as the
line halted for rest while marching from place to place, some while
waiting for trains or other modes of transportation, but the most were
written by the light of a candle or a smoldering camp-fire while my
comrades, no more weary than I, were sleeping about me. All were written
amid scenes of more or less confusion, and many times of great
excitement. They were written because of a promise made to my parents
that I would make notes of my wanderings and of the adventures I met
with.
At first I found it an irksome task, taking time I really needed for
rest; but as time went on the habit became fixed, and I did not consider
the day's work done until I had written in my diary of the events that
came with it.
The diary was kept in small pocket notebooks, of a size convenient to
carry in my pocket, and be ever ready for use. There was never a lack of
subjects to write about. Events crowded upon each other so fast that
each day furnished plenty of material for the time I could give it. I
had never been far from home. The sights I saw were new and strange to
me and made deep impressions. These, as best I could, I transferred to
the pages of my diary, so the friends at home could, in a way, see the
sights I saw and that seemed so wonderful to me. When pages enough were
written for a letter, I cut them out and sent them home to be read by
any who cared to, after which they were strung together on a string and
saved for me to read again, should I ever return to do it. When I did
return I found the leaves had so accumulated as to make a large bundle.
There was no need for me to read them at that time, for the story they
told was burned too deep in my memory to be easily forgotten.
So I tied them in a bundle and put them away in an unused drawer of my
desk, where they lay, unread and undisturbed for the next forty-five
years.
But while the old diary lay hidden in my desk a new generation had crept
upon the stage. We no longer occupied the center of it. One by one we
had been crowded off, and our ranks were getting so thin we had to feel
around for the touch of a comrade's elbow. Every year there were more
comrades' graves to decorate, and every year there were fewer of us left
to decorate them. At last we had met an enemy we could not even hope to
conquer. With sadness we saw first one and then another called out, and
they did not return. They had answered the last roll call, and it was
only a question of a little time when the last name would be called, and
the muster-out rolls be folded up and filed away.
It was with a feeling of ever-increasing loneliness that I untied the
| 2,666.263583 |
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_William Nelson._
[Illustration: Yours Faithfully
William Nelson]
_William Nelson_
A MEMOIR
BY
SIR DANIEL WILSON, LL.D., F.R.S.E.,
PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO.
[Illustration: colophon]
Printed for Private Circulation.
_T. Nelson and Sons, Edinburgh._
_1889._
TO
Mrs. William Nelson
THIS
MEMOIR OF HER HUSBAND
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY
HIS OLD FRIEND AND
SCHOOLMATE
FOREWORD.
The volume here produced for the eye of friends is the memorial of one
whose life presented a rare example of simplicity, of thoroughness in
working up to a high standard in all that he undertook, and fidelity in
his responsible stewardship as a man of wealth and a captain of
industry. The friendship between us extended in uninterrupted union,
with the maturing estimation of years and experience, from early boyhood
till both had passed the assigned limits of threescore years and ten. It
would have been easy to swell the volume into the bulky proportions of
modern biography: for William Nelson keenly enjoyed the communion of
friendship; and his correspondence furnishes many passages calculated to
interest others besides those who knew and loved him as a friend. But
the aim has been simply to present him “in his habit as he lived;” and
thus to preserve for relatives, personal friends, and for his
fellow-workers of all ranks, such a picture as may pleasantly recall
some reflex of a noble life; and record characteristic traits of one of
whom it can be so truly said: “To live in hearts of those we love is not
to die.”
D. W.
UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO,
_September 26, 1889_.
CONTENTS.
I. | 2,666.502684 |
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Cromwell
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THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS
by
GEORGE DOUGLAS
[Illustration: Publisher's logo]
Thomas Nelson and Sons, Ltd.
London, Edinburgh, and New York
THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS.
CHAPTER I.
The frowsy chambermaid of the "Red Lion" had just finished washing the
front door steps. She rose from her stooping posture and, being of
slovenly habit, flung the water from her pail | 2,666.754266 |
2023-11-16 19:01:30.7357200 | 2,523 | 15 |
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THE RIVERS AND STREAMS
OF ENGLAND
AGENTS
AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
AUSTRALASIA THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
205 FLINDERS LANE, MELBOURNE
CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD.
ST. MARTIN'S HOUSE, 70 BOND STREET, TORONTO
INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD.
MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY
309 BOW BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE DERWENT, HIGH TOR, MATLOCK, DERBYSHIRE]
THE
RIVERS & STREAMS
OF ENGLAND
PAINTED BY
SUTTON PALMER
DESCRIBED BY
A. G. BRADLEY
[Illustration: colophon]
PUBLISHED BY 4 SOHO SQUARE
ADAM AND CHARLES LONDON, W
BLACK MCMIX
PREFACE
Though this is not a book on angling, a life-long attachment to the
fly-rod on the part of the author, and to the delightful scenes into
which such predilections notoriously lead one, makes it at once more
difficult and more easy to write than if one were approaching the
subject as a stranger to the atmosphere, and merely to "write round" the
pictures Mr. Palmer has so admirably painted. But in my case it is by no
means only this. A predilection for British landscape in general, and
all that thereby hangs, has stimulated a far wider acquaintance with it
than any mere angling rambles could achieve, and resulted in the
publication of several books concerned with such things, and covering
more or less about twenty counties. I feel this explanation is
desirable, lest the note of intimacy with many far-sundered streams, in
allusion and otherwise, that must occur in these pages may be suspect.
The more so, as from the fascination of the Cook's ticket or what not,
comparatively few of my countrymen have any considerable knowledge of
their own land. The Rhine is certainly better known than the Wye, and
the Danube probably than the Severn.
But these very experiences made the first proposal to write a book,
other than a mere encyclopaedia, within a brief space on such a big
subject, seem almost hopeless. Rivers and streams from every direction,
by scores, came surging out upon the memory at the very thought of it,
in quite distracting fashion. It was finally agreed, however, that the
literary part of the book should take shape in a series of essays or
chapters dealing with the rivers mainly in separate groups or
water-sheds, leaving the proportions to my discretion. Capricious in a
measure this was bound to be. Selection was inevitable. It is not of
supreme importance. _Caeteris paribus_, and without diverging more than
necessary from the skilful illustrator, I have dealt more freely with
the rivers I know best, and also with those I hold to be more worthy of
notice. There are, of course, omissions, this book being neither a guide
nor an encyclopaedia, but rather a collection of descriptive essays and
of water-colour sketches covering, though necessarily in brief, most of
the groups. In this particular subject there is happily no need for
author and illustrator to keep close company in detail. What inspires
the pen, and in actual survey stirs the blood, is often unpaintable.
What makes a delightful picture, on the other hand, tells sometimes but
a dull tale in print. I have had to leave to the artist's capable brush,
owing to the necessary limitations of the letterpress, several subjects;
a matter, however, which seems to me as quite immaterial to the general
purport of the book, as it is unavoidable. But otherwise I think we run
reasonably together. At first sight the omission of the Thames in
description may seem outrageous. A moment's reflection, however, will, I
am sure, conduce to a saner view. Illustration is wholly another matter;
but to attempt ten or fifteen pages on that great and familiar river,
dealt with, too, in bulk and brief by innumerable pens, that could serve
any purpose or gratify any reader, seems to me a fatuous undertaking.
The Severn, on the other hand, as great, almost as important as the
Thames, and still more beautiful, is by comparison an absolutely unknown
river, and we have given it the first place.
A. G. B.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE SEVERN 1
CHAPTER II
THE WYE 39
CHAPTER III
THE CHALK STREAMS 64
CHAPTER IV
THE BORDER RIVERS 101
CHAPTER V
TWO AVONS 149
CHAPTER VI
THE RIVERS OF DEVON 161
CHAPTER VII
THE RIVERS OF THE SOUTH-EAST 209
CHAPTER VIII
THE YORKSHIRE DALES 227
CHAPTER IX
AN EAST ANGLIAN RIVER 269
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
1. The Derwent, High Tor, Matlock _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
2. The Severn, near Arley, Shropshire 6
3. The Severn, Bridgenorth, Shropshire 18
4. The Severn, near Cam, Gloucestershire 30
5. Chepstow with Wye and Severn 34
6. The Wye, Haddon Hall, Derbyshire 38
7. The Wye, Hay, Breconshire 40
8. The Wye, Ross, Herefordshire 46
9. The Monnow, Old Bridge, Monmouth 52
10. The Wye, Symond's Yat, Herefordshire 60
11. The Wye, Tintern, Monmouthshire 62
12. The Thames, looking towards Henley 64
13. The Avon, near Salisbury 66
14. The Thames, the Bells of Ouseley, Old Windsor 70
15. Stapleford on the Wiley 82
16. The Itchen, St. Cross, Winchester 88
17. The Itchen, and St. Giles' Hill, Winchester 94
18. The Dove, Dovedale, Derbyshire 100
19. The Tyne, Hexham, Northumberland 102
20. The Coquet, and Warkworth Castle, Northumberland 124
21. The Eden, Samson's Chamber, near Carlisle 136
22. The Eden, near Lazonby, Cumberland 140
23. The Derwent, Grange, Borrowdale 142
24. Skelwith Force, near Ambleside, Westmoreland 144
25. The Derwent, Borrowdale, Cumberland 146
26. The Brathay, Langdale, Westmoreland 150
27. The Thames, Backwater by the Islands, Henley 152
28. The Avon at Clifton 154
29. The Avon, Stratford, Warwickshire 158
30. A Glimpse of the Thames, Kew 160
31. The Hamoaze, Devonport, from Mount Edgcumbe 162
32. The Dart, Dittisham, Devon 166
33. The Erme, Ivy Bridge, Devon 172
34. The Tamar, Cotehele, Cornwall 178
35. The Tamar, near Calstock, Cornwall 182
36. The Tavy, Tavistock, Devon 186
37. The Okement, Oakhampton, Devon 192
38. On the West Lynn, Lynmouth, Devon 198
39. The Exe, Countess Weir, Devon 200
40. The Exe, Topsham, Devon 202
41. The Axe, Axmouth, Devon 204
42. The Thames, Eton 208
43. The Thames, Richmond 208
44. The Arun, Arundel Castle, Sussex 208
45. The Arun, Amberley, Sussex 210
46. The Ouse, near Barcombe Mills, Sussex 212
47. The Ouse, near Lewes, Sussex 214
48. A Stream, near Leith Hill, Surrey 216
49. The Rother, Fittleworth, Sussex 216
50. The Wey, Surrey 218
51. The Medway, Aylesford, Kent 220
52. The Wey, Elstead, Surrey 222
53. The Medway, Maidstone, Kent 224
54. The Medway, Rochester 226
55. The Trent, Nottingham 228
56. The Wharfe, Bolton Abbey, Yorkshire 230
57. The Wharfe, the Strid, Yorkshire 234
58. The Wharfe, Barden Tower, Yorkshire 238
59. The Nidd, Knaresborough, Yorkshire 242
60. The Ure, near Ripon, Yorkshire 246
61. The Ure, Aysgarth Force, Yorkshire 250
62. The Swale, Richmond, Yorkshire 252
63. The Swale, Richmond, Yorkshire 254
64. The Swale, Richmond, Yorkshire 256
65. The Swale, Easby Abbey, Yorkshire 258
66. High Force, Tees, Yorkshire 260
67. The Tees, Cotherstone, Yorkshire 264
68. The Tees, Barnard Castle, Durham 266
69. The Stour, Bergholt, Suffolk 268
70. The Ouse, near St. Ives, Huntingdonshire 268
71. The Ouse, Huntingdonshire 270
72. The Ouse, Houghton Mill, Huntingdonshire 272
73. The Ouse, Hemingford Abbots, Huntingdonshire 274
74. The Ouse, near Holywell, Huntingdonshire 276
75. The Stour, near Dedham, Essex 278
_Sketch Map at end of Volume._
RIVERS AND STREAMS OF ENGLAND
CHAPTER I
THE SEVERN
There is surely some peculiar fascination in the birthplace of a famous
river when this lies in the heart of moors and mountains. For myself, I
admit at once to but scant interest in the infant springs of even such
slow running rivers as I have some personal affection for. There is
neither mystery, nor solitude, nor privacy about their birth. They come
into the world amid much the same surroundings as those in which they
spend the greater part of their mature existence--amid ploughed fields,
cattle pastures, and villages, farmyards, game covers, and ozier beds.
When full they are inevitably muddy, and when empty are very empty
indeed; lifeless, and mute at the best, at the worst actually dry. The
river of low-country birth acquires, in short, neither character nor | 2,666.75576 |
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made available by The Internet Archive)
Philippine Bureau of Agriculture.
Farmer's Bulletin No. 2.
CACAO CULTURE IN THE PHILIPPINES
By
WILLIAM S. LYON,
In charge of seed and plant introduction.
Prepared under the direction of the Chief of the Bureau.
Manila:
Bureau of Public Printing.
1902.
CONTENTS.
Page.
Letter of transmittal 4
Introduction 5
Climate 6
The plantation site 7
The soil 7
Preparation of the soil 8
Drainage 8
Forming the plantation 9
Selection of varieties 10
Planting 11
Cultivation 13
Pruning 13
Harvest 16
Enemies and diseases 18
Manuring 19
Supplemental notes 21
New varieties 21
Residence 21
Cost of a cacao plantation 22
LETTER OF TRANSMITTAL.
Sir: I submit herewith an essay on the cultivation of cacao, for the
use of planters in the Philippines. This essay is prompted first,
because much of the cacao grown here is of such excellent quality as
to induce keen rivalry among buyers to procure it at an advance of
quite 50 per cent over the common export grades of the Java bean,
notwithstanding the failure on the part of the local grower to
"process" or cure the product in any way; second, because in parts
of Mindanao and <DW64>s, despite ill treatment or no treatment, the
plant exhibits a luxuriance of growth and wealth of productiveness
that demonstrates its entire fitness for those regions and leads us
to believe in the successful extension of its propagation throughout
these Islands; and lastly because of the repeated calls upon the Chief
of the Agricultural Bureau for literature or information bearing upon
this important horticultural industry.
The importance of cacao-growing | 2,666.860556 |
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DAIREEN
Volume 2 of 2
By Frank Frankfort Moore
(Transcriber's Note: Chapters XX to XXIV were taken from a print
copy of a different edition as these chapters were missing from the 1889
print edition from which the rest of the Project Gutenberg edition was
taken. In the inserted four chapters it will be noted that the normal
double quotation marks were printed as single quote marks.)
CHAPTER XXIII.
I have heard of your paintings too.
_Hamlet_. His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones,
Would make them capable. Do not look upon me,
Lest... what I have to do
Will want true colour....
Do you see nothing there?
_Queen_. No, nothing but ourselves.
_Hamlet_. Why, look you there...
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal.
_Hamlet._
|I AM so glad to be beside some one who can tell me all I want to know'
said Lottie, looking up to Colonel Gerald's bronzed face when Mrs.
Crawford and Markham had walked on.
'My dear Lottie, you know very well that you know as much as I do,' he
answered, smiling down at her.
'Oh, Colonel Gerald, how can you say such a thing?' she cried
innocently. 'You know I am always getting into scrapes through my
simplicity.'
'You have managed to get out of a good many in your time, my dear. Is it
by the same means you got out of them, Lottie-your simplicity?'
'Oh, you are as amusing as ever,' laughed the young thing. 'But you must
not be hard upon poor little me, now that I want to ask you so much.
Will you tell me, like a dear good colonel--I know you can if you
choose--what is the mystery about this Mr. Markham?'
'Mystery? I don't hear of any mystery about him.'
'Why, all your friends came out in the some steamer as he did. They must | 2,666.868928 |
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 61. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, December 28, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE FIRST NEW-YEAR'S CALL.--SEE NEXT PAGE.]
A HAPPY NEW YEAR.
On the first page of this New-Year's number of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE is
a picture of the first New-Year's call of the season, which is one made
at the door of every house in the land just as the clock strikes twelve
on New-Year's Eve.
The little fur-clad figure knocking for admittance is that of New Year
himself, Master Eighteen Eighty-One, laden with promises and good wishes
that will, we hope, insure him a warm welcome from the sleepy watchers
within the cozy room to which he seeks to enter. Even Miss Dolly, whom
the children have left on the cricket in the corner to watch the old
year out and the new one in, and who does not look at all sleepy, will
welcome the little stranger in her own way, and he will quickly be made
to feel at home.
Now watch for him, dear children; he will surely come to every door, and
when he arrives, welcome him warmly, and make up your minds to do
everything in your power to make him the very happiest New Year that
ever was.
"PRINCE CHARLIE."
BY KATHERINE KAMERON.
Christmas was over. The twins, Allan and Jessie, had romped and played
away the whole delightful day, in doors and out.
Wonderful to tell, they had wearied of all the pretty new toys, and
found an end to play. After tea they sat quietly in the fire-glow,
talking with mamma about the beautiful new picture that was her gift to
them. It was a charming group of gayly dressed children--little Princes
and a Princess, the children of the unhappy King Charles I. of England.
The tallest | 2,667.256408 |
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[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected, all
other inconsistencies are as in the | 2,667.354157 |
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THE HISTORY OF A MOUTHFUL OF BREAD:
And Its Effect on the Organization of Men and Animals.
BY JEAN MACE.
Translated Prom the Eighth French Edition, By Mrs. Alfred Gatty.
EXTRACTS FROM THE PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION.
The volume of which the following pages are a translation, has been
adopted by the _University Commission at Paris_ among their prize
books, and has reached an eighth edition. Perhaps these facts speak
sufficiently in its favor; but as translator, and to some extent editor,
I wish to add my testimony to the great charm as well as merit of the
little work. I sat down to it, I must own, with no special predilection
in favor of the subject as a suitable one for young people; but in the
course of the labor have become a thorough convert to the author's
views that such a study--perhaps I ought to add, so pursued as he has
enabled it to be--is likely to prove a most useful and most desirable
one.
The precise age at which the interest of a young mind can be turned
towards this practical branch of natural history is an open question,
and not worth disputing about. It may vary even in different
individuals. The letters are addressed to a _child_--in the original
even to a _little girl_--and most undoubtedly, as the book stands, it is
fit for any child's perusal who can find amusement in its pages: while
to the rather older readers, of whom I trust there will be a great many,
I will venture to say that the advantage they will gain in the subject
having been so treated as to be brought within the comprehension and
adapted to the tastes of a child, is pretty nearly incalculable. The
quaintness and drollery of the illustrations with which difficult
scientific facts are set forth will provoke many a smile, no doubt, and
in some young people perhaps a tendency to feel themselves treated
_babyishly_; but if in the course of the babyish treatment they find
themselves | 2,667.357601 |
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Produced by Judy Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.
Transcriber's Note: I have closed contractions in the text, e.g., "did
n't" becoming "didn't" for example; I have also added the missing
period after "caress" in line 11 of page 61, and have changed "ever" to
"over" in line 16 of page 121.
OLDPORT DAYS.
BY
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON.
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES | 2,667.460906 |
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E-text prepared by Carlo Traverso, Claudio Paganelli, Barbara Magni, and
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images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/lapromessasposad00scot
All three volumes are included in this one book.
Project Gutenberg has the other two volumes of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42881
Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42882
ROMANZI STORICI
DI
WALTER SCOTT
_TOMO TERZO_
LA PROMESSA SPOSA
DI
LAMMERMOOR
O NUOVI RACCONTI DEL MIO OSTIERE
RACCOLTI E PUBBLICATI
DA JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM
MAESTRO DI SCUOLA, E SAGRESTANO
DELLA PARROCCHIA DI GANDERCLEUGH
VOLGARIZZATI
_DAL PROFESSORE_
GAETANO BARBIERI
_TOMO III._
FIRENZE
TIPOGRAFIA COEN E COMP.
MDCCCXXVI.
LA PROMESSA SPOSA DI LAMMERMOOR
CAPITOLO PRIMO.
„ Tal de' suoi figli al numeroso stuolo
Segnò d'angosce miserando calle
Il primo padre! Almen compagna al duolo
In questo dell'esilio amara valle
Ebbe una sposa; io derelitto e solo
All'albergo natio volgo le spalle. „
_Waller._
Non m'arresterò a descrivere, perchè superiori ad ogni descrizione, i
sentimenti di sdegno e di cordoglio che si straziavano a vicenda il
cuore del sere di Ravenswood nell'allontanarsi dal castello de' suoi
antenati. Il biglietto di lady Asthon era concepito in termini sì
sgradevoli, che non gli sarebbe stato permesso il rimanere un istante
di più entro il recinto di quelle mura, e mostrarsi consentaneo a
quella alterezza, che in lui anche troppo allignava.
Il marchese di Athol ravvisava in parte, come arrecato a se stesso,
l'affronto sofferto dal suo parente; ma coll'animo di far qualche
tentativo a fine di riconciliare gli animi delle due parti, lo lasciò
partir solo, dopo averne ottenuta la promessa che lo aspetterebbe alla
_Tana della Volpe_, picciola | 2,667.556556 |
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Distributed Proofreaders
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.
VOL. VII.--JANUARY, 1861.--NO. XXXIX.
WASHINGTON CITY.
Washington is the paradise of paradoxes,--a city of magnificent
distances, but of still more magnificent discrepancies. Anything may be
affirmed of it, everything denied. What it seems to be it is not; and
although it is getting to be what it never was, it must always remain
what it now is. It might be called a city, if it were not alternately
populous and uninhabited; and it would be a wide-spread village, if it
were not a collection of hospitals for decayed or callow politicians. It
is the hybernating-place of fashion, of intelligence, of vice,--a resort
without the attractions of waters either mineral or salt, where there is
no bathing and no springs, but drinking in abundance and gambling in
any quantity. Defenceless, as regards walls, redoubts, moats, or other
fortifications, it is nevertheless the Sevastopol of the Republic,
against which the allied army of Contractors and Claim-Agents
incessantly lay siege. It is a great, little, splendid, mean,
extravagant, poverty-stricken barrack for soldiers of fortune and
votaries of folly.
Scattered helter-skelter over an immense surface, cut up into scalene
triangles, the oddity of its plan makes Washington a succession of
surprises which never fail to vex and astonish the stranger, be he ever
so highly endowed as to the phrenological bump of locality. Depending
upon the hap-hazard start the ignoramus may chance to make, any
particular house or street is either nearer at hand or farther off than
the ordinary human mind finds it agreeable to believe. The first duty of
the new-comer is to teach his nether extremities to avoid instinctively
the hypothenuse of the street-triangulation, and the last lesson the
resident fails to learn is which of the shortcuts from point to point
is the least lengthy. Beyond a doubt, the corners of the streets were
constructed upon a cold and brutal calculation of the greatest possible
amount of oral sin which disappointed haste and irritated anxiety are
capable of committing; nor is any relief to the tendency to profanity
thus engendered afforded by the inexcusable nomenclature of the streets
and avenues,--a nomenclature in which the resources of the alphabet, the
arithmetic, the names of all the States of the Union, and the Presidents
as well, are exhausted with the most unsystematic profligacy. A man not
gifted with supernatural acuteness, in striving to get from Brown's
Hotel to the General Post-Office, turns a corner and suddenly finds
himself nowhere, simply because he is everywhere,--being at the instant
upon three separate streets and two distinct avenues. And, as a further
consequence of the scalene arrangement of things, it happens that the
stranger in Washington, however civic his birth and education may have
been, is always unconsciously performing those military evolutions
styled marching to the right or left oblique,--acquiring thereby, it is
said, that obliquity of the moral vision--which sooner or later afflicts
every human being who inhabits this strange, lop-sided city-village.
So queer, indeed, is Washington City in every aspect, that one
newly impressed by its incongruities is compelled to regard Swift's
description of Lilliputia and Sydney Smith's account of Australia as
poor attempts at fun. For, leaving out of view the pigmies of the former
place, whose like we know is never found in Congress, what is there in
that Australian bird with the voice of a jackass to excite the feeblest
interest in the mind of a man who has listened to the debates on Kansas?
or what marvel is an amphibian with the bill of a duck to him who has
gazed aghast at the intricate anatomy of the bill of English? It is true
that the ignorant Antipodes, with a total disregard of all theories of
projectiles, throw their boomerangs behind their backs in order to kill
an animal that stands or runs before their faces, or skim them along
the ground when they would destroy an object flying overhead. And these
feats seem curious. But an accomplished "Constitutional Adviser" can
perform feats far more surprising with a few lumps of coal or a number
of ships-knees, which are but boomerangs of a larger growth. Another has
invented the deadliest of political missiles, (in their recoil,) shaped
like mules and dismantled forts, while a third has demolished the
Treasury with a simple miscalculation. Still more astonishing are the
performances of an eminent functionary who encourages polygamy by
intimidation, purchases redress for national insult by intercepting his
armies and fleets with an apology in the mouth of a Commissioner, and
elevates the Republic in the eyes of mankind by conquering at Ostend
even less than he has lost at the Executive Mansion.
In truth, the list of Washington anomalies is so extensive and so
various, that no writer with a proper regard for his own reputation or
his readers' credulity would dare enumerate them one by one. Without
material injury to the common understanding, a few may be mentioned; but
respect for public opinion would urge that the enormous whole be summed
up in the comparatively safe and respectful assertion, that the one only
absolutely certain thing in Washington is the absence of everything
that is at all permanent. The following are some of the more obnoxious
astonishments of the place.
Traversing a rocky prairie inflated with hacks, you arrive late in the
afternoon at a curbed boundary, too fatigued in body and too suffocated
with dust to resent the insult to your common-sense implied in the
announcement that you have merely crossed what is called an Avenue.
Recovered from your fatigue, you ascend the steps of a marble palace,
and enter but to find it garrisoned by shabby regiments armed with
quills and steel pens. The cells they inhabit are gloomy as dungeons,
but furnished like parlors. Their business is to keep everybody's
accounts but their own. They are of all ages, but of a uniformly
dejected aspect. Do not underrate their value. Mr. Bulwer has said,
that, in the hands of men entirely great, the pen is mightier than the
sword. Suffer yourself to be astonished at their numbers, but permit
yourself to withdraw from their vicinity without questioning too closely
their present utility or future destination. No personal affront to the
public or the nineteenth century is intended by the superfluity of their
numbers or the inadequacy of their capacities. Their rapid increase is
attributable not to any incestuous breeding in-and-in among themselves,
but to a violent seduction of the President and the Heads of Department
by importunate Congressmen; and you may rest assured that this criminal
multiplication fills nobody with half so much righteous indignation and
virtuous sorrow as the clerks themselves. Emerging from the palace of
quill-drivers, a new surprise awaits you. The palace is surmounted by
what appear to be gigantic masts and booms, economically, but strongly
rigged, and without any sails. In the distance, you see other palaces
rigged in the same manner. The effect of this spectacle is painful in
the extreme. Standing dry-shod as the Israelites were while crossing the
Red Sea, you nevertheless seem to be in the midst of a small fleet of
unaccountable sloops of the Saurian period. You question whether these
are not the fabulous "Ships of State" so often mentioned in the elegant
oratory of your country. You observe that these ships are anchored in an
ocean of pavement, and your no longer trustworthy eyes search vainly
for their helms. The nearest approach to a rudder is a chimney or an
unfinished pillar; the closest resemblance to a pilot is a hod-carrying
workman clambering up a gangway. Dismissing the nautical hypothesis,
your next effort to relieve your perplexity results in the conjecture
that the prodigious masts and booms may be nothing more than curious
gibbets, the cross-pieces to which, conforming rigidly to the Washington
rule of contrariety, are fastened to the bottom instead of the top of
the upright. Your theory is, that the destinies of the nation are to be
hanged on these monstrous gibbets, and you wonder whether the laws of
gravitation will be complaisant enough to turn upside down for the
accommodation of the hangman, whoever he may be. It is not without
pain that you are forced at last to the commonplace belief that these
remarkable mountings of the Public Buildings are neither masts nor
booms, but simply derricks,--mechanical contrivances for the lifting of
very heavy weights. It is some consolation, however, to be told that
the weakness of these derricks has never been proved by the endeavor
to elevate by means of them the moral character of the inhabitants of
Washington. Content yourself, after a reasonable delay for natural
wonderment, to leave the strange scene. This shipping-like aspect of the
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[Illustration: How the Conqueror deals with Rebels.]
THE SIEGE OF NORWICH CASTLE
_A STORY OF THE LAST STRUGGLE
AGAINST THE CONQUEROR_
BY
M. M. BLAKE
_With Illustrations by the Author_
LONDON
SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED
ESSEX STREET, STRAND
1893
TO MY FATHER
THIS STORY IS
AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE SUZERAIN'S 'NAY,' 9
II. LOVE OR LOYALTY, 25
III. JEST AND EARNEST, 37
IV. HORSE, HAWK, AND HOUND, 53
V. NORMAN AND SAXON, 65
VI. THE BRIDE-ALE, 74
VII. DELILAH SHEARS SAMSON, 91
VIII. KNIGHT-ERRANT AND MERCENARY, 100
IX. NORWICH, 113
X. LANFRANC, 127
XI. THE CASTELLAN OF BLAUNCHEFLOUR, 139
XII. THE STANDARD OF REVOLT, 148
XIII. ST. NICHOLAS FOR GUADER! 160
XIV. HOW THE CONQUEROR DEALS WITH REBELS, 173
XV. 'O HIGH AMBITION LOWLY LAID!' 189
XVI. WIFE OR WIDOW? 206
XVII. HOW RALPH CAME HOME, 222
XVIII. BESIEGED, 234
XIX. 'STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE,' 244
XX. A OUTRANCE, 256
XXI. THE ORDEAL BY FIRE, 272
XXII. A SUBTERRANEAN CONFLICT, 285
XXIII. HOW OLIVER DIED, 299
XXIV. FAMINE, 313
XXV. BRETAGNE, 327
XXVI. CONCLUSION, 336
APPENDIX, 347
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
HOW THE CONQUEROR DEALS WITH REBELS, _Frontispiece_
EMMA FITZOSBERN ACCEPTS THE TASSEL-GENTLE, 62
JUDITH WATCHES HER SLEEPING SPOUSE, 92
LANFRANC JESTS WITH THE CONQUEROR, 130
WALTHEOF'S HUMILIATION, 136
BISHOP ODO MEETS DE GUADER, 170
THE TOWER STAIRS, 178
THE RESCUE OF THE EARL, 198
EMMA'S FIRST SIGHT OF THE FOE, 240
THE BIG RAT HAS GONE INTO HIS HOLE, 292
A WARRENNE! A WARRENNE! FOR WILLIAM THE NORMAN! 300
DE GUADER DONS THE CROSS, 342
THE SIEGE OF NORWICH CASTLE
CHAPTER I.
THE SUZERAIN'S 'NAY.'
It was towards the close of the year of our Lord 1073. As we now
reckon, it would have been some way into 1074, but in those old times
they began their twelve-month on March 25th. So, notwithstanding that
the daffy-down-dillies were pushing their grey-green blades through the
softening earth, and that the partridges had chosen their mates for the
season, it was the end of 1073, and just before Easter.
The fair Emma Fitzosbern, sister and ward of Roger, Earl of Hereford, a
young damsel of splendid beauty, in whose honour the chivalric
champions of Normandy and Bretagne were busy cracking each other's
heads, according to the fashion of the times, had followed the example
of the partridges, and promised her hand in marriage.
The mate she had chosen was splendid and brave, and, after the king,
was equalled in power and wealth but by two other men in all England.
Ralph de Guader or Wader had received the earldom of Norfolk and
Suffolk, and the post of Constable of Norwich Castle, from the
Conqueror, in return for his services at Hastings and his prowess in
beating back the Danes from the eastern coast.
His father and grandfather had held lands in England, and he claimed
English blood when it suited his purpose, being the only Englishman who
bore the rank of earl, save Waltheof Siwardsson, Earl of Huntingdon,
Northampton, and Northumberland; but, to his shame be it spoken, he was
also the only Englishman against whom it could be told that he fought
on William's side at Hastings.
He had been deprived of the lands of his father, Ralph the Staller, the
chronicles record not wherefore, but it might well be that the house of
Godwin, when they wrought on King Eadward the Confessor, of sainted
memory, to drive his Norman favourites from the land, included Ralph
amongst them on account of his Breton mother, whose influence,
doubtless, inclined the lad to love the folks from over the sea, and
who would have taught him to speak French and demean himself in French
ways, and, that so, a very bitter and personal feud lay between him and
Harold Godwinsson.
He had retired to his mother's estates of Guader and Montfort, in
Bretagne, and had returned thence with a proud following of Breton
knights and fighting men, under William of Normandy's banner, making
the Norman invasion his opportunity to win back his lands at the
sword's point, and to gain other broad acres with them.
In 1073, he, and the man whose brother-in-law he wished to become,
young Roger Fitzosbern, Earl of Hereford, and Earl Waltheof,
nephew-in-law to the king, were the three most powerful nobles in the
country. Their estates almost met across England, and, united together,
they might have done much as they wished with the kingdom. The
Conqueror by no means desired their closer alliance, as we shall see.
But to Ralph de Guader and Roger of Hereford nothing seemed more
reasonable and in every way satisfactory than the union of their houses
by marriage. The former especially was wildly eager to cement their
friendship by this solid bond, for the very good reason that he was
deeply in love with the beautiful and high-spirited Emma, and had
carried her favour in tilt and tourney with such determination and
fury, that champions were shy of accepting his challenge when he took
his place in the lists.
A slight hindrance had marred the progress of the _fiancailles_.
William, the Conqueror of England, was also Duke of Normandy, and his
restless vassals across the straits were apt to get weary of his
continued absence in his new kingdom. Robert of Flanders, his ancient
enemy, in battle with whom Emma's father, the famous William
Fitzosbern, whom Holingshed calls the king's _coosine_, had lost his
life, was always ready to foment any little disputes that might arise
amongst them, and King Philip of France had now joined the troublesome
Frisian hand and glove. So William thought it wise to go in person to
Normandy, to keep guard over the movements of the twain.
Of course the marriage could not take place until the king's consent
was obtained, and messengers had been despatched to Normandy by the two
earls, praying his consent.
Their return was more than due, and was awaited with some anxiety, as
Lent was so near at hand, during which, according to the Roman Church,
no marriage could take place. However, travelling in those days was
very different to what it is in ours. The Channel could not be crossed
in all weathers and all winds, and it was supposed that unfavourable
breezes detained the messengers. Not for a moment was there any doubt
that the answer, when it did come, would be in the affirmative.
Permission had been asked merely as a matter of form.
Meanwhile, every effort was made to entertain the guests at Hereford
Castle, and to prevent the time of their prolonged sojourn from hanging
heavy on their hands.
In Domesday Book there figures a certain Adelina, a female juggler, as
having received lands in the county of Hants, having previously enjoyed
fee and salary from one Roger, a Norman earl.
The talents of this lady were in requisition, and, a heavy downpour of
rain and sleet having rendered outdoor sports unpleasant, a large
company of knights and ladies were watching her agile movements and
ingenious deceptions; shouts and ripples of laughter testifying to
their appreciation of her cleverness.
She performed at one end of the great banqueting-hall, and was clad in
a scarlet dress made Eastern fashion, having a gold-broidered jacket of
the shape we are accustomed to call Zouave, with loose trousers, and
slippers turned up at the toes; she wore a turban upon her head, from
beneath which her long black hair streamed unconfined to her waist,
around which she wore a girdle of snake-skins; her bare arms were
covered with bangles, and in her hand she held a wand on which a
child's skull took the place of the Punch's head which adorns the staff
of a Polichinello.
She had for assistants two brown-skinned, almond-eyed, white-toothed
boys, evidently of Moorish origin, and active as the leopards, whose
skins they wore, had been when alive in their native jungle; and the
bowls, spheres, and other appliances she used were marked with
cabalistic signs in the Arabian alphabet. Evidently, whether or no she
was herself of Moorish blood, she had learned her trade from the
jugglers of the East, whose skill therein still surpasses all others.
In those days the dark-skinned races were identified with Antichrist,
and the entertainment therefore afforded that flavour of the forbidden
which seems so necessary to the enjoyment of some folks. A gibbering
monkey, which perched on her shoulder, and performed strange antics at
her bidding, alternately with wild freaks of mischief of its own
invention, added to the air of _diablerie_ which made the exhibition
attractive.
The young Earl of Hereford, his countess, and their two little sons,
were foremost among the spectators, the earl laughing heartily at the
tricks of his favourite, and rewarding her | 2,668.554181 |
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UNCLE WILLIAM
THE MAN WHO WAS SHIF'LESS
By Jennette Lee
TO GERALD STANLEY LEE
"Let him sing to me
Who sees the watching of the stars above the day,
Who hears the singing of the sunrise
On its way
Through all the night.
* * * * *
Let him sing to me
Who is the sky-voice, the thunder-lover,
Who hears above the winds' fast flying shrouds
The drifted darkness, the heavenly strife,
The singing on the sunny sides of all the clouds
Of his own life."
UNCLE WILLIAM
I
"Yes, I'm shif'less. I'm gen'ally considered shif'less," said William
Benslow. He spoke in a tone of satisfaction, and hitched his trousers
skilfully into place by their one suspender.
His companion shifted his easel a little, squinting across the harbor
at the changing light. There was a mysterious green in the water that he
failed to find in his color-box.
William Benslow watched him patiently. "Kind o' ticklish business, ain't
it?" he said.
The artist admitted that it was.
"I reckon I wouldn't ever 'a' done for a painter," said the old man,
readjusting his legs. "It's settin'-work, and that's good; but you have
to keep at it steady-like--keep a-daubin' and a-scrapin' and a-daubin'
and a-scrapin', day in and day out. I shouldn't like it. Sailin''s more
in my line," he added, scanning the horizon. "You have to step lively
when you do step, but there's plenty of off times when you can set and
look and the boat just goes skimmin' along all o' herself, with the
water and the sky all round you. I've been thankful a good many times
the Lord saw fit to make a sailor of me."
The artist glanced a little quizzically at the tumble-down house on
the cliff above them and then at the old boat, with its tattered maroon
sail, anchored below. "There's not much money in it?" he suggested.
"Money? Dunno's there is," returned the other. "You don't reely need
money if you're a sailor."
"No, I suppose not--no more than an artist."
"Don't you need money, either?" The old man spoke with cordial interest.
"Well, occasionally--not much. I have to buy canvas now and then, and
colors--"
The old man nodded. "Same as me. Canvas costs a little, and color. I dye
mine in magenta. You get it cheap in the bulk--"
The artist laughed out. "All right, Uncle William, all right," he said.
"You teach me to trust in the Lord and I'll teach you art. You see that
color out there,--deep green like shadowed grass--"
The old man nodded. "I've seen that a good many times," he said.
"Cur'us, ain't it?--just the color of lobsters when you haul 'em."
The young man started. He glanced again at the harbor. "Hum-m!" he said
under his breath. He searched in his color-box and mixed a fresh color
rapidly on the palette, transferring it swiftly to the canvas. "Ah-h!"
he said, again under his breath. It held a note of satisfaction.
Uncle William hitched up his suspender and came leisurely across the
sand. He squinted at the canvas and then at the sliding water, rising
and falling across the bay. "Putty good," he said approvingly. "You've
got it just about the way it looks--"
"Just about," assented the young man, with quick satisfaction. "Just
about. Thank you."
Uncle William nodded. "Cur'us, ain't it? there's a lot in the way you
see a thing."
"There certainly is," said the painter. His brush moved in swift strokes
across the canvas. "There certainly is. I've been studying that water
for two hours. I never thought of lobsters." He laughed happily.
Uncle William joined him, chuckling gently. "That's nateral enough," he
said kindly. "You hain't been seein' it every day for sixty year, the
way I hev." He looked at it again, lovingly, from his height.
"What's the good of being an artist if I can't see things that you
can't?" demanded the young man, swinging about on his stool.
"Well, what _is_ the use? I dunno; do you?" said Uncle William,
genially. "I've thought about that a good many times, too, when I've
been sailin'," he went on--"how them artists come up here summer after
summer makin' picters,--putty poor, most on 'em,--and what's the use?
I can see better ones settin' out there in my boat, any day.--Not but
that's better'n some," he added politely, indicating the half-finished
canvas.
The young man laughed. "Thanks to you," he said. "Come on in and make
a chowder. It's too late to do any | 2,668.754273 |
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ENGLAND IN AMERICA
1580-1652
By
Lyon Gardiner Tyler, LL.D.
J. & J. Harper Editions
Harper & Row, Publishers
New York and Evanston
1904 by Harper & Brothers.
[Illustration: SIR WALTER RALEIGH (1552-1618). From an engraving by
Robinson after a painting by Zucchero.]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION xiii
AUTHOR'S PREFACE xix
I. GENESIS OF ENGLISH COLONIZATION (1492-1579) 3
II. GILBERT AND RALEIGH COLONIES (1583-1602) 18
III. FOUNDING OF VIRGINIA (1602-1608) 34
IV. GLOOM IN VIRGINIA (1608-1617) 55
V. TRANSITION OF VIRGINIA (1617-1640) 76
VI. SOCIAL AND ECONOMIC CONDITIONS OF VIRGINIA (1634-1652) 100
VII. FOUNDING OF MARYLAND (1632-1650) 118
VIII. CONTENTIONS IN MARYLAND (1633-1652) 134
IX. FOUNDING OF PLYMOUTH (1608-1630) 149
X. DEVELOPMENT OF NEW PLYMOUTH (1621-1643) 163
XI. GENESIS OF MASSACHUSETTS (1628-1630) 183
XII. FOUNDING OF MASSACHUSETTS (1630-1642) 196
XIII. RELIGION AND GOVERNMENT IN MASSACHUSETTS (1631-1638) 210
XIV. NARRAGANSETT AND CONNECTICUT SETTLEMENTS (1635-1637) 229
XV. FOUNDING OF CONNECTICUT AND NEW HAVEN (1637-1652) 251
XVI. NEW HAMPSHIRE AND MAINE (1653-1658) 266
XVII. COLONIAL NEIGHBORS (1643-1652) 282
XVIII. THE NEW ENGLAND CONFEDERATION (1643-1654) 297
XIX. EARLY NEW ENGLAND LIFE 318
XX. CRITICAL ESSAY ON AUTHORITIES 328
INDEX 341
MAPS
ROANOKE ISLAND, JAMESTOWN, AND ST. MARY'S
(1584-1632) _facing_ 34
CHART OF VIRGINIA, SHOWING INDIAN AND
EARLY ENGLISH SETTLEMENTS IN 1632 76
VIRGINIA IN 1652 99
MARYLAND IN 1652 133
NEW ENGLAND (1652) _facing_ 196
MAINE IN 1652 265
NEW SWEDEN AND NEW NETHERLAND 296
[Transcriber's Note: This text retains original spellings. Also,
superscripted abbreviations or contractions are indicated by the
use of a caret (^), such as w^th (with).]
EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION
Some space has already been given in this series to the English and
their relation to the New World, especially the latter half of
Cheyney's _European Background of American History_, which deals with
the religious, social, and political institutions which the English
colonists brought with them; and chapter v. of Bourne's _Spain in
America_, describing the Cabot voyages. This volume begins a detailed
story of the English settlement, and its title indicates the
conception of the author that during the first half-century the
American colonies were simply outlying portions of the English nation,
but that owing to disturbances culminating in civil war they had the
opportunity to develop on lines not suggested by the home government.
The first two chapters deal with the unsuccessful attempts to plant
English colonies, especially by Gilbert and Raleigh. These beginnings
are important because they proved the difficulty of planting colonies
through individual enterprise. At the same time the author brings out
clearly the various motives for colonization--the spirit of adventure,
the desire to enjoy a new life, and the intent to harm the commerce of
the colonies of Spain.
In chapters iii. to vi. the author describes the final founding of the
first successful colony, Virginia, and emphasizes four notable
characteristics of that movement. The first is the creation of
colonizing companies (a part of the movement described in its more
general features by Cheyney in his chapters vii. and viii.). The
second is the great waste of money and the awful sacrifice of human
life caused by the failure of the colonizers to adapt themselves to
the conditions of life in America. That the people of Virginia should
be fed on grain brought from England, should build their houses in a
swamp, should spend their feeble energies in military executions of
one another is an unhappy story made none the pleasanter by the
knowledge that the founders of the company in England were spending
freely of their substance and their effort on the colony. The third
element in the growth of Virginia is the introduction of the staple
crop, always in demand, and adapted to the soil of Virginia. Tobacco,
after 1616, speedily became the main interest of Virginia, and without
tobacco it must have gone down. A fourth characteristic is the early
evidence of an unconquerable desire for self-government, brought out
in the movements of the first assembly of 1619 and the later colonial
government: here we have the germ of the later American system of
government.
The founding of the neighboring colony of Maryland (chapters vii. and
viii.) marks the first of the proprietary colonies; it followed by
twenty-five years and had the advantage of the unhappy experience of
Virginia and of very capable management. The author shows how little
Maryland deserves the name of a Catholic colony, and he develops the
Kent Island episode, the first serious boundary controversy between
two English commonwealths in America.
To the two earliest New England colonies are devoted five chapters
(ix. to xiii.), which are treated not as a separate episode but as
part of the general spirit of colonization. Especial attention is paid
to the development of popular government in Massachusetts, where the
relation between governor, council, and freemen had an opportunity to
work itself out. Through the transfer of the charter to New England,
America had its first experience of a plantation with a written
constitution for internal affairs. The fathers of the Puritan
republics are further relieved of the halo which generations of
venerating descendants have bestowed upon them, and appear as human
characters. Though engaging in a great and difficult task, and while
solving many problems, they nevertheless denied their own fundamental
precept of the right of a man to worship God according to the dictates
of his own conscience.
Chapters xiv. to xvi. describe the foundation of the little
settlements in Connecticut, Rhode Island, New Haven, New Hampshire,
and Maine; and here we have an interesting picture of little towns for
a time standing quite independent, and gradually consolidating into
commonwealths, or coalescing with more powerful neighbors. Then follow
(chapters xvii. and xviii.) the international and intercolonial
relations of the colonies, and especially the New England
Confederation, the first form of American federal government.
A brief sketch of the conditions of social life in New England
(chapter xix.) brings out the strong commercial spirit of the people
as well as their intense religious life and the narrowness of their
social and intellectual status. The bibliographical essay is
necessarily a selection from the great literature of early English
colonization, but is a conspectus of the most important secondary
works and collections of sources.
The aim of the volume is to show the reasons for as well as the
progress of English colonization. Hence for the illustration Sir
Walter Raleigh has been chosen, as the most conspicuous colonizer of
his time. The freshness of the story is in its clear exposition of the
terrible difficulties in the way of founding self-sustaining
colonies--the unfamiliar soil and climate, Indian enemies, internal
dissensions, interference by the English government, vague and
conflicting territorial grants. Yet out of these difficulties, in
forty-five years of actual settlement, two southern and six or seven
northern communities were permanently established, in the face of the
opposition and rivalry of Spain, France, and Holland. For this task
the editor has thought that President Tyler is especially qualified,
as an author whose descent and historical interest connect him both
with the northern and the southern groups of settlements.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
This book covers a period of a little more than three-quarters of a
century. It begins with the first attempt at English colonization in
America, in 1576, and ends with the year 1652, when the supremacy of
Parliament was recognized throughout the English colonies. The
original motive of colonization is found in English rivalry with the
Spanish power; and the first chapter of this work tells how this
motive influenced Gilbert and Raleigh in their endeavors to plant
colonies in Newfoundland and North Carolina. Though unfortunate in
permanent result, these expeditions familiarized the people of England
with the country of Virginia--a name given by Queen Elizabeth to all
the region from Canada to Florida--and stimulated the successful
settlement at Jamestown in the early part of the seventeenth century.
With the charter of 1609 Virginia was severed from North Virginia, to
which Captain Smith soon gave the name of "New England"; and the story
thereafter is of two streams of English emigration--one to Virginia
and the other to New England. Thence arose the Southern and Northern
colonies of English America, which, more than a century beyond the
period of this book, united to form the great republic of the United
States.
The most interesting period in the history of any country is the
formative period; and through the mass of recently published original
material on America the opportunity to tell its story well has been of
late years greatly increased. In the preparation of this work I have
endeavored to consult the original sources, and to admit secondary
testimony only in matters of detail. I beg to express my indebtedness
to the authorities of the Harvard College Library and the Virginia
Library for their courtesy in giving me special facilities for the
verification of my authorities.
LYON GARDINER TYLER.
ENGLAND IN AMERICA
CHAPTER I
GENESIS OF ENGLISH COLONIZATION
(1492-1579)
Up to the last third of the sixteenth century American history was the
history of Spanish conquest, settlement, and exploration. Except for
the feeble Portuguese settlements in Brazil and at the mouth of the La
Plata, from Florida and the Gulf of Mexico, around the eastern and
western coasts of South America, and northward to the Gulf of
California, all was Spanish--main-land and islands alike. The subject
of this volume is the bold assertion of England to a rivalry in
European waters and on American coasts.
How came England, with four millions of people, to enter into a
quarter of a century of war with the greatest power in Europe? The
answer is that Spain was already decaying, while England was instinct
with the spirit of progress and development. The contrast grew
principally out of the different attitude of the two nations towards
the wealth introduced into Europe from America, and towards the
hitherto established religion of the Christian world. While the
treasure from Mexico and Peru enabled Charles V. and Philip II. to
carry on great wars and to establish an immense prestige at the
different courts of Europe, it created a speculative spirit which drew
their subjects away from sober employment. For this reason
manufacturing and agriculture, for which Spain was once so
distinguished, were neglected; and the kingdom, thinned of people and
decreasing in industry, grew dependent | 2,668.774509 |
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STEPHEN ARCHER AND OTHER TALES
By George Macdonald
CONTENTS.
STEPHEN ARCHER
THE GIFTS OF THE CHILD CHRIST
THE HISTORY OF PHOTOGEN AND NYCTERIS
THE BUTCHER'S BILLS
POET IN A STORM
IF I HAD A FATHER
STEPHEN ARCHER
Stephen Archer was a stationer, bookseller, and newsmonger in one of the
suburbs of London. The newspapers hung in a sort of rack at his door, as
if for the convenience of the public to help themselves in passing. On
his counter lay penny weeklies and books coming out in parts, amongst
which the _Family Herald_ was in force, and the _London Journal_ not
to be found. I had occasion once to try the extent of his stock, for I
required a good many copies of one of Shakspere's plays--at a penny, if
I could find such. He shook his head, and told me he could not encourage
the sale of such productions. This pleased me; for, although it was of
little consequence what he thought concerning Shakspere, it was of the
utmost import that he should prefer principle to pence. So I loitered
in the shop, looking for something to buy; but there was nothing in the
way of literature: his whole stock, as far as I could see, consisted of
little religious volumes of gay binding and inferior print; he had
nothing even from the Halifax press. He was a good-looking fellow, about
thirty, with dark eyes, overhanging brows that indicated thought, mouth
of character, and no smile. I was interested in him.
I asked if he would mind getting the plays I wanted. He said he would
rather not. I bade him good morning.
More than a year after, I saw him again. I had passed his shop many
times, but this morning, I forget why, I went in. I could hardly
recall the former appearance of the man, so was it swallowed up in a
new expression. His face | 2,668.95566 |
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Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE.
By Sir Walter Scott, Bart.
Transcriber's Note: Footnotes and references to the notes at the end of
the printed book have been inserted in the etext in square brackets
("[]") close to the place where they were indicated by a suffix in the
original text. The notes at the end are now numbered instead of using
pages to identify them as was done in the printed text.
Text in italics has been written in capital letters.
The Pound Sterling symbol has been written as "L".
CONTENTS.
Introduction to Chronicles of the Canongate.
Appendix to Introduction--The Theatrical Fund Dinner.
Introductory--Mr. Chrystal Croftangry.
The Highland Widow.
The Two Drovers.
Notes.
INTRODUCTION TO CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE.
The preceding volume of this Collection concluded the last of the pieces
originally published under the NOMINIS UMBRA of The Author of Waverley;
and the circumstances which rendered it impossible for the writer to
continue longer in the possession of his incognito were communicated
in 1827, in the Introduction to the first series of Chronicles of the
Canongate, consisting (besides a biographical sketch of the imaginary
chronicler) of three tales, entitled "The Highland Widow," "The Two
Drovers," and "The Surgeon's Daughter." In the present volume the two
first named of these pieces are included, together with three detached
stories which appeared the year after, in the elegant compilation called
"The Keepsake." "The Surgeon's Daughter" it is thought better to defer
until a succeeding volume, than to
"Begin, and break off in the middle."
I have, perhaps, said enough on former occasions of the misfortunes
which led to the dropping of that mask under which I had, for a long
series of years, enjoyed so large a portion of public favour. Through
the success of those literary efforts, I had been enabled to indulge
most of the tastes which a retired person of my station might be
supposed to entertain. In the pen of this nameless romancer, I seemed
to possess something like the secret fountain of coined gold and pearls
vouchsafed to the traveller of the Eastern Tale; and no doubt believed
that I might venture, without silly imprudence, to extend my personal
expenditure considerably beyond what I should have thought of, had my
means been limited to the competence which I derived from inheritance,
with the moderate income of a professional situation. I bought, and
built, and planted, and was considered by myself, as by the rest of the
world, in the safe possession of an easy fortune. My riches, however,
like the other riches of this world, were liable to accidents, under
which they were ultimately destined to make unto themselves wings, and
fly away. The year 1825, so disastrous to many branches of industry and
commerce, did not spare the market of literature; and the sudden
ruin that fell on so many of the booksellers could scarcely have been
expected to leave unscathed one whose career had of necessity connected
him deeply and extensively with the pecuniary transactions of that
profession. In a word, almost without one note of premonition, I found
myself involved in the sweeping catastrophe of the unhappy time,
and called on to meet the demands of creditors upon commercial
establishments with which my fortunes had long been bound up, to the
extent of no less a sum than one hundred and twenty thousand pounds.
The author having, however rashly, committed his pledges thus largely
to the hazards of trading companies, it behoved him, of course, to
abide the consequences of his conduct, and, with whatever feelings, he
surrendered on the instant every shred of property which he had been
accustomed to call his own. It became vested in the hands of gentlemen
whose integrity, prudence, and intelligence were combined with all
possible liberality and kindness of disposition, and who readily
afforded every assistance towards the execution of plans, in the
success of which the author contemplated the possibility of his ultimate
extrication, and which were of such a nature that, had assistance of
this sort been withheld, he could have had little prospect of carrying
them into effect. Among other resources which occurred was the project
of that complete and corrected edition of his Novels and Romances (whose
real parentage had of necessity been disclosed at the moment of
the commercial convulsions alluded to), which has now advanced with
unprecedented favour nearly to its close; but as he purposed also to
continue, for the behoof of those to whom he was indebted, the exercise
of his pen in the same path of literature, so long as the taste of his
countrymen should seem to approve of his efforts, it appeared to him
that it would have been an idle piece of affectation to attempt getting
up a new incognito, after his original visor had been thus dashed from
his brow. Hence the personal narrative prefixed to the first work of
fiction which he put forth after the paternity of the "Waverley Novels"
had come to be publicly ascertained; and though many of the particulars
originally avowed in that Notice have been unavoidably adverted to in
the Prefaces and Notes to some of the preceding volumes of the present
collection, it is now reprinted as it stood at the time, because some
interest is generally attached to a coin or medal struck on a special
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TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES
This e-book contains the text of _The Prince of Parthia_, extracted from
Representative Plays by American Dramatists: Vol 1, 1765-1819. Comments and
background to all the plays and the other plays are available at Project
Gutenberg.
Spelling as in the original has been preserved.
THE
PRINCE OF PARTHIA
_A TRAGEDY_
THOMAS GODFREY, JR. (1736-1763)
Thomas | 2,669.755411 |
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[ Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible, including inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation;
changes (corrections of spelling and punctuation) made to the
original text are listed at the end of this file.
]
Sketch
of
A New Esthetic of Music
by
FERRUCCIO BUSONI
Translated from the German by
Dr. TH. BAKER
NEW YORK: G. SCHIRMER
1911
Copyright, 1907
By FERRUCCIO BUSONI
Copyright, 1911
By G. SCHIRMER
22375
SKETCH OF A NEW ESTHETIC OF MUSIC
"What seek you? Say! And what do you expect?"--
"I know not what; the Unknown I would have!
What's known to me, is endless; I would go
Beyond the end: The last word still is wanting."
["_Der mächtige Zauberer._"]
LOOSELY joined together as regards literary form, the following notes
are, in reality, the outcome of convictions long held and slowly
matured.
In them a problem of the first magnitude is formulated with apparent
simplicity, without giving the key to its final solution; for the
problem cannot be solved for generations--if at all.
But it involves an innumerable series of lesser problems, which I
present to the consideration of those whom they may concern. For it is a
long time since any one has devoted himself to earnest musical research.
It is true, that admirable works of genius arise in every period, and I
have always taken my stand in the front rank of those who joyfully
acclaimed the passing standard-bearers; and still it seems to me that of
all these beautiful paths leading so far afield--none lead _upward_.
_The spirit of an art-work, the measure of emotion, of humanity, that is
in it--these remain unchanged in value through changing years; the form
which these three assumed, the manner of their expression, and the
flavor of the epoch which gave them birth, are transient, and age
rapidly._
Spirit and emotion retain their essence, in the art-work as in man
himself; we admire technical achievements, yet they are outstripped, or
cloy the taste and are discarded.
Its ephemeral qualities give a work the stamp of "modernity;" its
unchangeable essence hinders it from becoming "obsolete." Among both
"modern" and "old" works we find good and bad, genuine and spurious.
There is nothing properly modern--only things which have come into being
earlier or later; longer in bloom, or sooner withered. The Modern and
the Old have always been.
Art-forms are the more lasting, the more closely they adhere to the
nature of their individual species of art, the purer they keep their
essential means and ends.
Sculpture relinquishes the expression of the human pupil, and effects of
color; painting degenerates, when it forsakes the flat surface in
depiction and takes on complexity in theatrical decoration or panoramic
portrayal.
Architecture has its fundamental form, growth from below upward,
prescribed by static necessity; window and roof necessarily provide the
intermediate and finishing configuration; these are eternal and
inviolable requirements of the art.
Poetry commands the abstract thought, which it clothes in words. More
independent than the others, it reaches the furthest bounds.
_But all arts, resources and forms ever aim at the one end, namely, the
imitation of nature and the interpretation of human feelings._
* * *
Architecture, sculpture, poetry and painting are old and mature arts;
their conceptions are established and their objects assured; they have
found the way through uncounted centuries, and, like the planets,
describe their regular orbits.[A]
[A] None the less, in these arts, taste and individuality can and will
unceasingly find refreshment and rejuvenation.
Music, compared with them, is a child that has learned to walk, but must
still be led. It is a virgin art, without experience in life and
suffering.
It is all unconscious as yet of what garb is becoming, of its own
| 2,669.770963 |
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SONGS OF THE
PRAIRIE
BY
ROBERT J. C. STEAD
Author of "PRAIRIE BORN."
New York
THE PLATT & PECK CO.
Copyright 1912, By
The Platt & Peck Co.
CONTENTS
PAGE
The Prairie 1
The Gramophone 4
The Plow 8
The Mothering 12
Hustlin' in My Jeans 15
The Homesteader 20
Vain Suitors 24
God's Signalman 26
Going Home 32
Just Be Glad 38
The Canadian Rockies 40
A Prairie Heroine 42
The Seer 51
The Son of Marquis Noddle 56
The Prodigals 62
The Squad of One 64
Alkali Hall 70
Prairie Born 76
"A Colonial" 81
Little Tim Trotter 84
The Vortex 86
The Old Guard 91
Kid McCann 93
Who Owns the Land? 99
A Race for Life 103
THE PRAIRIE
The City? Oh, yes, the City
Is a good enough place for a while,
It fawns on the clever and witty,
And welcomes the rich with a smile;
It lavishes money as water,
It boasts of its palace and hall,
But the City is only the daughter--
The Prairie is mother of all!
The City is all artificial,
Its life is a fashion-made fraud,
Its wisdom, though learned and judicial,
Is far from the wisdom of God;
Its hope is the hope of ambition,
Its lust is the lust to acquire,
And the larger it grows, its condition
Sinks lower in pestilent mire.
The City is cramped and congested,
The haunt and the covert of crime;
The Prairie is broad, unmolested,
It points to the high and sublime;
Where only the sky is above you
And only the distance in view,
With no one to jostle or shove you--
It's there a man learns to be true!
Where the breeze whispers over the willows
Or sighs in the dew laden grass,
And the rain clouds, like big, stormy billows,
Besprinkle the land as they pass;
With the smudge-fire alight in the distance,
The wild duck alert on the stream,
Where life is a psalm of existence
And opulence only a dream.
Where wide as the plan of creation
The Prairies stretch ever away,
And beckon a broad invitation
To fly to their bosom, and stay;
The prairie fire smell in the gloaming--
The water-wet wind in the spring--
An empire untrod for the roaming--
Ah, this is a life for a king!
When peaceful and pure as a river
They lie in the light of the moon,
You know that the Infinite Giver
Is stringing your spirit a-tune;
That life is not told in the telling,
That death does not whisper adieu,
And deep in your bosom up-welling,
You know that the Promise is true!
To those who have seen it and smelt it,
To those who have loved it alone
To those who have known it and felt it--
The Prairie is ever their own;
And far though they wander, unwary,
Far, far from the breath of the plain,
A thought of the wind on the Prairie
Will set their blood rushing again.
Then you to the City who want it,
Go, grovel its gain-glutted streets,
Be one of the ciphers that haunt it,
Or sit in its opulent seats;
But for me, where the Prairies are reaching
As far as the vision can scan--
Ah, that is the prayer and the preaching
That goes to the heart of a man!
THE GRAMOPHONE
Where the lonely settler's shanty dots the plain,
And he sighs for friends and comradeship in vain,
Through the silences intense
Comes a sound of eloquence
Shrilling forth in steely, brazen, waxen strain--
The deep, resonant voice of Gladstone calling from the tomb,
Or Ingersoll's deliverance before his brother's bier;
Then a saucy someone singing, "When the daisies are in bloom,"
And the fife and drummers rendering "The British Grenadier."
Back as far into the hills as they could get,
They've a roof that turns the winter and the wet,
They are grizzled but they're gay,
They've a daily matinee,
They are happy though they're head and ears in debt--
"I wish I had my old girl back again,"
"If the wind had only blown the other way,"
Uncertain voices join an old refrain
And repeat the same performance every day.
There's a Scotchman holding down a mining claim
All unknown to Fortune, Influence or Fame,
But a few of Harry's songs
Are a solace for his wrongs
And he sings them ev'ry evening in his "hame"--
"I'm courtin' Bonnie Leezy Lindsay noo,"
"When I get back again"--you know the lilt--
"We parted on the shore," "I'm fou', I'm fou',"
"And that's the reason noo I wear the kilt."
There's a son of Erin in Saskatchewan,
He's at work a half an hour before the dawn,
But before he goes to bunk
He makes a table of his trunk
And he sets his clock-work concert thereupon--
"The harp that once through Tara's halls,"
"St Patrick's day in the mornin',"
"The last rose of summer," and Fancy recalls
A glimpse of his "Kathleen Mavourneen."
There's an Englishman who's living in a shack,
He's a victim of the gramophone attack,
With a half-a-dozen kids
(He has half that many "quids")
But he dances with the youngest on his back--
Though he's living in the country of the Cree
The horn that hangs a fathom from his head
Stretches out a thousand leagues across the sea
And sings in dear old London town instead.
They are far from auditorium or hall,
But their minds are still a-tune to Music's call,
They can hear Caruso sing,
Or the bells of Shandon ring,
As they smoke and count the cracks along the wall.
* * * * * * *
_I'm a miracle of eloquence imprisoned in the wax,
I'm a mental inspiration operated by a spring,
I'm a nightly consolation from Yukon to Halifax,
And the ends of all creation sit and listen while I sing:
I'm the Voice of all that man has sought and gained;
I'm the throb of ev'ry heart that ever pained;
I'm the Genesis of Fate,
I'm the Soul of Love and Hate,
I'm the humanly impossible attained!_
THE PLOW
What power is this that stands behind the steel?--
A homely implement of blade and wheel--
Neglected by the margin of the way,
And flashing back the blaze of dying day;
Or dragging slow across the yellow field
In silent prophecy of lavish yield,
It marks the pace of innocence and toil,
And taps the boundless treasure of the soil.
Before you came the red man rode the plain.
Untitled lord of Nature's great domain;
The shaggy herds, knee deep in mellow grass;
The lazy summer hours were wont to pass;
The wild goose nested by the water side;
The red deer roamed upon the prairie wide;
The black bear trod the woods in solemn might;
The lynx stole through the bushes in the night.
No sound of toil was heard in all the land;
No joyous laugh of voice or sharp command,
No cloud of smoke from iron funnels thrown
Was through the autumn hazes gently blown;
No edge of steel tore up the virgin sod;
No church its shining finger turned to God;
No tradesman labored over bench and tool;
No children chattered on their way to school.
But all the land lay desolate and bare,
Its wealth of plain its forest riches rare
Unguessed by those who saw it through their tears,
And Nature--miser of a thousand years--
Was adding still to her immense reserve
That shall supply the world with brawn and nerve:
But all lay silent, useless, and unused,
And useless 'twas because it was unused.
You came. Straightway the silent plain
Grew mellow with the glow of golden grain;
The axes in the solitary wood
Rang out where stately oak and maple stood;
The land became alive with busy din,
And as the many settled, more came in;
The world looked on in wonder and dismay--
The building of a nation in a day!
By lake and river, rock and barren waste,
A peaceful army toiled in eager haste;
Ten thousand workers sweating in the sun
Pressed on the task so recently begun;
Their outworks every day were forced ahead--
And every day they gave their toll of dead--
Until at length the double lines of steel
Received the steaming steed and whirling wheel!
Where yesterday the lazy bison lay
A city glitters in the sun to-day;
His paths are turned to streets of wood and stone,
And thousands tread the way he trod alone;
The mighty hum of industry and trade
Fills all the place where once he held parade,
And far away the unheard river's play
Makes joyous night still brighter than the day!
Upon the plains a thousand towns arise,
And quickly each to be a city tries;
The sound of trade is heard on every hand
And sturdy men rise to possess the land;
Awhile they lingered, thinking it a dream,
But now they flow in a resistless stream
That seems to fill the prairie far and near,
Yet in its vastness soon they disappear.
Where once the silent red man spurned the ground
A land of peace and plenty now is found,
A land by Nature destined to be great,
Where every man is lord of his estate;
Where men may dwell together in accord,
And honest toil receive its due reward;
Where loyal friends and happy homes are made,
And culture follows hard the feet of trade.
This you have made it. Is it vain to hope
The sons of such a land will climb and grope
Along the undiscovered ways of life,
And neither seek nor be found shunning strife,
But ever, beckoned by a high ideal,
Press onward, upward, till they make it real;
With feet sure planted on their native sod,
And will and aspirations linked with God?
THE MOTHERING
I had lain untrod for a million years from the line to the Arctic sea;
I had dreamed strange dreams of the vast unknown,
Of the lisping wind and the dancing zone
Where the Northland fairies' feet had flown,
And it all seemed good to me.
At the close of a thousand eons of sleep came a pang that was strange
to me;
The pang of a new life in my breast,
The swell of a vast and a vague unrest,
And it thrilled my soul from East to West
As it fluttered to be free.
But I steeled my heart to the biped thing; of vast presumption he:
He would lure my lonely thoughts away,
He would sport himself on the sacred clay
Where | 2,669.958113 |
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CONTENTS
Guy Kenmore's Wife; or, Her Mother's Secret
Chapter I.
Chapter II.
Chapter III.
Chapter IV.
Chapter V.
Chapter VI.
Chapter VII.
Chapter VIII.
Chapter IX.
Chapter X.
Chapter XI.
Chapter XII.
Chapter XIII.
Chapter XIV.
Chapter XV.
Chapter XVI.
Chapter XVII.
Chapter XVIII.
Chapter XIX.
Chapter XX.
Chapter XXI.
Chapter XXII.
Chapter XXIII.
Chapter XXIV.
Chapter XXV.
Chapter XXVI.
Chapter XXVII.
Chapter XXVIII.
Chapter XXIX.
Chapter XXX.
Chapter XXXI.
Chapter XXXII.
Chapter XXXIII.
Chapter XXXIV.
Chapter XXXV.
Chapter XXXVI.
Chapter XXXVII.
Chapter XXXVIII.
Chapter XXXIX.
Chapter XL.
Chapter XLI.
Chapter XLII.
Chapter XLIII.
Chapter XLIV.
Chapter XLV.
Chapter XLVI.
Chapter XLVII.
Chapter XLVIII.
Chapter XLIX.
Chapter L.
Chapter LI.
Chapter LII.
The Rose and the Lily; or, Love Wins Love
Chapter I.
Chapter II.
Chapter III.
Chapter IV.
Chapter V.
Chapter VI.
Chapter VII.
Chapter VIII.
Chapter IX.
Chapter X.
Chapter XI.
Chapter XII.
Chapter XIII.
Chapter XIV.
Chapter XV.
Chapter XVI.
Chapter XVII.
Chapter XVIII.
Chapter XIX.
Chapter XX.
Chapter XXI.
Chapter XXII.
Chapter XXIII.
Chapter XXIV.
Chapter XXV.
Chapter XXVI.
Chapter XXVII.
Chapter XXVIII.
No. 198 (EAGLE SERIES) 10 Cents
GUY KENMORE'S WIFE
AND
THE ROSE AND THE LILY
[Illustration]
BY MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
THE EAGLE SERIES
STREET & SMITH, Publishers
_The Pioneer Line of Ten-Cent Novels, and the Leader_
RETAIL PRICE, 10 Cents
This famous line was the original series of ten-cent books. Its
success was instantaneous. Millions of copies have been sold, and
an increasing demand for the entire series continues. The following
titles are in print, and can be supplied by all newsdealers.
..=199--Geoffrey's Victory. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon=
..=198--Guy Kenmore's Wife, and The Rose and the Lily. By
Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller=
..197--A Woman Scorned. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
..196--A Sailor's Sweetheart. By St. George Rathborne.
..195--Her Faithful Knight. By Gertrude Warden.
..194--A Sinless Crime. By Geraldine Fleming.
..193--A Vagabond's Honor. By Ernest De Lancey Pierson.
..192--An Old Man's Darling, and Jaquelina. By Mrs. Alex.
McVeigh Miller.
..191--A Harvest of Thorns. By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman.
..190--A Captain of the Kaiser. By St. George Rathborne.
..189--Berris. By Katharine S. Macquoid.
..188--Dorothy Arnold's Escape. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
..187--The Black Ball. By Ernest De Lancey Pierson.
..186--Beneath a Spell. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
..185--The Adventures of Miss Volney. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
..184--Sunlight and Gloom. By Geraldine Fleming.
..183--Quo Vadis. By Henryk Sienkiewicz.
..182--A Legal Wreck. By William Gillette.
..181--The Baronet's Bride. By May Agnes Fleming.
..180--A Lazy Man's Work. By Frances Campbell Sparhawk.
..179--One Man's Evil. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
..178--A Slave of Circumstances. By Ernest De Lancey Pierson.
..177--A True Aristocrat. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
..176--Jack Gordon, Knight Errant. By William C. Hudson
(Barclay North)
..175--For Honor's Sake. By Laura C. Ford.
..174--Wild Margaret. By Geraldine Fleming.
..173--A Bar Sinister. By the Author of Dr. Jack.
..172--A King and a Coward. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
..171--That Dakota Girl. By Stella Gilman.
..170--A Little Radical. By Mrs. J. H. Walworth.
..169--The Trials of an Actress. By Wenona Gilman.
..168--Thrice Lost, Thrice Won. By May Agnes Fleming.
..167--The Manhattaners. By Edward S. Van Zile.
..166--The Masked Bridal. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
..165--The Road of the Rough. By Maurice M. Minton.
..164--Couldn't Say No. By the author of Helen's Babies.
..163--A Splendid Egotist. By Mrs. J. H. Walworth.
..162--A Man of the Name of John. By Florence King.
..161--Miss Fairfax of Virginia. By the author of Dr. Jack.
..160--His Way and Her Will. By Frances Aymar Mathews.
..159--A Fair Maid of Marblehead. By Kate Tannatt Woods.
..158--Stella, the Star. By Wenona Gilman.
..157--Who Wins? By May Agnes Fleming.
..156--A Soldier Lover. By Edward S. Brooks.
..155--Nameless Dell. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
..154--Husband and Foe. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
..153--Her Son's Wife. By Hazel Wood.
..152--A Mute Confessor. By Will N. Harben.
..151--The Heiress of Glen Gower. By May Agnes Fleming.
..150--Sunset Pass. By General Charles King.
..149--The Man She Loved. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
..148--Will She Win. By Emma Garrison Jones.
..147--Under Egyptian Skies. By the author of Dr. Jack.
..146--Magdalen's Vow. By May Agnes Fleming.
..145--Country Lanes and City Pavements. By Maurice M.
Minton.
..144--Dorothy's Jewels. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
..143--A Charity Girl. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
..142--Her Rescue from the Turks. By the author of Dr. Jack.
..141--Lady Evelyn. By May Agnes Fleming.
..140--That Girl of Johnsons'. By Jean Kate Ludlum.
..139--Little Lady Charles. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
..138--A Fatal Wooing. By Laura Jean Libbey.
..137--A Wedded Widow. By T. W. Hanshew.
..136--The Unseen Bridegroom. By May Agnes Fleming.
..135--Cast Up by the Tide. By the author of Half a Truth.
..134--Squire John. By the author of Dr. Jack.
..133--Max. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
..132--Whose Was the Crime? By Gertrude Warden.
..131--Nerme's Second Choice. By Adelaide Stirling.
..130--A Bitter Bondage. By Bertha M. Clay.
..129--In Sight of St. Paul's. By Sutton Vane.
..128--The Scent of the Roses. By the author of Half a Truth.
..127--Nobody's Daughter. By Clara Augusta.
..126--The Girl from Hong Kong. By the author of Dr. Jack.
..125--Devil's Island. By A. D. Hall.
..124--Prettiest of All. By Julia Edwards.
..123--Northern Lights. By A. D. Hall.
..122--Grazia's Mistake. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
..121--Cecile's Marriage. By Lucy Randall Comfort.
..120--The White Squadron. By T. C. Harbaugh.
..119--An Ideal Love. By Bertha M. Clay.
..118--Saved From the Sea. By Richard Duffy.
..117--She Loved Him. By Charles Garvice.
..116--The Daughter of the Regiment. By Mary A. Denison.
..115--A Fair Revolutionist. By the author of Dr. Jack.
..114--Half a Truth. By a popular author.
..113--A Crushed Lily. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
..112--The Cattle King. By A. D. Hall.
..111--Faithful Shirley. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
..110--Whose Wife Is She? By Annie Lisle.
..109--A Heart's Bitterness. By Bertha M. Clay.
..108--A Son of Mars. By the author of Dr. Jack.
..107--Carla; or, Married at Sight. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
..106--Lilian, My Lilian. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
..105--When London Sleeps. By Chas. Darrell.
..104--A Proud Dishonor. By Genie Holzmeyer.
..103--The Span of Life. By Sutton Vane.
..102--Fair But Faithless. By Bertha M. Clay.
..101--A Goddess of Africa. By the author of Dr. Jack.
..100--Alice Blake. By Francis S. Smith.
...99--Audrey's Recompense. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
...97--The War Reporter. By Warren Edwards.
...96--The Little Minister. By J. M. Barrie.
...95--'Twixt Love and Hate. By Bertha M. Clay.
...94--Darkest Russia. By H. Grattan Donnelly.
...93--A Queen of Treachery. By T. W. Hanshew.
...92--Humanity. By Sutton Vane.
...91--Sweet Violet. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
...90--For Fair Virginia. | 2,670.255933 |
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[Illustration:
VOL.I. NO.1.
GARDEN AND FOREST
.A.JOURNAL.OF.HORTICULTURE..LANDSCAPE.ART.AND.FORESTRY.
.FEBRUARY.29, 1888.]
PRICE TEN CENTS.]
Copyright, 1888, by THE GARDEN AND FOREST PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED.
[$4.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE.]
IMPORTANT NEW BOOKS.
I.
By WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS.
APRIL HOPES. A Novel. By WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50.
_Mr. Howells never wrote a more bewitching book. It is useless to deny
the rarity and worth of the skill that can report so perfectly and
with such exquisite humor the manifold emotions of the modern maiden
and her lover._--Philadelphia Press.
MODERN ITALIAN POETS. Essays and Versions. By WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS.
Author of "April Hopes," &c. With Portraits. 12mo, Half Cloth, Uncut
Edges and Gilt Tops, $2 00.
_A portfolio of delightsome studies.... No acute and penetrating
critic surpasses Mr. Howells in true insight, in polished irony, in
effective and yet graceful treatment of his theme, in that light and
indescribable touch that fixes your eye on the true heart and soul of
the theme._--Critic, _N. Y._
II.
CONCLUSION OF KINGLAKE'S CRIMEAN WAR.
KINGLAKE'S CRIMEAN WAR. The Invasion of the Crimea: its Origin, and an
account of its Progress down to the Death of Lord Raglan. By ALEXANDER
WILLIAM KINGLAKE. With Maps and Plans. Five Volumes now ready. 12mo,
Cloth, $2 00 per vol.
Vol. V. From the Morrow of Inkerman to the Fall of Canrobert; _just
published_.--Vol. VI. From the Rise of Pelissier to the Death of Lord
Raglan--completing the work--_nearly ready_.
_The charm of Mr. Kinglake's style, the wonderful beauty of his
pictures, the subtle irony of his reflections, have made him so long
a favorite and companion, that it is with unfeigned regret we read the
word "farewell" with which these volumes close._--Pall Mall Gazette,
_London._
III.
T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
WHAT I REMEMBER. By T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. With Portrait. 12mo, Cloth,
$1 75.
_The most delightful pot-pourri that we could desire of the time just
anterior to our own.... Mr. Trollope preserves for us delightful,
racy stories of his youth and the youth of his century, and gives us
glimpses of loved or worshipped faces banished before our time. Hence
the success of these written remembrances._--Academy, _London._
IV.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "SELF-HELP."
LIFE AND LABOR; or, Characteristics of Men of Industry, Culture, and
Genius. By SAMUEL SMILES, LL.D., Author of "Self-Help," &c. 12mo,
Cloth, $1 00.
_Commends itself to the entire confidence of readers. Dr. Smiles
writes nothing that is not fresh, strong, and magnetically bracing.
He is one of the most helpful authors of the Victorian era.... This is
just the book for young men._--N. Y. Journal of Commerce.
V.
THOMAS W. HIGGINSON'S NEW BOOK.
WOMEN AND MEN. By THOMAS W. HIGGINSON, Author of "A Larger History of
the United States," &c. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00.
_These essays are replete with common-sense ideas, expressed in
well-chosen language, and reflect on every page the humor, wit, wisdom
of the author._--N. Y. Sun.
VI.
Plain, sensible, sturdy advice.--Chicago News.
BIG WAGES, AND HOW TO EARN THEM. By A FOREMAN. 16mo, Cloth, 75 cents.
_The views of an intelligent observer upon some of the foremost social
topics of the day. The style is simple, the logic cogent, and the tone
moderate and sensible._--N. Y. Commercial Advertiser.
VII.
The standard authority upon the Inquisition.--Philadelphia Ledger.
HISTORY OF THE INQUISITION OF THE MIDDLE AGES. By HENRY CHARLES LEA.
To be completed in THREE VOLUMES. 8vo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt
Tops, $3 00 per volume. Vols. I. and II. _now ready_. Vol. III.
_nearly ready_.
_Characterized by the same astounding reach of historical scholarship
as made Mr. Le | 2,670.256032 |
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Produced by David Widger
LITERARY FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES
by William Dean Howells
CONTENTS:
Biographical
My First Visit to New England
First Impressions of Literary New York
LITERARY FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES--First Visit to New England
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL
Long before I began the papers which make up this volume, I had meant to
write of literary history in New England as I had known it in the lives
of its great exemplars during the twenty-five years I lived near them. In
fact, I had meant to do this from the time I came among them; but I let
the days in which I almost constantly saw them go by without record save
such as I carried in a memory retentive, indeed, beyond the common, but
not so full as I could have wished when I began to invoke it for my work.
Still, upon insistent appeal, it responded in sufficient abundance; and,
though I now wish I could have remembered more instances, I think my
impressions were accurate enough. I am sure of having tried honestly to
impart them in the ten years or more when I was desultorily endeavoring
to share them with the reader.
The papers were written pretty much in the order they have here,
beginning with My First Visit to New England, which dates from the
earliest eighteen-nineties, if I may trust my recollection of reading it
from the manuscript to the editor of Harper's Magazine, where we lay
under the willows of Magnolia one pleasant summer morning in the first
years of that decade. It was printed no great while after in that
periodical; but I was so long in finishing the study of Lowell that it
had been anticipated in Harper's by other reminiscences of him, and it
was therefore first printed in Scribner's Magazine. It was the paper
with which I took the most pains, and when it was completed I still felt
it so incomplete that I referred it to his closest and my best friend,
the late Charles Eliot Norton, for his criticism. He thought it wanting
in unity; it was a group of studies instead of one study, he said; I must
do something to draw the different sketches together in a single effect
of portraiture; and this I did my best to do.
It was the latest written of the three articles which give the volume
substance, and it represents mare finally and fully than the others my
sense of the literary importance of the men whose like we shall not look
upon again. Longfellow was easily the greatest poet of the three, Holmes
often the most brilliant and felicitous, but Lowell, in spite of his
forays in politics, was the finest scholar and the most profoundly
literary, as he was above the others most deeply and thoroughly New
England in quality.
While I was doing these sketches, sometimes slighter and sometimes less
slight, of all those poets and essayists and novelists I had known in
Cambridge and Boston and Concord and New York, I was doing many other
things: half a dozen novels, as many more novelettes and shorter stories,
with essays and criticisms and verses; so that in January, 1900, I had
not yet done the paper on Lowell, which, with another, was to complete my
reminiscences of American literary life as I had witnessed it. When they
were all done at last they were republished in a volume which found
instant favor beyond my deserts if not its own.
There was a good deal of trouble with the name, but Literary Friends and
Acquaintance was an endeavor for modest accuracy with which I remained
satisfied until I thought, long too late, of Literary Friends and
Neighbors. Then I perceived that this would have been still more
accurate and quite as modest, and I gladly give any reader leave to call
the book by that name who likes.
Since the collection was first made, I have written little else quite of
the kind, except the paper on Bret Harte, which was first printed shortly
after his death; and the study of Mark Twain, which I had been preparing
to make for forty years and more, and wrote in two weeks of the spring of
1910. Others of my time and place have now passed whither there is
neither time nor place, and there are moments when I feel that I must try
to call them back and pay them such honor as my sense of their worth may
give; but the impulse has as yet failed to effect itself, and I do not
know how long I shall spare myself the supreme pleasure-pain, the "hochst
angenehmer Schmerz," of seeking to live here with those who live here no
more.
W. D. H.
LITERARY FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCE--My First Visit to New England
MY FIRST VISIT TO NEW ENGLAND
If there was any one in the world who had his being more wholly in
literature than I had in 1860, I am sure I should not have known where to
find him, and I doubt if he could have been found nearer the centres of
literary activity than I then was, or among those more purely devoted to
literature than myself. I had been for three years a writer of news
paragraphs, book notices, and political leaders on a daily paper in an
inland city, and I do not know that my life differed outwardly from that
of any other young journalist, who had begun as I had in a country
printing-office, and might be supposed to be looking forward to
advancement in his profession or in public affairs. But inwardly it was
altogether different with me. Inwardly I was a poet, with no wish to be
anything else, unless in a moment of careless affluence I might so far
forget myself as to be a novelist. I was, with my friend J. J. Piatt,
the half-author of a little volume of very unknown verse, and Mr. Lowell
had lately accepted and had begun to print in the Atlantic Monthly five
or six poems of mine. Besides this I had written poems, and sketches,
and criticisms for the Saturday Press of New York, a long-forgotten but
once very lively expression of literary intention in an extinct bohemia
of that city; and I was always writing poems, and sketches, and
criticisms in our own paper. These, as well as my feats in the renowned
periodicals of the East, met with kindness, if not honor, in my own city
which ought to have given me grave doubts whether I was any real prophet.
But it only intensified my literary ambition, already so strong that my
veins might well have run ink rather than blood, and gave me a higher
opinion of my fellow-citizens, if such a thing could be. They were
indeed very charming people, and such of them as I mostly saw were
readers and lovers of books. Society in Columbus at that day had a
pleasant refinement which I think I do not exaggerate in the fond
retrospect. It had the finality which it seems to have had nowhere since
the war; it had certain fixed ideals, which were none the less graceful
and becoming because they were the simple old American ideals, now
vanished, or fast vanishing, before the knowledge of good and evil as
they have it in Europe, and as it has imparted itself to American travel
and sojourn. There was a mixture of many strains in the capital of Ohio,
as there was throughout the State. Virginia, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, New
York, and New England all joined to characterize the manners and customs.
I suppose it was the South which gave the social tone; the intellectual
taste among the elders was the Southern taste for the classic and the
standard in literature; but we who were younger preferred the modern
authors: we read Thackeray, and George Eliot, and Hawthorne, and Charles
Reade, and De Quincey, and Tennyson, and Browning, and Emerson, and
Longfellow, and I--I read Heine, and evermore Heine, when there was not
some new thing from the others. Now and then an immediate French book
penetrated to us: we read Michelet and About, I remember. We looked to
England and the East largely for our literary opinions; we accepted the
Saturday Review as law if we could not quite receive it as gospel. One
of us took the Cornhill Magazine, because Thackeray was the editor; the
Atlantic Monthly counted many readers among us; and a visiting young lady
from New England, who screamed at sight of the periodical in one of our
houses, "Why, have you got the Atlantic Monthly out here?" could be
answered, with cold superiority, "There are several contributors to the
Atlantic in Columbus." There were in fact two: my room-mate, who wrote
Browning for it, while I wrote Heine and Longfellow. But I suppose two
are as rightfully several as twenty are.
II.
That was the heyday of lecturing, and now and then a literary light from
the East swam into our skies. I heard and saw Emerson, and I once met
Bayard Taylor socially, at the hospitable house where he was a guest
after his lecture. Heaven knows how I got through the evening. I do not
think I opened my mouth to address him a word; it was as much as I could
do to sit and look at him, while he tranquilly smoked, and chatted with
our host, and quaffed the beer which we had very good in the Nest. All
the while I did him homage as the first author by calling whom I had met.
I longed to tell him how much I liked his poems, which we used to get by
heart in those days, and I longed (how much more I longed!) to have him
know that:
"Auch ich war in Arkadien geboren,"
that I had printed poems in the Atlantic Monthly and the Saturday Press,
and was the potential author of things destined to eclipse all literature
hitherto attempted. But I could not tell him; and there was no one else
who thought to tell him. Perhaps it was as well so; I might have
perished of his recognition, for my modesty was equal to my merit.
In fact I think we were all rather modest young fellows, we who formed
the group wont to spend some part of every evening at that house, where
there was always music, or whist, or gay talk, or all three. We had our
opinions of literary matters, but (perhaps because we had mostly accepted
them from England or New England, as I have said) we were not vain of
them; and we would by no means have urged them before a living literary
man like that. I believe none of us ventured to speak, except the poet,
my roommate, who said, He believed so and so was the original of so and
so; and was promptly told, He had no right to say such a thing.
Naturally, we came away rather critical of our host's guest, whom I
afterwards knew as the kindliest heart in the world. But we had not
shone in his presence, and that galled us; and we chose to think that he
had not shone in ours.
III
At that time he was filling a large space in the thoughts of the young
people who had any thoughts about literature. He had come to his full
repute as an agreeable and | 2,670.354565 |
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Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Josephine Paolucci
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net.
THE WORKS OF HONORE De BALZAC
About Catherine de' Medici
Seraphita
AND OTHER STORIES
With Introductions by
GEORGE SAINTSBURY
UNIVERSITY EDITION
AVIL PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA.
COPYRIGHTED 1901
BY
John D. Avil
_All Rights Reserved_
CONTENTS
PART I
PAGE
_INTRODUCTION_ ix
_ABOUT CATHERINE DE' MEDICI_:
(_Sur Catherine de Medicis_)
PREFACE 3
PART I. THE CALVINIST MARTYR 44
" II. THE RUGGIERI'S SECRET 233
" III. THE TWO DREAMS 308
_GAMBARA_ 327
(_Gambara_)
PART II
_INTRODUCTION_ ix
_SERAPHITA_:
(_Seraphita_)
I. SERAPHITUS 2
II. SERAPHITA 22
III. SERAPHITA--SERAPHITUS 40
IV. THE CLOUDS OF THE SANCTUARY 82
V. THE FAREWELL 112
VI. THE ROAD TO HEAVEN 123
VII. THE ASSUMPTION 134
_LOUIS LAMBERT_ 145
(_Louis Lambert_)
_THE EXILES_
(_Les Proscrits_)
ALMAE SORORI 259
_MAITRE CORNELIUS_ 293
(_Maitre Cornelius_)
_THE ELIXIR OF LIFE_ 359
(_L'Elixir de longue Vie_)
(Translators, CLARA BELL AND JAMES WARING)
ILLUSTRATIONS
PART I
QUADRANGLE OF THE COLLEGE OF VENDOME WHERE
BALZAC WAS EDUCATED _Frontispiece_
PAGE
"I AM CHAUDIEU!" 53
PLACED HIMSELF IN FRONT OF A LOOKING-GLASS 328
PART II
TOWER IN WHICH BALZAC PASSED MOST OF HIS TIME
AT COLLEGE 164
HE NOW SAW WITH A TERRIFIED SHUDDER THAT THERE
WAS A BRIGHT LIGHT ON THE STAIRS, AND PERCEIVED
CORNELIUS, IN HIS OLD DALMATIC, CARRYING
HIS LAMP 324
ABOUT CATHERINE DE' MEDICI
AND
GAMBARA
INTRODUCTION
This book (as to which it is important to remember the _Sur_ if injustice
is not to be done to the intentions of the author) has plenty of interest
of more kinds than one; but it is perhaps more interesting because of the
place it holds in Balzac's work than for itself. He had always considerable
hankerings after the historical novel: his early and lifelong devotion to
Scott would sufficiently account for that. More than one of the _Oeuvres
de Jeunesse_ attempts the form in a more or less conscious way: the
_Chouans_, the first successful book, definitely attempts it; but by far
the most ambitious attempt is to be found in the book before us. It is most
probable that it was of this, if of anything of his own, that Balzac was
thinking when, in 1846, he wrote disdainfully to Madame Hanska about Dumas,
and expressed himself towards _Les Trois Mousquetaires_ (which had whiled
him through a day of cold and inability to work) nearly as ungratefully as
Carlyle did towards Captain Marryat. And though it is, let it be repeated,
a mistake, and a rather unfair mistake, to give such a title to the book as
might induce readers to regard it as a single and definite novel, of which
Catherine is the heroine, though it is made up of three parts written at
very different times, it has a unity which the introduction shows to some
extent, and which a rejected preface given by M. de Lovenjoul shows still
better.
To understand this, we must remember that Balzac, though not exactly an
historical scholar, was a considerable student of history; and that,
although rather an amateur politician, he was a constant thinker and writer
on political subjects. We must add to these remembrances the fact of his
intense interest in all such matters as Alchemy, the Elixir of Life, and so
forth, to which the sixteenth century in general, and Catherine de' Medici
in particular, were known to be devoted. All these interests of his met in
the present book, the parts of which appeared in inverse order, and the
genesis of which is important enough to make it desirable to incorporate
some of the usual bibliographical matter in the substance of this preface.
The third and shortest, _Les Deux Reves_, a piece partly suggestive of the
famous _Prophecy of Cazotte_ and other legends of the Revolution (but with
more retrospective than prospective view), is dated as early as 1828
(before the turning-point), and was actually published in a periodical in
1830. _La Confidence des Ruggieri_, written in 1836 (and, as I have noted
in the general introduction, according to its author, in a single night)
followed, and _Le Martyr Calviniste_, which had several titles, and was
advertised as in preparation for a long time, did not come till 1841.
It is unnecessary to say that all are interesting. The personages, both
imaginary and historical, appear at times in a manner worthy of Balzac;
many separate scenes are excellent; and, to those who care to perceive
them, the various occupations of the author appear in the most interesting
manner. Politically, his object was, at least by his own account, to defend
the maxim that private and public morality are different; that the policy
of a state cannot be, and ought not to be, governed by the same
considerations of duty to its neighbors as those which ought to govern the
conduct of an individual. The very best men--those least liable to the
slightest imputation of corrupt morals and motives--have endorsed this
principle; though it has been screamed at by a few fanatics, a somewhat
larger number of persons who found their account in so doing, and a great
multitude of hasty, dense, or foolish folk. But it was something of a mark
of that amateurishness which spoilt Balzac's dealing with the subject to
choose the sixteenth century for his text. For every cool-headed student of
history and ethics will admit that it was precisely the abuse of this
principle at this time, and by persons of whom Catherine de' Medici, if not
the most blamable, has had the most blame put on her, that brought the
principle itself into discredit. Between the assertion that the strictest
morality of the Sermon on the Mount must obtain between nation and nation,
between governor and governed, and the maxim that in politics the end of
public safety justifies _any_ means whatever, there is a perfectly immense
gulf fixed.
If, however, we turn from this somewhat academic point, and do not dwell
very much on the occult and magical sides of the matter, interesting as
they are, we shall be brought at once face to face with the question, Is
the handling of this book the right and proper one for an historical novel?
Can we in virtue of it rank Balzac (this is the test which he would
himself, beyond all question, have accepted) a long way above Dumas and
near Scott?
I must say that I can see no possibility of answer except, "Certainly not."
For the historical novel depends almost more than any other division of the
kind upon interest of story. Interest of story is not, as has been several
times pointed out, at any time Balzac's main appeal, and he has succeeded
in it here less than in most other places. He has discussed too much; he
has brought in too many personages without sufficient interest of plot;
but, above all, he exhibits throughout an incapacity to handle his
materials in the peculiar way required. How long he was before he grasped
"the way to do it," even on his own special lines, is the commonplace and
refrain of all writing about him. Now, to this special kind he gave
comparatively little attention, and the result is that he mastered it less
than any other. In the best stories of Dumas (and the best number some
fifteen or twenty at least) the interest of narrative, of adventure, of
what will happen to the personages, takes you by the throat at once, and
never lets you go till the end. There is little or nothing of this sort
here. The three stories are excellently well-informed studies, very curious
and interesting in divers ways. The _Ruggieri_ is perhaps something more;
but it is, as its author no doubt honestly entitled it, much more an _Etude
Philosophique_ than an historical novelette. In short, this was not
Balzac's way. We need not be sorry--it is very rarely necessary to be
that--that he tried it; we may easily forgive him for not recognizing the
ease and certainty with which Dumas trod the path. But we should be most of
all thankful that he did not himself enter it frequently, or ever pursue it
far.
The most important part of the bibliography of the book has been given
above. The rest is a little complicated, and for its ins and outs reference
must be made to the usual authority. It should be enough to say that the
_Martyr_, under the title of _Les Lecamus_, first appeared in the _Siecle_
during the spring of 1841. Souverain published it as a book two years later
with the other two, as _Catherine de Medicis Expliquee_. The second part,
entitled, not _La Confidence_, but _Le Secret des Ruggieri_, had appeared
much earlier in the _Chronique de Paris_ during the winter of 1836-37, and
had been published as a book in the latter year; it was joined to
_Catherine de Medicis Expliquee_ as above. The third part, after appearing
in the _Monde_ as early as May 1830, also appeared in the _Deux Mondes_ for
December of the same year, then became one of the _Romans et Contes
Philosophiques_, then an _Etude Philosophique_, and in 1843 joined
_Catherine de Medicis Expliquee_. The whole was inserted in the _Comedie_
in 1846.
G. S.
* * * * *
_Gambara_ exhibits a curious and, it must be admitted, a somewhat
incoherent mixture of two of Balzac's chief outside interests--Italy and
music. In his helter-skelter ramblings, indulged in despite his enormous
literary labors, he took many a peep at Italy; and it is evident that for
him the country exercised a powerful fascination. In his eyes it was
ideal--ideal in its music, in its painting, and in those who fanned the
fires divine. His affection for Italy was, in fact, about as ardent and
untutored as that for the arts. The story of _Gambara_ is an illustration
of these two sentiments; it can best be understood when the author's
attitude is known.
There is a little about the forceful character of Andrea Marcosini that
reminds one of de Marsay. He has an inherent nobleness unknown to the
latter, but unfortunately made subservient to a banality which even the
genius of Balzac cannot efface. This marring clause of the Count and
Marianna is hardly to be excused on the ground of dramatic necessity, since
other themes of this nature are not cloyed by baser earth. The introductory
scene in the restaurant is good, and stands out brightly contrasted with
Gambara's music-ravings and the faint echo of Giardini's cookery conceits.
Each is but the quest of something unattained--a note more grandly uttered
in _La Peau de Chagrin_, or _La Recherche de l'Absolu_, or the wonderful
sketch, _Le Chef d'Oeuvre Inconnu_. But as a fresh embodiment of this
thought, _Gambara_ may be welcomed, for in such themes as these the
novelist is most distinctly in his element.
The first appearance of _Gambara_ was in the _Revue et Gazette Musicale de
Paris_ during July and August 1837, in four chapters and a conclusion. In
1839 it was included in a book with the _Cabinet des Antiques_. Ten years
later it was included as _Le Livre des Douleurs_ with _Seraphita_, _Les
Proscrits_, and _Massimilla Doni_. It took its place in the _Comedie_ in
1846.
ABOUT CATHERINE DE' MEDICI
_To Monsieur le Marquis de Pastoret, Member of the
Academie des Beaux-Arts._
When we consider the amazing number of volumes written to ascertain the
spot where Hannibal crossed the Alps, without our knowing to this day
whether it was, as Whitaker and Rivaz say, by Lyons, Geneva, the
Saint-Bernard, and the Valley of Aosta; or, as we are told by Letronne,
Follard, Saint-Simon, and Fortia d'Urban, by the Isere, Grenoble,
Saint-Bonnet, Mont Genevre, Fenestrella, and the Pass of Susa, or,
according to Larauza, by the Mont Cenis and Susa; or, as Strabo, Polybius
and de Luc tell us, by the Rhone, Vienne, Yenne, and the Mont du Chat; or,
as certain clever people opine, by Genoa, la Bochetta, and la Scrivia--the
view I hold, and which Napoleon had adopted--to say nothing of the vinegar
with which some learned men have dressed the Alpine rocks, can we wonder,
Monsieur le Marquis, to find modern history so much neglected that some
most important points remain obscure, and that the most odious calumnies
still weigh on names which ought to be revered?--And it may be noted
incidentally that by dint of explanations it has become problematical
whether Hannibal ever crossed the Alps at all. Father Menestrier believes
that the Scoras spoken of by Polybius was the Saome; Letronne, Larauza, and
Schweighauser believe it to be the Isere; Cochard, a learned man of Lyons,
identifies it with the Drome. But to any one who has eyes, are there not
striking geographical and linguistic affinities between Scoras and Scrivia,
to say nothing of the almost certain fact that the Carthaginian fleet lay
at la Spezzia or in the Gulf of Genoa?
I could understand all this patient research if the battle of Cannae could
be doubted; but since its consequences are well known, what is the use of
blackening so much paper with theories that are but the Arabesque of
hypothesis, so to speak; while the most important history of later times,
that of the Reformation, is so full of obscurities that the name remains
unknown of the man[A] who was making a boat move by steam at Barcelona at
the time when Luther and Calvin were inventing the revolt of mind?
We, I believe, after having made, each in his own way, the same
investigation as to the great and noble character of Catherine de' Medici,
have come to the same opinion. So I thought that my historical studies on
the subject might be suitably dedicated to a writer who has labored so long
on the history of the Reformation; and that I should thus do public homage,
precious perhaps for its rarity, to the character and fidelity of a man
true to the Monarchy.
PARIS, _January 1842_.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] The inventor of this experiment was probably Salomon of Caux, not of
Caus. This great man was always unlucky; after his death even his name was
misspelt. Salomon, whose original portrait, at the age of forty-six, was
discovered by the author of the _Human Comedy_, was born at Caux, in
Normandy.
PREFACE
When men of learning are struck by a historical blunder, and try to correct
it, "Paradox!" is generally the cry; but to those who thoroughly examine
the history of modern times, it is evident that historians are privileged
liars, who lend their pen to popular beliefs, exactly as most of the
newspapers of the day express nothing but the opinions of their readers.
Historical independence of thought has been far less conspicuous among lay
writers than among the priesthood. The purest light thrown on history has
come from the Benedictines, one of the glories of France--so long, that is
to say, as the interests of the monastic orders are not in question. Since
the middle of the eighteenth century, some great and learned
controversialists have arisen who, struck by the need for rectifying
certain popular errors to which historians have lent credit, have published
some remarkable works. Thus Monsieur Launoy, nicknamed the Evicter of
Saints, made ruthless war on certain saints who have sneaked into the
Church Calendar. Thus the rivals of the Benedictines, the two little known
members of the Academie des Inscriptions et Belles-lettres, began their
_memoires_, their studious notes, full of patience, erudition, and logic,
on certain obscure passages of history. Thus Voltaire, with an unfortunate
bias, and sadly perverted passions, often brought the light of his
intellect to bear on historical prejudices. Diderot, with this end in view,
began a book--much too long--on a period of the history of Imperial Rome.
But for the French Revolution, criticism, as applied to history, might
perhaps have laid up the materials for a good and true history of France,
for which evidence had long been amassed by the great French Benedictines.
Louis XVI., a man of clear mind, himself translated the English work,
which so much agitated the last century, in which Walpole tried to explain
the career of Richard III.
How is it that persons so famous as kings and queens, so important as
generals of great armies, become objects of aversion or derision? Half the
world hesitates between the song on Marlborough and the history of England,
as they do between popular tradition and history as concerning Charles IX.
At all periods when great battles are fought between the masses and the
authorities, the populace creates an _ogresque_ figure--to coin a word for
the sake of its exactitude. Thus in our own time, but for the _Memorials of
Saint-Helena_, and the controversies of Royalists and Bonapartists, there
was scarcely a chance but that Napoleon would have been misunderstood.
Another Abbe de Pradt or two, a few more newspaper articles, and Napoleon
from an Emperor would have become an Ogre.
How is error propagated and accredited? The mystery is accomplished under
our eyes without our discerning the process. No one suspects how greatly
printing has helped to give body both to the envy which attends persons in
high places, and to the popular irony which sums up the converse view of
every great historical fact. For instance, every bad horse in France that
needs flogging is called after the Prince de Polignac; and so who knows
what opinion the future may hold as to the Prince de Polignac's _coup
d'Etat_? In consequence of a caprice of Shakespeare's--a stroke of revenge
perhaps, like that of Beaumarchais on Bergasse (Begearss)--Falstaff, in
England, is a type of the grotesque; his name raises a laugh, he is the
King of Buffoons. Now, instead of being enormously fat, ridiculously
amorous, vain, old, drunken, and a corrupter of youth, Falstaff was one of
the most important figures of his time, a Knight of the Garter, holding
high command. At the date of Henry V.'s accession, Falstaff was at most
four-and-thirty. This General, who distinguished himself at the battle of
Agincourt, where he took the Duc d'Alencon prisoner, in 1420 took the town
of Montereau, which was stoutly defended. Finally, under Henry VI., he beat
ten thousand Frenchmen with fifteen hundred men who were dropping with
fatigue and hunger. So much for valor!
If we turn to literature, Rabelais, among the French, a sober man who drank
nothing but water, is thought of as a lover of good cheer and a persistent
sot. Hundreds of absurd stories have been coined concerning the author of
one of the finest books in French literature, _Pantagruel_.
Aretino, Titian's friend, and the Voltaire of his day, is now credited with
a reputation, in complete antagonism with his works and character, which he
acquired by his over free wit, characteristic of the writings of an age
when gross jests were held in honor, and queens and cardinals indited tales
which are now considered licentious. Instances might be infinitely
multiplied.
In France, and at the most important period of our history, Catherine de'
Medici has suffered more from popular error than any other woman, unless it
be Brunehaut or Fredegonde; while Marie de' Medici, whose every action was
prejudicial to France, has escaped the disgrace that should cover her name.
Marie dissipated the treasure amassed by Henri IV.; she never purged
herself of the suspicion that she was cognizant of his murder; Epernon, who
had long known Ravaillac, and who did not parry his blow, was _intimate_
with the Queen; she compelled her son to banish her from France, where she
was fostering the rebellion of her other son, Gaston; and Richelieu's
triumph over her on the _Journee des Dupes_ was due solely to the
Cardinal's revealing to Louis XIII. certain documents secreted after the
death of Henri IV.
Catherine de' Medici, on the contrary, saved the throne of France, she
maintained the Royal authority under circumstances to which more than one
great prince would have succumbed. Face to face with such leaders of the
factions and ambitions of the houses of Guise and of Bourbon as the two
Cardinals de Lorraine and the two "Balafres," the two Princes de Conde,
Queen Jeanne d'Albret, Henri IV., the Connetable de Montmorency, Calvin,
the Colignys, and Theodore de Beze, she was forced to put forth the rarest
fine qualities, the most essential gifts of statesmanship, under the fire
of the Calvinist press. These, at any rate, are indisputable facts. And to
the student who digs deep into the history of the sixteenth century in
France, the figure of Catherine de' Medici stands out as that of a great
king.
When once calumnies are undermined by facts laboriously brought to light
from under the contradictions of pamphlets and false anecdotes, everything
is explained to the glory of this wonderful woman, who had none of the
weakness of her sex, who lived chaste in the midst of the gallantries of
the most licentious Court in Europe, and who, notwithstanding her lack of
money, erected noble buildings, as if to make good the losses caused by the
destructive Calvinists, who injured Art as deeply as they did the body
politic.
Hemmed in between a race of princes who proclaimed themselves the heirs of
Charlemagne, and a factious younger branch that was eager to bury the
Connetable de Bourbon's treason under the throne; obliged, too, to fight
down a heresy on the verge of devouring the Monarchy, without friends, and
aware of treachery in the chiefs of the Catholic party and of republicanism
in the Calvinists, Catherine used the most dangerous but the surest of
political weapons--Craft. She determined to deceive by turns the party that
was anxious to secure the downfall of the House of Valois, the Bourbons who
aimed at the Crown, and the Reformers--the Radicals of that day, who
dreamed of an impossible republic, like those of our own day, who, however,
have nothing to reform. Indeed, so long as she lived, the Valois sat on the
throne. The great de Thou understood the worth of this woman when he
exclaimed, on hearing of her death:
"It is not a woman, it is Royalty that dies in her!"
Catherine had, in fact, the sense of Royalty in the highest degree, and she
defended it with admirable courage and persistency. The reproaches flung
at her by Calvinist writers are indeed her glory; she earned them solely by
her triumphs. And how was she to triumph but by cunning? Here lies the
whole question.
As to violence--that method bears on one of the most hotly disputed points
of policy, which, in recent days, has been answered here, on the spot where
a big stone from Egypt has been placed to wipe out the memory of regicide,
and to stand as an emblem of the materialistic policy which now rules us;
it was answered at les Carmes and at the Abbaye; it was answered on the
steps of Saint Roch; it was answered in front of the Louvre in 1830, and
again by the people against the King, as it has since been answered once
more by la Fayette's "best of all republics" against the republican
rebellion, at Saint-Merri and the Rue Transnonnain.
Every power, whether legitimate or illegitimate, must defend itself when it
is attacked; but, strange to say, while the people is heroic when it
triumphs over the nobility, the authorities are murderers when they oppose
the people! And, finally, if after their appeal to force they succumb, they
are regarded as effete idiots. The present Government (1840) will try to
save itself, by two laws, from the same evil as attacked Charles X., and
which he tried to scotch by two decrees. Is not this a bitter mockery? May
those in power meet cunning with cunning? Ought they to kill those who try
to kill them?
The massacres of the Revolution are the reply to the massacre of
Saint-Bartholomew. The People, being King, did by the nobility and the King
as the King and the nobility did by the rebels in the sixteenth century.
And popular writers, who know full well that, under similar conditions, the
people would do the same again, are inexcusable when they blame Catherine
de' Medici and Charles IX.
"All power is a permanent conspiracy," said Casimir Perier, when teaching
what power ought to be. We admire the anti-social maxims published by
audacious writers; why, then, are social truths received in France with
such disfavor when they are boldly stated? This question alone
sufficiently accounts for historical mistakes. Apply the solution of this
problem to the devastating doctrines which flatter popular passion, and to
the conservative doctrines which would repress the ferocious or foolish
attempts of the populace, and you will see the reason why certain
personages are popular or unpopular. Laubardemont and Laffemas, like some
people now living, were devoted to the maintenance of the power they
believed in. Soldiers and judges, they obeyed a Royal authority. D'Orthez,
in our day, would be discharged from office for misinterpreting orders from
the Ministry, but Charles X. left him to govern his province. The power of
the masses is accountable to no one; the power of one is obliged to account
to its subjects, great and small alike.
Catherine, like Philip II. and the Duke of Alva, like the Guises and
Cardinal Granvelle, foresaw the future to which the Reformation was dooming
Europe. They saw monarchies, religion, and power all overthrown. Catherine,
from the Cabinet of the French kings, forthwith issued sentence of death on
that inquiring spirit which threatened modern society--a sentence which
Louis XIV. finally carried out. The revocation of the Edict of Nantes was a
measure that proved unfortunate, simply in consequence of the irritation
Louis XIV. had aroused in Europe. At any other time England, Holland, and
the German Empire would not have encouraged on their territory French
exiles and French rebels.
Why, in these days, refuse to recognize the greatness which the majestic
adversary of that most barren heresy derived from the struggle itself?
Calvinists have written strongly against Charles IX.'s stratagems; but
travel through France: as you see the ruins of so many fine churches
destroyed, and consider the vast breaches made by religious fanatics in the
social body; when you learn the revenges they took, while deploring the
mischief of individualism--the plague of France to-day, of which the germ
lay in the questions of liberty of conscience which they stirred up--you
will ask yourself on which side were the barbarians. There are always, as
Catherine says in the third part of this Study, "unluckily, in all ages,
hypocritical writers ready to bewail two hundred scoundrels killed in due
season." Caesar, who tried to incite the Senate to pity for Catiline's
party, would very likely have conquered Cicero if he had had newspapers and
an Opposition at his service.
Another consideration accounts for Catherine's historical and popular
disfavor. In France the Opposition has always been Protestant, because its
policy has never been anything but negative; it has inherited the theories
of the Lutherans, the Calvinists, and the Protestants on the terrible texts
of liberty, tolerance, progress, and philanthropy. The opponents of power
spent two centuries in establishing the very doubtful doctrine of freewill.
Two more were spent in working out the first corollary of freewill--liberty
of conscience. Our age is striving to prove the second--political liberty.
Standing between the fields already traversed and the fields as yet
untrodden, Catherine and the Church proclaimed the salutary principle of
modern communities, _Una fides, unus Dominus_, but asserting their right of
life and death over all innovators. Even if she had been conquered,
succeeding times have shown that Catherine was right. The outcome of
freewill, religious liberty, and political liberty (note, this does not
mean _civil_ liberty) is France as we now see it.
And what is France in 1840? A country exclusively absorbed in material
interests, devoid of patriotism, devoid of conscience; where authority is
powerless; where electoral rights, the fruit of freewill and political
liberty, raise none but mediocrities; where brute force is necessary to
oppose the violence of the populace; where discussion, brought to bear on
the smallest matter, checks every action of the body politic; and where
individualism--the odious result of the indefinite subdivision of property,
which destroys family cohesion--will devour everything, even the nation,
which sheer selfishness will some day lay open to invasion. Men will say,
"Why not the Tzar?" as they now say, "Why not the Duc d'Orleans?" We do
not care for many things even now; fifty years hence we shall care for
nothing.
Therefore, according to Catherine--and according to all who wish to see
Society soundly organized--man as a social unit, as a subject, has no
freewill, has no right to accept the dogma of liberty of conscience, or to
have political liberty. Still, as no community can subsist without some
guarantee given to the subject against the sovereign, the subject derives
from that certain liberties under restrictions. Liberty--no, but
liberties--yes; well defined and circumscribed liberties. This is in the
nature of things. For instance, it is beyond human power to fetter freedom
of thought; and no sovereign may ever tamper with money.
The great politicians who have failed in this long contest--it has gone on
for five centuries--have allowed their subjects wide liberties; but they
never recognize their liberty to publish anti-social opinions, nor the
unlimited freedom of the subject. To them the words _subject_ and _free_
are, politically speaking, a contradiction in terms; and, in the same way,
the statement that all citizens are equal is pure nonsense, and
contradicted by Nature every hour. To acknowledge the need for religion,
the need for authority, and at the same time to leave all men at liberty to
deny religion, to attack its services, to oppose the exercise of authority
by the public and published expression of opinion, is an impossibility such
as the Catholics of the sixteenth century would have nothing to say to.
Alas! the triumph of Calvinism will cost France more yet than it has ever
done; for the sects of to-day--religious, political, humanitarian, and
leveling--are the train of Calvinism; and when we see the blunders of those
in power, their contempt for intelligence, their devotion to those material
interests in which they seek support, and which are the most delusive of
all props, unless by the special aid of Providence the genius of
destruction must certainly win the day from the genius of conservatism. The
attacking forces, who have nothing to lose, and everything to win, are | 2,670.455834 |
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[Transcriber's note: archaic spellings such as "desart" for "desert"
have been retained, as have inconsistent spellings such as
"Galilee"--"Gall | 2,670.46395 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 8
[Illustration: THE OLD VINCENNES TRACE NEAR XENIA, ILLINOIS]
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 8
Military Roads of the
Mississippi Basin
The Conquest of the Old Northwest
BY
ARCHER BUTLER HULBERT
_With Maps and Illustrations_
[Illustration]
THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY
CLEVELAND, OHIO
1904
COPYRIGHT, 1904
BY
THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE 11
I. THE CLARK ROUTES THROUGH ILLINOIS 15
II. MIAMI VALLEY CAMPAIGNS 72
III. ST. CLAIR'S CAMPAIGN 108
IV. WAYNE AND FALLEN TIMBER 160
APPENDIXES 219
ILLUSTRATIONS
I. THE OLD VINCENNES TRACE NEAR XENIA, ILLINOIS _Frontispiece_
II. SKETCH MAP OF PART OF ILLINOIS, SHOWING CLARK'S
ROUTES 21
III. HUTCHINS'S SKETCH OF THE WABASH IN 1768 (showing
trace of the path to Kaskaskia; from the original
in the British Museum) 35
IV. THE ST. LOUIS TRACE NEAR LAWRENCEVILLE, ILLINOIS 62
V. A PART OF ARROWSMITH'S MAP OF THE UNITED STATES,
1796 (showing the region in which Wilkinson, Scott,
Harmar, St. Clair, and Wayne operated) 117
VI. DR. BELKNAP'S MAP OF WAYNE'S ROUTE IN THE MAUMEE
VALLEY, 1794 (from the original in the Library of
Harvard University) 197
PREFACE
This volume treats of five of the early campaigns in the portion of
America known as the Mississippi Basin--Clark's campaigns against
Kaskaskia and Vincennes in 1778 and 1779; and Harmar's, St. Clair's, and
Wayne's campaigns against the northwestern Indians in 1790, 1791, and
1793-94.
Much as has been written concerning Clark's famous march through the
"drowned lands of the Wabash," the important question of his route has
been untouched, and the story from that standpoint untold. The history
of the campaign is here made subservient to a study of the route and to
an attempted identification of the various places, and a determination
of their present-day names. Four volumes of the Draper Manuscripts in
the library of the State Historical Society of Wisconsin give a vast
deal of information on this subject. They are referred to by the library
press-mark.
Turning to the study of Harmar's, St. Clair's, and Wayne's routes into
the Northwest, the author found a singular lack of detailed description
of these campaigns, and determined to combine with the study of the
military roadway a comparatively complete sketch of each campaign,
making use, in this case as in that of Clark's campaigns, of the Draper
Manuscripts.
A great debt of thanks is due to Mr. Reuben Gold Thwaites, Secretary of
the State Historical Society of Wisconsin, for assistance and advice; to
Josiah Morrow of Lebanon, Ohio, the author is indebted for help in
determining portions of Harmar's route; and to Francis E. Wilson,
President of the Greenville Historical Society, many thanks are due for
help in questions concerning the pathway of the intrepid leader known to
the East as "Mad Anthony" Wayne, but remembered in the West as the
"Blacksnake" and the "Whirlwind," because he doubled his track like a
blacksnake and swept over his roads like a whirlwind.
A. B. H.
MARIETTA, OHIO, September 14, 1903.
Military Roads of the Mississippi Basin
The Conquest of the Old Northwest
CHAPTER I
THE CLARK ROUTES THROUGH ILLINOIS
On the twenty-fourth of June, 1778, George Rogers Clark, with about one
hundred and seventy-five patriot adventurers, left the little pioneer
settlement on Corn Island, in the Ohio River, opposite the present site
of Louisville, Kentucky, for the conquest of the British posts of
Kaskaskia and Vincennes in the "Illinois country."[1]
The boats running day and night, the party reached Clark's first
stopping-place, an island in the Ohio near the mouth of the Tennessee
River, in four days. Just below this island was the site of old Fort
Massac--now occupied by Metropolis, Massac County, Illinois--built
probably by a vanguard from Fort Duquesne, a generation before, when
the French clearly foresaw the end of their reign on the upper Ohio.
Here, almost a century before that, was the old trading-station of
Juchereau and the mission of Mermet--the | 2,670.554473 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
Transcriber's note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Printer
errors have been changed and are listed at the end. All other
inconsistencies are as in the original.
ESSAYS:
SCIENTIFIC, POLITICAL, & SPECULATIVE.
BY
HERBERT SPENCER.
LIBRARY EDITION,
(OTHERWISE FIFTH THOUSAND)
_Containing Seven Essays not before Republished, and various other
additions._
VOL. I.
WILLIAMS AND NORGATE,
14, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON:
AND 20. SOUTH FREDERICK STREET. EDINBURGH.
1891.
LONDON:
G. NORMAN AND SON, PRINTERS, HART STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.
PREFACE
Excepting those which have appeared as articles in periodicals during
the last eight years, the essays here gathered together were originally
re-published in separate volumes at long intervals. The first volume
appeared in December 1857; the second in November 1863; and the third in
February 1874. By the time the original editions of the first two had
been sold, American reprints, differently entitled and having the essays
differently arranged, had been produced; and, for economy's sake, I have
since contented myself with importing successive supplies printed from
the American stereotype plates. Of the third volume, however, supplies
have, as they were required, been printed over here, from plates partly
American and partly English. The completion of this final edition of
course puts an end to this make-shift arrangement.
The essays above referred to as having been written since 1882, are now
incorporated with those previously re-published. There are seven of
them; namely--"Morals and Moral Sentiments," "The Factors of Organic
Evolution," "Professor Green's Explanations," "The Ethics of Kant,"
"Absolute Political Ethics," "From Freedom to Bondage," and "The
Americans." As well as these large additions there are small additions,
in the shape of postscripts to various essays--one to "The Constitution
of the Sun," one to "The Philosophy of Style," one to "Railway Morals,"
one to "Prison Ethics," and one to "The Origin and Function of Music:"
which last is about equal in length to the original essay. Changes have
been made in many of the essays: in some cases by omitting passages and
in other cases by including new ones. Especially the essay on "The
Nebular Hypothesis" may be named as one which, though unchanged in
essentials, has been much altered by additions and subtractions, and by
bringing its statements up to date; so that it has been in large measure
re-cast. Beyond these respects in which this final edition differs from
preceding editions, it differs in having undergone a verification of its
references and quotations, as well as a second verbal revision.
Naturally the fusion of three separate series of essays into one series,
has made needful a general re-arrangement. Whether to follow the order
of time or the order of subjects was a question which presented itself;
and, as neither alternative promised satisfactory results, I eventually
decided to compromise--to follow partly the one order and partly the
other. The first volume is made up of essays in which the idea of
evolution, general or special, is dominant. In the second volume essays
dealing with philosophical questions, with abstract and concrete
science, and with aesthetics, are brought together; but though all of
them are tacitly evolutionary, their evolutionism is an incidental
rather than a necessary trait. The ethical, political, and social essays
composing the third volume, though mostly written from the evolution
point of view, have for their more immediate purposes the enunciation of
doctrines which are directly practical in their bearings. Meanwhile,
within each volume the essays are arranged in order of time: not indeed
strictly, but so far as consists with the requirements of sub-classing.
Beyond the essays included in these three volumes, there remain several
which I have not thought it well to include--in some cases because of
their personal character, in other cases because of their relative
unimportance, and in yet other cases because they would scarcely be
understood in the absence of the arguments to which they are replies.
But for the convenience of any who may wish to find them, I append their
titles and places of publication. These are as follows:--"Retrogressive
Religion," in _The Nineteenth Century_ for July 1884; "Last Words about
Agnosticism and the Religion of Humanity," in _The Nineteenth Century_
for November 1884; a note to Prof. Cairns' Critique on the _Study of
Sociology_, in _The Fortnightly Review_, for February 1875; "A Short
Rejoinder" [to Mr. J. F. McLennan], _Fortnightly Review_, June 1877;
"Prof. Goldwin Smith as a Critic," _Contemporary Review_, March 1882; "A
Rejoinder to M. de Laveleye," _Contemporary Review_, April 1885.
LONDON, _December, 1890_.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
PAGE
THE DEVELOPMENT HYPOTHESIS 1
PROGRESS: ITS LAW AND CAUSE 8
TRANSCENDENTAL PHYSIOLOGY 63
THE NEBULAR HYPOTHESIS 108
ILLOGICAL GEOLOGY 192
BAIN ON THE EMOTIONS AND THE WILL 241
THE SOCIAL ORGANISM | 2,670.754327 |
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Transcriber's note:
This book was published in two volumes, of which this is the second.
The first volume was released as Project Gutenberg ebook #45394,
available at http:www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45394. Italic text
has been marked with _underscores_. Please see the end of this
Project for further notes.
THE LIFE
OF
SIR HUMPHRY D | 2,670.839457 |
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Transcriber's notes:
Captions have been added to the illustration markers
for the convenience of some readers. These have been
indicated by an asterisk.
A list of some of the author's other books has been moved from the front
papers to the end of the book.
[Illustration: Front cover]*
[Illustration: Title page:
RAGGED DICK SERIES BY HORATIO ALGER JR.
BEN THE LUGGAGE BOY]
BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY;
OR,
AMONG THE WHARVES.
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.,
AUTHOR OF "RAGGED DICK," "FAME AND FORTUNE," "MARK, THE MATCH
BOY," "ROUGH AND READY," "CAMPAIGN SERIES,"
"LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES," ETC.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.,
PHILADELPHIA,
CHICAGO, TORONTO.
TO
ANNIE,
THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED
In Tender Remembrance,
BY HER
_AFFECTIONATE BROTHER_
PREFACE.
In presenting "Ben, the Luggage Boy," to the public, as the fifth of the
Ragged Dick Series, the author desires to say that it is in all
essential points a true history; the particulars of the story having
been communicated to him, by Ben himself, nearly two years since. In
particular, the circumstances attending the boy's running away from
home, and adopting the life of a street boy, are in strict accordance
with Ben's own statement. While some of the street incidents are
borrowed from the writer's own observation, those who are really
familiar with the different phases which street life assumes in New
York, will readily recognize their fidelity. The chapter entitled "The
Room under the Wharf" will recall to many readers of the daily | 2,670.872658 |
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