TIMESTAMP
stringlengths 27
27
| ContextTokens
int64 3
7.44k
| GeneratedTokens
int64 6
1.9k
| text
stringlengths 9
41.5k
| time_delta
float64 0
3.44k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|
2023-11-16 18:22:06.5286960 | 1,695 | 48 | AMERICA, VOL. II (OF 8)***
E-text prepared by Giovanni Fini, Dianna Adair, Bryan Ness, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file
which includes the more than 300 original illustrations.
See 50883-h.htm or 50883-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50883/50883-h/50883-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50883/50883-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/narrcrithistamerica02winsrich
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: XV^e). Multiple superscripted characters are
enclosed by curly brackets (example: novam^{te}).
Spanish Explorations and Settlements in America
from the Fifteenth to the Seventeenth Century
[Illustration]
NARRATIVE AND CRITICAL HISTORY OF AMERICA
Edited by
JUSTIN WINSOR
Librarian of Harvard University
Corresponding Secretary Massachusetts Historical Society
VOL. II
Boston and New York
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
Copyright, 1886,
by Houghton, Mifflin and Company.
All rights reserved.
CONTENTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
[_The Spanish arms on the title are copied from the titlepage of
Herrera._]
INTRODUCTION. PAGE
DOCUMENTARY SOURCES OF EARLY SPANISH-AMERICAN HISTORY. _The
Editor_ i
CHAPTER I.
COLUMBUS AND HIS DISCOVERIES. _The Editor_ 1
ILLUSTRATIONS: Columbus’ Armor, 4; Parting of Columbus with
Ferdinand and Isabella, 6; Early Vessels, 7; Building a Ship,
8; Course of Columbus on his First Voyage, 9; Ship of Columbus’
Time, 10; Native House in Hispaniola, 11; Curing the Sick,
11; The Triumph of Columbus, 12; Columbus at Hispaniola, 13;
Handwriting of Columbus, 14; Arms of Columbus, 15; Fruit-trees
of Hispaniola, 16; Indian Club, 16; Indian Canoe, 17, 17;
Columbus at Isla Margarita, 18; Early Americans, 19; House in
which Columbus died, 23.
CRITICAL ESSAY 24
ILLUSTRATIONS: Ptolemy, 26, 27; Albertus Magnus, 29; Marco
Polo, 30; Columbus’ Annotations on the _Imago Mundi_, 31; on
Æneas Sylvius, 32; the Atlantic of the Ancients, 37; Prince
Henry the Navigator, 39; his Autograph, 39; Sketch-map of
Portuguese Discoveries in Africa, 40; Portuguese Map of the Old
World (1490), 41; Vasco da Gama and his Autograph, 42; Line of
Demarcation (Map of 1527), 43; Pope Alexander VI., 44.
NOTES 46
A, First Voyage, 46; B, Landfall, 52; C, Effect of the
Discovery in Europe, 56; D, Second Voyage, 57; E, Third Voyage,
58; F, Fourth Voyage, 59; G, Lives and Notices of Columbus,
62; H, Portraits of Columbus, 69; I, Burial and Remains of
Columbus, 78; J, Birth of Columbus, and Accounts of his Family,
83.
ILLUSTRATIONS: Fac-simile of first page of Columbus’ Letter,
No. III., 49; Cut on reverse of Title of Nos. V. and VI., 50;
Title of No. VI., 51; The Landing of Columbus, 52; Cut in
German Translation of the First Letter, 53; Text of the German
Translation, 54; the Bahama Group (map), 55; Sign-manuals
of Ferdinand and Isabella, 56; Sebastian Brant, 59; Map of
Columbus’ Four Voyages, 60, 61; Fac-simile of page in the
Glustiniani Psalter, 63; Ferdinand Columbus’ Register of Books,
65; Autograph of Humboldt, 68; Paulus Jovius, 70. Portraits
of Columbus,—after Giovio, 71; the Yanez Portrait, 72; after
Capriolo, 73; the Florence picture, 74; the De Bry Picture,
75; the Jomard Likeness, 76; the Havana Medallion, 77; Picture
at Madrid, 78; after Montanus, 79; Coffer and Bones found in
Santo Domingo, 80; Inscriptions on and in the Coffer, 81, 82;
Portrait and Sign-manual of Ferdinand of Spain, 85; Bartholomew
Columbus, 86.
POSTSCRIPT 88
THE EARLIEST MAPS OF THE SPANISH AND PORTUGUESE DISCOVERIES.
_The Editor_ 93
ILLUSTRATIONS: Early Compass, 94; Astrolabe of Regiomontanus,
96; Later Astrolabe, 97; Jackstaff, 99; Backstaff, 100;
Pirckeymerus, 102; Toscanelli’s Map, 103; Martin Behaim, 104;
Extract from Behaim’s Globe, 105; Part of La Cosa’s Map,
106; of the Cantino Map, 108; Peter Martyr Map (1511), 110;
Ptolemy Map (1513), 111; Admiral’s Map (1513), 112; Reisch’s
Map (1515), 114; Ruysch’s Map (1508), 115; Stobnicza’s Map
(1512), 116; Schöner, 117; Schöner’s Globe (1515), 118; (1520),
119; Tross Gores (1514-1519), 120; Münster’s Map (1532), 121;
Sylvanus’ Map (1511), 122; Lenox Globe, 123; Da Vinci Sketch of
Globe, 124, 125, 126; Carta Marina of Frisius (1525), 127;
Coppo’s Map (1528), 127.
CHAPTER II.
AMERIGO VESPUCCI. _Sydney Howard Gay_ 129
ILLUSTRATIONS: Fac-simile of a Letter of Vespucci, 130;
Autograph of Amerrigo Vespuche, 138; Portraits of Vespucci,
139, 140, 141.
NOTES ON VESPUCIUS AND THE NAMING OF AMERICA. _The Editor_ 153
ILLUSTRATIONS: Title of the Jehan Lambert edition of the
_Mundus Novus_, 157; | 302.548736 |
2023-11-16 18:22:06.6887880 | 211 | 6 |
Produced by Col Choat. HTML version by Al Haines.
Laperouse
by
Ernest Scott
DEDICATION
To my friend T.B.E.
CONTENTS
I. FAMILY, YOUTH and INFLUENCES.
II. THE FRENCH NAVAL OFFICER.
III. THE LOVE STORY OF LAPEROUSE.
IV. THE VOYAGE OF EXPLORATION.
V. THE EARLY PART OF THE VOYAGE.
VI. LAPEROUSE IN THE PACIFIC.
VII. AT BOTANY BAY.
VIII. THE MYSTERY, AND THE SECRET OF THE SEA.
IX. CAPTAIN DILLON'S DISCOVERY.
X. THE FAME OF LAPEROUSE.
FOREWORD
All Sydney people, and most of those who have visited the city, have
seen the tall monument to Laperouse overlooking Botany Bay. Many have
perhaps read a | 302.708828 |
2023-11-16 18:22:06.8605120 | 1,500 | 60 |
An
Examination of the Testimony
of the
Four Evangelists,
by the Rules of Evidence Administered
in
Courts of Justice.
With an Account of the Trial of Jesus.
By Simon Greenleaf, LL.D.
Dane Professor of Law in Harvard University
Second Edition
Revised and Corrected by the Author.
London:
A. Maxwell & Son, 32, Bell Yard, Lincoln's Inn;
W. Smith, 113, Fleet Street;
Hodges & Smith, Dublin; T. & J. Clark, Edinburgh.
1847
CONTENTS
Contents And Synopsis Of The Harmony.
Advertisement To This Edition.
An Examination, Etc.
Harmony Of The Gospels.
Part I. Events Connected With The Birth And Childhood Of Jesus.
Part II. Announcement And Introduction Of Our Lord's Public Ministry.
Part III. Our Lord's First Passover, And The Subsequent Transactions
Until The Second.
Part IV. Our Lord's Second Passover, And The Subsequent Transactions
Until The Third.
Part V. From Our Lord's Third Passover, Until His Final Departure From
Galilee, At The Festival Of Tabernacles.
Part VI. The Festival Of Tabernacles And The Subsequent Transactions,
Until Our Lord's Arrival At Bethany, Six Days Before The Fourth
Passover.
Part VII. Our Lord's Public Entry Into Jerusalem, And The Subsequent
Transactions Before The Fourth Passover.
Part VIII. The Fourth Passover; Our Lord's Passion; And The
Accompanying Events Until The End Of The Jewish Sabbath.
Part IX. Our Lord's Resurrection, His Subsequent Appearances, And His
Ascension.
Note On The Resurrection.
An Account Of The Trial Of Jesus.
The Jewish Account Of The Trial Of Jesus. By Mr. Salvador.
The Trial Of Jesus Before Caiaphas And Pilate.
Preface.
Analysis Of The Chapter Of Mr. Salvador, Entitled "The Administration
Of Justice" Among The Jews.
Trial Of Jesus.
Footnotes
ADVERTISEMENT.
In introducing to the notice of the British Public, Mr. Professor
GREENLEAF'S Harmony of the Four Gospels, the publishers have much
satisfaction in announcing, that it has become a Standard Work in the
United States of America: and its intrinsic value has induced them to make
it known, in the hope of promoting its circulation, in this country.
The spirit of infidelity is far more restless and active on the other side
of the Atlantic, than, happily, it has been in our highly-favoured land:
and, in consequence, it has called forth some of the most able and
powerful minds to correct and subdue it. Among these advocates of Divine
Revelation, the profound lawyer, Professor Greenleaf, holds a most
honourable and distinguished place; and his work may justly be regarded as
combining sound and practical knowledge with well-directed zeal and piety.
Its character has been very fairly appreciated in two leading North
American journals, from which the following extracts are made, as
indicative of its contents, and also of the high estimation in which its
learned author is deservedly held in his own country.
EXTRACT OF A NOTICE OF PROFESSOR GREENLEAF ON THE FOUR GOSPELS,
OCTOBER 24, 1846, IN "THE NEW YORK OBSERVER."
The Author is a lawyer, very learned in his profession, acute,
critical and used to raising and meeting practical doubts. Author
of a treatise on the law of evidence, which has already become a
classic in the hands of the profession which he adorns, and
teaches in one of the Law Seminaries which do honour to our
country in the eyes of Europe, he brings rare qualifications for
the task he assumes. That he should, with the understanding and
from the heart, accept the Gospel as the truth, avow it as his
Hope, and seek to discharge a duty to his fellow-men by laying
before them the grounds on which he founds this acceptance and
this hope, are cheering circumstances to the Christian, and
present strong appeals to the indifferent.
To his profession, to the lawyers of the country, however, this
work makes a strong appeal. They are a very secular profession.
Their business is almost wholly conversant with material
interests. Their time is absorbed in controversies, of passion, or
of interest. Acute, critical, and disputatious, they apparently
present a field unpropitious for the acceptance of a religion,
spiritual, disinterested, and insisting on perfect holiness.
Still, they necessarily need to know and must enforce the rules of
finding truth and justice; the principles for ascertaining truth
and dispensing justice are the great subjects of all their
discussions, so far as they are discussions of any general
principle. From this cause it is, that this profession has
numbered among its members, in every age, Christians of great
eminence, and in our own day and country, we cannot turn to the
eminent men of this profession in any large community, without the
satisfaction of finding our Faith embraced by those whose habits
of practical as well as speculative investigation render them
evidently the best able to appreciate its claims and to detect any
imperfections in its proof.
So we trust it always may be; and we are assured that the best
models of the mode of investigating matters of legal controversy
as the proof of facts, are writings on the evidences. Paley's
treatise and that of Chalmers, on the oral testimony in favour of
Christ's mission, Paley's examination of the writings of the
apostle Paul, are, we are assured, the best models extant for
forming the habit of examining oral and documentary evidence.
These are subjects on which it is of vital importance, in a
secular view, that a lawyer's habits should be right: in a
spiritual view the importance is unspeakable. Mr. Greenleaf has
doubtless felt this truth, and has also felt that his position
would give to his labours some authority with his brethren and
with the public. He has given himself honourably to the labour,
and spread its results before the world.
It is long since Infidelity has found its advocates among the
truly learned. Among the guesses and speculations of a small
portion of unsanctified medical men, she still finds now and then
a champion. Historians and philosophers have long since discussed
her pretensions. And now from the Jurists and Lawyers, the
practical masters of this kind of investigation, works are
appearing, whereby not only an earnest reception of the Gospel is
manifested, but the mode and means of action and of credit by
which all | 302.880552 |
2023-11-16 18:22:06.9578530 | 1,779 | 16 |
Produced by Louise Hope, David Edwards and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration descriptions in {braces} were added by the transcriber
to supplement the bare page references.]
[Illustration: Page 5.
{Husband and wife in bed looking at white mouse}]
_NEW JUVENILE LIBRARY._
The
STORY
of the
WHITE MOUSE.
Embellished With
_Four Elegant Copperplates._
A New and Correct Edition.
LONDON:
Printed for the Booksellers.
1816.
The
STORY
of the
WHITE MOUSE.
In the kingdom of Bonbobbin, which, by the Chinese annals, appears
to have flourished twenty thousand years ago, there reigned a prince,
endowed with every accomplishment which generally distinguishes the sons
of kings. His beauty was brighter than the sun. The sun, to which he was
nearly related, would sometimes stop his course, in order to look down
and admire him.
His mind was not less perfect than his body; he knew all things without
having ever read; philosophers, poets, and historians, submitted their
works to his decision; and so penetrating was he, that he could tell the
merit of a book by looking on the cover. He made epic poems, tragedies,
and pastorals, with surprising facility; song, epigram, or rebus,
was all one to him; though, it is observed, he could never finish an
acrostick. In short, the fairy who presided at his birth had endowed him
with almost every perfection; or, what was just the same, his subjects
were ready to acknowledge he possessed them all; and, for his own
part, he knew nothing to the contrary. A prince so accomplished,
received a name suitable to his merit; and he was called
_Bonbenin-bonbobbin-bonbobbinet_, which signifies Enlightener
of the Sun.
As he was very powerful, and yet unmarried, all the neighbouring kings
earnestly sought his alliance. Each sent his daughter, dressed out in
the most magnificent manner, and with the most sumptuous retinue
imaginable, in order to allure the prince; so that, at one time, there
were seen at his court, not less than seven hundred foreign princesses,
of exquisite sentiment and beauty, each alone sufficient to make seven
hundred ordinary men happy.
Distracted in such a variety, the generous Bonbenin, had he not been
obliged by the laws of the empire to make choice of one, would very
willingly have married them all, for none understood gallantry better.
He spent numberless hours of solicitude, in endeavouring to determine
whom he should choose. One lady was possessed of every perfection, but
he disliked her eye-brows; another was brighter than the morning-star,
but he disapproved her fong-whang; a third did not lay enough of white
on her cheek; and a fourth did not sufficiently blacken her nails. At
last, after numberless disappointments on the one side and the other, he
made choice of the incomparable Nanhoa, queen of the Scarlet Dragons.
The preparations for the royal nuptials, or the envy of the disappointed
ladies, needs no description; both the one and the other were as great
as they could be. The beautiful princess was conducted, amidst admiring
multitudes, to the royal couch, where, after being divested of every
encumbering ornament, he came more chearful than the morning; and
printing on her lips a burning kiss, the attendants took this as a
proper signal to withdraw.
Perhaps I ought to have mentioned in the beginning, that, among several
other qualifications, the prince was fond of collecting and breeding
mice, which being an harmless pastime, none of his counsellors thought
proper to dissuade him from; he therefore kept a great variety of
these pretty little animals in the most beautiful cages, enriched with
diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls, and other precious stones. Thus he
innocently spent four hours each day in contemplating their innocent
little pastimes.
But, to proceed, the prince and princess now retired to repose; and
though night and secrecy had drawn the curtain, yet delicacy retarded
those enjoyments which passion presented to their view. The prince
happening to look towards the outside of the bed, perceived one of the
most beautiful animals in the world, a white mouse with green eyes,
playing about the floor, and performing an hundred pretty tricks. He was
already master of blue mice, red mice, and even white mice with yellow
eyes; but a white mouse with green eyes, was what he long endeavoured
to possess: whereupon, leaping from bed, with the utmost impatience and
agility, the youthful prince attempted to seize the little charmer; but
it was fled in a moment; for, alas! the mouse was sent by a discontented
princess, and was itself a fairy.
It is impossible to describe the agony of the prince upon this occasion.
He sought round and round every part of the room, even the bed where the
princess lay was not exempt from the inquiry; he turned the princess on
one side and the other, stripped her quite naked, but no mouse was to be
found; the princess herself was kind enough to assist, but still to no
purpose.
"Alas!" cried the young prince in an agony, "how unhappy am I to be thus
disappointed! never sure was so beautiful an animal seen; I would give
half my kingdom and my princess to him that would find it." The
princess, though not much pleased with the latter part of his offer,
endeavoured to comfort him as well as she could; she let him know he
had an hundred mice already, which ought to be at least sufficient to
satisfy any philosopher like him. Though none of them had green eyes,
yet he should learn to thank Heaven that they had eyes. She told him
(for she was a profound moralist,) that incurable evils must be borne,
and that useless lamentations were vain, and that man was born to
misfortunes; she even intreated him to return to bed, and she would
endeavour to lull him on her bosom to repose; but still the prince
continued inconsolable; and, regarding her with a stern air, for which
his family was remarkable, he vowed never to sleep in a royal palace,
or indulge himself in the innocent pleasures of matrimony, till he had
found the white mouse with green eyes.
When morning came, he published an edict, offering half his kingdom, and
his princess, to that person who should catch and bring him the white
mouse with green eyes.
The edict was scarce published, when all the traps in the kingdom were
baited with cheese; numberless mice were taken and destroyed, but still
the much-wished-for mouse was not among the number. The privy council
were assembled more than once to give their advice; but all their
deliberations came to nothing, even though there were two complete
vermin-killers, and three professed rat-catchers, of the number.
Frequent addresses, as is usual on extraordinary occasions, were sent
from all parts of the empire; but, though these promised well, though in
them he received an assurance that his faithful subjects would assist in
his search with their lives and fortunes, yet, with all their loyalty,
they failed, when the time came that the mouse was to be caught.
The prince, therefore, was resolved to go himself in search, determined
never to lie two nights in one place, till he had found what he sought
for. Thus, quitting his palace without attendants, he set out upon his
journey, and travelled through many a desert, and crossed many a river,
high over hills, and down along vales, still restless, still inquiring
wherever he came, but no white mouse was to be found.
[Illustration: Page 10.
{Man kneeling before young witch}]
| 302.977893 |
2023-11-16 18:22:07.3667220 | 396 | 18 |
Produced by Chuck Greif, MFR and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
CONSTABLE’S RUSSIAN LIBRARY UNDER THE
EDITORSHIP OF STEPHEN GRAHAM
THE REPUBLIC OF
THE SOUTHERN CROSS
CONSTABLE’S RUSSIAN LIBRARY
_Edited with Introductions_
By STEPHEN GRAHAM
THE SWEET SCENTED NAME
By Fedor Sologub
WAR AND CHRISTIANITY
THREE CONVERSATIONS
By Vladimir Solovyof
THE WAY OF THE CROSS
By V. Doroshevitch
A SLAV SOUL AND OTHER STORIES
By Alexander Kuprin
THE EMIGRANT
By L. F. Dostoieffshaya
THE JUSTIFICATION OF THE GOOD
By Vladimir Solovyof
THE REPUBLIC OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS
AND OTHER STORIES
By Valery Brussof
THE REPUBLIC OF
THE SOUTHERN CROSS
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
VALERY BRUSSOF
WITH AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY
STEPHEN GRAHAM
LONDON
CONSTABLE AND COMPANY LTD.
1918
INTRODUCTION
VALERY BRUSSOF
Valery Brussof is a celebrated Russian writer of the present time. He is
in the front rank of contemporary literature, and is undoubtedly very
gifted, being considered by some to be the greatest of living Russian
poets, and being in addition a critic of penetration and judgment, a
writer of short tales, and the author of one long historical novel from
the | 303.386762 |
2023-11-16 18:22:07.6274910 | 888 | 9 |
Produced by Bryan Ness, Markus Brenner 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.)
RULES
AND
REGULATIONS
OF THE
INSANE ASYLUM OF CALIFORNIA.
PRESCRIBED BY THE RESIDENT PHYSICIAN,
AUGUST 1, 1861.
STOCKTON:
ARMOR & CLAYES, PRINTERS.
1861.
RESIDENT PHYSICIAN.
The Resident Physician, who shall also be the Superintendent, shall be
the chief executive officer of the Asylum; he shall have the general
superintendence of the buildings, grounds, and property, subject to the
laws and regulations of the Trustees; he shall have the sole control and
management of the patients; he shall ascertain their condition, daily
prescribe their treatment, and adopt such sanitary measures as he may
think best; he shall appoint, with the approval of the Trustees, so many
attendants and assistants as he may think proper and necessary for the
economical and efficient performance of the business of the Asylum,
prescribe their several duties and places;--he shall, also, from time to
time, give such orders and instructions as he may judge best calculated
to insure good conduct, fidelity and economy in every department of
labor and expense; and he is authorized and enjoined to maintain
salutary discipline among all who are employed by the Institution, and
uniform obedience to all the rules and regulations of the
Asylum.--[_State Law of 1858._
ASSISTANT PHYSICIAN.
FIRST.
"The Assistant Physician shall perform" the "duties, and be subject to
the responsibility of the Superintendent, in his sickness or absence,
and" he "may call to his aid, for the time being, such medical
assistance, as he may deem necessary"--"and perform such other duties as
may be directed by the Superintendent and prescribed by the
By-Laws."--[_State Law of 1858._
SECOND.
He shall prepare and superintend the administration of medicines, visit
the wards frequently, and carefully note the condition and progress of
individual cases; see that the directions of the Superintendent are
faithfully executed, and promptly report any case of neglect or abuse
that may come under his observation, or of which he may be informed.
THIRD.
He shall assist in devising employment and recreation for the patients,
and endeavor in every way to promote their comfort and recovery; keep
such records of cases as the Superintendent may direct, assist in
preparing statistics, and conducting correspondence, and he shall
perform such other duties of his office as properly belong thereto.
GENERAL RULES.
1. Persons employed in the service of the Asylum will learn that
character, proper deportment, and faithfulness to duty, will alone keep
them in the situations in which they are placed; and they should
consider well, before entering upon service, whether they are prepared
to devote all their time, talents, and efforts, in the discharge of the
duties assigned to them. The Institution will deal in strict good faith
with its employees, and it will expect, in return, prompt, faithful, and
self-denying service.
2. No one can justly take offense when respectfully informed by the
Superintendent, that his or her temperament is better adapted to some
other employment; and those receiving such information should regard it
as kindly given, that they may have opportunity to avoid the
unpleasantness of being discharged.
3. Those employed at the Asylum be expected to hold themselves in
readiness for duty when directed by its officers; and the neglect of any
labor, or duty, on the ground that laboring hours are over, or to
hesitate, after proper direction, on such pretexts, will be regarded as
evidence against the fitness of the employee for the place he or she may
hold.
4. It must be remembered by all the employees, that their duties are
peculiar and confidential, and that there is an obvious impropriety in
| 303.647531 |
2023-11-16 18:22:07.7255130 | 2,103 | 7 |
Produced by Julia Miller and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A list of corrections
is found at the end of the text. Inconsistencies in spelling and
hyphenation have been maintained. A list of inconsistently spelled
and hyphenated words is found at the end of the text. Oe ligatures have
been expanded.
Text surrounded with ~ was printed in Greek in the original book. Text
surrounded with = was originally printed in a black-letter typeface.
The following codes are used for characters that are not found in the
character set used for this version of the book.
*.* Asterism
[Rx] Rx symbol
# Pilcrow
_Harper's Stereotype Edition._
THE
COOK'S ORACLE;
AND
HOUSEKEEPER'S MANUAL.
CONTAINING
=Receipts for Cookery,=
AND
DIRECTIONS FOR CARVING.
ALSO,
THE ART OF COMPOSING THE MOST SIMPLE AND MOST HIGHLY FINISHED
BROTHS, GRAVIES, SOUPS, SAUCES, STORE SAUCES, AND FLAVOURING
ESSENCES; PASTRY, PRESERVES, PUDDINGS, PICKLES, &c.
WITH
A COMPLETE SYSTEM OF COOKERY
FOR CATHOLIC FAMILIES.
THE QUANTITY OF EACH ARTICLE IS ACCURATELY STATED BY WEIGHT AND
MEASURE; BEING THE RESULT OF ACTUAL EXPERIMENTS
INSTITUTED IN THE KITCHEN OF
WILLIAM KITCHINER, M.D.
ADAPTED TO THE AMERICAN PUBLIC
BY A MEDICAL GENTLEMAN.
FROM THE LAST LONDON EDITION.
=New-York:=
_PRINTED BY J. & J. HARPER, 82 CLIFF-ST._
SOLD BY COLLINS AND HANNAY, COLLINS AND CO., G. AND C. AND H. CARVILL,
WILLIAM B. GILLEY, E. BLISS, O. A. ROORBACH, WHITE, GALLAHER, AND WHITE,
C. S. FRANCIS, WILLIAM BURGESS, JR., AND N. B. HOLMES;--PHILADELPHIA,
E. L. CAREY AND A. HART, AND JOHN GRIGG;--ALBANY, O. STEELE, AND W. C.
LITTLE.
1830.
SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW-YORK, _ss._
BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the 20th day of November, A. D. 1829, in the
fifty-fourth year of the independence of the United States of America,
J. & J. HARPER, of the said district, have deposited in this office the
title of a book, the right whereof they claim as Proprietors, in the
words following, to wit:
"The Cook's Oracle, and Housekeeper's Manual, Containing Receipts for
Cookery, and Directions for Carving; also the Art of Composing the most
simple and most highly finished Broths, Gravies, Soups, Sauces, Store
Sauces, and Flavouring Essences; Pastry, Preserves, Puddings, Pickles,
&c. With a Complete System of Cookery for Catholic Families. The
Quantity of each Article is accurately stated by Weight and Measure;
being the Result of Actual Experiments instituted in the Kitchen of
William Kitchiner, M.D. Adapted to the American Public by a Medical
Gentleman."
In conformity to the Act of Congress of the United States, entitled "An
Act for the encouragement of Learning, by securing the copies of maps,
charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during
the time therein mentioned." And also to an Act, entitled "An Act,
supplementary to an Act, entitled an Act for the encouragement of
Learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the
authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein
mentioned, and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing,
engraving, and etching historical and other prints."
FREDERICK I. BETTS,
_Clerk of the Southern District of New-York._
ADVERTISEMENT.
The publishers have now the pleasure of presenting to the American
public, Dr. Kitchiner's justly celebrated work, entitled "The Cook's
Oracle, and Housekeeper's Manual," with numerous and valuable
improvements, by a medical gentleman of this city.
The work contains a store of valuable information, which, it is
confidently believed, will not only prove highly advantageous to young
and inexperienced housekeepers, but also to more experienced matrons--to
all, indeed, who are desirous of enjoying, in the highest degree, the
good things which Nature has so abundantly bestowed upon us.
The "Cook's Oracle" has been adjudged, by connoisseurs in this country
and in Great Britain, to contain the best possible instructions on the
subject of serving up, beautifully and economically, the productions of
the water, land, and air, in such a manner as to render them most
pleasant to the eye, and agreeable to the palate.
Numerous notices, in commendation of the work, might be selected from
respectable European journals; but the mere fact, that within twelve
years, seventy thousand copies of it have been purchased by the English
public, is sufficient evidence of its reception and merits.
NEW-YORK, _December, 1829_.
PREFACE
TO
THE SEVENTH EDITION.
The whole of this Work has, a _seventh time_, been carefully revised;
but this last time I have found little to add, and little to alter.
I have bestowed as much attention on each of the 500 receipts as if the
whole merit of the book was to be estimated entirely by the accuracy of
my detail of one particular process.
The increasing demand for "_The Cook's Oracle_," amounting in 1824 to
the extraordinary number of upwards of 45,000, has been stimulus enough
to excite any man to submit to the most unremitting study; and the
Editor has felt it as an imperative duty to exert himself to the utmost
to render "_The Cook's Oracle_" a faithful narrative of all that is
known of the various subjects it professes to treat.
PREFACE.
Among the multitudes of causes which concur to impair health and produce
disease, the most general is the improper quality of our food: this most
frequently arises from the injudicious manner in which it is prepared:
yet strange, "passing strange," this is the only one for which a remedy
has not been sought; few persons bestow half so much attention on the
preservation of their own health, as they daily devote to that of their
dogs and horses.
The observations of the Guardians of Health respecting regimen, &c. have
formed no more than a catalogue of those articles of food, which they
have considered most proper for particular constitutions.
Some medical writers have, "in good set terms," warned us against the
pernicious effects of improper diet; but not one has been so kind as to
take the trouble to direct us how to prepare food properly; excepting
only the contributions of Count Rumford, who says, in pages 16 and 70 of
his tenth Essay, "however low and vulgar this subject has hitherto
generally been thought to be--_in what Art or Science could improvements
be made that would more powerfully contribute to increase the comforts
and enjoyments of mankind? Would to God! that I could fix the public
attention to this subject!_"
The Editor has endeavoured to write the following receipts so plainly,
that they may be as easily understood in the kitchen as he trusts they
will be relished in the dining-room; and has been more ambitious to
present to the Public a Work which will contribute to the daily comfort
of all, than to seem elaborately scientific.
The practical part of the philosophy of the kitchen is certainly not the
most agreeable; gastrology has to contend with its full share of those
great impediments to all great improvements in scientific pursuits; the
prejudices of the ignorant, and the misrepresentations of the envious.
The sagacity to comprehend and estimate the importance of any
uncontemplated improvement, is confined to the very few on whom nature
has bestowed a sufficient degree of perfection of the sense which is to
measure it;--the candour to make a fair report of it, is still more
uncommon; and the kindness to encourage it cannot often be expected from
those whose most vital interest it is to prevent the developement of
that by which their own importance, perhaps their only means of
existence, may be for ever eclipsed: so, as Pope says, how many are
"Condemn'd in business or in arts to drudge,
Without a rival, or without a judge:
All fear, none aid you, and few understand."
Improvements in _Agriculture_ and the _Breed of Cattle_ have been
encouraged by premiums. Those who have obtained them, have been hailed
as benefactors to society! but _the Art of_ making use of these means of
_ameliorating Life and supporting a healthful Existence_--COOKERY--has
been neglected!!
While the cultivators of the raw materials are | 303.745553 |
2023-11-16 18:22:07.7269210 | 7,436 | 17 |
Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Mary Meehan and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was made using scans of public domain works in
the International Children's Digital Library.)
THE STORY OF THE WHITE-ROCK COVE.
With Illustrations.
LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
1871.
[Illustration: WILLIE AND ALECK AT THE FOOT OF THE WHITE ROCK.]
CONTENTS
I. LONG AGO AT BRAYCOMBE
II. ALECK'S WELCOME
III. A WHOLE HOLIDAY
IV. THE RIDE TO STAVEMOOR
V. SHIP-BUILDING
VI. THE SCHOONER-YACHT
VII. THE MISSING SHIP
VIII. ANOTHER SEARCH
IX. SORROWFUL DAYS
X. SUNDAY EVENING
XI. THE WHITE-ROCK COVE AGAIN
THE STORY OF THE WHITE-ROCK COVE.
CHAPTER I.
LONG AGO AT BRAYCOMBE.
The Story of the White-Rock Cove--"_to be written down all from the very
beginning_"--is urgently required by certain youthful petitioners, whose
importunity is hard to resist; and the request is sealed by a rosy pair
of lips from the little face nestling at my side, in a manner that
admits of no denial.
* * * * *
"_From the beginning_;"--that very beginning carries me back to my own
old school-room, in the dear home at Braycombe, when, as a little boy
between nine and ten years old, I sat there doing my lessons.
It was on a Thursday morning, and, consequently, I was my mother's
pupil. For whereas my tutor, a certain Mr. Glengelly, from our nearest
town of Elmworth, used to come over on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays
for the carrying forward of my education; my studies were, on the other
days of the week, which I consequently liked much better, conducted
under the gentle superintendence of my mother.
On this particular morning I was working with energy at a rule-of-three
sum, being engaged in a sort of exciting race with the clock, of which
the result was still doubtful. When, however, the little click, which
meant, as I well knew, five minutes to twelve, sounded, I had attained
my quotient in plain figures; a few moments more, and the process of
_fours into, twelves into, twenties into_, had been accomplished;
and just as the clock struck twelve I was able to hand up my slate
triumphantly with my task completed.
"A drawn game, mamma!" I exclaimed, "between me and the clock;" and
then with eager eyes I followed hers, as she rapidly ran over the
figures which had cost me so much trouble, and from time to time
relieved my mind by a quiet commentary: "Quite right so far;--No
mistakes yet;--You have worked it out well."
Frisk, the intelligent, the affectionate, the well-beloved companion of
my sports, and the recipient of many of my confidences, woke up from his
nap, stretched himself, came and placed his fore-paws upon my knees,
and, looking up in my face, spoke as plainly as if endowed with the
capacity of expressing himself in human language, to this effect:--"I'm
very glad you have finished your lessons; and glad, too, that I was able
to sleep on a mat in the window, where the warm sunshine has made me
extremely comfortable. But now your lessons are done, I hope you'll lose
no time, but come out to play at once. I'm ready when you are."
And Frisk's tail wagged faster and faster when my mother's inspection of
my sum was concluded, so that I could not help thinking he must have
understood her when she said,--"There are no mistakes, Willie; you have
been a good, industrious little boy this morning; you may go out to play
with a light heart."
I did not need twice telling, but very soon put away all my books and
maps, and the slate, with its right side carefully turned down, that it
might not get rubbed, wiped the pens, placed my copy-book in the drawer,
and presented myself for that final kiss with which my mother was wont
to terminate our proceedings, and which was on this occasion accompanied
by the remonstrance that I was getting quite too big a boy for such
nonsense.
Then at a bound I disappeared through the window, which opened on the
lawn, and let off my pent-up steam in the circumnavigation of the
garden, with Frisk barking at my heels; clearing the geranium-bed with a
flying leap, and taking the low wire-fence by the shrubbery twice over,
to the humiliation of my canine companion, who had to dip under where I
went over.
The conclusion of these performances brought me once again in front of
the school-room window, where my mother stood beckoning to me. She had
my straw hat with its sailor's blue ribbons in one hand, and a slice of
seed-cake in the other.
"Here, Willie," she said, "put on your hat, for the sun is hot although
there is a fresh breeze; and--but perhaps I may have been mistaken--I
thought perhaps some people of my acquaintance were fond of seed-cake
for luncheon."
"No indeed, dear mamma," I made answer speedily, "you are not at all
mistaken: some people--that is, Frisk and I--do like it very much; don't
we Frisk, old fellow?"
"And now," continued my mother,--who must certainly have forgotten at
the moment her opinion expressed just five minutes before as to the
propriety of kisses, for, smoothing back my hair, she stooped down to
press her lips upon my forehead before putting my hat on,--"and now you
are to take your troublesome self off for a long hour, indeed, almost an
hour and a half: away with you to your play."
"May I take my troublesome self to old George's, mamma?" I petitioned.
"If you like," she answered; "only be careful in going down the
Zig-zag; I don't want to find you a little heap of broken bones at the
bottom of the cliff."
I confess myself to being entirely incapable of conveying on paper to my
young readers the charms, the manifold delights, of that Zig-zag walk,
which was our shortest way down to the lodge.
You started from the garden, then through the shrubbery, and from the
shrubbery by a little wire gate you entered the natural wood which
clothed the upper part of our hill-side. The path descended rapidly from
this point, being very steep in parts, and emerging every here and there
so as to command an uninterrupted view of the beautiful Braycombe Bay,
which on this bright summer morning was all dancing and sparkling in the
sunshine. Lower down, the wood gave place to rock and turf, until you
reached the top of the shingle which the path skirted for a little
distance; and, finally, crossing an undulating meadow, you gained the
lodge, the abode of my friend old George, mentioned above.
It was not its picturesque beauty alone which endeared the Zig-zag walk
to me, although, child that I was, I feel sure the loveliness of the
outer world had the effect, unconsciously to myself, of brightening my
little inner world; but over and above all this must be ranked my keen
enjoyment of a scramble, and of the sense of difficulty and danger
attendant upon certain steep parts of the descent. It was one of my
great amusements to be trusted occasionally to guide my parents'
visitors down by this path, for the sake of the view, whilst their
carriages would be sent the long way by the drive to meet them at the
lodge. There were precipitous places, where even grave and stately
grown-up people would give up walking and take to running; and then
again little perilous points, where ladies especially would utter faint
cries of fright, and would require gentle persuasion to induce them to
step down from stone to stone; whilst I, fearless from long practice,
would triumphantly perform the feat two or three times, to show that I
was not in the least afraid, devising, moreover, short cuts for myself
even steeper than those of the recognized path.
I question whether the birth-day which conferred on me the privilege of
going alone up and down the Zig-zag was the greatest boon to myself or
to my nurse; the exertion involved in scaling the hill-side being to the
full as wearisome to her as it was enchanting to myself. The
emancipation, however, came early in my career, since my friend, old
George, by my father's consent, assumed a sort of out-of-door charge of
me at a period when most little boys are exclusively under nursery
discipline. For my father reposed the utmost confidence in the old man's
principles, and did not hesitate to let me be for hours under his care,
saying, often in my hearing, that he would rather have me out on the
water learning from him how to manage the boats, or climbing the rocks
and exploring the caves under his safe guardianship, than learning from
a woman only how to keep _off_ the rocks and avoid tumbling into the
water. He was an old seaman, united by strong ties of friendship and
gratitude to our family. In earlier years he had served on board the
same ship in which my father had been a young midshipman; and on one
occasion, when my father fell overboard, at a time when the vessel was
at full speed, had thrown himself into the water, and held my father's
head up when he was too exhausted to swim, until the boat put out for
the rescue had time to come up and save both lives, which the delay had
placed in great peril. When, some years later, on my grandfather's
death, my father came to live at Braycombe, he insisted upon Groves, who
was just about to be pensioned off through some failure in health,
coming to settle with his wife at the lodge, promising him the charge of
our boats, so that he might have a taste of his old occupation. His
daughter-in-law, widow of his only son, who had been drowned, obtained
the situation of schoolmistress, and lived near to the old couple with
Ralph, _her_ only son, a lad some few years my senior, who was employed
about the place under his grandfather's supervision, and helped in
rowing when we went out upon the water.
A friendship firm and tender had grown up between myself and the old
seaman, I accepting him as a grown-up play-fellow, and revealing to him
in detail all the many plans continually suggesting themselves to my
fertile imagination, and finding in him an ever ready sympathy, and,
when possible, active co-operation in my schemes.
From which digression, explanatory of the relationship subsisting
between old George--as he had taught me from infancy to call him, _Mr.
Groves_, as he was more properly designated by the neighbourhood--and
myself, I must return to the bright June morning upon which, after my
usual fashion, I descended the Zig-zag, running, scrambling, sliding,
with Frisk scampering and capering at my side, making wild snaps at
pieces of cake which I broke off for him from time to time, and held up
as high as I could reach, that he might have to jump for them.
We were not long in gaining the lodge, which, by the carriage drive, was
nearly three-quarters of a mile from the house. I produced a series of
knocks upon the door, like those of a London postman, though, as old
George was wont to remark,--
"What's the use, Master Willie, of knocking like that; you never stop to
hear me say 'Come in,' but just burst open the door and drive in like a
gust of wind promiscuous." But, in self-defence, I must explain that my
defective manners in this particular were entirely due to my old friend
himself, who, from earliest infancy, had trained me in all manner of
impertinent familiarities. It was traditional that I cried to go to him
whilst I was still in arms; that I made attacks of an aggravated
character upon his brass buttons before I could walk alone; and I could
just remember experiments upon his white beard, as trying doubtless to
him as they were interesting to myself, conducted with philosophical
determination on my part, in order to ascertain whether it came off by
pulling or not! In all of which proceedings my friend greatly encouraged
me, so that the blame of my failure in the laws of etiquette lay at his
door.
Only Mrs. Groves was in the cottage when I rushed in eagerly upon the
morning in question. She was busy in culinary mysteries, but assured me
her master would be soon in, and, in the meantime, I was to make myself
at home; which I did at once.
"And your dear ma, how's she?" inquired the good lady presently,
settling a cover on a saucepan in a decisive manner, and sitting down
during a pause in her operations. "I saw her drive by yesterday; and
Susan told me she'd been at the school. A blessed time children have of
it these days, going to school; it's very different to what it was in my
time."
"Then you didn't go to school?" I asked, being privately of opinion that
she was rather fortunate as a child.
"Oh yes, sir, I went to school, but not like the schooling children has
now-a-days, with a high-born lady like your ma going herself to see
them;--our old dame, she teached us all she knew--to read, and mark, and
learn,--"
"And inwardly digest?" I suggested, as Mrs. Groves hesitated in her
enumeration of accomplishments.
But there was not time to satisfy me concerning this branch of her
education, for old George appearing at the moment, I flew to meet him,
and we strolled down to the water's edge together.
"I've been longing to see you," I exclaimed. "It's about Aleck, my
cousin Aleck, I wanted to tell you. He's coming, and uncle and aunt
Gordon, on Thursday week; that's only just a fortnight, you know."
Aleck was my only boy cousin, and ever since there had been a notion of
his coming to Braycombe, I had been thinking and dreaming of him
incessantly. My aunt Gordon had been in very delicate health, and the
doctors ordered foreign air and constant change for the summer months,
and a winter in some warm climate. There had been some hesitation as to
how my cousin, their only child, should be disposed of. He was not very
strong, and school life, it was feared, might be too great an ordeal for
another year; so my parents had written, offering that he should spend
that time at Braycombe, and share my tutor's instructions. The decisive
answer from my uncle had only just arrived, and I was in a tumult of joy
and excitement that it was in favour of my cousin's coming to stay with
us, and that the actual day of our visitors' arrival had been fixed.
George listened with every appearance of interest to my communication.
"I'm glad your cousin's coming, Master Willie, as you're pleased," he
said.
"But aren't you glad, too, for your own sake?" I asked. "It will be so
nice having him to play with us."
"Oh, I'll be pleased to see him, never fear for that," responded George.
"I knew his father when he was but a little fellow like yourself."
"Mamma calls me her _big_ boy," I threw in, disapprovingly. "But what do
you think Aleck will be like?"
"Well, sir, I should expect very much such another young craft as
yourself; or, now I come to think of it, perhaps a year older or so."
"Not a year," I replied; "ten months and a half. I asked mamma his
birth-day. Do you think he'll be as tall as me? because papa and mamma
say I'm tall for my age."
"His father stood six feet one the day he came of age. I daresay his son
will take after him," said George.
"And be as tall as that?" I inquired, feeling rather anxious, until
reassured, at the transformation of my cousin in prospect into a young
giant.
I suppose that few children had ever seen less of other children than I
had up to this time. There were but three gentlemen's houses in our
neighbourhood: the Rectory, where lived the elderly clergyman and his
wife, who had never had a family; the Elms, a country seat, where Sir
John and Lady Cosington and two grown-up daughters resided; and
Willowbank, another country place, occupied by a young married couple,
with one little baby. Elmworth, our nearest town, was seven miles off;
and this distance almost entirely precluded intercourse with any of the
families there.
In consequence of this, I had been completely without companions of my
own age up to this time. In books I had read much of children's
amusements with their companions; and although the perfect happiness of
my own home left nothing really to be wished for, if ever a wish _did_
occur to me for anything I had not, it was for a play-fellow and
companion somewhere about my own age; and now, when this wish of mine
was really on the eve of being realized, I was filled with vague dreams
and anticipations of all the delight which it was to bring to me. When
George and I had mutually agreed that my cousin Aleck--allowing for the
difference of age--might be reasonably expected to be somewhat taller
than myself, we sat down on the beach, and began to discuss certain
plans of mine for giving him a suitable welcome.
Dim ideas, the result of "Illustrated London News'" pictures, were
floating in my mind--bouquets, triumphal arches, addresses, and so
forth--even although I wound up by saying--
"Of course, not like that exactly; only something--something rather
grand."
[Illustration: OLD GEORGE AND WILLIE.]
Old George, however, kindly and wisely pulled my schemes down, and laid
them affectionately in the dust:--
"You see, Master Willie, anything written, even in your best hand,
wouldn't come up to what you will say in the first five minutes by word
of mouth; and then the school banners, though very suitable for a
feast--and I'm sure my Susan would be right pleased to look them up for
you--would be no ways suitable. '_A merry Christmas and happy New
Year_,' or, '_Braycombe Schools, founded 1830_,' would look odd-like
flying in the avenue at this time of year. And though I'd be glad to do
anything to give you pleasure, I'd rather be opening the gate to your
uncle and aunt and cousin, as they drive up, than firing off a gun,
which might disturb their nerves, not to say frighten the horses."
All of which was perfectly unanswerable. But as old George put on his
spectacles in conclusion, I knew he meant to consider the subject with
attention; and I therefore remained quietly at his side, sending flat
stones skimming along the water, or throwing in a stick for Frisk to
fetch out again, until, as I expected, he signified to me that he had
thought of what would do.
He said that the light arch which supported the central lamp over the
gate might be very easily decked with evergreens for the occasion, and
the word _welcome_, traced in flowers, put up so as to appear very
pretty with the green background; whilst the flag-staff at the top of
the hill, just by the shrubbery, should display all the flags that our
establishment could boast of.
Groves' scheme, though not quite so extensive as those which had floated
through my childish imagination, was sufficiently attractive to be very
welcome; and I eagerly insisted upon our immediately returning to the
lodge, where George took certain measurements of the arch which
impressed me wonderfully with a sense of his superiority, and wisdom.
By which time Mrs. Groves looked out to say that her husband's dinner
would be spoiled by waiting, or eaten by the dog, "which there was no
driving off." And I, thus reminded of the time, settled the difficulty
about Frisk by taking him up bodily in my arms, and, hurrying off,
reached home only just in time to get ready for dinner before the gong
sounded.
CHAPTER II.
ALECK'S WELCOME.
It is almost unnecessary to remark that the fortnight preceding my
cousin's arrival was one of the longest I had ever spent--even longer
than those preceding birth-days or Christmas. However, the long
looked-for Thursday came at last.
I pleaded hard for a whole holiday, but my mother would not be
persuaded; so I had to do my morning lessons as usual, and confessed,
after they were over, that the hours had passed much faster than I at
all expected.
In consideration of the travellers having, in all probability, had but
little time for refreshment, dinner was to be rather earlier than usual;
and Aleck and I were to have it, for once, with the elders of the
party. Luncheon was also early; and not having the time to go down to
the lodge before it, I went out into the garden with my mother to help
in gathering a nosegay for my aunt's room.
How fresh and beautiful everything looked that morning, as we stood
there amongst the flowers, my mother selecting the materials for the
nosegay, and I holding the basket, and handing her the scissors as she
wanted them, or executing at intervals little by-plays with Frisk. I
remember feeling a kind of intense thrill of happiness, which to this
day is vividly recalled by the scent of those particular roses and
geraniums; and also a sort of dim wonder about the unhappiness which I
had heard and read of as the fate of some--pondering in my own mind how
it felt to be so very unhappy, and whether people couldn't help it if
they would only go out into the fresh air and warm sunshine, and enjoy
themselves as I did. From which speculations I was recalled by my mother
saying,--
"I think we have enough flowers, Willie; perhaps just one creeper for
the outside of the vase. There--we shall do now."
Then we went in by the school-room window, and I fetched the large vase
from the east bed-room, and stood by my mother whilst tastefully and
daintily she arranged the flowers as I thought none but she could
arrange them. She had nearly completed her task when my father came into
the school-room.
"I am sending the carriage early, dear," he said to her; "for although I
think they cannot arrive until the 4.50 train, there is just the chance
of their catching the one before. Have you any messages for Rickson?"
"None, dear," answered my mother. "But you must stay for a moment and
look at my flowers. Are they not sweet and pretty?"
"Very sweet and very pretty," replied my father. But I thought he looked
at her more than at the flowers when he said so; and she laughed,
although, after all, there was nothing to laugh at.
"Willie and I have been gathering them," she said; "and now we are going
to put them in Bessie's room."
"I know who remembers everything that can give pleasure to others,"
observed my father, whose hand was on my shoulder by this time. "Willie,
I hope you will grow up like your mamma."
Not quite seeing the force of this observation, I replied that, being a
boy, I thought I had better grow up like him. And both my parents
laughed; but my mother said she quite agreed with me, it would be far
better.
Then we carried the vase up, and placed it on the table in the window of
the east bed-room; and my mother flitted about, putting little finishing
touches here and there to complete the arrangements for the comfort of
her visitors, whilst I received a commission to inspect portfolios,
envelope-cases, and ink-bottles, and to see that all were freshly
replenished.
These matters being finally disposed of, I persuaded my mother to ascend
to the more remote part of the house, where a room next to my own had,
at my earnest request, been prepared for my cousin, and in the
decoration of which I felt peculiar interest. There was a twin bedstead
to my own, and various other pieces of furniture corresponding;
moreover, in an impulse of generosity I had transferred certain of my
own possessions into Aleck's apartment, with a noble determination to be
extremely liberal.
My mother noticed these at once, but I was a little disappointed that
she did not commend my liberality.
"You see, mamma," I explained, "there's my own green boat with the
union-jack, and the bat I liked best before papa gave me my last new
one, and the dissected map of the queens of England."
"Yes, I see, Willie," replied my mother; proceeding in the meantime to
certain readjustments urgently called for, by the critical position of
the bat standing on the drawers against the wall, and the boat nearly
falling from the mantelpiece.
"There, my child," she said; "the bat will do better in the comer, and
the ship upon the drawers. And now the puzzle: why, Willie, this is the
very one of which I heard you say there were three pieces missing; and
then Mrs. Barbauld you think childish for yourself!"
My countenance fell, for I had been indulging in the cheap generosity of
giving away second-bests, and I could see my mother did not admire such
liberality. Indeed, after a moment's consideration, I was ashamed of it
myself, and hastened with alacrity to hide Mrs. Barbauld, and the Queens
of England, and one or two other trifles, in the obscurity of my own
room; whilst my mother decided upon the best position for a couple of
prettily-framed pictures which she had had brought up, and fastened an
illuminated text, similar to one in my own room, opposite the bed--"_The
things which are seen are temporal; the things which are unseen are
eternal_"--and placed a little statuette of a guardian angel, with the
scroll underneath, "_He shall give His angels charge over thee_," over
the bed-head.
"What a good thought, mamma," I said, when she had finished her
arrangements; "that looks exactly like mine."
"Just what I want it to look, Willie. You and Aleck are to be as like
brothers to each other as may be. You have never had brother or sister
of your own, Willie--not that you can remember [there _had_ been one
infant sister, whose death, when about a month old, had been my parents'
greatest sorrow]--but now that your cousin is likely to stay a long time
with us, I hope that you and he will be as much as possible like
brothers to each other."
Then my mother, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, drew me towards
her, and quietly talked to me about some of the new duties as well as
temptations which would come with new pleasures, bidding me remember
that I was to try never to think first of myself, but to be willing to
consider others before myself. We had been reading the 13th of First
Corinthians that morning together, and her observations seemed to me as
if drawn straight from that source; indeed, before long she reminded me
of it, bidding me remember it supplied the standard we ought to aim at,
and telling me that strength would be always given, _if I sought it_, to
help me to be what I wanted to be; it was only those who did not
heartily strive who got beaten in the conflict.
It is not to be supposed that this was all uttered in a set speech; I am
giving the substance only of a few minutes' quiet talk which we had up
there in the bed-room together that morning before luncheon, and which I
confess to having felt at the time rather superfluous, my delight in the
anticipation of my cousin's arrival convincing me that there would be no
fear of my finding anything but happiness in my intercourse with him.
My mother, on the contrary, as I afterwards had reason to know, was by
no means without anxiety. She knew that hitherto I had been completely
shielded from every possible trial. The darling of herself and my
father, and, as the only child, a favourite amongst the attached members
of our household, my wants had been all anticipated, and every pleasure
suited to my age had been planned for me so ingeniously, that I had
never had the chance of showing myself selfish or ill-tempered. She
feared that when for the first time I found myself not _first_
considered in all arrangements, I might fail in those particular points
of conduct in which she was most anxious I should triumph.
My mother's gentle admonitions, to which I at the time paid little heed,
were interrupted by the luncheon gong.
"When will the wonderful preparations at the gate be ready?" asked my
father whilst we were at table.
"Oh, there's nothing left to do but to fasten up the flowers. Old George
says it won't take an hour," I replied.
"Then if I come down at three o'clock the show will be ready?"
"Quite ready," I said. "And mamma will come too?"
"Of course mamma's coming too; unless, indeed, you mean to charge so
high a price for the exhibition," said my father comically, "that I
cannot afford it. But even then," he added, "mamma shall see it; I'll
give it up for her."
I was off from the luncheon-table as soon as possible, but found nurse
lying in wait to capture me and enforce upon my mind the first duty of
returning by four o'clock, to be dressed properly before the arrival of
our visitors, whose impression of me, she conceived, would be most
unfavourable were they to find me in what she was pleased to call "this
trumpery," referring to a little sailor's suit of white and blue in
which I was very generally attired, and which nurse chose to
disapprove. She wound up her admonition by a sort of lament over my
light-mindedness as to my best clothes; a spirit which, she remarked,
was apt to cling to people to their graves--sometimes afterwards; which
I scarcely thought possible.
Frisk and I darted down the Zig-zag at our usual pace, so soon as I was
released from nurse's kind offices, and joined old George, who was on
the look-out for us.
Very pleased we were with the result of our exertions when the really
pretty triumphal arch was completed; the letters of the word _Welcome_
in conspicuously gay flowers forming a pretty contrast to the leafy
background, and eliciting what we felt to be a well-merited admiration
from my parents and a select committee of servants, who came severally
to inspect our handiwork in the course of the afternoon.
"It's fit for Her Majesty," said my father in his playful way, "and far
too fine for a little stranger boy! In fact, it seems scarcely proper
that a humble individual like myself should pass under it!"
"You're not a humble individual, papa!" I exclaimed vehemently.
"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" sighed my father, "that it should come to such a
pass as this; my only son tells me I am wanting in humility--not a
humble person!"
"An _individual_!" I said, feeling that made a great difference. "But
now, papa, you're only in fun; you know I didn't mean that."
"One thing I do mean very distinctly, Willie, which is, that I must not
stay chattering here with you any longer, or my letters will never be
ready before post-time. You may stay a little longer with George if you
like."
I stayed accordingly, determining to be home by the Zig-zag at the
appointed hour.
But my parents had scarcely had the time necessary for walking up to the
house, when the sharp sound of horses' trot suddenly aroused my
attention, and in another moment our carriage, with the travellers
inside, was rounding the curve of the road, and had drawn up before the
gate.
My confusion and shyness at thus being surprised were indescribable;
and a latent desire to take to immediate flight and get home the short
way might probably have prevailed, had not my uncle's quick eye caught
sight of me as I drew back under the shelter of old George.
"Why, surely there must be Willie!" he exclaimed; and in another moment
Groves had hoisted my unwilling self on to the step of the carriage, and
was introducing me to my relations, regardless of my shy desire to stand
upon the ground, and make geological researches with my eyes under the
wheels.
"Yes, sir, this is Master Willie; he's been uncommon taken up with the
other young master coming, and it's his thought having a bit of
something [To think of old George designating our beautiful arch as a
bit of something!] put up at the gate to bid him welcome."
"There's for | 303.746961 |
2023-11-16 18:22:07.7270340 | 220 | 14 |
Transcribed from the 1897 Longmans, Green, and Co. edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
THE WATER OF THE
WONDROUS ISLES BY
WILLIAM MORRIS
* * * * *
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON, NEW YORK, AND BOMBAY
MDCCCXCVII
* * * * *
Copyright, 1897, by Longmans, Green, and Co.
* * * * *
_CONTENTS_
_The First Part_: _Of the House of Captivity_
PAGE
_Chap. I._ _Catch at Utterhay_ 1
_II._ _Now shall be told of the House by the 8
Waterside_
_III._ _Of Skin-changing_ 10
_IV._ _Of the Waxing of the Stolen Child_ 12
_V._ | 303.747074 |
2023-11-16 18:22:07.8976850 | 3,028 | 17 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lamé and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes
Text printed in small capitals in the original work has been
transcribed =between equal signs=, text printed in italics has been
transcribed _between underscores_. Superscript text is represented as
^{text}.
More Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this text.
[Illustration]
SURVEY
OF
THE HIGH ROADS
OF
England and Wales.
PART THE FIRST.
COMPRISING THE COUNTIES OF
KENT, SURREY, SUSSEX, HANTS, WILTS, DORSET, SOMERSET,
DEVON, AND CORNWALL;
WITH
PART OF BUCKINGHAM AND MIDDLESEX.
_PLANNED ON A SCALE OF ONE INCH TO A MILE._
EXHIBITING AT ONE VIEW
THE SEATS OF THE NOBILITY AND GENTRY,
WHETHER SITUATED ON, OR CONTIGUOUS TO, THE ROAD.
The various Branches of Roads and Towns to which they lead.
TOGETHER WITH
THE ACTUAL DISTANCE OF THE SAME FROM THE MAIN ROAD, RIVERS, NAVIGABLE
CANALS, RAILWAYS, TURNPIKE GATES, &c. &c.
ACCOMPANIED BY
INDEXES,
_TOPOGRAPHIC AND DESCRIPTIVE_.
THE WHOLE
ENRICHED WITH A VARIETY OF VALUABLE AND ORIGINAL INFORMATION.
ARRANGED BY, AND UNDER THE DIRECTION OF,
EDWARD MOGG.
_LONDON:_
PUBLISHED BY EDWARD MOGG, No. 51, CHARING CROSS.
1817.
TO
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
THE PRINCE REGENT.
=Sir=,
Your Royal Highness having graciously condescended to extend your august
patronage and protection to this work, I cannot present it to the
public, without testifying how deeply sensible I am of this most
gracious mark of your Royal Highness’s approbation.
I am perfectly aware that no merit of the performance can give it
pretensions to so exalted a patronage; yet to whom can this publication
with so much propriety be addressed, as to that illustrious and
magnanimous Prince, who, by his wisdom and councils, during the most
arduous contest in which any nation was ever engaged, preserved us in
the quiet enjoyment of that land, and, under whose auspicious guidance
and government, has been raised to the highest pinnacle of glory that
country, the topography and picturesque beauties of which it is the
principal design of the following pages to illustrate.
That your Royal Highness may long live to be the ornament of society,
the delight and boast of a grateful and admiring nation, is the ardent
wish of,
Sir,
Your Royal Highness’s
most grateful,
most dutiful,
and most devoted servant,
EDWARD MOGG.
ADVERTISEMENT.
In presenting to the Public the first part of this comprehensive work,
embracing the southern division of the Kingdom, the Proprietor indulges
a hope, that while conveying information, he will be found in some
degree to have contributed to the amusement of the traveller.
The gratification derived from an excursion of pleasure does not always
terminate with its performance, but is often produced by reflections
which naturally arise on a subsequent review of past occurrences or
remarkable objects; and which the peculiar construction of this work is
eminently calculated to assist.
In contemplating a new Road, we feel enlivened by anticipation; in the
recollection of an old one, we are led to reflections that equally
interest; and a recurrence to these pages will immediately present to
the reader’s imagination the identical spot, or well known inn, which
from a variety of incidents that occur in the prosecution of a journey,
whether the remembrance be attended with pleasure or accompanied by a
feeling of regret, never fail to leave an indelible impression on the
mind.
It has been justly remarked by an eminent Geographer[1], that the Rivers
of England have never yet been delineated; the same observation may be
applied with equal truth, though still greater regret, with respect to
its Roads, which (on a large scale) yet remain to be illustrated; how
far the present work is likely to succeed in supplying the latter
deficiency, it will remain for the public to decide. It is an object the
Proprietor has long had in contemplation, and has thence been brought to
greater perfection from an attentive observation of circumstances
peculiarly connected with the subject, both in regard to the alteration
of old, and the formation of new Roads, which, by avoiding hills and
shortening distance, will be found to afford such facilities to
travelling as are alone to be experienced on this island: accurately to
delineate improvements so extensive, and which will in vain be sought in
any other publication, are the pages of this work devoted.
[1] Pinkerton.
To comment on the superiority of the method of delineation here adopted
were superfluous at the present time, when the Proprietor’s pretensions
may be decided by comparison with the performances of predecessors in a
similar course, and when indeed he feels confident of having thus far
accomplished an undertaking, which, whether as referring to originality
or execution, is considerably more entitled to attention than any known
production of its kind; combining means so ample and illustrative, the
Traveller is in possession of information nearly equal to a bird’s-eye
view of the country. The Seats of the Nobility and Gentry are faithfully
described, the names of their several Proprietors have been carefully
attended to, and the arrangement of the whole so constructed as to
render the work at once clear and comprehensive. Simplicity, joined to a
strict accuracy, has been his chief aim, and he is unconscious of having
omitted any thing which could have contributed to render the whole
complete.
TABLE OF ROUTES.
To simplify as much as possible, and to facilitate the understanding of
this work, the following =Table of Routes= is given; describing the page
at which the commencement of each Road will be found, and which, where
the same is not continued in a regular succession, will conduct, by
reference to the pages, the eye of the reader with the most perfect ease
to every place of consequence contained in the work.
LONDON to DOVER,--_pages_ 1 _to_ 10.
LONDON to MARGATE,--_pages_ 1 _to_ 8, _to_ =Canterbury=; thence to
Margate, _pages_ 11 _and_ 12.
LONDON to RAMSGATE,--_pages_ 1 _to_ 8, _to_ =Canterbury=; thence to
=Monkton=, where the Road turns off, _pages_ 11 _and_ 12; thence to
=Ramsgate=, _page_ 13.
LONDON to HASTINGS,--_pages_ 15 _to_ 22.
LONDON to CANTERBURY,--_pages_ 1 _to_ 8.
LONDON to TUNBRIDGE WELLS,--_pages_ 15 _to_ 18, _to_ =Tunbridge=;
thence to =Tunbridge Wells=, _page_ 14.
LONDON to PORTSMOUTH,--_pages_ 23 _to_ 32.
LONDON to CHICHESTER, by =Midhurst=,--_pages_ 23 _to_ 27, _to_
=Milford=; thence to =Chichester=, _pages_ 33 _to_ 36.
LONDON to CHICHESTER, by =Petworth=,--_pages_ 23 _to_ 27, _to_
=Milford=; thence to =Chichester=, _pages_ 37 _to_ 40.
LONDON to BOGNOR, by =Chichester=, (_to_ =Chichester= _as
above_)--thence to =Bognor=, _page_ 41.
LONDON to BOGNOR, by =Eartham=,--_to_ =Milford=, _pages_ 23 _to_ 27;
thence to =Benges Wood=, where the Road divides, _pages_ 37 _to_ 40;
thence to =Bognor=, by =Eartham=, _page_ 42.
LONDON to ARUNDEL,--_pages_ 23 _to_ 27, _to_ =Milford=; thence to
=Petworth=, _pages_ 37 _to_ 38; thence to =Arundel=, _pages_ 43 _and_
44.
LONDON to BRIGHTON, through =Sutton= and =Ryegate=,--_pages_ 45 _to_
51.
LONDON to BRIGHTON, through =Croydon=,--_pages_ 52 _to_ 54, to
=Ryegate=; thence to =Brighton=, _pages_ 47 _to_ 51.
LONDON to BRIGHTON, by =Lewes=,--to _Purley House_, _pages_ 52 _and_
53; thence to =Brighton=, _pages_ 55 _to_ 60.
LONDON to WORTHING,--_to_ =Tooting=, _page_ 45; thence to =Worthing=,
_pages_ 61 _to_ 67.
LONDON to SOUTHAMPTON, by =Basingstoke=,--_pages_ 69 _to_ 79.
LONDON to SOUTHAMPTON, through =Farnham=,--to the _Golden Farmer_,
_pages_ 69 _to_ 72; thence to =Winchester=, _pages_ 80 _to_ 84; thence
to =Southampton=, _pages_ 78 _and_ 79.
LONDON to POOLE, through =Romsey=,--_pages_ 69 _to_ 77, to
=Winchester=; thence to =Poole=, _pages_ 85 _to_ 90.
LONDON to POOLE, by =Southampton=, (_to_ =Southampton= _as
above_)--thence to the 82nd _Milestone_, _page_ 91; thence to =Poole=,
_page_ 87 _to_ 90.
LONDON to LYMINGTON, (_to_ =Southampton= _as above_)--thence to
=Totton=, _page_ 91; thence to =Lymington=, _pages_ 92 _and_ 93.
LONDON to CHRISTCHURCH,--_to_ =Winchester=, _pages_ 69 _to_ 77; thence
to =Ringwood=, _pages_ 85 _to_ 88; thence to =Christchurch=, _page_
94.
LONDON to GOSPORT,--_pages_ 69 _to_ 72, to the _Golden Farmer_; thence
to =Alton=, _pages_ 80 _to_ 82; thence to =Gosport=, _pages_ 95 _to_
98.
LONDON to EXETER, through =Andover=, =Salisbury=, =Blandford=, and
=Dorchester=,--_to_ =Basingstoke=, _pages_ 69 _to_ 75; thence to
=Exeter=, _pages_ 99 _to_ 116.
LONDON to PLYMOUTH and FALMOUTH, (_to_ =Exeter= _as above_)--thence to
=Plymouth=, _pages_ 117 _to_ 122; thence to =Falmouth=, _pages_ 123
_to_ 130.
LONDON to EXETER, through =Stockbridge=, =Salisbury=, and
=Shaftesbury=,--_to_ =Basingstoke=, _pages_ 69 _to_ 75; thence to
=Axminster=, _pages_ 131 _to_ 144; thence to =Exeter=, _pages_ 113
_to_ 116.
LONDON to FALMOUTH, through =Launceston=, (_to_ =Exeter= _as
above_)--thence to =Truro=, _pages_ 147 _to_ 158; thence to
=Falmouth=, _pages_ 129 _and_ 130.
LONDON to EXETER, through =Andover=, commonly called the New
Road,--_to_ =Basingstoke=, _pages_ 69 _to_ 75; thence to =Andover=,
_pages_ 99 _to_ 101; thence to =Honiton=, _pages_ 159 _to_ 170; thence
to =Exeter=, _pages_ 114 _to_ 116.
LONDON to | 303.917725 |
2023-11-16 18:22:08.0058300 | 2,103 | 7 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
The following possible typographical errors were left uncorrected:
Page 173: "musical electicism" should possibly be "musical
eclecticism"
Page 228: "eflish mood" should possibly be "elfish mood"
Page 295: "Dunisnane" should possibly be "Dunsinane"
CHARLES AUCHESTER
VOLUME II.
[Illustration: MENDELSSOHN
FROM A SKETCH MADE IN HIS YOUTH.]
CHARLES AUCHESTER
BY
ELIZABETH SHEPPARD
_WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES_
By GEORGE P. UPTON
AUTHOR OF "THE STANDARD OPERAS," "STANDARD ORATORIOS," "STANDARD
CANTATAS," "STANDARD SYMPHONIES," "WOMAN IN MUSIC," ETC.
In Two Volumes
VOLUME II.
A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY
CHICAGO
1891
COPYRIGHT,
BY A. C. MCCLURG AND CO.
A. D. 1891.
CHARLES AUCHESTER.
CHAPTER I.
Well, as if but yesterday, do I remember the morning I set out from
Lorbeerstadt for Cecilia. I had no friends yet with whom to
reconnoitre novel ground; I was quite solitary in my intentions, and
rather troubled with a vague melancholy, the sun being under cloud,
and I not having wished Aronach good-day. He was out in the town
fulfilling the duties of his scholastic pre-eminence, and I had vainly
sought him for an audience. He had surrendered me my violin when he
gave me the paper in his writing, and I also carried my certificate in
my hand. Of all my personal effects I took these only,--my bed and
bedding, my clothes and books having preceded me; or, at least, having
taken another form of flight. Iskar was to come also that time, but
did not intend to present himself until the evening. Aronach had also
forewarned me to take a coach, but I rather chose to walk, having
divine reminiscences upon that earthly road.
With Starwood I had a grievous parting, not unallayed by hope on my
part, and I left him wiping his eyes,--an attention which deeply
affected me, though I did not cry myself.
I shall never forget the singularly material aspect of things when I
arrived. Conventionalism is not so rampant in Germany as in England,
and courtesy is taught another creed. I think it would be impossible
to be anywhere more free, and yet this sudden liberty (like a sudden
light) did but at first serve to dazzle and distress me. Only half the
students had returned, and they, all knowing each other, or seeming to
do so, were standing in self-interested fraternities, broken by groups
and greeters, in one immense hall, or what appeared to me immense, and
therefore desolate. I came in through the open gates to the open
court; through the open court into the open entry and from that region
was drawn to the door of that very hall by the hollow multitudinous
echo that crept upon the stony solitude. It was as real to me a
solitude to enter that noble space; and I was more abashed than ever,
when, on looking round, I perceived none but males in all the company.
There was not even a picture of the patron saintess; but there _was_ a
picture, a dark empannelled portrait, high over the long
dining-tables. I concluded from the style that it was a representation
of one Gratianos, the Bachist, of whom I had once heard speak.
The gentlemen in the hall were none of them full grown, and none
wonderfully handsome at first sight. But the manner of their
entertainment was truly edifying to me, who had not long been "out" in
any sense. They every one either had been smoking, were smoking, or
were about to smoke,--that is, most of them had pipes in their mouths,
or those who had them not in their mouths had just plucked them
therefrom, and were holding them in their hands, or those who had not
yet begun were preparing the apparatus.
In a corner of the hall, which looked dismally devoid of furniture to
an English eye, there was a great exhibition of benches. There were
some upright, others kicking their feet in the air, but all packed so
as to take little space, and these were over and above the benches
that ran all round the hall. In this corner a cluster of individuals
had collected after a fashion that took my fancy in an instant, for
they had established themselves without reference to the primary use
and endowment of benches at all. Some sat on the legs thereof,
upturned, with their own feet at the reversed bottoms, and more than a
few were lying inside those reversed bottoms, with distended veins and
excited complexions, suggesting the notion that they were in the
enjoyment of plethoric slumber. To make a still further variation, one
bench was set on end and supported by the leaning figures of two
contemporaneous medalists; and on the summit of this bench, which also
rested against the wall, a third medalist was sitting, like an ape
upon the ledge of Gibraltar,--unlike an ape in this respect, that he
was talking with great solemnity, and also that he wore gloves, which
had once on a time been white. The rest were bareheaded, but all were
fitted out with mustachios, either real or fictitious, for I had my
doubts of the soft, dark tassels of the Stylites, as his own pate was
covered with hemp,--it cannot have been hair. Despite its
grotesqueness, this group, as I have said, attracted me, for there was
something in every one of the faces that set me at my ease, because
they appeared in earnest at their fun.
I came up to them as I made out their composition, and they one and
all regarded me with calm, not malicious, indifference. They were very
boyish for young men, and very manly for young boys, certainly; and
remained, as to their respective ages, a mystery. The gentleman on the
pedestal did not even pause until he came to a proper climax,--for he
was delivering an oration,--and I arrived in time to hear the
sentence so significant: "So that all who in verity apply themselves
to science will find themselves as much at a loss without a body as
without a soul, for the animal property nourisheth and illustrateth
the spiritual, and the spiritual would be of no service without the
animal, any more than should the flame that eateth the wood burn in an
empty stove, or than the soup we have eaten for dinner should be soup
without the water that dissolved the component nutritives."
Here he came to a full stop, and gazed upon me through sharp-shaped
orbs. Meantime I had drawn out my certificate and handed it up to him.
He took it between those streaky gloves, and having fixed a horn-set
glass into his one eye, shut up the other and perused the paper. I
don't know why I gave it to him in particular, except that he was very
high up, and had been speaking. But I had not done wrong, for he
finished by bowing to me with exceeding patronage.
"One of us, I presume?"
"Credentials!" groaned one who was, as I had supposed, asleep. But my
patron handed me very politely my envelope, and gravely returned to
the treatment of his theme,--whatever that might have been. Nobody
appeared to listen except his twain supporters, and they only seemed
attentive because they were thoroughly fumigated, and had their senses
under a spell. The rest began to yawn, to sneer, and to lift their
eyes, or rather the lids of them. I need scarcely say I felt very
absurd, and at last, on the utterance of an exceedingly ridiculous
peroration from the orator, I yielded at once to the impulse of
timidity, and began to laugh. The effect was of sympathetic magnetism.
Everybody whose lips were disengaged began to laugh too; and finally,
those very somnolent machines, that the benches propped, began to
stir, to open misty glances, and to grin like purgatorial saints. This
laugh grew a murmur, the murmur a roar, and finally the supporters
themselves, fairly shaking, became exhausted, staggered, and let the
pedestal glide slowly forwards. The theorist must certainly have
anticipated such a crisis, for he spread his arms and took a flying
jump from that summit, descending elegantly and conveniently as a cat
from a wall upon the boarded floor.
"Schurke!"[1] said he to me, and held me up a threatening hand; but,
seized with a gleeful intention, I caught at it, and | 304.02587 |
2023-11-16 18:22:08.2526010 | 3,967 | 10 |
E-text prepared by Audrey Longhurst, Jeannie Howse, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/) from
page images generously made available by the Home Economics Archive:
Research, Tradition and History, Albert R. Mann Library, Cornell
University (http://hearth.library.cornell.edu/)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through the
Home Economics Archive: Research, Tradition and History,
Albert R. Mann Library, Cornell University. See
http://hearth.library.cornell.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=hearth;idno=4765412
+------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Notes: |
| |
| A number of obvious typographical errors have been |
| corrected in this text. For a complete list, please |
| see the end of this document. |
| |
| This document has inconsistent hyphenation. |
| |
| Greek has been transliterated and marked with + marks |
| |
+------------------------------------------------------------+
SEX IN EDUCATION;
Or, A Fair Chance for Girls.
by
EDWARD H. CLARKE, M.D.,
Member of the Massachusetts Medical Society;
Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences;
Late Professor of Materia Medica in Harvard College,
Etc., Etc.
Boston:
James R. Osgood and Company,
(Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co.)
1875.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
Edward H. Clarke,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington
Boston:
Stereotyped and Printed by Rand, Avery, & Co.
"An American female constitution, which collapses just in the
middle third of life, and comes out vulcanized India-rubber,
if it happen to live through the period when health and
strength are most wanted."
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES: _Autocrat of the Breakfast Table_.
"He reverenced and upheld, in every form in which it came
before him, _womanhood_.... What a woman should demand is
respect for her as she is a woman. Let her first lesson be,
with sweet Susan Winstanley, _to reverence her sex_."
CHARLES LAMB: _Essays of Elia_.
"We trust that the time now approaches when man's condition
shall be progressively improved by the force of reason and
truth, when the brute part of nature shall be crushed, that
the god-like spirit may unfold."
GUIZOT: _History of Civilization_, I., 34.
CONTENTS.
PART I.
INTRODUCTORY 11
PART II.
CHIEFLY PHYSIOLOGICAL 31
PART III.
CHIEFLY CLINICAL 61
PART IV.
CO-EDUCATION 118
PART V.
THE EUROPEAN WAY 162
PREFACE.
About a year ago the author was honored by an invitation to address
the New-England Women's Club in Boston. He accepted the invitation,
and selected for his subject the relation of sex to the education of
women. The essay excited an unexpected amount of discussion. Brief
reports of it found their way into the public journals. Teachers and
others interested in the education of girls, in different parts of the
country, who read these reports, or heard of them, made inquiry, by
letter or otherwise, respecting it. Various and conflicting criticisms
were passed upon it. This manifestation of interest in a brief and
unstudied lecture to a small club appeared to the author to indicate a
general appreciation of the importance of the theme he had chosen,
compelled him to review carefully the statements he had made, and has
emboldened him to think that their publication in a more comprehensive
form, with added physiological details and clinical illustrations,
might contribute something, however little, to the cause of sound
education. Moreover, his own conviction, not only of the importance of
the subject, but of the soundness of the conclusions he has reached,
and of the necessity of bringing physiological facts and laws
prominently to the notice of all who are interested in education,
conspires with the interest excited by the theme of his lecture to
justify him in presenting these pages to the public. The leisure of
his last professional vacation has been devoted to their preparation.
The original address, with the exception of a few verbal alterations,
is incorporated into them.
Great plainness of speech will be observed throughout this essay. The
nature of the subject it discusses, the general misapprehension both
of the strong and weak points in the physiology of the woman question,
and the ignorance displayed by many, of what the co-education of the
sexes really means, all forbid that ambiguity of language or euphemism
of expression should be employed in the discussion. The subject is
treated solely from the standpoint of physiology. Technical terms
have been employed, only where their use is more exact or less
offensive than common ones.
If the publication of this brief memoir does nothing more than excite
discussion and stimulate investigation with regard to a matter of such
vital moment to the nation as the relation of sex to education, the
author will be amply repaid for the time and labor of its preparation.
No one can appreciate more than he its imperfections. Notwithstanding
these, he hopes a little good may be extracted from it, and so
commends it to the consideration of all who desire the _best_
education of the sexes.
BOSTON, 18 ARLINGTON STREET, October, 1873.
PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION.
The demand for a second edition of this book in little more than a
week after the publication of the first, indicates the interest which
the public take in the relation of Sex to Education, and justifies the
author in appealing to physiology and pathology for light upon the
vexed question of the appropriate education of girls. Excepting a few
verbal alterations, and the correction of a few typographical errors,
there is no difference between this edition and the first. The author
would have been glad to add to this edition a section upon the
relation of sex to women's work in life, after their technical
education is completed, but has not had time to do so.
BOSTON, 18 ARLINGTON STREET,
Nov. 8, 1873.
NOTE TO THE FIFTH EDITION.
The attention of the reader is called to the definition of "education"
on the twentieth page. It is there stated, that, throughout this
essay, education is not used in the limited sense of mental or
intellectual training alone, but as comprehending the whole manner of
life, physical and psychical, during the educational period; that is,
following Worcester's comprehensive definition, as comprehending
instruction, discipline, manners, and habits. This, of course,
includes home-life and social life, as well as school-life; balls and
parties, as well as books and recitations; walking and riding, as much
as studying and sewing. When a remission or intermission is necessary,
the parent must decide what part of education shall be remitted or
omitted,--the walk, the ball, the school, the party, or all of these.
None can doubt which will interfere most with Nature's laws,--four
hours' dancing, or four hours' studying. These remarks may be
unnecessary. They are made because some who have noticed this essay
have spoken of it as if it treated only of the school, and seem to
have forgotten the just and comprehensive signification in which
education is used throughout this memoir. Moreover, it may be well to
remind the reader, even at the risk of casting a reflection upon his
intelligence, that, in these pages, the relation of sex to mature life
is not discussed, except in a few passages, in which the large
capacities and great power of woman are alluded to, provided the epoch
of development is physiologically guided.
SEX IN EDUCATION.
PART I.
INTRODUCTORY.
"Is there any thing better in a State than that both women and
men be rendered the very best? There is not."--PLATO.
It is idle to say that what is right for man is wrong for woman. Pure
reason, abstract right and wrong, have nothing to do with sex: they
neither recognize nor know it. They teach that what is right or wrong
for man is equally right and wrong for woman. Both sexes are bound by
the same code of morals; both are amenable to the same divine law.
Both have a right to do the best they can; or, to speak more justly,
both should feel the duty, and have the opportunity, to do their
best. Each must justify its existence by becoming a complete
development of manhood and womanhood; and each should refuse whatever
limits or dwarfs that development.
The problem of woman's sphere, to use the modern phrase, is not to be
solved by applying to it abstract principles of right and wrong. Its
solution must be obtained from physiology, not from ethics or
metaphysics. The question must be submitted to Agassiz and Huxley, not
to Kant or Calvin, to Church or Pope. Without denying the self-evident
proposition, that whatever a woman can do, she has a right to do, the
question at once arises, What can she do? And this includes the
further question, What can she best do? A girl can hold a plough, and
ply a needle, after a fashion. If she can do both better than a man,
she ought to be both farmer and seamstress; but if, on the whole, her
husband can hold best the plough, and she ply best the needle, they
should divide the labor. He should be master of the plough, and she
mistress of the loom. The _quaestio vexata_ of woman's sphere will be
decided by her organization. This limits her power, and reveals her
divinely-appointed tasks, just as man's organization limits his power,
and reveals his work. In the development of the organization is to be
found the way of strength and power for both sexes. Limitation or
abortion of development leads both to weakness and failure.
Neither is there any such thing as inferiority or superiority in this
matter. Man is not superior to woman, nor woman to man. The relation
of the sexes is one of equality, not of better and worse, or of higher
and lower. By this it is not intended to say that the sexes are the
same. They are different, widely different from each other, and so
different that each can do, in certain directions, what the other
cannot; and in other directions, where both can do the same things,
one sex, as a rule, can do them better than the other; and in still
other matters they seem to be so nearly alike, that they can
interchange labor without perceptible difference. All this is so well
known, that it would be useless to refer to it, were it not that much
of the discussion of the irrepressible woman-question, and many of the
efforts for bettering her education and widening her sphere, seem to
ignore any difference of the sexes; seem to treat her as if she were
identical with man, and to be trained in precisely the same way; as if
her organization, and consequently her function, were masculine, not
feminine. There are those who write and act as if their object were to
assimilate woman as much as possible to man, by dropping all that is
distinctively feminine out of her, and putting into her as large an
amount of masculineness as possible. These persons tacitly admit the
error just alluded to, that woman is inferior to man, and strive to
get rid of the inferiority by making her a man. There may be some
subtle physiological basis for such views--some strange quality of
brain; for some who hold and advocate them are of those, who, having
missed the symmetry and organic balance that harmonious development
yields, have drifted into an hermaphroditic condition. One of this
class, who was glad to have escaped the chains of matrimony, but knew
the value and lamented the loss of maternity, wished she had been born
a widow with two children. These misconceptions arise from mistaking
difference of organization and function for difference of position in
the scale of being, which is equivalent to saying that man is rated
higher in the divine order because he has more muscle, and woman lower
because she has more fat. The loftiest ideal of humanity, rejecting
all comparisons of inferiority and superiority between the sexes,
demands that each shall be perfect in its kind, and not be hindered in
its best work. The lily is not inferior to the rose, nor the oak
superior to the clover: yet the glory of the lily is one, and the
glory of the oak is another; and the use of the oak is not the use of
the clover. That is poor horticulture which would train them all
alike.
When Col. Higginson asked, not long ago, in one of his charming
essays, that almost persuade the reader, "Ought women to learn the
alphabet?" and added, "Give woman, if you dare, the alphabet, then
summon her to the career," his physiology was not equal to his wit.
Women will learn the alphabet at any rate; and man will be powerless
to prevent them, should he undertake so ungracious a task. The real
question is not, _Shall_ women learn the alphabet? but _How_ shall
they learn it? In this case, how is more important than ought or
shall. The principle and duty are not denied. The method is not so
plain.
The fact that women have often equalled and sometimes excelled men in
physical labor, intellectual effort, and lofty heroism, is sufficient
proof that women have muscle, mind, and soul, as well as men; but it
is no proof that they have had, or should have, the same kind of
training; nor is it any proof that they are destined for the same
career as men. The presumption is, that if woman, subjected to a
masculine training, arranged for the development of a masculine
organization, can equal man, she ought to excel him if educated by a
feminine training, arranged to develop a feminine organization.
Indeed, I have somewhere encountered an author who boldly affirms the
superiority of women to all existences on this planet, because of the
complexity of their organization. Without undertaking to indorse such
an opinion, it may be affirmed, that an appropriate method of
education for girls--one that should not ignore the mechanism of their
bodies or blight any of their vital organs--would yield a better
result than the world has yet seen.
Gail Hamilton's statement is true, that, "a girl can go to school,
pursue all the studies which Dr. Todd enumerates, except _ad
infinitum_; know them, not as well as a chemist knows chemistry or a
botanist botany, but as well as they are known by boys of her age and
training, as well, indeed, as they are known by many college-taught
men, enough, at least, to be a solace and a resource to her; then
graduate before she is eighteen, and come out of school as healthy, as
fresh, as eager, as she went in."[1] But it is not true that she can
do all this, and retain uninjured health and a future secure from
neuralgia, uterine disease, hysteria, and other derangements of the
nervous system, if she follows the same method that boys are trained
in. Boys must study and work in a boy's way, and girls in a girl's
way. They may study the same books, and attain an equal result, but
should not follow the same method. Mary can master Virgil and Euclid
as well as George; but both will be dwarfed,--defrauded of their
rightful attainment,--if both are confined to the same methods. It is
said that Elena Cornaro, the accomplished professor of six languages,
whose statue adorns and honors Padua, was educated like a boy. This
means that she was initiated into, and mastered, the studies that were
considered to be the peculiar dower of men. It does not mean that her
life was a man's life, her way of study a man's way of study, or that,
in acquiring six languages, she ignored her own organization. Women
who choose to do so can master the humanities and the mathematics,
encounter the labor of the law and the pulpit, endure the hardness of
physic and the conflicts of politics; but they must do it all in
woman's way, not in man's way. In all their work they must respect
their own organization, and remain women, not strive to be men, or
they will ignominiously fail. For both sexes, there is no exception to
the law, that their greatest power and largest attainment lie in the
perfect development of their organization. "Woman," says a late
writer, "must be regarded as woman, not as a nondescript animal, with
greater or less capacity for assimilation to man." If we would give
our girls a fair chance, and see them become and do their best by
reaching after and attaining an ideal beauty and power, which shall be
a crown of glory and a tower of strength to the republic, we must look
after their complete development as women. Wherein they are men, they
should be educated as men; wherein they are women, they should be
educated as women. The physiological motto is, Educate a man for
manhood, a woman for womanhood, both for humanity. In this lies the
hope of the race.
Perhaps it should be mentioned in this connection, that, throughout
this paper, education is not used in the limited and technical sense
of intellectual or mental training alone. By saying there is a boy's
way of study and a girl | 304.272641 |
2023-11-16 18:22:08.3317230 | 4,642 | 10 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=gD4PAAAAQAAJ
A MASTER OF DECEPTION
[Illustration: "'You see, uncle--this one; as it were, death reduced
to its lowest possible denomination'" (_see page_ 99).]
A MASTER
OF DECEPTION
By
Richard Marsh
Author of "Twin Sisters," "The Lovely Mrs. Blake,"
"The Interrupted Kiss," etc., etc.
With a Frontispiece by
DUDLEY TENNANT
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
1913
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
1. The Inclining of a Twig.
2. His Uncle And His Cousin.
3. Rodney Elmore the First.
4. The Three Girls and the Three Telegrams.
5. Stella.
6. Gladys.
7. Mary.
8. By The 9.10: The First Part of the Journey.
9. The Second.
10. In the Carriage--Alone.
11. The Stranger.
12. Marking Time.
13. Spreading His Wings.
14. Business First, Pleasure Afterwards.
15. Mabel Joyce.
16. Thomas Austin, Senior.
17. The Acting Head of the Firm.
18. The Perfect Lover.
19. The Few Words at the End of the Evening.
20. The First Line of an Old Song.
21. The Dead Man's Letter.
22. Philip Walter Augustus Parker.
23. Necessary Credentials.
24. Lovers Parting.
25. Stella's Betrothal Feast.
26. Good Night.
27. The Gentleman's Departure and the Lady's Explanation.
28. A Conspiracy of Silence.
A MASTER OF DECEPTION
CHAPTER I
THE INCLINING OF A TWIG
When Rodney Elmore was eleven years old, placards appeared on the
walls announcing that a circus was coming to Uffham. Rodney asked his
mother if he might go to it. Mrs. Elmore, for what appeared to her to
be sufficient reasons, said "No." Three days before the circus was to
come he went with his mother to Mrs. Bray's house, a little way out of
Uffham, to tea. The two ladies having feminine mysteries to discuss,
he was told to go into the garden to play. As he went he passed a
little room, the door of which was open. Peeping in, as curious
children will, something on a corner of the mantelpiece caught his
eye. Going closer to see what it was, he discovered that there were
two half-crowns, one on the top of the other. The desire to go to the
circus, which had never left him, gathered sudden force. Here were the
means of going. Whipping the two coins into the pocket of his
knickerbockers, he ran from the room and into the garden.
During the remainder of the afternoon the half-crowns were a burden to
him. Not because he was weighed down by a sense of guilt; but because
he feared that their absence would be discovered; that they would be
taken from him; that he would be left poor indeed. He kept down at the
far end of the garden, considering if it would not be wiser to conceal
them in some spot from which he would be able to retrieve them at the
proper time. But Mrs. Bray's was at, what to him was, a great distance
from his own home; he might not be able to get there again before the
eventful day. When the maid came to fetch him in the coins were still
in his pocket; they were still there when he left the house with his
mother.
On the eventful day his mother had to go to London. Before she went
she told Rodney that she had given the servant money to take him to
the circus. This was rather a blow to the boy, since he found himself
possessed of money which, for its intended purpose, was useless. He
had hidden the half-crowns up the chimney in his bedroom. Aware that
it might not be easy to explain how he came to be the owner of so much
cash, there they remained for quite a time. So far as he knew, nothing
was said by Mrs. Bray about the money which had gone; certainly no
suspicion attached to him.
Later he went to a public school. During the third term he went with
the school bicycle club for a spin. The master in charge had a spill.
As he fell some coins dropped out of his pocket. Rodney, who was the
only one behind him, saw a yellow coin roll into a rut at the side of
the road. Alighting, he pressed his foot on it, so that it was covered
with earth. Then, calling to the others, who, unconscious of what had
happened, were pedalling away in front, he gave first aid to the
injured. The master had fallen heavily on his side. He had sprained
something which made it difficult for him to move. A vehicle was
fetched, which bore him back to school, recovery having first been
made of the coins which had been dropped. It was only later he
discovered that a sovereign was missing. The following day a
search-party went out to look for it, of which Rodney Elmore was a
member. They found nothing. As they were starting back Rodney
perceived that his saddle had worked loose. He stayed behind to
tighten it. When he spurted after the others the sovereign was in his
pocket. Mr. Griffiths was reputed to be poor. It was Elmore who
suggested that a subscription should be started to reimburse him for
his loss. When Mr. Griffiths heard of the suggestion--while he
laughingly declined to avail himself of the boy's generosity--he took
Elmore's hand in a friendly grip. Then he asked the lad if he would
oblige him by going on an errand to the village. While he was on the
errand Rodney changed the sovereign, which he would have found it
difficult to do in the school.
At the end of the summer term in his last year Elmore was invited by a
schoolboy friend named Austin to spend part of the holidays with him
in a wherry on the Broads. Mrs. Elmore told him that she would pay his
fare and give him, besides, a small specified sum which she said would
be sufficient for necessary expenses. Her ideas on that latter point
were not those of her son. Rodney's notions on such subjects were
always liberal. Good at books and games, he was one of the most
popular boys in the school. Among other things, he was captain of
cricket. At the last match of the season he played even unusually
well, carrying his bat through the innings with nearly two hundred
runs to his credit, having given one of the finest displays of hard
hitting and good placing the school had ever seen. He was the hero of
the day; owing to his efforts his side had won. Flushed with victory,
with the plaudits of his admirers still ringing in his ears, he
strolled along a corridor, cricket-bag in hand. He passed a room, the
door of which was open. A room with an open door was apt to have a
fatal fascination for Rodney Elmore; if opportunity offered, he could
seldom refrain from peeping in. He peeped in then. On a table was a
canvas bag, tied with a string. He recognised it as the bag which
contained the tuck-shop takings. Since the tuck-shop had had a busy
day, the probability was that the bag held quite a considerable sum.
He had been wondering where the money was coming from to enable him to
cut a becoming figure during his visit to Austin. Stepping quickly
into the room, he emptied the canvas bag into his cricket-bag; then,
going out again as quickly as he had entered, he continued his
progress.
He was on his way to one of the masters, named Rumsey, who edited the
school magazine, his object being to hand him a corrected proof of
certain matter which was to appear in the forthcoming issue. He took
the proof out of his cricket-bag, which he opened in the master's
presence. Having stayed to have a chat, he returned with Mr. Rumsey
along the corridor. As they went they saw one of the school pages come
hurriedly out of the room in which, as Rodney was aware, there was an
empty canvas bag. Mr. Rumsey commented on the speed at which the youth
was travelling.
"Isn't that young Wheeler? He seems in a hurry. I wish he would always
move as fast."
"Perhaps he's tearing off on an errand for Mr. Taylor."
As he said this Rodney carelessly swung his cricket-bag, being well
aware that the coins within were so mixed up with his sweater, pads,
gloves, and other accessories that they were not likely to make their
presence audible. At the end of the corridor they encountered Mr.
Taylor himself. Mark Taylor was fourth form master and manager of the
tuck-shop. Nodding, he went quickly on. Mr. Rumsey was going one way,
Rodney the other. They lingered at the corner to exchange a few
parting words. Suddenly Mr. Taylor's voice came towards them down the
corridor.
"Rumsey! Elmore! Who's been in my room?"
"Been in your room?" echoed Mr. Rumsey. "How should I know?" Then
added, as if it were the result of a second thought: "We just saw
Wheeler come out."
"Wheeler?" In his turn, Mr. Taylor played the part of echo. "He just
came rushing past me; I wondered what his haste meant. You saw him
come out of my room? Then---- But he can't have done a thing like
that!"
"Like what? Anything wrong?"
"There seems to be something very much wrong. Do you mind coming
here?"
Retracing their steps, Mr. Rumsey and Elmore joined the agitated Mr.
Taylor in his room. He made clear to them the cause of his agitation.
"You see this bag? It contained to-day's tuck-shop takings--more than
ten pounds. I left it, with the money tied up in it, on the table here
while I went to Perrin to fetch a memorandum I'd forgotten. Now that
I've returned, I find the bag lying on my table empty and the money
apparently gone. That's what's wrong, and the question is, who has
been in my room since I left it?"
"As I told you, Elmore and I just saw Wheeler making his exit rather
as if he were pressed for time."
"And I myself just met him scurrying along, and wondered what the
haste was about; he's not, as a general rule, the fastest of the
pages. The boy has a bad record; there was that story about Burge
minor and his journey money, and there have been other tales. If he
was in my room----"
"Perhaps he was sent on an errand to you."
"I doubt it, from the way he was running when I met him. And, so far
from stopping when he saw me, if anything, he went faster than ever.
It looks very much as if----"
He stopped, leaving the sentence ominously unfinished.
"Master Wheeler may be a young rip, but surely he wouldn't do a thing
like that."
This was Rodney, who notoriously never spoke ill of anyone. Mr. Taylor
touched on his well-known propensity.
"That's all very well, Elmore; but you'd try to find an excuse for a
man who snatched the coat off your back. This is a very serious
matter; ten pounds are ten pounds. The best thing is for you to bring
Wheeler here, and we'll have it out with him at once."
Rodney started off to fetch the page. It was some little time before
he returned. When he did he was without his cricket-bag, and gripped
the obviously unwilling page tightly by the shoulder. That the lad's
mind was very far from being at ease Mr. Taylor's questions quickly
made plain.
"Wheeler, Mr. Rumsey and Mr. Elmore just saw you coming out of my
room. What were you doing here?"
Wheeler, looking everywhere but at his questioner, hesitated; then
stammered out a lame reply.
"I--I was looking for you, sir."
"For me? What did you want with me? Why did you not say you wanted me
when you met me just now?"
Wheeler could not explain; he was tongue-tied. Mr. Taylor went on:
"When I went I left this bag on the table full of money. As you were
the only person who entered the room during my absence, I want you to
tell me how the bag came to be empty when I returned?"
"The bag was empty when I came in here," blurted out Wheeler. "I
particularly noticed."
To that tale he stuck--that the bag was empty when he entered the
room. His was a lame story. It seemed clear that he had gone into
the room with intentions which were not all that they might have
been--possibly meaning to pilfer from the bag, which he knew was
there. The discovery that the bag was empty had come upon him with a
shock; he had fled. As was not altogether unnatural, his story was not
believed. The two masters accused him point-blank of having emptied
the bag himself. A formal charge of theft would have been made against
him had it not been for his tender years, also partly because of the
resultant scandal, perhaps still more because not a farthing of the
money was ever traced to his possession, or, indeed, to anyone else's.
What had become of it was never made clear. Wheeler, however, was
dismissed from his employment with a stain upon his character which he
would find it hard to erase.
Rodney Elmore had an excellent time upon the Broads, towards which the
tuck-shop takings, in a measure, contributed. The Austins, who were
well-to-do people, had a first-rate wherry; on it was a lively party.
There were two girls--Stella Austin, Tom Austin's sister, and a friend
of hers, Mary Carmichael. Elmore, who was nearly nineteen, had already
had more than one passage with persons of the opposite sex. He had a
curious facility in gaining the good graces of feminine creatures of
all kinds and all ages. When he went he left Stella Austin under the
impression that he cared for her very much indeed; while, although
conscious that Tom Austin, believing himself to be in love with Mary
Carmichael, regarded her as his own property, he was aware that the
young lady liked him--Rodney Elmore--in a sense of which his friend
had not the vaguest notion. Altogether his visit to the Austins was an
entire success; he had won for himself a niche in everyone's esteem
before they parted.
When he was twenty Rodney Elmore entered an uncle's office in St.
Paul's Churchyard. Soon after he was twenty-one his mother died. On
her deathbed she showed an anxiety for his future which, under other
circumstances, he would have found almost amusing.
"Rodney," she implored him, "my son, my dear, dear boy, promise me
that you will keep honest; that, under no pressure of circumstances,
you will stray one hair's breadth from the path of honesty."
This, in substance, though in varying forms, was the petition which
she made to him again and again, in tones which, as the days, and even
the hours, went by, grew fainter and fainter. He did his best to give
her the assurance she required, smilingly at first, more seriously
when he perceived how much she was in earnest.
"Mother, darling," he told her, "I promise that I'll keep as straight
as a man can keep. I'll never do anything for which you could be
ashamed of me. Have you ever been ashamed of me?"
"No, dear, never. You've always been the best, cleverest, truest, most
affectionate son a woman could have. Never once have you given me a
moment's anxiety. God keep you as you have always been--above all, God
keep you honest."
"Mother," he said in earnest tones, which had nearly sunk to a
whisper, "God helping me, and He will help me, I swear to you that I
will never do a dishonest thing, never! Nor a thing that is in the
region of dishonesty. Don't you believe me, darling?"
"Of course, dear, I believe you--I do! I do!"
It was with some such words on her lips that she died; yet, even as
she uttered them, he had a feeling that there was a look in her eyes
which suggested both fear and doubt. In the midst of his heart-broken
grief the fact that there should have been such a look struck him as
good.
CHAPTER II
HIS UNCLE AND HIS COUSIN
Mrs. Elmore's income died with her. She had sunk her money in an
annuity because, as she had explained to Rodney, that enabled her to
give him a much better education than she could have done had they
been constrained to live on the interest produced by her slender
capital. But her son was not left penniless. She had bought him an
annuity, to commence when he was twenty-one, of thirty shillings a
week, to be paid weekly, and had tied it up in such a way that he
could neither forestall it nor use it as a security on which to borrow
money. As clerk to his uncle he received one hundred pounds a year.
Feeling that he could no longer reside in Uffham, he sold the house,
which was his mother's freehold, and its contents, the sale producing
quite a comfortable sum. So, on the whole, he was not so badly off as
some young men.
On the contra side he had expensive tastes, practically in every
direction. Among other things, he had a partiality for feminine
society, mostly of the reputable sort; but a young man is apt to find
the society of even a nice girl an expensive luxury. For instance,
Mary Carmichael had a voice. Her fond parents, who lived in the
country, suffered her to live in town while she was taking singing
lessons. Tom Austin, although still an undergraduate at Oxford, made
no secret of his feelings for the maiden, a fact which did not prevent
Mary going out now and then with Rodney Elmore to dinner at a
restaurant, and, afterwards, to a theatre, as, nowadays, young men and
maidens do. On these occasions Rodney paid, and where the evening's
entertainment of a modern maiden is concerned a five-pound note does
not go far. Then, although Miss Carmichael might not have been aware
of it, there were others. Among them Stella Austin, who had reasons of
her own for believing that Mr. Elmore would give the world to make her
his wife, being only kept from avowing his feelings by the fact that
he was, to all intents and purposes, a pauper. Since she was the
possessor of three or four hundred a year of her own, with the
prospect of much more, she tried more than once to hint that, since
she would not mind setting up housekeeping on quite a small income,
there was no reason why they should wait an indefinite period, till
Rodney was a millionaire. But Rodney's delicacy was superfine. While
he commended her attitude with an ardour which made the blood grow hot
in her veins, he explained that he was one of those men who would not
ask a girl to marry him unless he was in a position to keep her in the
style a husband should, adding that that time was not so distant as
some people might think. In another twelve months he hoped--well, he
hoped! As at such moments she was apt to be very close to him, Stella
hoped too.
The young gentleman was living at the rate of at least five or six
hundred a year on an income of a hundred and eighty. He did not bother
himself by keeping books, but he quite realised that his expenditure
bore no relation to his actual income. Of course, he owed money; but
he did not like owing money. It was against his principles. He never
borrowed if he could help it, and he objected to being at the mercy of
a tradesman. He preferred to get the money somehow, and pay; and,
somehow, he got it. Very curious methods that "somehow" sometimes
covered. He was fond of cards; liked to play for all sorts of stakes;
and, on the whole, he won. His skill in one so young was singular;
sometimes, when opportunity offered | 304.351763 |
2023-11-16 18:22:08.4229050 | 399 | 7 |
Produced by Charles Keller
UNCLE JOSH'S PUNKIN CENTRE STORIES
By Cal Stewart
Preface
To the Reader.
The one particular object in writing this book is to furnish you with an
occasional laugh, and the writer with an occasional dollar. If you get
the laugh you have your equivalent, and the writer has his.
In Uncle Josh Weathersby you have a purely imaginary character, yet one
true to life. A character chuck full of sunshine and rural simplicity.
Take him as you find him, and in his experiences you will observe there
is a bright side to everything.
Sincerely Yours
Cal Stewart
Contents PREFACE
LIFE SKETCH OF AUTHOR
MY OLD YALLER ALMANAC
ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK
UNCLE JOSH IN SOCIETY
UNCLE JOSH IN A CHINESE LAUNDRY
UNCLE JOSH IN A MUSEUM
UNCLE JOSH IN WALL STREET
UNCLE JOSH AND THE FIRE DEPARTMENT
UNCLE JOSH IN AN AUCTION ROOM
UNCLE JOSH ON A FIFTH AVENUE 'BUS
UNCLE JOSH IN A DEPARTMENT STORE
UNCLE JOSH'S COMMENTS ON THE SIGNS SEEN IN NEW YORK
UNCLE JOSH ON A STREET CAR
MY FUST PAIR OF COPPER TOED BOOTS
UNCLE JOSH IN POLICE COURT
UNCLE JOSH AT CONEY ISLAND
UNCLE JOSH AT THE OPERA
UNCLE JOSH AT DELMONICO'S
IT IS FALL
SI PETTINGILL'S BROOMS
UNCLE JOSH PLAYS GOLF
JIM LAWSON'S HOGS
UNCLE JOSH AND THE LIGHTNING ROD AGENT
A MEETING OF THE ANNANIAS CLUB
JIM LAWSON'S HOSS TRADE
A MEETING OF THE SCHOOL DIRECTORS
THE WEEK | 304.442945 |
2023-11-16 18:22:08.6640310 | 1,164 | 97 |
Produced by David Edwards, Melissa McDaniel and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Small type is used to indicate the rules and practices peculiar to
the Senate. Small type is denoted by $dollar signs$.
Proper nouns have been left unchanged, except to correct obvious
printer's errors as indicated by inconsistencies in the nearby text.
Variant spellings and accents in Latin, French, Spanish, Italian
quotes were left as printed unless obvious nearby differences indicated
printer's errors.
On page 273, "numbers were first called on to declare their numbers"
should possibly be "members were first called on to declare their
numbers".
In the Index entry 'Existing treaties with France', there is a
reference to a (non-existent) page 651 in Volume iii.
THE
WRITINGS
OF
THOMAS JEFFERSON:
BEING HIS
AUTOBIOGRAPHY, CORRESPONDENCE, REPORTS, MESSAGES,
ADDRESSES, AND OTHER WRITINGS, OFFICIAL
AND PRIVATE.
PUBLISHED BY THE ORDER OF THE JOINT COMMITTEE OF CONGRESS ON THE
LIBRARY,
FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPTS,
DEPOSITED IN THE DEPARTMENT OF STATE.
WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES, TABLES OF CONTENTS, AND A COPIOUS INDEX
TO EACH VOLUME, AS WELL AS A GENERAL INDEX TO THE WHOLE,
BY THE EDITOR
H. A. WASHINGTON.
VOL. IX.
NEW YORK:
H. W. DERBY, 625 BROADWAY.
1861.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
TAYLOR & MAURY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Columbia.
STEREOTYPED BY
THOMAS R. SMITH.
82 & 84 Beekman Street.
CONTENTS OF VOL. IX.
BOOK IV.--PART IV.
PARLIAMENTARY MANUAL 3
BOOK IV.--PART V.
THE ANAS 87
BOOK IV.--PART VI.
MISCELLANEOUS PAPERS 212
1. Extract from Diary relative to invasion of Virginia in
1780, 1781 p. 212.
2. Memorandum relative to invasion of Virginia in 1780, 1781,
220.
3. Instructions to the Ministers Plenipotentiary appointed to
negotiate treaties of peace with the European nations, 1784,
226.
4. Report of a conference with the Count de Vergennes on the
subject of the commerce of the U. States with France, 230.
5. Answers of Mr. Jefferson, to questions propounded to him
by M. de Meusnier, 244.
6. Answers to propositions propounded by M. de Meusnier, Jan.
24, 1786, 282.
7. Notes on M. Soulé's Work, 293.
8. Observations on a letter of M. de Calonnes to Mr. Jefferson,
Oct. 22, 1786, 304.
9. Proposals for concerted operations among the powers at war
with the piratical States of Barbary, 308.
10. To the Editor of the Journal de Paris, 309.
11. Memoranda taken on a journey from Paris to the Southern
parts of France and Northern parts of Italy in 1787, 313.
12. Tour to some of the gardens of England, 367.
13. Memoranda of a tour to Amsterdam, Strasburgh, &c., and
back to Paris, in 1788, 373.
14. Travelling notes for Mr. Rutledge and Mr. Shippen in 1788,
403.
15. Questions as to the rights and duties of the U. States
under her treaties with France and the laws of neutrality, 405.
16. Heads of consideration on the conduct to be observed in
the war between Spain and Great Britain, and particularly
should the latter attempt the conquest of Louisiana and the
Floridas, 409.
17. Heads of consideration on the navigation of the Mississippi
river, for Mr. Carmichael, 412.
18. Questions to be considered, 415.
19. Plan of a bill concerning consuls, 416.
20. Matters to be arranged between the governments of the U.
States and England, 419.
21. Memorandum of communications made to a committee of the
Senate on the subject of the diplomatic nominations to Paris,
London, and the Hague, 420.
22. Considerations on the subject of ransom and peace with
the Algerines, 424.
23. Notes of a conversation with Mr. | 304.684071 |
2023-11-16 18:22:08.6978350 | 1,984 | 253 |
E-text prepared by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, René Anderson Benitz, and
the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
Transcriber's note:
Minor printer's errors have been corrected without note.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected and are
listed at the end of the text.
"Great Writers."
Edited by
Professor Eric S. Robertson, M.A.,
LIFE OF DARWIN.
LIFE OF CHARLES DARWIN
by
G. T. BETTANY
London
Walter Scott
24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row
1887
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Darwin's ancestry; his grandfather, Dr. Erasmus Darwin, a
successful physician, and author of "The Botanic Garden," "The
Temple of Nature," &c.; his father, Robert Waring Darwin, also
a successful physician; his maternal grandfather, Josiah
Wedgwood, the celebrated potter; his mother's education and
training; Charles Robert Darwin, born at Shrewsbury, Feb. 12,
1809; Mrs. Darwin dies in July, 1817; her eldest son, Erasmus,
friend of the Carlyles; Charles Darwin's education by Mr. Case,
and at Shrewsbury Grammar School; his character as a boy; is
sent to Edinburgh University in 1825 11
CHAPTER II.
Darwin a member of the Plinian Society, of Edinburgh; makes
natural history excursions; his first scientific paper read
March 27, 1827; friendship with Dr. Grant; Jameson's lectures
on zoology; Darwin enters Christ's College, Cambridge, in 1828;
his friendship with Prof. Henslow; his account of Henslow;
Darwin at this time specially an entomologist; his excursions
with Henslow; takes B.A. degree in 1831, M.A. in 1837; voyage
of _Beagle_ proposed, and Darwin appointed as naturalist;
the _Beagle_ sails on Dec. 27, 1831; Darwin's letters to
Henslow published 1835; 1832, Darwin at Teneriffe, Cape
de Verde Islands, St. Paul's Rocks, Bahia, Rio de Janeiro
(April); excursions into interior and amusing adventures;
his experiences and horror of slavery; at Monte Video,
July; Maldonado, Rio <DW64>; visit to Tierra del Fuego, Dec.
1832--Jan. 1833; _rencontre_ with General Rosas; many extinct
animals discovered; Buenos Ayres, Sept. 1833; excursion to
Santa Fe; Port Desire, Dec. 1833; Port St. Julian, Jan. 1834;
Valparaiso, July 1834; expeditions to the Andes, Santiago, &c.;
Chiloe, Nov. 1834; the Chonos Archipelago, Dec. 1834; Valdivia,
Feb. 1835; an earthquake experience; expedition across the
Cordillera in March, 1835; voyage across the Pacific commenced
in September; the Galapagos Archipelago and its interesting
animals; Tahiti, Nov. 1835; Darwin's opinion of English
products, and of the influence of Christian missionaries; New
Zealand, Dec. 1835; Port Jackson, Jan. 1836; Tasmania, Feb.;
the Keeling Islands, April; the homeward journey; Falmouth
reached, Oct. 2, 1836; Capt. Fitzroy's opinion of Darwin;
Darwin's first impression of savages 22
CHAPTER III.
Darwin elected F.G.S.; Lyell's high opinion of him; secretary
of the Geological Society, Feb. 1838-41; reads numerous papers
before the Society; elected F.R.S., Jan. 24, 1839; marries his
cousin, Miss Wedgwood, early in 1839; "Journal of Researches,"
published 1839, highly praised in _Quarterly Review_;
publication of zoology of the _Beagle_ (1839-43); extraordinary
animals described therein; other results of the voyage;
plants described by Hooker and Berkeley; work on "Coral
Reefs" published 1842; Darwin's new theory at once accepted;
subsequent views of Semper, Dana, and Murray; second and third
parts of Geology of _Beagle_ ("Volcanic Islands" and "South
America"); other geological papers; Darwin settles at Down
House, near Beckenham, 1842; appears at Oxford meeting of
British Association, 1847; contributes chapter on Geology to
Herschel's manual of Scientific Enquiry; publishes great works
on recent and fossil cirripedia, 1851-4; receives Royal Medal
of Royal Society, 1853, and Wollaston Medal of Geological
Society, 1859 51
CHAPTER IV.
Confusion in description of species; labours of Professors Owen
and Huxley; Darwin's ideas on the origin of species germinated
during the voyage of the _Beagle_; he collected facts,
1837-42; drew up a sketch, 1842; enlarged it in 1844; previous
speculations on the subject; views of Erasmus Darwin, Geoffroy
St. Hilaire, and Lamarck; Darwin's opinion of Lamarck;
influence of Lyell; influence of South American experience;
reads Malthus on Population; "Vestiges of Creation "; Mr.
Herbert Spencer and evolution; Lyell's letters; Sir Joseph
Hooker on species; Mr. A. R. Wallace communicates his views to
Darwin; Lyell and Hooker persuade Darwin to publish his views
together with those of Wallace; introductory letter by Lyell
and Hooker to Linnean Society, June 30, 1858; Darwin's and
Wallace's papers, read July 1, 1858; Sir J. Hooker announces
his adhesion to Darwin's views, 1859 64
CHAPTER V.
Analysis of the "Origin of Species," published Nov. 1859;
special notes of Darwin's personal experiences; remarkable
growth of morphology and embryology since its publication;
opposition to the new views; criticisms of leading journals and
reviews; second edition of "Origin," called for in six weeks;
third, in March 1861; historical sketch of progress of opinion
prefixed; alterations in successive editions; sixth edition,
1872; foreign translations 79
CHAPTER VI.
Darwin's physical appearance, habits, distinguished visitors;
his kindliness; attachment of friends; his family; he reads
important botanical papers before the Linnean Society;
publishes the "Fertilisation of Orchids," 1862; analysis of
the book; Darwin receives Copley Medal of Royal Society, 1864;
"Movements and Habits of Climbing Plants," 1865; "Variation of
Animals and Plants under Domestication," 1868; the hypothesis
of pangenesis not favourably received 100
CHAPTER VII.
"The Descent of Man," 1871; Darwin's varied use of personal
experiences; his views on the differences between men and
women; his views on happiness and its promotion in mankind;
reception of the "Descent of Man"; _Punch_, the _Quarterlies_,
_The Saturday Review_ 113
CHAPTER VIII.
"Expression of the Emotions," 1872; Darwin's methods of
studying the question; his personal experiences; studies of
children; reminiscences of South American travel; studies of
monkeys; his wide study of novels; his influence on mental
science 126
CHAPTER IX.
"Insectivorous Plants," 1875; how Darwin was led to
study them; analysis of the book; "Effects of Cross and
Self-Fertilisation," 1876; competitive germination and
growth; "The Different Forms of Flowers," 1877; "The Power
of Movement in Plants," 1880 136
CHAPTER X.
Honours bestowed on Darwin; his reception at Cambridge in 1877;
portraits by Richmond and Collier; Haeckel's and De Candolle's
descriptions of visits to Darwin; "The Formation of Vegetable
Mould by Earthworms," 1881; the long series of experiments on
which it was based; obligations of archaeologists to worms;
gradual exhaustion in 1882; his death on April 19, 1882 146
CHAPTER XI.
Darwin buried in Westminster Abbey, April 26, 1882; quotation
from _The Times_; subscriptions to Darwin memorial; large
number of subscriptions from Sweden; statue executed by Mr.
Boehm, placed in Museum of Natural History, South Kensington,
unveiled by Prince of Wales, June 9, 1885; remainder of fund
handed to Royal Society to promote biological research; _The
Saturday Review_ on Darwin; his geniality and humour; his
influence on others; his lack of prejudice; extracts from his
letters; | 304.717875 |
2023-11-16 18:22:08.7276410 | 3,601 | 9 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: Philip IV at the age of 55. _From a portrait by
Valazquez in the National Gallery, London._]
The Court of
Philip IV.
SPAIN IN DECADENCE
BY
MARTIN HUME
EDITOR OF THE CALENDARS OF SPANISH STATE PAPERS
(PUBLIC RECORD OFFICE)
LECTURER IN SPANISH HISTORY AND LITERATURE
PEMBROKE COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
_Vuestras augustisinas Soberanias vivan_, O GRAN
FELIPE, _inclitamente triunfantes, gravadas en los Anales
de la Fama, pues sois sólida columna y mobil Atlante de
la Fe, unica defensa di la iglesia, y bien universal de
vuestras invencibles reinos_
LONDON
EVELEIGH NASH
1907
{v}
PREFACE
"I lighted upon great files and heaps of papers and writings of all
sorts.... In searching and turning over whereof, whilst I laboured
till I sweat again, covered all over with dust, to gather fit matter
together... that noble Lord died, and my industry began to flag and
wax cold in the business."
Thus wrote William Camden with reference to his projected life of Lord
Burghley, which was never written; and the words may be applied not
inappropriately to the present book and its writer. Some years ago I
passed many laborious months in archives and libraries at home and
abroad, searching and transcribing contemporary papers for what I hoped
to make a complete history of the long reign of Philip IV., during
which the final seal of decline was stamped indelibly upon the proud
Spanish empire handed down by the great Charles V. to his descendants.
I had dreamed of writing a book which should not only be a social
review of the period signalised by the triumph of French over Spanish
influence in the civilisation of Europe, but also a political history
of the wane and final disappearance of the prodigious national
imposture that had enabled Spain, aided by the rivalries between other
nations, to dominate the world for a century by moral force unsupported
by any proportionate material power.
{vi}
The sources to be studied for such a history were enormous in bulk and
widely scattered, and I worked very hard at my self-set task. But at
length I, too, began to wax faint-hearted; not, indeed, because my
"noble Lord had died"; for no individual lord, noble or ignoble, has
ever done, or I suppose ever will do, anything for me or my books; but
because I was told by those whose business it is to study his moods,
that the only "noble Lord" to whom I look for patronage, namely the
sympathetic public in England and the United States that buys and reads
my books, had somewhat changed his tastes. He wanted to know and
understand, I was told, more about the human beings who personified the
events of history, than about the plans of the battles they fought. He
wanted to draw aside the impersonal veil which historians had
interposed between him and the men and women whose lives made up the
world of long ago; to see the great ones in their habits as they lived,
to witness their sports, to listen to their words, to read their
private letters, and with these advantages to obtain the key to their
hearts and to get behind their minds; and so to learn history through
the human actors, rather than dimly divine the human actors by means of
the events of their times. In fact, he cared no longer, I was told,
for the stately three-decker histories which occupied half a lifetime
to write, and are now for the most part relegated, in handsome leather
bindings, to the least frequented shelves of dusty libraries.
I therefore decided to reduce my plan to more modest proportions, and
to present not a universal {vii} history of the period of Spain's
decline, but rather a series of pictures chronologically arranged of
the life and surroundings of the "Planet King" Philip IV.--that monarch
with the long, tragic, uncanny face, whose impassive mask and the
raging soul within, the greatest portrait painter of all time limned
with merciless fidelity from the King's callow youth to his sin-seared
age. I have adopted this method of writing a history of the reign,
because the great wars throughout Europe in which Spain took a leading
part, under Philip and his successor, have already been described in
fullest details by eminent writers in every civilised language, and
because I conceive that the truest understanding of the broader
phenomena of the period may be gained by an intimate study of the mode
of life and ruling sentiments of the King and his Court, at a time when
they were the human embodiment, and Madrid the phosphorescent focus, of
a great nation's decay.
The ground was practically virgin. John Dunlop, three-quarters of a
century ago, wrote a stolid history of the reign, mainly concerned with
the Spanish wars in Germany, Flanders, and Italy. But that was before
the archives of Europe were accessible; and, creditable as was Dunlop's
history for the time in which it was written, it is obsolete now. The
Spanish reproduction in recent years, of seventeenth-century documents,
for the most part unknown in England, has added much to recent
information; whilst numerous original manuscripts, and old printed
narratives and letters of the time, in Spanish, English, and French,
have also provided ample material for the embodiment {viii} in the text
of first-hand descriptions of events. The book as it stands is far
less ambitious than that originally projected; but it contains much of
the contemporary matter which would have provided substance for the
wider history; and though it is limited in its scope, it may
nevertheless render the important period it covers human and
interesting to ordinary readers who seek intellectual amusement, as
well as intelligible to students who read for information alone.
The book--"a poor thing, but mine own"--owes nothing to the labours of
previous English historians, except that in describing the Prince of
Wales' visit to Madrid I have referred to two documents published by
the Camden Society under the editorship of the late Dr. Gardiner. With
these exceptions the material has been sought in contemporary
unpublished manuscripts and printed records and letters, in most cases
now first utilised for the purpose. Whatever its faults may be--and
doubtless the critical microscope may discover many--it is the only
comprehensive history of Philip IV. and the decadent society over which
he reigned that modern research has yet produced. May good fortune
follow it; for, as the Bachiller Carasco sagely said: "_No hay libra
tan malo que no tenga algo bueno_," and I hope that in this book, at
least, the "good" will be held to outbalance the "bad."
MARTIN HUME.
LONDON, _October_ 1907
{ix}
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY--PHILIP'S BAPTISM, 1605--THE ENGLISH EMBASSY--EXALTED
RELIGIOUS FEELING--DEDICATION OF PHILIP'S LIFE TO THE VINDICATION OF
ORTHODOXY--STATE OF SPAIN--EFFECTS OF LERMA'S POLICY--POVERTY OF THE
COUNTRY--EXPULSION OF THE MORISCOS--PHILIP'S CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH--HIS
BETROTHAL--FALL OF LERMA--THE PRINCE AND OLIVARES--DEATH OF PHILIP III.
CHAPTER II
ACCESSION OF PHILIP IV.--OLIVARES THE VICE-KING--CONDITION OF THE
COUNTRY--MEASURES ADOPTED BY THE NEW KING--RETRENCHMENT--MODE OF LIFE
OF PHILIP AND HIS MINISTER--PHILIP'S IDLENESS--HIS
_APOLOGIA_--DISSOLUTENESS OF THE CAPITAL--VILLA MEDIANA--THE AMUSEMENTS
OF THE KING AND COURT--A SUMPTUOUS SHOW--ARRIVAL OF THE PRINCE OF WALES
IN MADRID--HIS PROCEEDINGS--OLIVARES AND BUCKINGHAM
CHAPTER III
STATE ENTRY OF CHARLES INTO MADRID--GREAT FESTIVITIES--HIS
LOVE-MAKING--ATTEMPTS TO CONVERT THE PRINCE--THE REAL INTENTION OF
OLIVARES--HIS CLEVER PROCRASTINATION--CHARLES AND BUCKINGHAM LOSE
PATIENCE--HOWELL'S STORY OF CHARLES AND THE INFANTA--THE FEELING
AGAINST BUCKINGHAM--ANXIETY OF KING JAMES--HIS CORRESPONDENCE WITH {x}
"BABY AND STEENIE"--CHARLES DECIDES TO DEPART--FURTHER DELAY--THE
DIPLOMACY OF OLIVARES--BUCKINGHAM AND ARCHY ARMSTRONG--DEPARTURE OF
CHARLES--HIS RETURN HOME, AND THE ENGLISH DISILLUSION
CHAPTER IV
FOREIGN WAR RENDERED INEVITABLE BY OLIVARES' POLICY--ITS EFFECTS IN
SPAIN--CONDITION OF THE COURT--WASTE, IDLENESS, AND OSTENTATION OF ALL
CLASSES--EXTRAVAGANCE IN DRESS--PHILIP'S EFFORTS TO REFORM
MANNERS--RETRENCHMENT IN HIS HOUSEHOLD--THE SUMPTUARY ENACTMENTS--THE
_GOLILLA_--THE INDUSTRY OF OLIVARES--HIS CHARACTER AND APPEARANCE--HIS
MAIN OBJECT TO SECURE POLITICAL AND FISCAL UNITY IN SPAIN--THE
DIFFICULTIES IN THE WAY OF THIS--THE COMEDIES--THEATRES IN
MADRID--PHILIP'S LOVE FOR THE STAGE--AN _AUTO DE FE_--LORD WIMBLEDON'S
ATTACK ON CADIZ--RICHELIEU'S LEAGUE AGAINST SPAIN--SPANISH
SUCCESSES--"PHILIP THE GREAT"--VISIT OF THE KING TO ARAGON AND
CATALONIA IN 1626--DISCONTENT AND DISSENSION--PHILIP'S LIFE TRAGEDY
CHAPTER V
RISE OF THE PARTY OPPOSED TO OLIVARES--THE QUEEN AND THE INFANTES
CARLOS AND FERNANDO--OLIVARES REMONSTRATES WITH PHILIP FOR HIS NEGLECT
OF BUSINESS--PHILIP'S REPLY--ILLNESS OF THE KING--FEARS OF
OLIVARES--PHILIP'S CONSCIENCE--ASPECT OF MADRID AT THE TIME--HABITS OF
THE PEOPLE--A GREAT ARTISTIC CENTRE--MANY FOREIGN
VISITORS--VELASQUEZ--PHILIP'S LOVE OF ART, LITERATURE, AND THE
DRAMA--CONTEMPORARY DESCRIPTION OF A PLAYHOUSE--PHILIP AND THE
_CALDERONA_, MOTHER OF DON JUAN OF AUSTRIA--BIRTH AND BAPTISM OF
BALTASAR CARLOS--PHILIP'S FIELD SPORTS--GENERAL SOCIAL DECADENCE
{xi}
CHAPTER VI
RENEWED WAR WITH FRANCE, LATE IN 1628--RECONCILIATION WITH ENGLAND--THE
PALATINATE AGAIN--COTTINGTON IN MADRID--HIS RECEPTION AND NEGOTIATIONS
WITH OLIVARES AND PHILIP--FETES IN MADRID FOR BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF
WALES--DEATH OF SPINOLA--TREATY OF CASALE--A "LOCAL PEACE" WITH
FRANCE--SPAIN AND THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR--POVERTY AND MISERY OF THE
COUNTRY--UNPOPULARITY OF OLIVARES--HIS MONOPOLY OF POWER--HIS GREAT
ENTERTAINMENT TO THE KING--HIS INTERVENTION IN PHILIP'S DOMESTIC
AFFAIRS--"DON FRANCISCO FERNANDO OF AUSTRIA"--THE BUEN RETIRO--HOPTON
IN MADRID--HIS DESCRIPTIVE LETTERS--THE INFANTES--PHILIP'S VISIT TO
BARCELONA--DISCONTENT OF THE CORTES--THE INFANTE FERNANDO LEFT AS
GOVERNOR--DEATH OF THE INFANTE CARLOS--DEATH OF THE INFANTA ISABEL IN
FLANDERS--THE INFANTE FERNANDO ON HIS WAY THITHER WINS BATTLE OF
NORDLINGEN--GREAT WAR NOW INEVITABLE WITH FRANCE
CHAPTER VII
INTRIGUES TO SECURE ENGLISH NEUTRALITY--HOPTON AND OLIVARES--SOCIAL
LAXITY IN MADRID--CHARLES I. APPROACHES SPAIN--THE BUEN RETIRO AND THE
ARTS--WAR IN CATALONIA--DISTRESS IN THE CAPITAL AND FRIVOLITY IN THE
COURT--PREVAILING LAWLESSNESS--THE RECEPTION OF THE PRINCESS OF
CARIGNANO--SIR WALTER ASTON IN MADRID--THE ENGLISH INTRIGUE ABANDONED
CHAPTER VIII
FESTIVITIES IN MADRID--EXTRAVAGANCE AND PENURY--NEW WAYS OF RAISING
MONEY--HOPTON AND WINDEBANK--BATTLE OF THE DOWNS--VIOLENCE IN THE
STREETS OF MADRID--REVOLT OF PORTUGAL--FRENCH {xii} INVASION OF
SPAIN--REVOLT OF CATALONIA--PHILIP'S AMOUR WITH THE NUN OF ST.
PLACIDO--THE WANE OF OLIVARES--PHILIP'S VOYAGE TO ARAGON--INTRIGUES
AGAINST OLIVARES--FALL OF OLIVARES
CHAPTER IX
DEATH OF RICHELIEU AND OF THE CARDINAL INFANTE--PHILIP'S GOOD
RESOLUTIONS--HIS CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE NUN OF AGREDA--PHILIP WITH HIS
ARMIES--DEATH OF QUEEN ISABEL OF BOURBON--THE WAR CONTINUES IN
CATALONIA--DEATH OF BALTASAR CARLOS--PHILIP'S GRIEF--HE LOSES
HEART--INFLUENCE OF THE NUN--HIS SECOND MARRIAGE WITH HIS NIECE
MARIANA--HIS LIFE WITH HER--DON LUIS DE HARO--NEGOTIATIONS WITH
ENGLAND--CROMWELL'S ENVOY, ANTHONY ASCHAM--HIS MURDER IN
MADRID--FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN PHILIP AND THE ENGLISH
COMMONWEALTH--CROMWELL SEIZES JAMAICA--WAR WITH ENGLAND
CHAPTER X
MORAL AND SOCIAL DECADENCE IN MADRID--PHILIP'S HABITS--POVERTY IN THE
PALACE--VELAZQUEZ--THE MENINAS--BIRTH OF AN HEIR--THE CHRISTENING--THE
PEACE OF THE PYRENEES--PHILIP'S JOURNEY TO THE FRONTIER--MARRIAGE OF
MARIA TERESA--CAMPAIGNS IN PORTUGAL--DON JUAN--DEATH OF HARO--PHILIP
BEWITCHED--DEATH OF PHILIP PROSPER--BIRTH OF CHARLES--FANSHAWE'S
EMBASSY--LADY FANSHAWE AND SPAIN--ROUT OF CARACENA IN
PORTUGAL--PHILIP'S ILLNESS--THE INQUISITION AND WITCHCRAFT--DEATH OF
PHILIP
INDEX
{xiii}
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PHILIP IV. AT THE AGE OF 55... _Frontispiece_
_From a portrait by_ VELAZUEZ _in the National Gallery, London._
ISABEL DE BOURBON, FIRST WIFE OF PHILIP IV
_From a portrait by_ VELAZQUEZ _in the possession of Edward Huth, Esq._
PHILIP IV. AS A YOUNG MAN
_From a contemporary | 304.747681 |
2023-11-16 18:22:09.0304810 | 1,948 | 22 |
Produced by MWS, Carolyn Jablonski 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.)
SONGS OF
THREE COUNTIES
AND OTHER POEMS
With an Introduction by
R. B. CUNNINGHAME-GRAHAM
By
MARGUERITE RADCLYFFE-HALL
LONDON
CHAPMAN & HALL, LTD.
1913.
Dedicated
to
The Marchioness of Anglesey
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION BY R. B. CUNNINGHAME GRAHAM ix
RUSTIC COURTING:
WALKING OUT 1
THE SHADOW OF RAGGEDSTONE 3
THE LONG GREEN LANES OF ENGLAND 5
THE HILLS 7
EASTNOR CHURCHYARD 8
THE MALVERN HILLS 9
THE FIRST CUCKOO 11
DUSK IN THE LANE 12
THE MEETING-PLACE 13
BY THE AVON 15
JEALOUSY 16
IN THE CITY 18
I BE THINKIN’ 19
SUNDAY EVENING 20
THE LEDBURY TRAIN 21
JILTED 22
CASEND HILL 23
THE LEDBURY ROAD 24
THE CALL TO LONDON 25
BREDON 27
OUR DEAD 28
PRIMROSE FLOWERS 29
TRAMPING 30
THE BLIND PLOUGHMAN 32
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:
WHEN THE WIND COMES UP THE HILL 35
PEACE 36
LIME-TREES 37
A LITTLE SONG 38
THE SONG OF THE WATCHER 39
BY THE RIVER 41
THE ROAD TO COLLA 42
PRAYER 43
DAWN 45
TO THE EARTH 46
DAWN AMONG THE OLIVE GROVES 48
SILENT PLACES 49
ONE EVENING NEAR NICE 50
THOUGHTS AT AJACCIO 51
THREE CHILD-SONGS:
THE THRUSH’S SONG 52
WILLOW WAND 53
A WINTER SONG 55
AUTUMN IN SUSSEX 56
SI PARVA LICET COMPONERE MAGNIS 57
TO ITALY 59
SUNDAY IN LIGURIA 60
GEORGETOWN, U.S.A. 61
ON THE POTOMAC RIVER, U.S.A. 63
THE LOST WORD 65
COMPARISONS 66
A FRAGMENT 67
APPRECIATIONS 69
PRESS NOTICES 73
INTRODUCTION
WITH as much grace as if a monoplanist should attempt to write a preface
to a book on flying for an albatross, so may a writer of mere prose
attempt to pen an introduction to a book of poetry.
The bird and man both use the air, but with a difference. So do the poet
and the man of prose use pen and ink.
Familiarity with tools, used in two branches of one art (or trade), is
apt to prove a snare.
Music and poetry, the most ethereal of the arts upon the face of them,
are in a way more mathematical than prose, for both have formulæ. Hence,
their appeal goes quicker to men’s minds, and oversteps countries and
languages to some degree, and makes it difficult to write about them. Of
late, young poets, those who have bulked the largest in the public eye,
those that the world has hailed as modern, have often been obscure. What
is modernity? To be modern is to touch the senses of the age you write
for. To me, a fool who owns a motor-car is just as great a fool as was a
fool of the stone age.
The only true modernity is talent, and Lucian of Samosata was as modern
to the full as Guy de Maupassant. The poet for whose verses I am writing
this my introduction, preface, foreword, call it what you will, is one
of those whose meaning he who runs may read.
Does she do well in making herself clear? I think so, for though there
are those who prefer a mist of words, holding apparently that poetry
should be written in Chinook, or Malagasy, this opinion must of
necessity be of the nature of what Ben Jonson called a “humour.”
Few men to-day read Eupheus and fewer Gongora. Yet in their time their
concepts were considered to be fine flowers of poetry. Those who wrote
so that all men could understand, as Sapho, Campion, Jorge Maurique,
Petrarca, Villon, and their fellow-singers in the celestial spheres
where poets sing, crowned with the bays of the approval of countless
generations, all wrote clearly. Their verses all were clear as is the
water running over chalk in a south country trout-stream, such as the
Itchin or the Test.
I take two specimens of Miss Radclyffe-Hall’s poetry to illustrate what
I have said. She writes of a blind ploughman, whose prayer is to his
friend to set him in the sun.
“Turn my face towards the East
And praise be to God.”
One sees him sitting, wrinkled and bent, and ploughworn in the sun, and
thanking God according to his faith, for light interior, for that
interior vision which all the mystics claim.
“God who made His sun to shine
On both you and me,
God who took away my eyes,
That my _soul_ might see.”
This shows the poet in an unusual light, for most poets write on far
different subjects; but here is one which is eternal, and has been
eternal since the time of Œdipus.
Again in the verses, “Thoughts at Ajaccio,” she shows a love of the
earth and of its fulness, a feeling which has been the birthright of all
English writers of good verse from the remotest times.
“Fill me with scent of upturned ground,
Soft perfume from thy bosom drawn.”
This is the feeling that has inspired so many poets, and shows the
writer not striving to be modern or filled with strange conceits; but
with a love and trust of the brown earth, from which all poets take
their birth, and into which they all return.
R. B. CUNNINGHAME GRAHAM.
RUSTIC COURTING
I
WALKING OUT
UPON a Sunday afternoon,
When no one else was by,
The little girl from Hanley way,
She came and walked with I.
We climbed nigh to the Beacon top,
And never word spoke we,
But oh! we heard the thrushes sing
Within the cherry tree.
The cherry tree was all a-bloom,
And Malvern lay below,
And far away the Severn wound—
’Twas like a silver bow.
She took my arm, I took her hand,
And never word we said,
But oh! I knew her eyes were brown,
Her lips were sweet and red.
And when I brought her home again,
The stars were up above,
And ’twas the nightingale that swelled
His little throat with love!
II
THE SHADOW OF RAGGEDSTONE
O RAGGEDSTONE, you darksome hill,
Your shadow fell for sure
Upon my own dear love and I,
Across the purple moor.
For we were such a happy pair,
The day we climbed your crest;
And now my love she lays her head
Upon another’s breast.
She sits beside another man,
And walks abroad with he,
And never sheds a single tear,
Or thinks a thought o’ me!
My mind it seems a-fire like,
My heart’s as cold as lead,
My prayers they dry upon my lips
And somehow won’t get said.
I wish that I could lay me down,
Upon the dreary plain
That stretches out to Raggedstone,*
And never rise again!
------------------
* A legend is attached to Raggedstone Hill in Worcestershire. The Hill
was cursed by a Benedictine Monk. From time to time a great shadow rises
up from it, spreading across the surrounding country. | 305.050521 |
2023-11-16 18:22:09.3874030 | 1,463 | 51 |
E-text prepared by David Edwards, Emmy, and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://www.archive.org/details/elsieatviamede00finl
ELSIE AT VIAMEDE
* * * * *
A LIST OF THE ELSIE BOOKS AND OTHER POPULAR BOOKS
BY MARTHA FINLEY
_ELSIE DINSMORE._
_ELSIE'S HOLIDAYS AT ROSELANDS._
_ELSIE'S GIRLHOOD._
_ELSIE'S WOMANHOOD._
_ELSIE'S MOTHERHOOD._
_ELSIE'S CHILDREN._
_ELSIE'S WIDOWHOOD._
_GRANDMOTHER ELSIE._
_ELSIE'S NEW RELATIONS._
_ELSIE AT NANTUCKET._
_THE TWO ELSIES._
_ELSIE'S KITH AND KIN._
_ELSIE'S FRIENDS AT WOODBURN._
_CHRISTMAS WITH GRANDMA ELSIE._
_ELSIE AND THE RAYMONDS._
_ELSIE YACHTING WITH THE RAYMONDS._
_ELSIE'S VACATION._
_ELSIE AT VIAMEDE._
_ELSIE AT ION._
_ELSIE AT THE WORLD'S FAIR._
_ELSIE'S JOURNEY ON INLAND WATERS._
_ELSIE AT HOME._
_ELSIE ON THE HUDSON._
_ELSIE IN THE SOUTH._
_ELSIE'S YOUNG FOLKS._
_ELSIE'S WINTER TRIP._
_ELSIE AND HER LOVED ONES._
* * * * *
_MILDRED KEITH._
_MILDRED AT ROSELANDS._
_MILDRED'S MARRIED LIFE._
_MILDRED AND ELSIE._
_MILDRED AT HOME._
_MILDRED'S BOYS AND GIRLS._
_MILDRED'S NEW DAUGHTER._
* * * * *
_CASELLA._
_SIGNING THE CONTRACT AND WHAT IT COST._
_THE TRAGEDY OF WILD RIVER VALLEY._
_OUR FRED._
_AN OLD-FASHIONED BOY._
_WANTED, A PEDIGREE._
_THE THORN IN THE NEST._
* * * * *
ELSIE AT VIAMEDE
by
MARTHA FINLEY
Author of "Elsie Dinsmore," "The Mildred Books,"
"Thorn in the Nest," Etc., Etc., Etc.
New York
Dodd, Mead & Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1892
by Dodd, Mead & Company.
All rights reserved.
ELSIE AT VIAMEDE.
CHAPTER I.
IT was a beautiful evening at Viamede: the sun nearing its setting,
shadows sleeping here and there upon the velvety flower-bespangled lawn,
and filling the air with their delicious perfume, the waters of the
bayou beyond reflecting the roseate hues of the sunset clouds, and the
song of some <DW64> oarsmen, in a passing boat, coming to the ear in
pleasantly mellowed tones. Tea was over, and the family had all gathered
upon the veranda overlooking the bayou. A momentary silence was broken
by Rosie's pleasant voice:
"Mamma, I wish you or grandpa, or the captain, would tell the story of
Jackson's defence of New Orleans. Now while we are in the neighborhood
we would all, I feel sure, find it very interesting. I think you have
been going over Lossing's account of it, mamma," she added laughingly,
"for I found his 'Pictorial History of the War of 1812' lying on the
table in your room, with a mark in at that part."
"Yes, I had been refreshing my memory in that way," returned her mother,
smiling pleasantly into the dark eyes gazing so fondly and entreatingly
into hers. "And," she added, "I have no objection to granting your
request, except that I do not doubt that either your grandfather or the
captain could do greater justice to the subject than I," glancing
inquiringly from one to the other.
"Captain, I move that you undertake the task," said Mr. Dinsmore. "You
are, no doubt, better prepared to do it justice than I, and I would not
have my daughter fatigued with the telling of so long a story."
"Always so kindly careful of me, my dear father," remarked Mrs. Travilla
in a softly spoken aside.
"I am doubtful of my better preparation for the telling of the story,
sir," returned the captain in his pleasant tones, "but if both you and
mother are disinclined for the exertion I am willing to undertake the
task."
"Yes, do, captain; do, papa," came in eager tones from several young
voices, and lifting baby Ned to one knee, Elsie to the other, while the
rest of the young members of the household grouped themselves about him,
he began his story after a slight pause to collect his thoughts.
"You all, I think, have more or less knowledge of the War of 1812-14,
which finished the work of separation from the mother country so nearly
accomplished by the War of the Revolution. Upon the close of that
earlier contest, England, it is true, acknowledged our independence, but
evidently retained a hope of finally recovering her control here.
"All through the intervening years, our sailors on our merchant vessels,
and even, in some instances, those belonging to our navy, were subjected
to insults and oppression when met on the high seas by the more powerful
ones of the English. The conduct of British officers--claiming the right
to search our vessels for deserters from theirs, and often seizing
American born men as such--was most gallingly insulting; the wrongs thus
inflicted upon our poor seamen were enough to rouse the anger and
indignation of the meekest of men. The clearest proofs of citizenship
availed nothing; they were seized, carried forcibly aboard the British
ships, and, if they refused to serve their captors, were brutally
flogged again and again.
"But I will not go into details with which you are all more or less
acquainted. We did not lack abundant cause for exasperation, and at
length, though ill prepared for the struggle, our government declared
war against Great Britain.
| 305.407443 |
2023-11-16 18:22:09.8256340 | 1,195 | 54 | 6)***
E-text prepared by Louise Hope, Chris Curnow, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 42239-h.htm or 42239-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42239/42239-h/42239-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42239/42239-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/pastonlettersad05gairuoft
Project Gutenberg has the other volumes of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43348
Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40989
Volume III: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41024
Volume IV: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41081
Volume VI, Part 1 (Letters, Chronological Table): see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42240
Volume VI, Part 2 (Index): see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42494
Transcriber's note:
This text file is intended for users whose text readers cannot
display the Unicode/UTF-8 version. The oe-ligature is displayed
as "oe." One Greek phrase is shown in transliteration between
number signs (#O thea#).
The Gairdner edition of the Paston Letters was printed in six
volumes. Each volume is a separate e-text; Volume VI is further
divided into two e-texts, Letters and Index. Volume I, the
General Introduction, will be released after all other volumes,
matching the original publication order.
Except for footnotes and sidenotes, all brackets are in the
original, as are parenthetical question marks and (_sic_)
notations. Series of dots representing damaged text are shown
as in the printed original.
The year was shown in a sidenote at the top of each page; this
has been merged with the sidenote at the beginning of each
Letter or Abstract.
A carat character is used to denote superscription. The
character(s) following the carat is superscripted (example:
vj^ti). Braces { } are used only when the superscripted
text is immediately followed by non-superscripted letters
or period (full stop). Subscripts (rare) are shown with
single lines _.Errata and other transcriber's notes are
shown in [[double brackets]].
Footnotes have their original numbering, with added page
number to make them usable with the full Index. They are
grouped at the end of each Letter or Abstract.
Typographical errors are listed at the end of each Letter,
after the footnotes. In the primary text, errors were only
corrected if they are clearly editorial, such as missing
italics, or mechanical, such as u-for-n misprints. Italic
"d" misprinted as "a" was a recurring problem, especially
in Volume IV. The word "invisible" means that there is
an appropriately sized blank space, but the letter or
punctuation mark itself is missing. The form "corrected
by author" refers to the Errata printed at the end of the
Letters, in Volume VI.
Specifics: The spelling "Jhon" is not an error. Gresham and
Tresham are different people. Conversely, the inconsistent
spelling of the name "Lipyate" or "Lipgate" in footnotes is
unchanged. In this volume, the spelling "apostyle" for
"apostille" is used consistently.
Note that the printed book used z to represent original small
letter yogh. This has not been changed for the e-text.
This edition, published by arrangement with Messrs. ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE
AND COMPANY, LIMITED, is strictly limited to 650 copies for Great
Britain and America, of which only 600 sets are for sale, and are
numbered 1 to 600.
No. 47
[[The number 47 is handwritten.]]
* * * * *
* * * *
THE PASTON LETTERS
A.D. 1422-1509
* * * *
* * * * *
THE PASTON LETTERS
A.D. 1422-1509
New Complete Library Edition
Edited with Notes and an Introduction
by
JAMES GAIRDNER
of the Public Record Office
_VOLUME V_
London
Chatto & Windus
[Decoration]
Exeter
James G. Commin
1904
Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty
THE PASTON LETTERS
_Edward IV_
695
WILLIAM EBESHAM TO SIR JOHN PASTON[1-1]
_To my moost worshupfull maister, Sir John Paston, Knyght._
[Sidenote: 1469(?)]
My moost woorshupfull and moost speciall maister, with all my serv | 305.845674 |
2023-11-16 18:22:10.0591370 | 5,538 | 21 |
E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Louise Pryor, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Transcriber's note:
Spelling is inconsistent and has been neither modernised nor
corrected.
In the original, footnotes are marked with lower case letters,
numbers, or asterisks. In this transcription, the asterisks
have been replaced by the number of the page on which the
footnote appears.
Contractions (such as atq; for atque) have not been expanded.
THE
Natural HISTORY
OF
CHOCOLATE:
BEING
A Distinct and Particular Account of the COCOA-TREE, its Growth and
Culture, and the Preparation, Excellent Properties, and Medicinal
Vertues of its Fruit.
Wherein the Errors of those who have wrote upon this Subject are
discover'd; the Best Way of Making CHOCOLATE is explain'd; and
several Uncommon MEDICINES drawn from it, are communicated.
_Translated from the last EDITION of the _French_,
_By_ R. BROOKES, M. D._
The SECOND EDITION.
_LONDON:_
Printed for J. ROBERTS, near the _Oxford-Arms_ in _Warwick-Lane_.
M DCC.XXX.
PREFACE
If the Merit of a Natural History depends upon the Truth of the Facts
which are brought to support it, then an unprejudiced Eye-Witness is
more proper to write it, than any other Person; and I dare even flatter
myself, that this will not be disagreeable to the Publick
notwithstanding its Resemblance to the particular Treatises of
_Colmenero_[1], _Dufour_[2], and several others who have wrote upon the
same Subject. Upon examination, so great a Difference will appear, that
no one can justly accuse me of having borrow'd any thing from these
Writers.
This small Treatise is nothing but the Substance and Result of the
Observations that I made in the _American Islands_, during the fifteen
Years which I was obliged to stay there, upon the account of his
Majesty's Service. The great Trade they drive there in _Chocolate_,
excited my Curiosity to examine more strictly than ordinary into its
Origin, Culture, Properties, and Uses. I was not a little surprized when
I every day discover'd, as to the Nature of the Plant, and the Customs
of the Country, a great Number of Facts contrary to the Ideas, and
Prejudices, for which the Writers on this Subject have given room.
For this reason, I resolved to examine every thing myself, and to
represent nothing but as it really was in Nature, to advance nothing but
what I had experienced, and even to doubt of the Experiments themselves,
till I had repeated them with the utmost Exactness. Without these
Precautions, there can be no great Dependance on the greatest Part of
the Facts, which are produced by those who write upon any Historical
Matter from Memorandums; which, from the Nature of the Subject, they
cannot fully comprehend.
As for my Reasonings upon the Nature, Vertues, and Uses of Chocolate,
perhaps they may be suspected by some People, because they relate to an
Art which I do not profess; but let that be as it will, the Facts upon
which they are founded are certain, and every one is at liberty to make
what other Inferences they like best.
As there are several Names of Plants, and Terms of Art used in those
Countries, which I have been obliged to make use of, and which it was
necessary to explain somewhat at large, that they might be rightly
understood; rather than make frequent Digressions, and interrupt the
Discourse, I have thought fit to number these Terms, and to explain them
at the End of this Treatise: the Reader must therefore look forward for
those Remarks under their particular Numbers.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] De Chocolata Inda.
[2] Du The, du Caffe, & du Chocolat.
THE TABLE.
The First PART.
Chap. I. The Description of the _Cocao-Tree_. Pag. 2
Chap. II. Of the Choice and Disposition of the Place
to plant a Nursery. 10
Chap. III. Of the Method of Planting a Nursery, and of
its Cultivation, till the Fruit comes to Maturity. 16
Chap. IV. Of the gathering the _Cocao-Nuts_, and of the
Manner of making the Kernels sweat; and also of drying
them that they may be transported into _Europe_. 24
The Second PART.
Of the Properties of Chocolate. 38
Chap. I. Of the old Prejudices against Chocolate. 39
Chap. II. Of the real Properties of Chocolate. 44
Sect. I. Chocolate is very Temperate. 45
Sect. II. Chocolate is very nourishing, and of easy Digestion. 47
Sect. III. Chocolate speedily repairs the dissipated Spirits
and decayed Strength. 51
Sect. IV. Chocolate is very proper to preserve Health, and
to prolong the Life of old Men. 56
The Third PART.
Of the Uses of Chocolate. 60
Chap. I. Of Chocolate in Confections. 61
Chap. II. Of Chocolate properly so called. 62
Sect. I. Of the Origin of Chocolate, and the different
Methods of preparing it. 63
The Method of preparing Chocolate used in the _French_
Islands of _America_. 67
Sect. II. Of the Uses that may be made of Chocolate, with
relation to Medicine. 70
Chap. III. Of the Oil or Butter of Chocolate. 74
Remarks upon some Places of this Treatise. 80
Medicines in whose Composition Oil, or Butter of Chocolate,
is made use of. 91
The wonderful Plaister for the curing of all Kinds of Ulcers. ibid.
An excellent Pomatum for the Cure of Tettars, Ringworms,
Pimples, and other Deformities of the Skin. 94
* * * * *
The APPROBATION of Monsieur _Andry_, Counsellor, Lecturer, and Regal
Professor, Doctor, Regent of the Faculty of Medicine at _Paris_, and
Censor Royal of Books.
I Have read, by order of the Lord Keeper of the Seals, this _Natural
History of Chocolate_, and I judge that the Impression will be very
necessary and useful for the Publick. Given at _Paris_ this 5th of
_April, 1719_.
THE
Natural HISTORY
OF
CHOCOLATE.
Of the Division of this Treatise.
I Shall divide this Treatise on Chocolate into three Parts: In the
_First_, after I have given a Description of the _Cocao Tree_, I shall
explain how it is cultivated, and give an Account how its Fruit is
prepared: In the _Second_, I shall speak of the Properties of
_Chocolate_; and in the _Third_, of its Uses.
PART I.
CHAP. I.
The Description of the _Cocao-Tree_.
The _Cocao-Tree_ is moderately tall and thick, and either thrives, or
not, according to the Quality of the Soil wherein it grows: Upon the
Coast of _Caraqua_, for instance, it grows considerably larger than in
the Islands belonging to the _French_.
Its _Wood_ is porous, and very light; the _Bark_ is pretty firm, and of
the Colour of _Cinnamon_, more or less dark, according to the Age of the
Tree. The _Leaves_ are about nine Inches long, and four in breadth,
where they are broadest; for they grow less towards the two Extremities,
where they terminate in a point: their Colour is a little darkish, but
more bright above than underneath; they are joined to Stalks three
Inches long, and the tenth part of an Inch broad. This Stalk, as it
enters the Leaf, makes a strait Rib, a little raised along the Middle,
which grows proportionably less the nearer it comes to the End. From
each side of this Rib proceed thirteen or fourteen crooked Threads
alternately.
As these Leaves only fall off successively, and in proportion as others
grow again, this Tree never appears naked: It is always flourishing, but
more especially so towards the two _Solstices_, than in the other
Seasons.
The _Blossoms_, which are regular and like a Rose, but very small, and
without smell, proceed from the Places from which the old Leaves fall,
as it were in Bunches. A large Quantity of these fall off, for hardly
Ten of a Thousand come to good, insomuch that the Earth underneath seems
cover'd over with them.
Every _Blossom_ is joined to the Tree by a slender Stalk half an Inch or
a little more in length; when it is yet in the Bud, it is one Fifth of
an Inch broad, and about one fourth or a little more in length: when it
was least, in proportion to the Tree and the Fruit, the more strange it
appeared to me, and more worthy of Attention[a].
When the Buds begin to blow, one may consider the _Calix_, the
_Foliage_, and the Heart of the Blossom. The _Calix_ is formed of the
Cover of the Bud, divided into five Parts, or Leaves, of a very pale
flesh-colour. These are succeeded by the five true Leaves of the same
Colour, which fill up the empty Spaces or Partitions of the _Calix_.
These Leaves have two Parts, the undermost of which is like an oblong
Cup, striped with Purple; on the inside, it bends towards the Center by
the help of a _Stamen_, which serves to fasten it; from this proceeds
outwardly, the other Part of the Leaf, which seems to be separate from
it, and is formed like the End of a Pike.
The Heart is composed of five Threads and five _Stamina_, with the
_Pistilla_ in the middle. The Threads are strait, and of a purple
Colour, and placed over-against the Intervals of the Leaves. The
_Stamina_ are white, and bend outwardly with a kind of a Button on the
top, which insinuates itself into the middle of each Leaf to sustain
itself.
When one looks at these small Objects through a Microscope, one is ready
to say, That the Point of the Threads is like Silver, and that the
_Stamina_ are Chrystal; as well as the _Pistilla_, which Nature seems to
have placed in the Center, either to be the _Primitiae_ of the young
Fruit, or to serve to defend it, if it be true that this Embryo unfolds
itself, and is produced in no other place but the Base.
For want of observing these small Parts, as well as the Bulk of the
Blossom, _F. Plumier_ had no distinct Knowledge of them, nor has he
exactly design'd them, any more than _Mons. Tournefort_, who has done
them after his Draught[b].
The _Cocao-Tree_ almost all the Year bears Fruit of all Ages, which
ripen successively, but never grow on the end of little Branches, as our
Fruits in _Europe_ do, but along the Trunk and the chief Boughs, which
is not rare in these Countries, where several Trees do the like; such as
the [1]_Cocoeiers_, the [2]_Apricots_ of St. _Domingo_, the
[3]_Calebashes_, the [4]_Papaws_, &c.
Such an unusual Appearance would seem strange in the Eyes of
_Europeans_, who had never seen any thing of that kind; but if one
examines the Matter a little, the philosophical Reason of this
Disposition is very obvious. One may easily apprehend, that if Nature
had placed such bulky Fruit at the Ends of the Branches, their great
Weight must necessarily break them, and the Fruit would fall before it
came to Maturity.
The Fruit of the _Cocao-Tree_ is contained in a Husk or Shell, which
from an exceeding small Beginning, attains, in the space of four Months,
to the Bigness and Shape of a Cucumber; the lower End is sharp and
furrow'd length-ways like a Melon[c].
This Shell in the first Months is either red or white, or a Mixture of
red and yellow: This Variety of Colours makes three sorts of
_Cocao-Trees_, which have nothing else to distinguish them but this,
which I do not think sufficient to make in reality three different kinds
of _Cocao-Nuts_[d].
The First is of a dark vinous Red, chiefly on the sides, which becomes
more bright and pale as the Fruit ripens.
The Second, which is the White, or rather is at first of so pale a
Green, that it may be mistaken for White; by little and little it
assumes a Citron Colour, which still growing deeper and deeper, at
length becomes entirely yellow.
The Third, which is Red and Yellow mix'd together, unites the Properties
of the other two; for as they grow ripe, the Red becomes pale, and the
Yellow grows more deep.
I have observed that the white Shells are thicker and shorter than the
other, especially on the side towards the Tree, and that these sorts of
Trees commonly bear most.
If one cleaves one of these Shells length-ways, it will appear almost
half an Inch thick, and its Capacity full of Chocolate Kernels; the
Intervals of which, before they are ripe, are fill'd with a hard white
Substance, which at length turns into a Mucilage of a very grateful
Acidity: For this reason, it is common for People to take some of the
Kernels with their Covers, and hold them in their Mouths, which is
mighty refreshing, and proper to quench Thirst. But they take heed of
biting them, because the Films of the Kernels are extreamly bitter.
When one nicely examines the inward Structure of these Shells, and
anatomizes, as it were, all their Parts; one shall find that the Fibres
of the Stalk of the Fruit passing through the Shell, are divided into
five Branches; that each of these Branches is subdivided into several
Filaments, every one of which terminates at the larger End of these
Kernels, and all together resemble a Bunch of Grapes, containing from
twenty to thirty-five single ones, or more, ranged and placed in an
admirable Order.
I cannot help observing here, what Inconsistency there is in the
Accounts concerning the Number of Kernels in each Shell. [e]_Dampier_,
for instance, says there is commonly near a Hundred; other Moderns[f]
60, 70 or 80, ranged like the Seeds of a Pomgranate. [g]_Thomas Gage_,
30 or 40; _Colmenero_[h] 10 or 12; and _Oexmelin_[i] 10 or 12, to 14.
I can affirm, after a thousand Tryals, that I never found more nor less
than twenty-five. Perhaps if one was to seek out the largest Shells in
the most fruitful Soil, and growing on the most flourishing Trees, one
might find forty Kernels; but as it is not likely one should ever meet
with more, so, on the other hand, it is not probable one should ever
find less than fifteen, except they are abortive, or the Fruit of a Tree
worn out with Age in a barren Soil, or without Culture.
When one takes off the Film that covers one of the Kernels, the
Substance of it appears; which is tender, smooth, and inclining to a
violet Colour, and is seemingly divided into several Lobes, tho' in
reality they are but two; but very irregular, and difficult to be
disengaged from each other, which we shall explain more clearly in
speaking of its Vegetation. [k]_Oexmelin_ and several others have
imagined, that a _Cocao_-Kernel was composed of five or six Parts
sticking fast together; Father _Plumier_ himself fell into this Error,
and has led others into it[l]. If the Kernel be cut in two length-ways,
one finds at the Extremity of the great end, a kind of a longish
[m]Grain, one fifth of an Inch long, and one fourth Part as broad, which
is the _Germ_, or first Rudiments of the Plant; but in _European_
Kernels this Part is placed at the other end.
One may even see in _France_ this Irregularity of the Lobes, and also
the _Germ_ in the Kernels that are roasted and cleaned to make
Chocolate.
FOOTNOTES:
[a] _Piso_ says (_Montiss. Aromat. cap. 18._) that the Blossom is great
and of a bright Yellow, _Flos est magnus & flavescens instar Croci_. A
modern Author has transcribed this. Error of _Piso_; _Floribus_, says
he, _magnis pentapetalis & flavis_. _Dale_ Pharmacologia, _Pag. 441_.
[b] Appen. Rei Herbariae. _pag._ 660. _tab._ 444.
[1] [2] [3] [4] See the Remarks at the End of this Treatise.
[c] _Benzo_ says they grow ripe in a Year, as well as others after him,
_Annuo Spatio maturescit, Benzo memorante_. Carol. Cluzio, l. c. _Annuo
justam attingens Maturitatem Spatio_. Franc. Hernandes, _apud_ Anton.
Rech. _In Hist. Ind. Occidental_, lib. 5. c. 1.
[d] It seems likely that the _Spanish_ Authors who say there are four
Kinds of this at _Mexico_, have no better Foundation for the difference
than this; and Mons. _Tournefort_ had reason to say after Father
_Plumier_, that he only knew one Kind of this Tree. Cacao _Speciem
Unicam novi_. _Append. Rei Herb._ pag. 660.
[e] _A new Voyage round the World._ Tom. 1. Ch. 3. p. 69.
[f] Pomet's _General History of Drugs_, Book vii. Ch. xiv. pag. 205.
Chomel's _Abridgment of usual Plants_. Valentin. Hist. Simplicium
reform. lib. 2.
[g] New Relation of the _East Indies_. Tom. 1. Part 2. Ch. 19.
[h] A curious Discourse upon Chocolate, by _Ant. Colmenero de Cedesma_,
Physician and Chirurgeon at _Paris_ 1643.
[i] _The History of Adventures._ Tom. 1. Pag. 423.
[k] Ibid.
[l] In multas veluti Amygdalas fissiles. _Tournefort_ in Append. Rei
Herb. _Pag. 660. & Tab. 444._
[m] I can't imagine upon what Foundation _Oexmelin_ could assert, that
the _Spaniards_ in the making of their Chocolate, used nothing but this
longish Grain, which he calls _Pignon_. Au Milieu desquelles Amandes de
Cacao, est, _says he_, un petit Pignon, qui a la Germe fort tendre, &
difficile a conserver; c'est de cette Semence que les Espaniols font la
celebre Boisson de Chocolat. _Oexmelin_ Histoire des Avanturers, _Tom.
1. pag. 423_. He confirms more plainly the same Fancy, _Pag. 426_.
CHAP. II.
Of the Choice and Disposition of the Place for Planting _Cocao-Trees_.
The _Cocao-Tree_ grows naturally in several Countries in _America_ under
the Torrid Zone, but chiefly at _Mexico_, in the Provinces of
_Nicaragua_ and _Guatimala_, as also along the Banks of the River of the
_Amazons_[n]. Likewise upon the Coast of _Caraqua_, that is to say,
from Comana to Cartagena[o] and the _Golden Island_. Some also have
been found in the Woods of _Martinico_.
The _Spaniards_ and _Portuguese_ were the first to whom the _Indians_
communicated the Use of _Cocao-Nuts_, which they kept a long time to
themselves without acquainting other Nations with it; who in reality
know so little of it at this day, that some _Dutch_ Corsairs, ignorant
of the Value of some Prizes they had taken, out of contempt cast the
Merchandize into the Sea, calling it in derision, in very indifferent
_Spanish_, _Cacura de Carnero_[p], The Dung of Beasts.
In 1649[q] in the _Vert_ Islands, they had never seen but one Tree
planted, which was in the Garden of an _English-Man_, an Inhabitant of
the Island of _St. Croix_[r]. In 1655, the _Caribeans_[s] shewed to M.
_du Parepet_ a _Cocao-Tree_ in the Woods of the Island of _Martinico_,
whereof he was Governour. This discovery was the Foundation of several
others of the same kind, in the Woods of the _Cape Sterre_[t] of this
Island. And it is probable that the Kernels which were taken out of
them, were the Original of those _Cocao-Trees_ that have been planted
there since. A _Jew_ named _Benjamin_ planted the first about the Year
1660, but it was not till twenty or twenty-five Years after, that the
Inhabitants of _Martinico_ apply'd themselves to the Cultivation of
_Cocao-Trees_, and to raise Nurseries of them.
When one would raise a Nursery, it is necessary, above all things, to
chuse a proper Place, in respect of Situation, and a Soil agreeable to
the Nature of it.
The Place should be level, moist, and not exposed to Winds; a fresh, and
(if one may be allow'd the Expression) a Virgin Soil, indifferently fat,
light, and deep. For this reason, Ground newly cleared, whose Soil is
black and sandy, which is kept moist by a River, and its Borders so high
as to shelter it from the Winds, especially towards the Sea Coast, is
preferable to any other; and they never fail putting it to this Use,
when they are so happy as to find any of this sort.
I have said, _Ground newly cleared_, that is to say, whose Wood is cut
down purposely for it; for it is necessary to observe, that they at
present plant their Nurseries in the middle of Woods, which have been so
time out of mind, and this for two weighty Reasons: The First, because
the Wood that is left standing round it, may serve as a Shelter; and the
Second, because there is less Trouble in weeding or grubbing it. The
Ground that has never produced any Weeds, will send forth but few, for
want of Seed.
As for Nurseries planted in high Ground, the Earth is neither moist nor
deep enough, and commonly the chief Root which grows directly downwards,
cannot pierce the hard Earth which it soon meets with. Besides, the
Winds are more boisterous, and cause the Blossoms to fall off as soon as
blown, and when a little high, overturn the Tree, whose Roots are almost
all superficial.
This is yet worse on the Hills, whose Descent is too steep; for besides
the same Inconveniencies, the falling down of the Earth draws with it
the good Soil, and insensibly lays the Roots bare.
One may therefore conclude that all these Nurseries are a long time
before they bear, that they are never fruitful, and that they are
destroy'd in a little time.
It is also proper that a Nursery, as much as may be, should be
surrounded with standing Wood; but if it is open on any side, it should
be remedy'd as soon as possible, by a Border of several Ranks of Trees
called _Bananes_[5].
Besides this, the Nurseries should be moderate in respect of Magnitude,
for the Small have not Air enough, and are, as it were, stifled; and the
very Large | 306.079177 |
2023-11-16 18:22:10.3263140 | 3,601 | 9 |
Produced by David Widger
LITERATURE AND LIFE--The Standard Household-Effect Company
by William Dean Howells
THE STANDARD HOUSEHOLD-EFFECT COMPANY
My friend came in the other day, before we had left town, and looked
round at the appointments of the room in their summer shrouds, and said,
with a faint sigh, "I see you have had the eternal-womanly with you,
too."
I.
"Isn't the eternal-womanly everywhere? What has happened to you?"
I asked.
"I wish you would come to my house and see. Every rug has been up for a
month, and we have been living on bare floors. Everything that could be
tied up has been tied up, everything that could be sewed up has been
sewed up. Everything that could be moth-balled and put away in chests
has been moth-balled and put away. Everything that could be taken down
has been taken down. Bags with draw-strings at their necks have been
pulled over the chandeliers and tied. The pictures have been hidden in
cheese-cloth, and the mirrors veiled in gauze so that I cannot see my own
miserable face anywhere."
"Come! That's something."
"Yes, it's something. But I have been thinking this matter over very
seriously, and I believe it is going from bad to worse. I have heard
praises of the thorough housekeeping of our grandmothers, but the
housekeeping of their granddaughters is a thousand times more intense."
"Do you really believe that?" I asked. "And if you do, what of it?"
"Simply this, that if we don't put a stop to it, at the gait it's going,
it will put a stop to the eternal-womanly."
"I suppose we should hate that."
"Yes, it would be bad. It would be very bad; and I have been turning the
matter over in my mind, and studying out a remedy."
"The highest type of philosopher turns a thing over in his mind and lets
some one else study out a remedy."
"Yes, I know. I feel that I may be wrong in my processes, but I am sure
that I am right in my results. The reason why our grandmothers could be
such good housekeepers without danger of putting a stop to the eternal-
womanly was that they had so few things to look after in their houses.
Life was indefinitely simpler with them. But the modern improvements,
as we call them, have multiplied the cares of housekeeping without
subtracting its burdens, as they were expected to do. Every novel
convenience and comfort, every article of beauty and luxury, every means
of refinement and enjoyment in our houses, has been so much added to the
burdens of housekeeping, and the granddaughters have inherited from the
grandmothers an undiminished conscience against rust and the moth, which
will not suffer them to forget the least duty they owe to the naughtiest
of their superfluities."
"Yes, I see what you mean," I said. This is what one usually says when
one does not quite know what another is driving at; but in this case I
really did know, or thought I did. "That survival of the conscience is a
very curious thing, especially in our eternal-womanly. I suppose that
the North American conscience was evolved from the rudimental European
conscience during the first centuries of struggle here, and was more or
less religious and economical in its origin. But with the advance of
wealth and the decay of faith among us, the conscience seems to be simply
conscientious, or, if it is otherwise, it is social. The eternal-womanly
continues along the old lines of housekeeping from an atavistic impulse,
and no one woman can stop because all the other women are going on. It
is something in the air, or something in the blood. Perhaps it is
something in both."
"Yes," said my friend, quite as I had said already, "I see what you mean.
But I think it is in the air more than in the blood. I was in Paris,
about this time last year, perhaps because I was the only thing in my
house that had not been swathed in cheese-cloth, or tied up in a bag with
drawstrings, or rolled up with moth-balls and put away in chests. At any
rate, I was there. One day I left my wife in New York carefully tagging
three worn-out feather dusters, and putting them into a pillow-case, and
tagging it, and putting the pillow-case into a camphorated self-sealing
paper sack, and tagging it; and another day I was in Paris, dining at the
house of a lady whom I asked how she managed with the things in her house
when she went into the country for the summer. 'Leave them just as they
are,' she said. 'But what about the dust and the moths, and the rust and
the tarnish?' She said, 'Why, the things would have to be all gone over
when I came back in the autumn, anyway, and why should I give myself
double trouble?' I asked her if she didn't even roll anything up and put
it away in closets, and she said: 'Oh, you mean that old American horror
of getting ready to go away. I used to go through all that at home, too,
but I shouldn't dream of it here. In the first place, there are no
closets in the house, and I couldn't put anything away if I wanted to.
And really nothing happens. I scatter some Persian powder along the
edges of things, and under the lower shelves, and in the dim corners, and
I pull down the shades. When I come back in the fall I have the powder
swept out, and the shades pulled up, and begin living again. Suppose a
little dust has got in, and the moths have nibbled a little here and
there? The whole damage would not amount to half the cost of putting
everything away and taking everything out, not to speak of the weeks of
discomfort, and the wear and tear of spirit. No, thank goodness--I left
American housekeeping in America.' I asked her: 'But if you went back?'
and she gave a sigh, and said:
"'I suppose I should go back to that, along with all the rest. Everybody
does it there.' So you see," my friend concluded, "it's in the air,
rather than the blood."
"Then your famous specific is that our eternal-womanly should go and live
in Paris?"
"Oh, dear, not" said my friend. "Nothing so drastic as all that. Merely
the extinction of household property."
"I see what you mean," I said. "But--what do you mean?"
"Simply that hired houses, such as most of us live in, shall all be
furnished houses, and that the landlord shall own every stick in them,
and every appliance down to the last spoon and ultimate towel. There
must be no compromise, by which the tenant agrees to provide his own
linen and silver; that would neutralize the effect I intend by the
expropriation of the personal proprietor, if that says what I mean. It
must be in the lease, with severe penalties against the tenant in case of
violation, that the landlord into furnish everything in perfect order
when the tenant comes in, and is to put everything in perfect order when
the tenant goes out, and the tenant is not to touch anything, to clean
it, or dust it, or roll it up in moth-balls and put it away in chests.
All is to be so sacredly and inalienably the property of the landlord
that it shall constitute a kind of trespass if the tenant attempts to
close the house for the summer or to open it for the winter in the usual
way that houses are now closed and opened. Otherwise my scheme would be
measurably vitiated."
"I see what you mean," I murmured. "Well?"
"Some years ago," my friend went on, "when we came home from Europe, we
left our furniture in storage for a time, while we rather drifted about,
and did not settle anywhere in particular. During that interval my wife
opened and closed five furnished houses in two years."
"And she has lived to tell the tale?"
"She has lived to tell it a great many times. She can hardly be kept
from telling it yet. But it is my belief that, although she brought to
the work all the anguish of a quickened conscience, under the influence
of the American conditions she had returned to, she suffered far less in
her encounters with either of those furnished houses than she now does
with our own furniture when she shuts up our house in the summer, and
opens it for the winter. But if there had been a clause in the lease, as
there should have been, forbidding her to put those houses in order when
she left them, life would have been simply a rapture. Why, in Europe
custom almost supplies the place of statute in such cases, and you come
and go so lightly in and out of furnished houses that you do not mind
taking them for a month, or a few weeks. We are very far behind in this
matter, but I have no doubt that if we once came to do it on any extended
scale we should do it, as we do everything else we attempt, more
perfectly than any other people in the world. You see what I mean?"
"I am not sure that I do. But go on."
"I would invert the whole Henry George principle, and I would tax
personal property of the household kind so heavily that it would
necessarily pass out of private hands; I would make its tenure so costly
that it would be impossible to any but the very rich, who are also the
very wicked, and ought to suffer."
"Oh, come, now!"
"I refer you to your Testament. In the end, all household property would
pass into the hands of the state."
"Aren't you getting worse and worse?"
"Oh, I'm not supposing there won't be a long interval when household
property will be in the hands of powerful monopolies, and many
millionaires will be made by letting it out to middle-class tenants like
you and me, along with the houses we hire of them. I have no doubt that
there will be a Standard Household-Effect Company, which will extend its
relations to Europe, and get the household effects of the whole world
into its grasp. It will be a fearful oppression, and we shall probably
groan under it for generations, but it will liberate us from our personal
ownership of them, and from the far more crushing weight of the
mothball. We shall suffer, but--"
"I see what you mean," I hastened to interrupt at this point, "but these
suggestive remarks of yours are getting beyond--Do you think you could
defer the rest of your incompleted sentence for a week?"
"Well, for not more than a week," said my friend, with an air of
discomfort in his arrest.
II.
--"We shall not suffer so much as we do under our present system," said
my friend, completing his sentence after the interruption of a week. By
this time we had both left town, and were taking up the talk again on the
veranda of a sea-side hotel. "As for the eternal-womanly, it will be her
salvation from herself. When once she is expropriated from her household
effects, and forbidden under severe penalties from meddling with those of
the Standard Household-Effect Company, she will begin to get back her
peace of mind, and be the same blessing she was before she began
housekeeping."
"That may all very well be," I assented, though I did not believe it, and
I found something almost too fantastical in my friend's scheme. "But
when we are expropriated from all our dearest belongings, what is to
become of our tender and sacred associations with them?"
"What has become of devotion to the family gods, and the worship of
ancestors? Once the graves of the dead were at the door of the living,
so that libations might be conveniently poured out on them, and the
ground where they lay was inalienable because it was supposed to be used
by their spirits as well as their bodies. A man could not sell the
bones, because he could not sell the ghosts, of his kindred. By-and by,
when religion ceased to be domestic and became social, and the service of
the gods was carried on in temples common to all, it was found that the
tombs of one's forefathers could be sold without violence to their
spectres. I dare say it wouldn't be different in the case of our tender
and sacred associations with tables and chairs, pots and pans, beds and
bedding, pictures and bric-a-brac. We have only to evolve a little
further. In fact we have already evolved far beyond the point that
troubles you. Most people in modern towns and cities have changed their
domiciles from ten to twenty times during their lives, and have not paid
the slightest attention to the tender and sacred associations connected
with them. I don't suppose you would say that a man has no such
associations with the house that has sheltered him, while he has them
with the stuff that has furnished it?"
"No, I shouldn't say that."
"If anything, the house should be dearer than the household gear. Yet at
each remove we drag a lengthening chain of tables, chairs, side-boards,
portraits, landscapes, bedsteads, washstands, stoves, kitchen utensils,
and bric-a-brac after us, because, as my wife says, we cannot bear to
part with them. At several times in our own lives we have accumulated
stuff enough to furnish two or three house and have paid a pretty stiff
house-rent in the form of storage for the overflow. Why, I am doing that
very thing now! Aren't you?"
"I am--in a certain degree," I assented.
"We all are, we well-to-do people, as we think ourselves. Once my wife
and I revolted by a common impulse against the ridiculous waste and
slavery of the thing. We went to the storage warehouse and sent three or
four vanloads of the rubbish to the auctioneer. Some of the pieces we
had not seen for years, and as each was hauled out for us to inspect and
decide upon, we condemned it to the auction-block with shouts of
rejoicing. Tender and sacred associations! We hadn't had such light
hearts since we had put everything in storage and gone to Europe
indefinitely as we had when we left those things to be carted out of our
lives forever. Not one had been a pleasure to us; the sight of every one
had been a pang. All we wanted was never to set eyes on them again."
"I must say you have disposed of the tender and sacred associations
pretty effectually, so far as they relate to things in storage. But the
things that we have in daily use?"
"It is exactly the same with them. Why should they be more to us than
the floors and walls of the houses we move in and move out of with no
particular pathos? And I think we ought not to care for them, certainly
not to the point of letting them destroy our eternal-womanly with the
anxiety she feels for them. She is really much more precious, if she
could but realize it, than anything she swathes in cheese-cloth or wraps
up with moth-balls. The proof of the fact that the whole thing is a
piece of mere sentimentality is that we may live in a furnished house for
years, amid all the accidents of birth and death, joy and sorrow, and yet
not form the slightest attachment to the furniture. Why should we have
tender and sacred associations with a thing we have bought, and not with
a thing we have hired?"
"I confess, I don't know. And do you really think we could liberate
ourselves from our belongings if they didn't belong to us? Wouldn't the
eternal-womanly still keep putting them away for summer and taking them
out for winter?"
"At first, yes, there might be some such mechanical action in her; but it
would be purely mechanical, and it would soon cease. When the Standard
Household-Effect Company came down on the temporal-manly with a penalty
for violation of the lease, the eternal-womanly would see the folly of
her ways and stop; for the eternal-womanly is essentially economical,
whatever we say about the dressmaker's bills; and the very futilities of
putting away and taking | 306.346354 |
2023-11-16 18:22:10.4295500 | 4,634 | 10 | SCIENCE***
E-text prepared by John Hagerson, Kevin Handy, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
THE EDINBURGH LECTURES ON MENTAL SCIENCE
BY THOMAS TROWARD LATE DIVISIONAL JUDGE, PUNJAB
THE WRITER AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATES THIS LITTLE VOLUME TO HIS WIFE
FOREWORD.
This book contains the substance of a course of lectures recently given by
the writer in the Queen Street Hall, Edinburgh. Its purpose is to indicate
the _Natural Principles_ governing the relation between Mental Action and
Material Conditions, and thus to afford the student an intelligible
starting-point for the practical study of the subject.
T.T.
March, 1904.
CONTENTS.
I.--SPIRIT AND MATTER.
II.--THE HIGHER MODE OF INTELLIGENCE CONTROLS THE LOWER
III.--THE UNITY OF THE SPIRIT
IV.--SUBJECTIVE AND OBJECTIVE MIND
V.--FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS REGARDING SUBJECTIVE AND OBJECTIVE MIND
VI.--THE LAW OF GROWTH
VII.--RECEPTIVITY.
VIII.--RECIPROCAL ACTION OF THE UNIVERSAL AND INDIVIDUAL MINDS
IX.--CAUSES AND CONDITIONS
X.--INTUITION
XI.--HEALING
XII.--THE WILL
XIII.--IN TOUCH WITH SUBCONSCIOUS MIND
XIV.--THE BODY
XV.--THE SOUL
XVI.--THE SPIRIT
I.
SPIRIT AND MATTER.
In commencing a course of lectures on Mental Science, it is somewhat
difficult for the lecturer to fix upon the best method of opening the
subject. It can be approached from many sides, each with some peculiar
advantage of its own; but, after careful deliberation, it appears to me
that, for the purpose of the present course, no better starting-point could
be selected than the relation between Spirit and Matter. I select this
starting-point because the distinction--or what we believe to be such--
between them is one with which we are so familiar that I can safely assume
its recognition by everybody; and I may, therefore, at once state this
distinction by using the adjectives which we habitually apply as expressing
the natural opposition between the two--_living_ spirit and _dead_ matter.
These terms express our current impression of the opposition between spirit
and matter with sufficient accuracy, and considered only from the point of
view of outward appearances this impression is no doubt correct. The
general consensus of mankind is right in trusting the evidence of our
senses, and any system which tells us that we are not to do so will never
obtain a permanent footing in a sane and healthy community. There is
nothing wrong in the evidence conveyed to a healthy mind by the senses of a
healthy body, but the point where error creeps in is when we come to judge
of the meaning of this testimony. We are accustomed to judge only by
external appearances and by certain limited significances which we attach
to words; but when we begin to enquire into the real meaning of our words
and to analyse the causes which give rise to the appearances, we find our
old notions gradually falling off from us, until at last we wake up to the
fact that we are living in an entirely different world to that we formerly
recognized. The old limited mode of thought has imperceptibly slipped away,
and we discover that we have stepped out into a new order of things where
all is liberty and life. This is the work of an enlightened intelligence
resulting from persistent determination to discover what truth really is
irrespective of any preconceived notions from whatever source derived, the
determination to think honestly for ourselves instead of endeavouring to
get our thinking done for us. Let us then commence by enquiring what we
really mean by the livingness which we attribute to spirit and the deadness
which we attribute to matter.
At first we may be disposed to say that livingness consists in the power of
motion and deadness in its absence; but a little enquiry into the most
recent researches of science will soon show us that this distinction does
not go deep enough. It is now one of the fully-established facts of
physical science that no atom of what we call "dead matter" is without
motion. On the table before me lies a solid lump of steel, but in the light
of up-to-date science I know that the atoms of that seemingly inert mass
are vibrating with the most intense energy, continually dashing hither and
thither, impinging upon and rebounding from one another, or circling round
like miniature solar systems, with a ceaseless rapidity whose complex
activity is enough to bewilder the imagination. The mass, as a mass, may
lie inert upon the table; but so far from being destitute of the element of
motion it is the abode of the never-tiring energy moving the particles with
a swiftness to which the speed of an express train is as nothing. It is,
therefore, not the mere fact of motion that is at the root of the
distinction which we draw instinctively between spirit and matter; we must
go deeper than that. The solution of the problem will never be found by
comparing Life with what we call deadness, and the reason for this will
become apparent later on; but the true key is to be found by comparing one
degree of livingness with another. There is, of course, one sense in which
the quality of livingness does not admit of degrees; but there is another
sense in which it is entirely a question of degree. We have no doubt as to
the livingness of a plant, but we realize that it is something very
different from the livingness of an animal. Again, what average boy would
not prefer a fox-terrier to a goldfish for a pet? Or, again, why is it that
the boy himself is an advance upon the dog? The plant, the fish, the dog,
and the boy are all equally _alive_; but there is a difference in the
quality of their livingness about which no one can have any doubt, and no
one would hesitate to say that this difference is in the degree of
intelligence. In whatever way we turn the subject we shall always find that
what we call the "livingness" of any individual life is ultimately measured
by its intelligence. It is the possession of greater intelligence that
places the animal higher in the scale of being than the plant, the man
higher than the animal, the intellectual man higher than the savage. The
increased intelligence calls into activity modes of motion of a higher
order corresponding to itself. The higher the intelligence, the more
completely the mode of motion is under its control: and as we descend in
the scale of intelligence, the descent is marked by a corresponding
increase in _automatic_ motion not subject to the control of a
self-conscious intelligence. This descent is gradual from the expanded
self-recognition of the highest human personality to that lowest order of
visible forms which we speak of as "things," and from which
self-recognition is entirely absent.
We see, then, that the livingness of Life consists in intelligence--in
other words, in the power of Thought; and we may therefore say that the
distinctive quality of spirit is Thought, and, as the opposite to this, we
may say that the distinctive quality of matter is Form. We cannot conceive
of matter without form. Some form there must be, even though invisible to
the physical eye; for matter, to be matter at all, must occupy space, and
to occupy any particular space necessarily implies a corresponding form.
For these reasons we may lay it down as a fundamental proposition that the
distinctive quality of spirit is Thought and the distinctive quality of
matter is Form. This is a radical distinction from which important
consequences follow, and should, therefore, be carefully noted by the
student.
Form implies extension in space and also limitation within certain
boundaries. Thought implies neither. When, therefore, we think of Life as
existing in any particular _form_ we associate it with the idea of
extension in space, so that an elephant may be said to consist of a vastly
larger amount of living substance than a mouse. But if we think of Life as
the fact of livingness we do not associate it with any idea of extension,
and we at once realize that the mouse is quite as much alive as the
elephant, notwithstanding the difference in size. The important point of
this distinction is that if we can conceive of anything as entirely devoid
of the element of extension in space, it must be present in its entire
totality anywhere and everywhere--that is to say, at every point of space
simultaneously. The scientific definition of time is that it is the period
occupied by a body in passing from one given point in space to another,
and, therefore, according to this definition, when there is no space there
can be no time; and hence that conception of spirit which realizes it as
devoid of the element of space must realize it as being devoid of the
element of time also; and we therefore find that the conception of spirit
as pure Thought, and not as concrete Form, is the conception of it as
subsisting perfectly independently of the elements of time and space. From
this it follows that if the idea of anything is conceived as existing on
this level it can only represent that thing as being actually present here
and now. In this view of things nothing can be remote from us either in
time or space: either the idea is entirely dissipated or it exists as an
actual present entity, and not as something that _shall_ be in the future,
for where there is no sequence in time there can be no future. Similarly
where there is no space there can be no conception of anything as being at
a distance from us. When the elements of time and space are eliminated all
our ideas of things must necessarily be as subsisting in a universal here
and an everlasting now. This is, no doubt, a highly abstract conception,
but I would ask the student to endeavour to grasp it thoroughly, since it
is of vital importance in the practical application of Mental Science, as
will appear further on.
The opposite conception is that of things expressing themselves through
conditions of time and space and thus establishing a variety of _relations_
to other things, as of bulk, distance, and direction, or of sequence in
time. These two conceptions are respectively the conception of the abstract
and the concrete, of the unconditioned and the conditioned, of the absolute
and the relative. They are not opposed to each other in the sense of
incompatibility, but are each the complement of the other, and the only
reality is in the combination of the two. The error of the extreme idealist
is in endeavouring to realize the absolute without the relative, and the
error of the extreme materialist is in endeavouring to realize the relative
without the absolute. On the one side the mistake is in trying to realize
an inside without an outside, and on the other in trying to realize an
outside without an inside; both are necessary to the formation of a
substantial entity.
II.
THE HIGHER MODE OF INTELLIGENCE CONTROLS THE LOWER.
We have seen that the descent from personality, as we know it in ourselves,
to matter, as we know it under what we call inanimate forms, is a gradual
descent in the scale of intelligence from that mode of being which is able
to realize its own will-power as a capacity for originating new trains of
causation to that mode of being which is incapable of recognizing itself at
all. The higher the grade of life, the higher the intelligence; from which
it follows that the supreme principle of Life must also be the ultimate
principle of intelligence. This is clearly demonstrated by the grand
natural order of the universe. In the light of modern science the principle
of evolution is familiar to us all, and the accurate adjustment existing
between all parts of the cosmic scheme is too self-evident to need
insisting upon. Every advance in science consists in discovering new
subtleties of connection in this magnificent universal order, which already
exists and only needs our recognition to bring it into practical use. If,
then, the highest work of the greatest minds consists in nothing else than
the recognition of an already existing order, there is no getting away from
the conclusion that a paramount intelligence must be inherent in the
Life-Principle, which manifests itself _as_ this order; and thus we see
that there must be a great cosmic intelligence underlying the totality of
things.
The physical history of our planet shows us first an incandescent nebula
dispersed over vast infinitudes of space; later this condenses into a
central sun surrounded by a family of glowing planets hardly yet
consolidated from the plastic primordial matter; then succeed untold
millenniums of slow geological formation; an earth peopled by the lowest
forms of life, whether vegetable or animal; from which crude beginnings a
majestic, unceasing, unhurried, forward movement brings things stage by
stage to the condition in which we know them now. Looking at this steady
progression it is clear that, however we may conceive the nature of the
evolutionary principle, it unerringly provides for the continual advance of
the race. But it does this by creating such numbers of each kind that,
after allowing a wide margin for all possible accidents to individuals, the
race shall still continue:--
"So careful of the type it seems
So careless of the single life."
In short, we may say that the cosmic intelligence works by a Law of
Averages which allows a wide margin of accident and failure to the
individual.
But the progress towards higher intelligence is always in the direction of
narrowing down this margin of accident and taking the individual more and
more out of the law of averages, and substituting the law of individual
selection. In ordinary scientific language this is the survival of the
fittest. The reproduction of fish is on a scale that would choke the sea
with them if every individual survived; but the margin of destruction is
correspondingly enormous, and thus the law of averages simply keeps up the
normal proportion of the race. But at the other end of the scale,
reproduction is by no means thus enormously in excess of survival. True,
there is ample margin of accident and disease cutting off numbers of human
beings before they have gone through the average duration of life, but
still it is on a very different scale from the premature destruction of
hundreds of thousands as against the survival of one. It may, therefore, be
taken as an established fact that in proportion as intelligence advances
the individual ceases to be subject to a mere law of averages and has a
continually increasing power of controlling the conditions of his own
survival.
We see, therefore, that there is a marked distinction between the cosmic
intelligence and the individual intelligence, and that the factor which
differentiates the latter from the former is the presence of _individual_
volition. Now the business of Mental Science is to ascertain the relation
of this individual power of volition to the great cosmic law which provides
for the maintenance and advancement of the race; and the point to be
carefully noted is that the power of individual volition is itself the
outcome of the cosmic evolutionary principle at the point where it reaches
its highest level. The effort of Nature has always been upwards from the
time when only the lowest forms of life peopled the globe, and it has now
culminated in the production of a being with a mind capable of abstract
reasoning and a brain fitted to be the physical instrument of such a mind.
At this stage the all-creating Life-principle reproduces itself in a form
capable of recognizing the working of the evolutionary law, and the unity
and continuity of purpose running through the whole progression until now
indicates, beyond a doubt, that the place of such a being in the universal
scheme must be to introduce the operation of that factor which, up to this
point, has been, conspicuous by its absence--the factor, namely, of
intelligent individual volition. The evolution which has brought us up to
this standpoint has worked by a cosmic law of averages; it has been a
process in which the individual himself has not taken a conscious part. But
because he is what he is, and leads the van of the evolutionary procession,
if man is to evolve further, it can now only be by his own conscious
co-operation with the law which has brought him up to the standpoint where
he is able to realize that such a law exists. His evolution in the future
must be by conscious participation in the great work, and this can only be
effected by his own individual intelligence and effort. It is a process of
intelligent growth. No one else can grow for us: we must each grow for
ourselves; and this intelligent growth consists in our increasing
recognition of the universal law, which has brought us as far as we have
yet got, and of our own individual relation to that law, based upon the
fact that we ourselves are the most advanced product of it. It is a great
maxim that Nature obeys us precisely in proportion as we first obey Nature.
Let the electrician try to go counter to the principle that electricity
must always pass from a higher to a lower potential and he will effect
nothing; but let him submit in all things to this one fundamental law, and
he can make whatever particular applications of electrical power he will.
These considerations show us that what differentiates the higher from the
lower degree of intelligence is the recognition of its own self-hood, and
the more intelligent that recognition is, the greater will be the power.
The lower degree of self-recognition is that which only realizes itself as
an entity separate from all other entities, as the _ego_ distinguished from
the _non-ego_. But the higher degree of self-recognition is that which,
realizing its own spiritual nature, sees in all other forms, not so much
the _non-ego_, or that which is not itself, as the _alter-ego_, or that
which is itself in a different mode of expression. Now, it is this higher
degree of self-recognition that is the power by which the Mental Scientist
produces his results. For this reason it is imperative that he should
clearly understand the difference between Form and Being; that the one is
the mode of the relative and, the mark of subjection to conditions, and
that the other is the truth of the absolute and is that which controls
conditions.
Now this higher recognition of self as an individualization of pure spirit
must of necessity control all modes of spirit which have not yet reached
the same level of self-recognition. These lower modes of spirit are in
bondage to the law of their own being because they do not know the law;
and, therefore, the individual who has attained to this knowledge can
control them through that law. But to understand this we must inquire a
little further into the nature of spirit. I have already shown that the
grand scale of adaptation and adjustment of all parts of the cosmic scheme
to one another exhibits the presence _somewhere_ of a marvellous
intelligence, underlying the whole, and the question is, where is this
intelligence to be found? Ultimately we can only conceive of it as inherent
in some primordial substance which is the root of all those grosser modes
of matter which are known to us, whether visible to the physical eye, or
necessarily inferred by science from their perceptible effects. It is that
power which, in every species and in every individual, becomes that which
that species or individual is; and thus we can only conceive of it as a
self-forming intelligence inherent in the ultimate substance of which each
thing is a particular manifestation. That this primordial substance must be
considered as self-forming by an inherent intelligence abiding in itself
becomes evident from the fact that intelligence is the essential quality of
spirit; and if we were to conceive of the primordial substance as something
apart from spirit, then we should have to postulate some other power which
is neither spirit nor matter, and originates both; but this is only putting
the idea of a self-evolving power a step further back and asserting the
production of a lower grade of undifferentiated spirit by a higher, which
is both a purely gratuitous assumption and a contradiction of any idea we
can form of undifferentiated spirit at all. However far back, therefore, we
may relegate the original starting-point, we cannot avoid the conclusion
that, at that point, spirit contains the primary substance in itself, which
brings us back to the common statement that it made everything out of
nothing. We thus find two factors to the making of all things, Spirit
and--Nothing; and the addition of Nothing to Spirit leaves _only_ spirit:
x + 0 = x.
From these considerations we see that the ultimate foundation of every form
of matter is spirit, and hence that a universal intelligence subsists
throughout Nature inherent in every one of its manifestations. But this
cryptic intelligence does not belong to the particular _form_ excepting in
the measure in which it is physically fitted for its concentration into
self-recognizing individuality: it lies hidden in that primordial substance
of which the visible form is a grosser manifestation. This primordial
substance is a philosophical necessity, and we can only picture it to
ourselves as something infinitely finer than the atoms which are themselves
a philosophical inference of physical science: still, for want of a | 306.44959 |
2023-11-16 18:22:10.6257010 | 2,108 | 7 |
Produced by Charles Aldarondo
ON PICKET DUTY, AND OTHER TALES
By L. M. Alcott
Boston:
NEW YORK:
1864
ON PICKET DUTY.
_WHAT_ air you thinkin' of, Phil?
"My wife, Dick."
"So was I! Aint it odd how fellers fall to thinkin' of thar little
women, when they get a quiet spell like this?"
"Fortunate for us that we do get it, and have such gentle bosom
guests to keep us brave and honest through the trials and
temptations of a life like ours."
October moonlight shone clearly on the solitary tree, draped with
gray moss, scarred by lightning and warped by wind, looking like a
venerable warrior, whose long campaign was nearly done; and
underneath was posted the guard of four. Behind them twinkled many
camp-fires on a distant plain, before them wound a road ploughed by
the passage of an army, strewn with the relics of a rout. On the
right, a sluggish river glided, like a serpent, stealthy, sinuous,
and dark, into a seemingly impervious jungle; on the left, a
Southern swamp filled the air with malarial damps, swarms of noisome
life, and discordant sounds that robbed the hour of its repose. The
men were friends as well as comrades, for though gathered from the
four quarters of the Union, and dissimilar in education, character,
and tastes, the same spirit animated all; the routine of camp life
threw them much together, and mutual esteem soon grew into a bond of
mutual good fellowship.
Thorn was a Massachusetts volunteer; a man who seemed too early old,
too early embittered by some cross, for though grim of countenance,
rough of speech, cold of manner, a keen observer would have soon
discovered traces of a deeper, warmer nature hidden, behind the
repellent front he turned upon the world. A true New Englander,
thoughtful, acute, reticent, and opinionated; yet earnest withal,
intensely patriotic, and often humorous, despite a touch of Puritan
austerity.
Phil, the "romantic chap," as he was called, looked his character to
the life. Slender, swarthy, melancholy eyed, and darkly bearded;
with feminine features, mellow voice and, alternately languid or
vivacious manners. A child of the South in nature as in aspect,
ardent, impressible, and proud; fitfully aspiring and despairing;
without the native energy which moulds character and ennobles life.
Months of discipline and devotion had done much for him, and some
deep experience was fast ripening the youth into a man.
Flint, the long-limbed lumberman, from the wilds of Maine, was a
conscript who, when government demanded his money or his life,
calculated the cost, and decided that the cash would be a dead loss
and the claim might be repeated, whereas the conscript would get
both pay and plunder out of government, while taking excellent care
that government got precious little out of him. A shrewd,
slow-spoken, self-reliant specimen, was Flint; yet something of the
fresh flavor of the backwoods lingered in him still, as if Nature
were loath to give him up, and left the mark of her motherly hand
upon him, as she leaves it in a dry, pale lichen, on the bosom of
the roughest stone.
Dick "hailed" from Illinois, and was a comely young fellow, full of
dash and daring; rough and rowdy, generous and jolly, overflowing
with spirits and ready for a free fight with all the world.
Silence followed the last words, while the friendly moon climbed up
the sky. Each man's eye followed it, and each man's heart was busy
with remembrances of other eyes and hearts that might be watching
and wishing as theirs watched and wished. In the silence, each
shaped for himself that vision of home that brightens so many
camp-fires, haunts so many dreamers under canvas roofs, and keeps so
many turbulent natures tender by memories which often are both
solace and salvation.
Thorn paced to and fro, his rifle on his shoulder, vigilant and
soldierly, however soft his heart might be. Phil leaned against the
tree, one hand in the breast of his blue jacket, on the painted
presentment of the face his fancy was picturing in the golden circle
of the moon. Flint lounged on the sward, whistling softly as he
whittled at a fallen bough. Dick was flat on his back, heels in air,
cigar in mouth, and some hilarious notion in his mind, for suddenly
he broke into a laugh.
"What is it, lad?" asked Thorn, pausing in his tramp, as if willing
to be drawn from the disturbing thought that made his black brows
lower and his mouth look grim.
"Thinkin' of my wife, and wishin' she was here, bless her heart! set
me rememberin' how I see her fust, and so I roared, as I always do
when it comes into my head."
"How was it? Come, reel off a yarn and let's hear houw yeou hitched
teams," said Flint, always glad to get information concerning his
neighbors, if it could be cheaply done.
"Tellin' how we found our wives wouldn't be a bad game, would it,
Phil?"
"I'm agreeable; but let us have your romance first."
"Devilish little of that about me or any of my doin's. I hate
sentimental bosh as much as you hate slang, and should have been a
bachelor to this day if I hadn't seen Kitty jest as I did. You see,
I'd been too busy larkin' round to get time for marryin', till a
couple of years ago, when I did up the job double-quick, as I'd like
to do this thunderin' slow one, hang it all!"
"Halt a minute till I give a look, for this picket isn't going to be
driven in or taken while I'm on guard."
Down his beat went Thorn, reconnoitring river, road, and swamp, as
thoroughly as one pair of keen eyes could do it, and came back
satisfied, but still growling like a faithful mastiff on the watch;
performances which he repeated at intervals till his own turn came.
"I didn't have to go out of my own State for a wife, you'd better
believe," began Dick, with a boast, as usual; "for we raise as fine
a crop of girls thar as any State in or out of the Union, and don't
mind raisin' Cain with any man who denies it. I was out on a gunnin'
tramp with Joe Partridge, a cousin of mine,--poor old chap! he fired
his last shot at Gettysburg, and died game in a way he didn't dream
of the day we popped off the birds together. It ain't right to joke
that way; I won't if I can help it; but a feller gets awfully kind
of heathenish these times, don't he?"
"Settle up them scores byme-by; fightin' Christians scurse raound
here. Fire away, Dick."
"Well, we got as hungry as hounds half a dozen mile from home, and
when a farm-house hove in sight, Joe said he'd ask for a bite and
leave some of the plunder for pay. I was visitin' Joe, didn't know
folks round, and backed out of the beggin' part of the job; so he
went ahead alone. We'd come up the woods behind the house, and while
Joe was foragin', I took are connoissance. The view was fust-rate,
for the main part of it was a girl airin' beds on the roof of a
stoop. Now, jest about that time, havin' a leisure spell, I'd begun
to think of marryin', and took a look at all the girls I met, with
an eye to business. I s'pose every man has some sort of an idee or
pattern of the wife he wants; pretty and plucky, good and gay was
mine, but I'd never found it till I see Kitty; and as she didn't see
me, I had the advantage and took an extra long stare."
"What was her good pints, hey?"
"Oh, well, she had a wide-awake pair of eyes, a bright, jolly sort
of a face, lots of curly hair tumblin' out of her net, a trig little
figger, and a pair of the neatest feet and ankles that ever stepped.
'Pretty,' thinks I;'so far so good.' The way she whacked the
pillers, shooked the blankets, and pitched into the beds was a
caution; specially one blunderin' old featherbed that wouldn't do
nothin' but sag round in a pig-headed sort of way, that would have
made most girls get mad and give up. Kitty didn't, but just wrastled
with it like a good one, till she got it turned, banged, and spread
to suit her; then she plumped down in the middle of it, with a sarcy
little nod and chuckle to herself, that tickled me mightily.
'Plucky,' thinks I, 'better 'n' better.' Jest then an old woman came
flyin' out the back-door, callin', ' | 306.645741 |
2023-11-16 18:22:10.6271450 | 2,149 | 46 | II (OF 8)***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, jayam, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/)
PROCOPIUS
With an English Translation by H. B. Dewing
In Seven Volumes
I
HISTORY OF THE WARS, BOOKS I AND II
London
William Heinemann Ltd
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Harvard University Press
MCMLXXI
First Printed 1914
CONTENTS
HISTORY OF THE WARS--
PAGE
INTRODUCTION vii
BIBLIOGRAPHY xv
BOOK I.--THE PERSIAN WAR 1
BOOK II.--THE PERSIAN WAR (_continued_) 259
INTRODUCTION
Procopius is known to posterity as the historian of the eventful reign
of Justinian (527-565 A.D.), and the chronicler of the great deeds of
the general Belisarius. He was born late in the fifth century in the
city of Caesarea in Palestine. As to his education and early years we
are not informed, but we know that he studied to fit himself for the
legal profession. He came as a young man to Constantinople, and seems to
have made his mark immediately. For as early as the year 527 he was
appointed legal adviser and private secretary[1] to Belisarius, then a
very young man who had been serving on the staff of the general
Justinian, and had only recently been advanced to the office of general.
Shortly after this Justinian was called by his uncle Justinus to share
the throne of the Roman Empire, and four months later Justinus died,
leaving Justinian sole emperor of the Romans. Thus the stage was set for
the scenes which are presented in the pages of Procopius. His own
activity continued till well nigh the end of Justinian's life, and he
seems to have outlived his hero, Belisarius.
During the eventful years of Belisarius' campaigning in Africa, in
Italy, and in the East, Procopius was moving about with him and was an
eye-witness of the events he describes in his writings. In 527 we find
him in Mesopotamia; in 533 he accompanied Belisarius to Africa; and in
536 he journeyed with him to Italy. He was therefore quite correct in
the assertion which he makes rather modestly in the introduction of his
history, that he was better qualified than anyone else to write the
history of that period. Besides his intimacy with Belisarius it should
be added that his position gave him the further advantage of a certain
standing at the imperial court in Constantinople, and brought him the
acquaintance of many of the leading men of his day. Thus we have the
testimony of one intimately associated with the administration, and
this, together with the importance of the events through which he lived,
makes his record exceedingly interesting as well as historically
important. One must admit that his position was not one to encourage
impartiality in his presentation of facts, and that the imperial favour
was not won by plain speaking; nevertheless we have before us a man who
could not obliterate himself enough to play the abject flatterer always,
and he gives us the reverse, too, of his brilliant picture, as we shall
see presently.
Procopius' three works give us a fairly complete account of the reign of
Justinian up till near the year 560 A.D., and he has done us the favour
of setting forth three different points of view which vary so widely
that posterity has sometimes found it difficult to reconcile them. His
greatest work, as well as his earliest, is the _History of the Wars_, in
eight books. The material is not arranged strictly according to
chronological sequence, but so that the progress of events may be traced
separately in each one of three wars. Thus the first two books are given
over to the Persian wars, the next two contain the account of the war
waged against the Vandals in Africa, the three following describe the
struggle against the Goths in Italy. These seven books were published
together first, and the eighth book was added later as a supplement to
bring the history up to about the date of 554, being a general account
of events in different parts of the empire. It is necessary to bear in
mind that the wars described separately by Procopius overlapped one
another in time, and that while the Romans were striving to hold back
the Persian aggressor they were also maintaining armies in Africa and in
Italy. In fact the Byzantine empire was making a supreme effort to
re-establish the old boundaries, and to reclaim the territories lost to
the barbarian nations. The emperor Justinian was fired by the ambition
to make the Roman Empire once more a world power, and he drained every
resource in his eagerness to make possible the fulfilment of this dream.
It was a splendid effort, but it was doomed to failure; the fallen
edifice could not be permanently restored.
The history is more general than the title would imply, and all the
important events of the time are touched upon. So while we read much of
the campaigns against the nations who were crowding back the boundaries
of the old empire, we also hear of civic affairs such as the great Nika
insurrection in Byzantium in 532; similarly a careful account is given
of the pestilence of 540, and the care shewn in describing the nature of
the disease shews plainly that the author must have had some
acquaintance with the medical science of the time.
After the seventh book of the _History of the Wars_ Procopius wrote the
_Anecdota_, or _Secret History_. Here he freed himself from all the
restraints of respect or fear, and set down without scruple everything
which he had been led to suppress or gloss over in the _History_ through
motives of policy. He attacks unmercifully the emperor and empress and
even Belisarius and his wife Antonina, and displays to us one of the
blackest pictures ever set down in writing. It is a record of wanton
crime and shameless debauchery, of intrigue and scandal both in public
and in private life. It is plain that the thing is overdone, and the
very extravagance of the calumny makes it impossible to be believed;
again and again we meet statements which, if not absolutely impossible,
are at least highly improbable. Many of the events of the _History_ are
presented in an entirely new light; we seem to hear one speaking out of
the bitterness of his heart. It should be said, at the same time, that
there are very few contradictions in statements of fact. The author has
plainly singled out the empress Theodora as the principal victim of his
venomous darts, and he gives an account of her early years which is both
shocking and disgusting, but which, happily, we are not forced to regard
as true. It goes without saying that such a work as this could not have
been published during the lifetime of the author, and it appears that it
was not given to the world until after the death of Justinian in 565.
Serious doubts have been entertained in times past as to the
authenticity of the _Anecdota_, for at first sight it seems impossible
that the man who wrote in the calm tone of the _History_ and who
indulged in the fulsome praise of the panegyric _On the Buildings_ could
have also written the bitter libels of the _Anecdota_. It has come to be
seen, however, that this feeling is not supported by any unanswerable
arguments, and it is now believed to be highly probable at least, that
the _Anecdota_ is the work of Procopius. Its bitterness may be extreme
and its calumnies exaggerated beyond all reason, but it must be regarded
as prompted by a reaction against the hollow life of the Byzantine
court.
The third work is entitled _On the Buildings_, and is plainly an attempt
to gain favour with the emperor. We can only guess as to what the
immediate occasion was for its composition. It is plain, however, that
the publication of the _History_ could not have aroused the enthusiasm
of Justinian; there was no attempt in it to praise the emperor, and one
might even read an unfavourable judgment between the lines. And it is
not at all unlikely that he was moved to envy by the praises bestowed
upon his general, Belisarius. At any rate the work _On the Buildings_ is
written in the empty style of the fawning flatterer. It is divided into
six short books and contains an account of all the public buildings of
Justinian's reign in every district of the empire. The subject was well
chosen and the material ample, and Procopius lost no opportunity of
lauding his sovereign to the skies. It is an excellent example of the
florid panegyric style which was, unfortunately, in great favour with
the literary world of his own as well as later Byzantine times. But in
spite of its faults, this work is a record of the greatest importance
for the study of the period, since it is a storehouse of information
concerning the internal administration of the empire.
The style of Procopius is in general clear and straightforward, and
shews the mind of one who endeavours to speak the truth in simple
language wherever he is not under constraint to avoid it. At the same
time he is not ignorant of the arts of rhetoric, and especially in the
speeches he is fond of introducing sounding phrases and sententious
statements. He was a great admirer of the classical writers of prose,
and their influence is everywhere apparent in his writing; in particular
he is much indebted to the historians Herodotus and Thucydides, and he
| 306.647185 |
2023-11-16 18:22:10.6458890 | 1,154 | 67 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Chris Jordan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: (1.) GOAT.]
[Illustration: (2.) SEAL (BOLD GRAIN).]
[Illustration: (3.) SEAL (FINE GRAIN).]
LEATHER FOR LIBRARIES.
BY
E. WYNDHAM HULME, J. GORDON PARKER,
A. SEYMOUR-JONES, CYRIL DAVENPORT,
AND
F. J. WILLIAMSON
LONDON:
Published for the Sound Leather Committee of the
Library Association
by
THE LIBRARY SUPPLY Co.,
Bridge House, 181, Queen Victoria Street, E.C.
1905.
LIBRARY ASSOCIATION.
CONSTITUTION OF THE SOUND LEATHER
COMMITTEE.
CYRIL DAVENPORT, _British Museum Library_.
J. P. EDMOND, _Signet Library, Edinburgh_.
DR. J. GORDON PARKER, _London Leather Industries Laboratory,
Bermondsey_.
E. WYNDHAM HULME, _Patent Office Library_. (_Hon. Secretary._)
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Page
History of Sumach Tanning in England, Degradation of
the Manufacture of Leather, and History of the Reform
Movement. By E. WYNDHAM HULME 5
CHAPTER II.
The Causes of Decay in Bookbinding Leathers. By
J. GORDON PARKER 15
CHAPTER III.
Provenance, Characteristics, and Values of Modern
Bookbinding Leathers. By A. SEYMOUR-JONES 29
CHAPTER IV.
The Repairing and Binding of Books for Public Libraries.
By CYRIL DAVENPORT 39
CHAPTER V.
Specification for the Fittings of a Small Bindery. By
F. J. WILLIAMSON 51
INDEX 55
_The Bancroft Library_
University of California · Berkeley
THE ROGER LEVENSON
MEMORIAL FUND
CHAPTER I.
History of Sumach Tanning
in England, Degradation of the
Manufacture of Leather, and History
of the Reform Movement.
BY
E. WYNDHAM HULME.
CHAPTER I.
The section of the leather trade to which this Handbook relates is
that concerned in the manufacture of light leathers tanned with a
pale tannage preparatory to being dyed. Bark and most other vegetable
tanning substances leave a colour on the skin which cannot be removed
without detriment to the durability of the leather; the retention of
the colour, however, detracts from the purity of the final colour
imparted by the dye. The reputation in the past of the sumach-tanned
Spanish leather was founded upon this peculiar property of sumach
of leaving the skin white, and on this point the wisdom of the
ancients has been justified by the results of an exhaustive series of
experiments conducted by the Society of Arts' Committee, which have
given to sumach the first place in the list of tannages for light
leathers.
The date of the introduction of sumach tanning into England may,
with some show of probability, be assigned to the year 1565, when
a seven years' monopoly patent was granted to two strangers, Roger
Heuxtenbury and Bartholomew Verberick, for the manufacture of
"Spanish or beyond sea leather," on the condition that the patentees
should employ one native apprentice for every foreigner in their
service. This stipulation indicates that the industry was a new one.
Following the custom of the times, the supervision of the industry was
entrusted to the "Wardens of the Company of Leathersellers in London."
Additional evidence of the use of sumach at this period is afforded by
another patent to a Spanish Jew, Roderigo Lopez, one of Elizabeth's
physicians. By way of settling her doctor's bills the Queen granted
to Lopez, in 1584, an exclusive licence to import sumach and aniseed
for ten years. Besides attending the Queen in his professional
capacity, Lopez was called upon to act as interpreter to the Portuguese
pretender, Don Antonio, on his visit to this island. As the result
of some misunderstanding with Antonio, Lopez was induced to join a
conspiracy nominally aimed against the life of Antonio, but actually
directed against the Queen, and in 1594 Lopez expiated his crimes at
Tyburn. Those who are curious in such matters will be interested to
trace in the "Merchant of Venice" the re-appearance of our sumach
merchant as Shylock, while the name of Antonio is boldly retained by
Shakespeare for his hero (Cf. S. Lee, "The Original of Shylock," in
the _Gentleman's Magazine_, 1880). After the arrest of Lopez, his
grant was continued to R. Alexander and R. Mompesson (Patent Roll, 36
Eliz., p. 11). | 306.665929 |
2023-11-16 18:22:10.8335340 | 7,436 | 8 |
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.)
CURIOSITIES OF PURITAN NOMENCLATURE
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
_Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d._
OUR ENGLISH SURNAMES: their Sources and Significations.
"Mr. Bardsley has faithfully consulted the original mediaeval documents and
works from which the origin and development of surnames can alone be
satisfactorily traced. He has furnished a valuable contribution to the
literature of surnames, and we hope to hear more of him in this
field."--_Times._
_CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY, W._
CURIOSITIES OF
PURITAN NOMENCLATURE
BY CHARLES W. BARDSLEY
AUTHOR OF "ENGLISH SURNAMES, THEIR SOURCES AND SIGNIFICATIONS"
"O my lord,
The times and titles now are alter'd strangely"
KING HENRY VIII.
London
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1880
[_The right of translation is reserved_]
_Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Limited, London and Beccles._
DEDICATED TO HIS FELLOW MEMBERS OF THE HARLEIAN SOCIETY.
PREFACE.
I will not be so ill-natured as to quote the names of all the writers who
have denied the existence of Puritan eccentricities at the font. One, at
least, ought to have known better, for he has edited more books of the
Puritan epoch than any other man in England. The mistake of all is that,
misled perhaps by Walter Scott and Macaulay, they have looked solely to
the Commonwealth period. The custom was then in its decay.
I have to thank several clergymen for giving me extracts from the
registers and records under their care. A stranger to them, I felt some
diffidence in making my requests. In every case the assistance I asked for
was readily extended. These gentlemen are the Rev. W. Sparrow Simpson, St.
Matthew, Friday Street, London; the Rev. W. Wodehouse, Elham, Canterbury;
the Rev. J. B. Waytes, Markington, Yorks.; the Rev. William Tebbs,
Caterham Valley; the Rev. Canon Howell, Drayton, Norwich; the Rev. J. O.
Lord, Northiam, Staplehurst; and the Rev. G. E. Haviland, Warbleton,
Sussex. The last-named gentleman copied no less than 120 names, all of
Puritan origin, from the Warbleton records. I beg to thank him most
warmly, and to congratulate him on possessing the most remarkable register
of its kind in England. Certain circumstances led me to suspect that
Warbleton was a kind of head-quarters of these eccentricities; I wrote to
the rector, and we soon found that we had "struck ile." That Mr. Heley,
the Puritan incumbent, should have baptized his own children by such names
as Fear-not and Much-mercy, was not strange, but that he should have
persuaded the majority of his parishioners to follow his example proves
wonderful personal influence.
Amongst the laity, I owe gratitude to Mr. Chaloner Smith, Richmond,
Surrey; Mr. R. R. Lloyd, St. Albans; Mr. J. E. Bailey, F.S.A., Manchester;
Mr. J. L. Beardsley, Cleveland, U.S.A.; Mr. Tarbutts, Cranbrook, Kent; and
Mr. Speed, Ulverston.
Of publications, I must needs mention _Notes and Queries_, a
treasure-house to all antiquaries; the Sussex Archaeological Society's
works, and the _Yorkshire Archaeological and Topographical Journal_. The
"Wappentagium de Strafford" of the latter is the best document yet
published for students of nomenclature. Out of it alone a complete history
of English surnames and baptismal names might be written. Though inscribed
with clerkly formality, it contained more _pet forms_ than any other
record I have yet seen; and this alone must stamp it as a most important
document. The Harleian Society, by publishing church registers, have set a
good example, and I have made much use of those that have been issued.
They contain few instances of Puritan extravagance, but that is owing to
the fact that no leading Puritan was minister of any of the three churches
whose records they have so far printed. I sincerely hope the list of
subscribers to this society may become enlarged.
For the rest--the result of twelve years' research--I am alone
responsible. Heavy clerical responsibilities have often been lightened by
a holiday spent among the yellow parchments of churches in town and
country, from north to south of England. As it is possible I have seen as
many registers as any other man in the country, I will add one
statement--a very serious one: there are thousands of entries, at this
moment faintly legible, which in another generation will be wholly
illegible. What is to be done?
Should this little work meet the eye of any of the clergy in Sussex, Kent,
and, I may add, Surrey, I would like to state that if they will search the
baptismal records of the churches under their charge, say from 1580 to
1620, and furnish me with the result, I shall be very much obliged.
VICARAGE, ULVERSTON,
_March, 1880_.
NOTE.
W. D. S. in the Prologue = "Wappentagium de Strafford."
C. S. P. = "Calendar of State Papers."
CONTENTS.
PROLOGUE.
THE PET-NAME EPOCH IN ENGLAND.
PAGE
I. THE PAUCITY OF NAMES AFTER THE CONQUEST 1
II. PET FORMS 9
(_a._) Kin 9
(_b._) Cock 13
(_c._) On or In 17
(_d._) Ot or Et 21
(_e._) Double Terminatives. 30
III. SCRIPTURE NAMES ALREADY IN USE AT THE REFORMATION 34
(_a._) Mystery Names 34
(_b._) Crusade Names 35
(_c._) The Saints' Calendar 36
(_d._) Festival Names 36
CHAPTER I.
THE HEBREW INVASION.
I. THE MARCH OF THE ARMY 38
II. POPULARITY OF THE OLD TESTAMENT 59
III. OBJECTIONABLE SCRIPTURE NAMES 70
IV. LOSSES 76
(_a._) The Destruction of Pet Forms 76
(_b._) The Decrease of Nick Forms 82
(_c._) The Decay of Saint and Festival Names 92
(_d._) The Last of some Old Favourites 99
V. THE GENERAL CONFUSION 109
CHAPTER II.
PURITAN ECCENTRICITIES.
I. INTRODUCTORY 117
II. ORIGINATED BY THE PRESBYTERIAN CLERGY 121
III. CURIOUS NAMES NOT PURITAN 128
IV. INSTANCES 134
(_a._) Latin Names 134
(_b._) Grace Names 138
(_c._) Exhortatory Names 155
(_d._) Accidents of Birth 166
(_e._) General 176
V. A SCOFFING WORLD 179
(_a._) The Playwrights 182
(_b._) The Sussex Jury 191
(_c._) Royalists with Puritan Names 194
VI. BUNYAN'S DEBT TO THE PURITANS 198
VII. THE INFLUENCE OF PURITANISM ON AMERICAN NOMENCLATURE 201
EPILOGUE.
DOUBLE CHRISTIAN NAMES: THEIR RISE AND PROGRESS.
I. ROYAL DOUBLE NAMES 213
II. CONJOINED NAMES 222
III. HYPHENED NAMES 224
IV. THE DECAY OF SINGLE PATRONYMICS IN BAPTISM 228
V. THE INFLUENCE OF FOUNDLING NAMES UPON DOUBLE BAPTISMAL
NAMES 233
INDEX 239
CURIOSITIES OF PURITAN NOMENCLATURE.
PROLOGUE.
THE PET-NAME EPOCH IN ENGLAND.
"One grows too fat, another too lean: modest Matilda, pretty pleasing
Peg, sweet-singing Susan, mincing merry Moll, dainty dancing Doll,
neat Nancy, jolly Joan, nimble Nell, kissing Kate, bouncing Bess with
black eyes, fair Phillis with fine white hands, fiddling Frank, tall
Tib, slender Sib, will quickly lose their grace, grow fulsome, stale,
sad, heavy, dull, sour, and all at last out of fashion."--_Anatomy of
Melancholy._
"Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the carpets laid,
and everything in order?"--_The Taming of the Shrew._
I. THE PAUCITY OF NAMES AFTER THE CONQUEST.
There were no Scripture names in England when the Conqueror took
possession; even in Normandy they had appeared but a generation or two
before William came over. If any are found in the old English period, we
may feel assured they were ecclesiastic titles, adopted at ordination.
Greek and Latin saints were equally unnoticed.
It is hard to believe the statement I have made. Before many generations
had passed, Bartholomew, Simon, Peter, Philip, Thomas, Nicholas, John, and
Elias, had engrossed a third of the male population; yet Domesday Book has
no Philip, no Thomas, only one Nicholas, and but a sprinkling of Johns. It
was not long before Jack and Jill took the place of Godric and Godgivu as
representative of the English sexes, yet Jack was from the Bible, and Jill
from the saintly Calendar.
Without entering into a deep discussion, we may say that the great mass of
the old English names had gone down before the year 1200 had been reached.
Those that survived only held on for bare existence. From the moment of
William's advent, the names of the Norman began to prevail. He brought in
Bible names, Saint names, and his own Teutonic names. The old English
names bowed to them, and disappeared.
A curious result followed. From the year 1150 to 1550, four hundred years
in round numbers, there was a very much smaller dictionary of English
personal names than there had been for four hundred years before, and than
there has been in the four hundred years since. The Norman list was
really a small one, and yet it took possession of the whole of England.
A consequence of this was the Pet-name Epoch. In every community of one
hundred Englishmen about the year 1300, there would be an average of
twenty Johns and fifteen Williams; then would follow Thomas, Bartholomew,
Nicholas, Philip, Simon, Peter, and Isaac from the Scriptures, and
Richard, Robert, Walter, Henry, Guy, Roger, and Baldwin from the Teutonic
list. Of female names, Matilda, Isabella, and Emma were first favourites,
and Cecilia, Catharine, Margaret, and Gillian came closely upon their
heels. Behind these, again, followed a fairly familiar number of names of
either sex, some from the Teuton, some from the Hebrew, some from the
Greek and Latin Church, but, when all told, not a large category.
It was, of course, impossible for Englishmen and Englishwomen to maintain
their individuality on these terms. Various methods to secure a
personality arose. The surname was adopted, and there were John Atte-wood,
John the Wheelwright, John the Bigg, and John Richard's son, in every
community. Among the middle and lower classes these did not become
_hereditary_ till so late as 1450 or 1500.[1] This was not enough, for in
common parlance it was not likely the full name would be used. Besides,
there might be two, or even three, Johns in the same family. So late as
March, 1545, the will of John Parnell de Gyrton runs:
"Alice, my wife, and Old John, my son, to occupy my farm together,
till Olde John marries; Young John, my son, shall have Brenlay's land,
plowed and sowed at Old John's cost."
The register of Raby, Leicestershire, has this entry:
"1559. Item: 29th day of August was John, and John Picke, the children
of Xtopher and Anne, baptized.
"Item: the 31st of August the same John and John were buried."
Mr. Burns, who quotes these instances in his "History of Parish
Registers," adds that at this same time "one John Barker had three sons
named John Barker, and two daughters named Margaret Barker."[2]
If the same family had but one name for the household, we may imagine the
difficulty when this one name was also popular throughout the village. The
difficulty was naturally solved by, _firstly_, the adoption of _nick_
forms; _secondly_, the addition of _pet_ desinences. Thus Emma became by
the one practice simple _Emm_, by the other _Emmott_; and any number of
boys in a small community might be entered in a register as Bartholomew,
and yet preserve their individuality in work-a-day life by bearing such
names as Bat, Bate, Batty, Bartle, Bartelot, Batcock, Batkin, and Tolly,
or Tholy. In a word, these several forms of Bartholomew were treated as so
many separate proper names.
No one would think of describing Wat Tyler's--we should now say Walter
Tyler's--insurrection as Gowen does:
"_Watte_ vocat, cui _Thoma_ venit, neque _Symme_ retardat,
_Bat_--que _Gibbe_ simul, _Hykke_ venire subent:
_Colle_ furit, quem _Bobbe_ juvat, nocumenta parantes,
Cum quibus, ad damnum _Wille_ coire volat--
_Crigge_ rapit, dum _Davie_ strepit, comes est quibus _Hobbe_,
_Larkin_ et in medio non minor esse putat:
_Hudde_ ferit, quem _Judde_ terit, dum _Tibbe_ juvatur
_Jacke_ domosque viros vellit, en ense necat."
These names, taken in order, are Walter, Thomas, Simon, Bartholomew,
Gilbert, Isaac, Nicholas, Robert, William, Gregory, David, Robert (2),
Lawrence, Hugh, Jordan (or George), Theobald, and John.
Another instance will be evidence enough. The author of "Piers Plowman"
says--
"Then goeth Glutton in, and grete other after,
_Cesse_, the sonteresse, sat on the bench:
_Watte_, the warner, and his wife bothe:
_Tymme_, the tynkere, and twayne of his prentices:
_Hikke_, the hackney man, and _Hugh_, the pedlere,
_Clarice_, of Cokkeslane, and the clerke of the churche:
_Dawe_, the dykere, and a dozen othere."
Taken in their order, these nick forms represent Cecilia, Walter, Timothy,
Isaac, Clarice, and David. It will be seen at a glance that such
appellatives are rare, by comparison, in the present day. Tricks of this
kind were not to be played with Bible names at the Reformation, and the
new names from that time were pronounced, with such exceptions as will be
detailed hereafter, in their fulness.
To speak of William and John is to speak of a race and rivalry 800 years
old. In Domesday there were 68 Williams, 48 Roberts, 28 Walters, to 10
Johns. Robert Montensis asserts that in 1173, at a court feast of Henry
II., Sir William St. John and Sir William Fitz-Hamon bade none but those
who bore the name of William to appear. There were present 120 Williams,
all knights. In Edward I.'s reign John came forward. In a Wiltshire
document containing 588 names, 92 are William, 88 John, 55 Richard, 48
Robert, 23 Roger, Geoffrey, Ralph, and Peter 16. A century later John was
first. In 1347, out of 133 common councilmen for London, first convened,
35 were John, 17 William, 15 Thomas, (St. Thomas of Canterbury was now an
institution), 10 Richard, 8 Henry, 8 Robert. In 1385 the Guild of St.
George at Norwich contained 377 names. Of these, John engrossed no less
than 128, William 47, Thomas 41. The Reformation and the Puritan
Commonwealth for a time darkened the fortunes of John and William, but the
Protestant accession befriended the latter, and now, as 800 years ago,
William is first and John second.
But when we come to realize that nearly one-third of Englishmen were known
either by the name of William or John about the year 1300, it will be seen
that the _pet name_ and _nick form_ were no freak, but a necessity. We
dare not attempt a category, but the surnames of to-day tell us much. Will
was quite a distinct youth from Willot, Willot from Wilmot, Wilmot from
Wilkin, and Wilkin from Wilcock. There might be half a dozen Johns about
the farmstead, but it mattered little so long as one was called Jack,
another Jenning, a third Jenkin, a fourth Jackcock (now Jacox as a
surname), a fifth Brownjohn, and a sixth Micklejohn, or Littlejohn, or
Properjohn (_i.e._ well built or handsome).
The _nick_ forms are still familiar in many instances, though almost
entirely confined to such names as have descended from that day to the
present. We still talk of Bob, and Tom, and Dick, and Jack. The
introduction of Bible names at the Reformation did them much harm. But the
Reformation, and the English Bible combined, utterly overwhelmed the _pet_
desinences, and they succumbed. Emmot and Hamlet lived till the close of
the seventeenth century, but only because they had ceased to be looked
upon as altered forms of old favourite names, and were entered in vestry
books on their own account as orthodox proper names.
II. PET FORMS.
These pet desinences were of four kinds.
(_a_) _Kin._
The primary sense of _kin_ seems to have been relationship: from thence
family, or offspring. The phrases "from generation to generation," or
"from father to son," in "Cursor Mundi" find a briefer expression:
"This writte was gett fra kin to kin,
That best it cuth to haf in min."
The next meaning acquired by _kin_ was child, or "young one." We still
speak in a diminutive sense of a manikin, kilderkin, pipkin, lambkin,
jerkin, minikin (little minion), or doitkin. Appended to baptismal names
it became very familiar. "A litul soth Sermun" says--
"Nor those prude yongemen
That loveth Malekyn,
And those prude maydenes
That loveth Janekyn:
* * *
Masses and matins
Ne kepeth they nouht,
For Wilekyn and Watekyn
Be in their thouht."
Unquestionably the incomers from Brabant and Flanders, whether as
troopers or artisans, gave a great impulse to the desinence. They tacked
it on to everything:
"_Rutterkin_ can speke no Englyssh,
His tongue runneth all on buttyred fyssh,
Besmeared with grece abowte his dysshe
Like a rutter hoyda."
They brought in Hankin, and Han-cock, from Johannes; not to say Baudkin,
or Bodkin, from Baldwin. _Baudechon le Bocher_ in the Hundred Rolls, and
_Simmerquin Waller_, lieutenant of the Castle of Harcourt in "Wars of the
English in France," look delightfully Flemish.
Hankin is found late:
"Thus for her love and loss poor Hankin dies,
His amorous soul down flies."
"Musarum Deliciae," 1655.
To furnish a list of English names ending in _kin_ would be impossible.
The great favourites were Hopkin (Robert),[3] Lampkin and Lambkin
(Lambert), Larkin (Lawrence), Tonkin (Antony), Dickin, Stepkin
(Stephen),[4] Dawkin (David), Adkin,[5] now Atkin (Adam, not Arthur),
Jeffkin (Jeffrey), Pipkin and Potkin (Philip), Simkin, Tipkin (Theobald),
Tomkin, Wilkin, Watkin (Walter), Jenkin, Silkin (Sybil),[6] Malkin (Mary),
Perkin (Peter), Hankin (Hans), and Halkin or Hawkin (Henry). Pashkin or
Paskin reminds us of Pask or Pash, the old baptismal name for children
born at Easter. Judkin (now as a surname also Juckin) was the
representative of Judd, that is, Jordan. George afterwards usurped the
place. All these names would be entered in their orthodox baptismal style
in all formal records. But here and there we get free and easy entries, as
for instance:
"Agnes Hobkin-wyf, iiii{d}."--W. D. S.
"Henry, son of Halekyn, for 17-1/2 acres of land."--"De Lacy
Inquisition," 1311.
"Emma Watkyn-doghter, iiii{d}."--W. D. S.
"Thi beste cote, Hankyn,
Hath manye moles and spottes,
It moste ben y-wasshe."
"Piers Plowman."
_Malkin_ was one of the few English female names with this appendage. Some
relics of this form of Mary still remain. Malkin in Shakespeare is the
coarse scullery wench:
"The kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck,
Clambering the walls to eye him."
"Coriolanus," Act ii. sc. 1.
While the author of the "Anatomy of Melancholy" is still more unkind, for
he says--
"A filthy knave, a deformed quean, a crooked carcass, a maukin, a
witch, a rotten post, a hedge-stake may be so set out and tricked up,
that it shall make a fair show, as much enamour as the rest."--Part
iii. sect. 2, mem. 2, sub-sect. 3.
From a drab Malkin became a scarecrow. Hence Chaucer talks of
"malkin-trash." As if this were not enough, malkin became the baker's
clout to clean ovens with. Thus, as Jack took the name of the implements
Jack used, as in boot-jack, so by easy transitions Malkin. The last hit
was when Grimalkin (that is, grey-malkin) came to be the cant term for an
old worn-out quean cat. Hence the witch's name in "Macbeth."
It will be seen at a glance why Malkin is the only name of this class that
has no place among our surnames.[7] She had lost character. I have
suggested, in "English Surnames," that Makin, Meakin, and Makinson owe
their origin to either Mary or Maud. I would retract that supposition.
There can be little doubt these are patronymics of Matthew, just as is
Maycock or Meacock. Maykinus Lappyng occurs in "Materials for a History of
Henry VII.," and the Maykina Parmunter of the Hundred Rolls is probably
but a feminine form. The masculine name was often turned into a feminine,
but I have never seen an instance of the reverse order.
Terminations in _kin_ were slightly going down in popular estimation, when
the Hebrew invasion made a clean sweep of them. They found shelter in
Wales, however, and our directories preserve in their list of surnames
their memorial for ever.[8]
(_b_) _Cock._
The term "cock" implied _pertness_: especially the pertness of lusty and
swaggering youth. To cock up the eye, or the hat, or the tail, a haycock
in a field, a cock-robin in the wood, and a cock-horse in the nursery, all
had the same relationship of meaning--brisk action, pert
demonstrativeness. The barn-door cockerel was not more cockapert than the
boy in the scullery that opened upon the yard where both strutted. Hence
any lusty lad was "Cock," while such fuller titles as Jeff-cock, or
Sim-cock, or Bat-cock gave him a preciser individuality. The story of
"Cocke Lorelle" is a relic of this; while the prentice lad in "Gammer
Gurton's Needle," acted at Christ College, Cambridge, in 1566, goes by the
only name of "Cock." Tib the servant wench says to Hodge, after the needle
is gone--
"My Gammer is so out of course, and frantic all at once,
That Cock our boy, and I, poor wench, have felt it on our bones."
By-and-by Gammer calls the lad to search:
"Come hither, Cock: what, Cock, I say.
_Cock._ How, Gammer?
_Gammer._ Go, hie thee soon: and grope behind the old brass pan."
Such terms as nescock, meacock, dawcock, pillicock, or lobcock may be
compounds--unless they owe their origin to "cockeney," a spoiled,
home-cherished lad. In "Wit without Money" Valentine says--
"For then you are meacocks, fools, and miserable."
In "Appius and Virginia" (1563) Mausipula says (Act i. sc. 1)--
"My lady's great business belike is at end,
When you, goodman dawcock, lust for to wend."
In "King Lear"
"Pillicock sat on pillicock-hill"
seems an earlier rendering of the nursery rhyme--
"Pillicock, Pillicock sate on a hill,
If he's not gone, he sits there still."
In "Wily Beguiled" Will Cricket says to Churms--
"Why, since you were bumbasted that your lubberly legs would not carry
your lobcock body."
These words have their value in proving how familiarly the term _cock_ was
employed in forming nicknames. That it should similarly be appended to
baptismal names, especially the nick form of Sim, Will, or Jeff, can
therefore present no difficulty.
_Cock_ was almost as common as "_kin_" as a desinence. _Sim-cock_ was
_Simcock_ to the end of his days, of course, if his individuality had come
to be known by the name.
"Hamme, son of Adecock, held 29 acres of land.
"Mokock de la Lowe, for 10 acres.
"Mokock dal Moreclough, for six acres.
"Dik, son of Mocock, of Breercroft, for 20 acres."--"The De Lacy
Inquisition," 1311.
Adecock is Adam, and Mocock or Mokock is Matthew. In the same way
Sander-cock is a diminutive of Sander, Lay-cock of Lawrence, Luccock of
Luke, Pidcock and Peacock of Peter, Maycock and Mycock of Matthew,
Jeff-cock of Jeffrey, Johncock of John, Hitch-cock or Hiscock or Heacock
of Higg or Hick (Isaac), Elcock of Ellis, Hancock or Handcock of Han or
Hand (Dutch John), Drocock or Drewcock of Drew, Wilcock of William,
Badcock or Batcock of Bartholomew, and Bawcock of Baldwin, Adcock or
Atcock of Adam, Silcock of Silas, and Palcock of Paul:
"Johannes Palcock, et Beatrix uxor ejus, iiii{d}."--W. D. S.
"Ricardus Sylkok, et Matilda uxor ejus, iiii{d}."--W. D. S.
The difficulty of identification was manifestly lessened in a village or
town where _Bate_ could be distinguished from _Batkin_, and _Batkin_ from
_Batcock_. Hence, again, the common occurrence of such a component as
_cock_. This diminutive is never seen in the seventeenth century; and yet
we have many evidences of its use in the beginning of the sixteenth. The
English Bible, with its tendency to require the full name as a matter of
reverence, while it supplied new names in the place of the old ones that
were accustomed to the desinence, caused this. It may be, too, that the
new regulation of Cromwell in 1538, requiring the careful registration of
all baptized children, caused parents to lay greater stress on the name as
it was entered in the vestry-book.
Any way, the sixteenth century saw the end of names terminating in "cock."
(_c._) _On or In._
A dictionary instance is "violin," that is, a little viol, a fiddle of
four strings, instead of six. This diminutive, to judge from the Paris
Directory, must have been enormously popular with our neighbours. Our
connection with Normandy and France generally brought the fashion to the
English Court, and in habits of this kind the English folk quickly copied
their superiors. Terminations in _kin_ and _cock_ were confined to the
lower orders first and last. Terminations in _on_ or _in_, and _ot_ or
_et_, were the introduction of fashion, and being under patronage of the
highest families in the land, naturally obtained a much wider popularity.
Our formal registers, again, are of little assistance. Beton is coldly and
orthodoxly Beatrice or Beatrix in the Hundred Rolls. Only here and there
can we gather that Beatrice was never so called in work-a-day life. In
"Piers Plowman" it is said--
"_Beton_ the Brewestere
Bade him good morrow."
And again, later on:
"And bade Bette cut a bough,
And beat _Betoun_ therewith."
If Alice is Alice in the registrar's hands, not so in homely Chaucer:
"This _Alison_ answered: Who is there
That knocketh so? I warrant him a thefe."
Or take an old Yorkshire will:
"Item: to Symkyn, and Watkyn, and Alison Meek, servandes of John of
Bolton, to ilk one of yaim, 26{s}. 8{d}."--"Test. Ebor." iii. 21.
Surtees Society.
Hugh, too, gets his name familiarly entered occasionally:
"_Hugyn_ held of the said earl an oxgang of land, and paid yearly
iii{s}. vi{d}."--"The De Lacy Inquisition," 1311.
Huggins in our directories is the memorial of this. But in the north of
England Hutchin was a more popular form. In the "Wappentagium de
Strafford" occurs--
"Willelmus Huchon, & Matilda uxor ejus, iiii{d}."
Also--
"Elena Houchon-servant, iiii{d}."
that is, Ellen the servant of Houchon. Our Hutchinsons are all north of
Trent folk. Thus, too, Peter (Pier) became Perrin:
"The wife of Peryn."--"Manor of Ashton-under-Lyne," Chetham Society,
p. 87.
Marion, from Mary, is the only familiar instance that has descended to us,
and no doubt we owe this fact to Maid Marion, the May-lady. Many a Mary
Ann, | 306.853574 |
2023-11-16 18:22:10.8466370 | 2,157 | 6 |
Transcribed from the 1890 Longmans, Green, and Co. edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER
BY
EDNA LYALL
AUTHOR OF 'DONOVAN' 'WE TWO' 'IN THE GOLDEN DAYS'
'KNIGHT ERRANT' ETC.
_Trust not to each accusing tongue_,
_As most week persons do_;
_But still believe that story false_
_Which ought not to be true_
SHERIDAN
_NEW EDITION_
(THIRTY-NINTH TO FORTY-FIRST THOUSAND)
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16th STREET
1890
_All rights reserved_
DEDICATED
TO ALL
WHO IT MAY CONCERN
MY FIRST STAGE
At last the tea came up, and so
With that our tongues began to go.
Now in that house you're sure of knowing
The smallest scrap of news that's going.
We find it there the wisest way
To take some care of what we say.
_Recreation_. JANE TAYLOR.
I was born on the 2nd September, 1886, in a small, dull, country town.
When I say the town was dull, I mean, of course, that the inhabitants
were unenterprising, for in itself Muddleton was a picturesque place, and
though it laboured under the usual disadvantage of a dearth of bachelors
and a superfluity of spinsters, it might have been pleasant enough had it
not been a favourite resort for my kith and kin.
My father has long enjoyed a world-wide notoriety; he is not, however, as
a rule named in good society, though he habitually frequents it; and as I
am led to believe that my autobiography will possibly be circulated by
Mr. Mudie, and will lie about on drawing-room tables, I will merely
mention that a most representation of my progenitor, under his _nom de
theatre_, Mephistopheles, may be seen now in London, and I should
recommend all who wish to understand his character to go to the Lyceum,
though, between ourselves, he strongly disapproves of the whole
performance.
I was introduced into the world by an old lady named Mrs. O'Reilly. She
was a very pleasant old lady, the wife of a General, and one of those
sociable, friendly, talkative people who do much to cheer their
neighbours, particularly in a deadly-lively provincial place like
Muddleton, where the standard of social intercourse is not very high.
Mrs. O'Reilly had been in her day a celebrated beauty; she was now grey-
haired and stout, but still there was something impressive about her, and
few could resist the charm of her manner and the pleasant easy flow of
her small talk. Her love of gossip amounted almost to a passion, and
nothing came amiss to her; she liked to know everything about everybody,
and in the main I think her interest was a kindly one, though she found
that a little bit of scandal, every now and then, added a piquant flavour
to the homely fare provided by the commonplace life of the Muddletonians.
I will now, without further preamble, begin the history of my life.
* * * * *
"I assure you, my dear Lena, Mr. Zaluski is nothing less than a
Nihilist!"
The sound waves set in motion by Mrs. O'Reilly's words were tumultuously
heaving in the atmosphere when I sprang into being, a young but perfectly
formed and most promising slander. A delicious odour of tea pervaded the
drawing-room, it was orange-flower pekoe, and Mrs. O'Reilly was just
handing one of the delicate Crown Derby cups to her visitor, Miss Lena
Houghton.
"What a shocking thing! Do you really mean it?" exclaimed Miss Houghton.
"Thank you, cream but no sugar; don't you know, Mrs. O'Reilly, that it is
only Low-Church people who take sugar nowadays? But, really, now, about
Mr. Zaluski? How did you find it out?"
"My dear, I am an old woman, and I have learnt in the course of a
wandering life to put two and two together," said Mrs. O'Reilly. She had
somehow managed to ignore middle age, and had passed from her position of
renowned beauty to the position which she now firmly and constantly
claimed of many years and much experience. "Of course," she continued,
"like every one else, I was glad enough to be friendly and pleasant to
Sigismund Zaluski, and as to his being a Pole, why, I think it rather
pleased me than otherwise. You see, my dear, I have knocked about the
world and mixed with all kinds of people. Still, one must draw the line
somewhere, and I confess it gave me a very painful shock to find that he
had such violent antipathies to law and order. When he took Ivy Cottage
for the summer I made the General call at once, and before long we had
become very intimate with him; but, my dear, he's not what I thought
him--not at all!"
"Well now, I am delighted to hear you say that," said Lena Houghton, with
some excitement in her manner, "for it exactly fits in with what I always
felt about him. From the first I disliked that man, and the way he goes
on with Gertrude Morley is simply dreadful. If they are not engaged they
ought to be--that's all I can say."
"Engaged, my dear! I trust not," said Mrs. O'Reilly. "I had always
hoped for something very different for dear Gertrude. Quite between
ourselves, you know, my nephew John Carew is over head and ears in love
with her, and they would make a very good pair; don't you think so?"
"Well, you see, I like Gertrude to a certain extent," replied Lena
Houghton. "But I never raved about her as so many people do. Still, I
hope she will not be entrapped into marrying Mr. Zaluski; she deserves a
better fate than that."
"I quite agree with you," said Mrs. O'Reilly, with a troubled look. "And
the worst of it is, poor Gertrude is a girl who might very likely take up
foolish revolutionary notions; she needs a strong wise husband to keep
her in order and form her opinions. But is it really true that he flirts
with her? This is the first I have heard of it. I can't think how it
has escaped my notice."
"Nor I, for indeed he is up at the Morleys' pretty nearly every day. What
with tennis, and music, and riding, there is always some excuse for it. I
can't think what Gertrude sees in him, he is not even good-looking."
"There is a certain surface good-nature about him," said Mrs. O'Reilly.
"It deceived even me at first. But, my dear Lena, mark my words: that
man has a fearful temper; and I pray Heaven that poor Gertrude may have
her eyes opened in time. Besides, to think of that little gentle,
delicate thing marrying a Nihilist! It is too dreadful; really, quite
too dreadful! John would never get over it!"
"The thing I can't understand is why all the world has taken him up so,"
said Lena Houghton. "One meets him everywhere, yet nobody seems to know
anything about him. Just because he has taken Ivy Cottage for four
months, and because he seems to be rich and good-natured, every one is
ready to run after him."
"Well, well," said Mrs. O'Reilly, "we all like to be neighbourly, my
dear, and a week ago I should have been ready to say nothing but good of
him. But now my eyes have been opened. I'll tell you just how it was.
We were sitting here, just as you and I are now, at afternoon tea; the
talk had flagged a little, and for the sake of something to say I made
some remark about Bulgaria--not that I really knew anything about it, you
know, for I'm no politician; still, I knew it was a subject that would
make talk just now. My dear, I assure you I was positively frightened.
All in a minute his face changed, his eyes flashed, he broke into such a
torrent of abuse as I never heard in my life before."
"Do you mean that he abused you?"
"Dear me, no! but Russia and the Czar, and tyranny and despotism, and
many other things I had never heard of. I tried to calm him down and
reason with him, but I might as well have reasoned with the cockatoo in
the window. At last he caught himself up quickly in the middle of a
sentence, strode over to the piano, and began to play as he generally
does, you know, when he comes here. Well, would you believe it, my dear!
instead of improvising or playing operatic airs as usual, he began to
play a stupid little tune which every child was taught years ago, of
course with variations of his own. Then he turned round on the music-
stool with the oddest smile I ever saw, and said, "Do you know that air,
Mrs. O'Reilly?"
"Yes," I said; "but I forget now what it is.'"
"It was composed by Pestal, one of the victims of Russian tyranny," said
he. | 306.866677 |
2023-11-16 18:22:11.1291470 | 401 | 12 |
Produced by Alan Light
THE LIFE OF FRANCIS MARION
By W. Gilmore Simms
Author of "Yemassee", "History of South Carolina", etc.
"The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told."
--Bryant.
[Note on text: Italicized words or phrases are capitalized.
Some obvious errors have been corrected.]
[William Gilmore Simms, American (South Carolinian) Writer.
1806-1870.]
Contents.
Chapter 1. Introduction--The Huguenots in South Carolina.
Chapter 2. The Marion Family--Birth of Francis Marion--His
Youth--Shipwreck.
Chapter 3. Marion a Farmer--Volunteers in the Cherokee
Campaign.
Chapter 4. Cherokee War continues--Marion leads the Forlorn
Hope at the Battle of Etchoee.
Chapter 5. Marion is returned for the Provincial Congress
from St. John's, Berkeley--Made Captain in the Second
Regiment--Fort Johnson taken--Battle of Fort Moultrie.
Chapter 6. From the Battle of Fort Moultrie to that of
Savannah--Anecdote of Jasper--His Death.
Chapter 7. From the Battle of Savannah to the Defeat of
Gates at Camden.
Chapter 8. Organization of "Marion's Brigade"--Surprise of
Tories under Gainey--Defeat of Barfield--Capture of British
Guard with Prisoners at Nelson's Ferry.
Chapter 9. Marion retreats before a superior Force--Defeats
the Tories at Black Mingo--Surprises and disperses the Force
of Colonel Tynes at Tarcote--Is pursued by Tarleton.
Chapter 10. Marion attempts Georgetown--Horry | 307.149187 |
2023-11-16 18:22:11.2255270 | 3,372 | 12 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
SILAS STRONG, EMPEROR OF THE WOODS
By Irving Bacheller
New York and London Harper and Brothers Publishers
1906
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0004]
[Illustration: 0005]
TO MY FRIEND THE LATE ARCHER BROWN
in memory of summer days when we wandered far and sat down to rest by
springs and brooks in the doomed empire of Strong and talked of saving
it and of better times and knew not they were impossible.
Some of the people of these pages, when the author endeavored to
regulate their conduct according to well-known rules of literary
construction, declared themselves free and independent. When, urged by
him, they tried to speak and act in the fashion of most novels, they
laughed, and seemed to be ashamed of themselves, and with good reason.
They are slow, stubborn, modest, shy, and used to the open. Not for them
are the narrow stage, the swift action, the fine-wrought chain of artful
incident that characterize a modern romance.
Of late authors have succeeded rather well in turning people into
animals and animals into people. Why not, if one's art can perform
miracles? This book aims not to emulate or amend the work of the
Creator. Its people are just folks of a very old pattern, its animals
rather common and of small attainments. It is in no sense a literary
performance. It pretends to be nothing more than a simple account of
one summer's life, pretty much as it was lived, in a part of the
Adirondacks. It goes on about as things happen there, with a leisurely
pace, like that of the woods lover on a trail who may be halted by
nothing more than a flower or a bird-song. One day follows another in
the old fashion of those places where men go for rest and avarice quits
them with bloody spurs and they forget the calendar and measure time on
the dial of the heavens.
The book has one high ambition. It has tried to tell the sad story of
the wilderness itself--to show, from the woodsman's view-point, the play
of great forces which have been tearing down his home and turning it
into the flesh and bone of cities.
Were it to cause any reader to value what remains of the forest above
its market-price and to do his part in checking the greed of the saws,
it would be worth while--bad as it is.
SILAS STRONG
I
THE song of the saws began long ago at the mouths of the rivers. Slowly
the axes gnawed their way southward, and the ominous, prophetic chant
followed them. Men seemed to goad the rivers to increase their speed.
They caught and held and harnessed them as if they had been horses and
drove them into flumes and leaped them over dams and pulled and hauled
and baffled them until they broke away with the power of madness in
their rush. But, even then, the current of the rivers would not do; the
current of thunderbolts could not have whirled the wheels with speed
enough.
Now steam bursts upon the piston-head with the power of a hundred
horses. The hungry steel races through columns of pine as if they were
soft as butter and its' bass note booms night and day to the heavens.
Hear it now. The burden of that old song is m-o-r-e, m-o-r-e, m-o-r-e!
It is doleful music, God knows, but, mind you, it voices the need of
the growing land. It sings of the doom of the woods. It may be heard all
along the crumbling edge of the wilderness from Maine to Minnesota. Day
by day hammers beat time while the saws continue their epic chorus.
There are towers and spires and domes and high walls where, in our
boyhood, there were only trees far older than the century, and these
rivers that flow north go naked in open fields for half their journey.
Every spring miles of timber come plunging over cataracts and rushing
through rapids and crowding into slow water on its way to the saws.
There a shaft of pine which has been a hundred years getting its girth
is ripped into slices and scattered upon the stack in a minute. A new
river, the rushing, steam-driven river of steel, bears it away to the
growing cities. Silas Strong once wrote in his old memorandum-book these
words: "Strong says to himself seems so the world was goin' to be peeled
an' hollered out an' weighed an' measured an' sold till it's all et up
like an apple."
On the smooth shore of the river below Raquette Falls, and within twenty
rods of his great mill, lived a man of the name of Gordon with two
motherless children. Pity about him! Married a daughter of "Bill" Strong
up in the woods--an excellent woman--made money and wasted it and went
far to the bad. Good fellow, drink, poker, and so on down the hill!
His wife died leaving two children--blue-eyed little people with curly,
flaxen hair--a boy of four a girl of nearly three years. The boy's full
name was John Socksmith Gordon--reduced in familiar parlance to Socky.
The girl was baptized Susan Bradbury Gordon, but was called Sue.
Their Uncle Silas Strong came to the funeral of their mother. He had
travelled more than eighty miles in twenty-four-hours, his boat now
above and now beneath him. He brought his dog and rifle, and wore a
great steel watch-chain and a pair of moccasins w with fringe on the
sides, and a wolf-skin jacket. He carried the children on his shoulders
and tossed them in the air, while his great size and odd attire seemed
to lay hold of their spirits.
As time passed, a halo of romantic splendor gathered about this uncle's
memory. One day Socky heard him referred to as the "Emperor of the
Woods." He was not long finding out that an emperor was a very grand
person who wore gold on his head and shoulders and rode a fine horse
and was always ready for a fight. So their ideal gathered power and
richness, one might say, the longer he lived in their fancy. They loved
their father, but as a hero he had not been a great success. There was
a time when both had entertained some hope for him, but as they saw how
frequently he grew "tired" they gave their devotion more and more to
this beloved memory. Their uncle's home was remote from theirs, and so
his power over them had never been broken by familiarity.
Socky and Sue told their young friends all they had been able to
learn of their Uncle Silas, and, being pressed for more knowledge, had
recourse to invention. Stories which their father had told grew into
wonder-tales of the riches, the strength, the splendor, and the general
destructive power of this great man. Sue, the first day she went
to Sunday-school, when the minister inquired who slew a lion by the
strength of his hands, confidently answered, "Uncle Silas."
There was one girl in the village who had an Uncle Phil with a fine air
of authority and a wonderful watch and chain; there was yet another with
an Uncle Henry, who enjoyed the distinction of having had the small-pox;
there was a boy, also, who had an Uncle Reuben with a wooden leg and a
remarkable history, and a wen beside his nose with a wart on the same.
But these were familiar figures, and while each had merits of no low
degree, their advocates were soon put to shame by the charms of that
mysterious and remote Uncle Silas.
There was a little nook in the lumber-yard where children used to meet
every Saturday for play and free discussion. There, now and then,
some new-comer entered an uncle in the competition. There, always, a
primitive pride of blood asserted itself in the remote descendants,
shall we say, of many an ancient lord and chieftain. One day--Sue was
then five and Socky six years of age--Lizzie Cornell put a cousin on
exhibit in this little theatre of childhood. He was a boy with red hair
and superior invention from out of town. He stood near Lizzie--a deep
and designing miss--and said not a word, until Sue began about her Uncle
Silas.
It was a new tale of that remarkable hunter which her father had related
the night before while she lay waiting for the sandman. She told how her
uncle had seen a panther one day when he was travelling without a gun.
His dog chased the panther and soon drove him up a tree. Now, it seemed,
the only thing in the nature of a weapon the hunter had with him was a
piece of new rope for his canoe. After a moment's reflection the great
man climbed the tree and threw a noose over the panther's neck while his
faithful dog was barking below. Then the cute Uncle Silas made his rope
fast to a limb and shook the tree so that when the panther jumped for
the ground he hung himself.
To most of those who heard the narrative it seemed to be a rather
creditable exploit, showing, as it did, a shrewdness and ready courage
of no mean order on the part of Uncle Silas. Murmurs of glad approval
were hushed, however, by the voice of the red-headed boy.
"Pooh! that's nothing," said he, with contempt. "My Uncle Mose chased
a panther once an' overtook him and ketched him by the tail an' fetched
his head agin a tree, quick as a flash, an' knocked his brains out."
His words ran glibly and showed an off-hand mastery of panthers quite
unequalled. Here was an uncle of marked superiority and promise.
There was a moment of silence in the crowd.
"If ye don't believe it," said the red-headed boy, "I can show ye a vest
my mother made out o' the skin."
That was conclusive. Sue blushed for shame and looked into the face
of Socky. Her mouth drooped a little and her under lip trembled with
anxiety. Doubt, thoughtfulness, and confusion were on the face of
her brother. He scraped the sand with his foot. He felt that he had
sometimes stretched the truth a little, but this--this went beyond his
capacity for invention.
"Don't believe it," he whispered, with half a sneer as he glanced down
at Sue.
Lizzie Cornell began to titter. All eyes were fixed upon the unhappy
pair as if to say, "How about your Uncle Silas now?" The populace,
deserting the standard of the old king, gathered in front of the
red-headed boy and began to inquire into the merits of Uncle Mose.
Socky and Sue hesitated. Curiosity struggled with resentment. Slowly
and thoughtfully they walked away. For a moment neither spoke. Soon a
cheering thought came into the mind of Sue.
"Maybe Uncle Silas has ketched a panther by the tail, too," said she,
hopefully. Socky, his hands in his pockets, looked down with a dazed
expression.
"I'm going to ask father," said he, thoughtfully.
It was now late in the afternoon. They went home and sat in silence on
the veranda, watching for their father. The old Frenchwoman who kept
house for him tried to coax them in, but they would make no words with
her. Long they sat there looking wistfully down the river-bank.
Presently Sue hauled out of her pocket a tiny rag doll which she carried
for casual use. It came handy in moments of loneliness and despair
outside the house. She toyed with its garments, humming in a motherly
fashion. It was nearly dark when they saw their father staggering
homeward according to his habit. They knew not yet the meaning of that
wavering walk.
"There he comes!" said Socky, as they both ran to meet him. "He can't
carry us to-night. He's awful tired."
They thought him "tired." They kissed him and took his hands in theirs,
and led him into the house. Stern and silent he sat down beside them
at the supper-table. The children were also silent and sober-faced from
intuitive sympathy. They could not yet introduce the topic which weighed
upon them.
Socky looked at his father. For the first time he noted that his clothes
were shabby; he knew that a few days before his father had lost his
watch. The boy stole away from the table, and went to his little trunk
and brought the sacred thing which his teacher had given him Christmas
Day--a cheap watch that told time with a noisy and inspiring tick. He
laid it down by his father's plate.
"There," said he, "I'm going to let you wear my watch."
It was one of those deep thrusts which only the hand of innocence can
administer. Richard Gordon took the watch in his hand and sat a moment
looking down. The boy manfully resumed his chair.
"It don't look very well for you to be going around without a watch," he
remarked, taking up his piece of bread and butter.
His father put the watch in his pocket.
"You can let me wear it Sundays," the boy added. "You won't need it
Sundays."
A smile overspread the man's face.
The children, quick to see their opportunity, approached him on either
side. Sue put her arms around the neck of her father and kissed him.
"Tell us a story about Uncle Silas," she pleaded.
"Uncle Silas!" he exclaimed. "We're all going to see him in a few days."
The children were mute with surprise. Sue's little doll dropped from her
hands to the floor. Her face changed color and she turned quickly, with
a loud cry, and drummed on the table so that the dishes rattled. Socky
leaned over the back of a chair and shook his head, and gave his feet a
fling and then recovered his dignity.
"Now don't get excited," remarked their father.
They ran out of the room, and stood laughing and whispering together for
a moment. Then they rushed back.
"When are we going?" the boy inquired.
"In a day or two," said Gordon, who still sat drinking his tea.
Sue ran to tell Aunt Marie, the housekeeper, and Socky sat in his little
rocking-chair for a moment of sober thought.
"Look here, old chap," said Gordon, who was wont to apply the terms of
mature good-fellowship to his little son. Socky came and stood by the
side of his father.
"You an' I have been friends for some time, haven't we?" was the strange
and half-maudlin query which Gordon put to his son.
The boy smiled and came nearer.
"An' I've always treated ye right--ain't I? Answer me."
"Yes, sir."
"Well, folks say you're neglected an' that you don't have decent clothes
an' that you might as well have no father at all. Now, old boy, I'm
going to tell you the truth; I'm broke--failed in business, an' have had
to give up. Understand me; I haven't a cent in the world."
The man sm | 307.245567 |
2023-11-16 18:22:11.3303060 | 471 | 17 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 58. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, December 1, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: TOBY STRIKES A BARGAIN--DRAWN BY W. A. ROGERS.]
TOBY TYLER; OR, TEN WEEKS WITH A CIRCUS.
BY JAMES OTIS.
CHAPTER I.
TOBY'S INTRODUCTION TO THE CIRCUS.
"Couldn't you give more'n six pea-nuts for a cent?" was a question asked
by a very small boy with big, staring eyes, of a candy vender at a
circus booth. And as he spoke he looked wistfully at the quantity of
nuts piled high up on the basket, and then at the six, each of which now
looked so small as he held them in his hand.
"Couldn't do it," was the reply of the proprietor of the booth, as he
put the boy's penny carefully away in the drawer.
The little fellow looked for another moment at his purchase, and then
carefully cracked the largest one.
A shade, and a very deep shade it was, of disappointment that passed
over his face, and then looking up anxiously, he asked, "Don't you swap
'em when they're bad?"
The man's face looked as if a smile had been a stranger to it for a
long time; but one did pay it a visit just then, and he tossed the boy
two nuts, and asked him a question at the same time. "What is your
name?"
The big brown eyes looked up for an instant, as if to learn whether the
question was asked in good faith, and then their owner said, as he
carefully picked apart another nut, "Toby Tyler."
"Well, that's a queer | 307.350346 |
2023-11-16 18:22:11.5340600 | 942 | 69 |
E-text prepared by 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 41409-h.htm or 41409-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41409/41409-h/41409-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41409/41409-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/oldromehandbookt00burn
Transcriber's note:
The original text includes Greek characters that have been
replaced with transliterations in this text version.
OLD ROME:
A Handbook to the Ruins of the City and the Campagna.
by
ROBERT BURN, M.A.,
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge.
Being an Epitome of His Larger Work 'Rome and the Campagna.'
[Illustration]
London: George Bell and Sons, York Street,
Covent Garden.
Cambridge: Deighton, Bell, & Co.
1880.
[The Right of Translation is reserved.]
London:
Printed by William Clowes and Sons,
Stamford Street and Charing Cross.
PREFACE.
This book is intended to serve as a handbook to the actually-existing
ruins and monuments of ancient Rome and the Campagna. It is divided into
topographical sections for the convenience of travellers visiting Rome,
and the monuments which exist in each section have been briefly described,
and a summary given of their history and archaeological value.
The introductory section contains general remarks upon the site,
monumental history, and architecture of Rome; and in a section prefixed to
Chapter IX. the nature of the soil and configuration of the hills and
valleys of the district surrounding the city are stated.
In the Appendix to the eighth chapter will be found a list of the chief
monumental antiquities in the museums, galleries, and other public places.
This has been thought to be useful, as these are often difficult to
recognise from being mixed with so many other attractive and important
objects of more modern art and history. All speculative conjectures as to
the probable sites or constructions of ancient buildings or places have
been avoided. Such questions require more space than can be spared in so
small a volume, and have been fully treated of in my larger work, "Rome
and the Campagna."
I have confined myself in this handbook to a brief topographical,
archaeological, and historical description of each existing ruin or
monument. The references given have been restricted to modern treatises
and to a few of the more rarely read Greek and Latin authors. Full
classical authorities are given in "Rome and the Campagna," and are
referred to in the foot-notes of this handbook.
The importance of topographical and archaeological knowledge, in enabling
us to realise the history of ancient life, both national and social, is
fortunately becoming more and more generally recognised. The early growth
and characteristic features of the Roman commonwealth can be traced in
great measure to the conformation of the ground on which the community was
first developed. Such local influences are among the highest and most
philosophical parts of historical investigation, and have a most important
value in enabling us to form an estimate of the truth of statements made
by the ancient writers of history.
Besides this interest which pervades the early stage of Roman history,
there is also a natural connection, by way of cause or explanation,
between the events of later times and the localities in which they
occurred; and this in social as well as in national history. Many Roman
customs and usages, now extinct, are illustrated and realised by the
knowledge gained from monuments of ancient architecture and art. And
again, the spirit of Roman literature is more fully sympathised with, and
its difficult passages and allusions are frequently elucidated by the
light of archaeological knowledge.
Thus there is not only the poetical and imaginative satisfaction, which is
usually felt most vividly in treading the soil, surveying the scenes, and
breathing the air in which great historical persons lived and events
occurred, but also an element of fact which gives a firm basis of
incontestable truth to our knowledge, and which no speculative
interpretation can dissolve.
It is hoped, | 307.5541 |
2023-11-16 18:22:11.5343320 | 253 | 16 |
Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Wayne Hammond and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from images made available by the
HathiTrust Digital Library.)
NEW SERIES Nos. 47 and 48
PUBLISHED ANNUALLY
BY THE
PENNSYLVANIA PRISON SOCIETY
INSTITUTED MAY 8, 1787
THE JOURNAL
OF
PRISON DISCIPLINE
AND
PHILANTHROPY
JANUARY, 1909
OFFICE: STATE HOUSE ROW
S. W. CORNER FIFTH AND CHESTNUT STREETS
PHILADELPHIA, PA.
OFFICIAL VISITORS.
No person who is not an official visitor of the prison, or who has not a
written permission, according to such rules as the Inspectors may adopt
as aforesaid, shall be allowed to visit the same; the official visitors
are: the Governor, the Speaker and members of the Senate; the Speaker
and members of the House of Representatives; the | 307.554372 |
2023-11-16 18:22:11.7288270 | 2,393 | 28 |
Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE ART OF PROMOTING THE GROWTH OF THE
Cucumber and Melon;
IN A SERIES OF DIRECTIONS
FOR THE BEST MEANS TO BE ADOPTED IN BRINGING THEM TO
_A COMPLETE STATE OF PERFECTION_.
* * * * *
BY
THOMAS WATKINS,
_Many Years Foreman with Mr. Grange, of Hackney, and now with W. Knight,
Esq. Highbury Park._
* * * * *
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY HARDING, ST. JAMES'S STREET;
AND SOLD BY GRANGE AND DULLY, FRUITERERS, COVENT GARDEN; MASON AND SON,
SEEDSMEN, FLEET STREET; WARNER AND CO. SEEDSMEN, CORNHILL; GARRAWAY,
NURSERY AND SEEDSMAN, NEAR MARYLAND POINT, STRATFORD, ESSEX; AND BY THE
AUTHOR, AT HIGHBURY.
1824.
* * * * *
PRINTED BY S. CAVE, ISLINGTON GREEN.
* * * * *
THE ART OF PROMOTING THE GROWTH OF THE
Cucumber and Melon.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The author begs to inform the purchasers of this work, that it was
originally his intention to have given an engraving of the particular
description of cucumber and melon, which he has been so successful in
bringing to a state of perfection; and, in fact, a plate was executed,
at a considerable expense, for that purpose. Finding, however, that
although accurate in its representation of _fine_ fruit, it did not
pourtray the difference, nor convey the precise idea of those qualities
which constitute the superiority of the author's; and aware that such
would have been obvious to every experienced gardener, the design was
necessarily abandoned, trusting, that as it was merely intended for an
embellishment, its deficiency will not render the work less valuable to
the profession.
CONTENTS.
The Cucumber Seed-bed for October Page 1
The Fruiting Frame for early Plants 14
The Seed-bed for January 43
On the Culture of the late Cucumber 46
On the Hand-glass Cucumber 51
Dimensions of the Boxes and Lights for early and late Cucumbers 59
On the Culture of early and late Melons 65
Dimensions of the Boxes and Lights for ditto 83
Preface.
Having, when young, imbibed a particular inclination to study the
culture of the cucumber and melon, under the direction of my father,
whose character as an early framer was in high repute, I assiduously
tried every experiment which was calculated to improve upon his system,
by bringing them to a more complete state of perfection.
In marking the progress of their growth, I usually committed to writing
those plans which I had found to have been productive of beneficial
effects. The result of these remarks has proved the compilation of the
following treatise, undertaken at the request of several
horticulturists, who have expressed their desire to become acquainted
with the process of my mode of cultivation.
Considering it superfluous to enlarge this work by unnecessary or
controversial observations, I have confined myself entirely to those
directions, upon which I have uniformly acted; and have endeavoured to
reduce them into as plain and simple a form as possible; at the same
time observing to omit nothing which can be of utility in this difficult
and hitherto imperfectly understood branch of horticulture.
Several gardeners, who are now very eminent in their profession, have
placed themselves under my tuition, and I flatter myself are perfectly
satisfied that the instruction they received, was fully adequate to the
compensation required; and perfectly convinced them of the superiority
of my mode of culture. I here pledge myself, that the advice given to
such practitioners is contained in the following directions.
My principal object in the different experiments I have tried, has
always been to discover an easy, as well as a certain method of maturing
these delicate plants, and, in consequence, have avoided, as much as
possible, any artificial means that might be attended with difficulty or
expense.
The only writer I know upon this subject, with the exception of
Abercrombie, whose system is now totally exploded, is Mr. M'Phail,
gardener to Lord Hawkesbury. This gentleman published a treatise in the
year 1795, in which he strenuously recommends brick pits for cucumbers
and melons, as far superior to the dung bed. It will be obvious,
however, to every person who has perused that work, that the plan was
adopted merely through deficiency of knowledge in the proper management
of the dung bed; for Mr. M'Phail asserts, that upon first attempting to
produce early cucumbers in Lord Hawkesbury's garden, he completely
failed, and was, in consequence, induced to apply to some horticulturist
in the neighbourhood, to whom he paid a gratuity of five guineas for his
instruction. The principal thing he appears to have been taught, was to
keep the burning heat of the dung about the roots of the plants down by
the continual application of water into the bed; which, however, he
found insufficient to preserve them in a thriving state, throughout the
winter months. This caused him to assert that it was out of the power of
any person to keep a dung bed sweet, and consequently impracticable to
rear them at that time of the year. To this I have only to observe, that
the following directions will prove a contradiction; for if they are
strictly attended to, no fear need be entertained of their vigorous
growth, either from the premature season, or the inclemency of the
weather.
In December and January, although their health is certain, I must allow
that they do not grow so fast as in other months; and this is the
particular time when difficulty is experienced by those who are
unacquainted with the proper means to be adopted, although, perhaps,
their efforts may have been attended with far more trouble than the
rules here prescribed.
The dung bed is certainly of the greatest importance both in the culture
of the cucumber and melon; and want of knowledge in the management is
generally the cause of the loss of the plants in the winter season, by
the settlement of a cold moisture upon them, which cannot be removed
without assistance from the sun: particular attention, therefore, to the
directions given upon that point is highly necessary; indeed, it cannot
be too strongly impressed on the mind of the horticulturist that upon
this greatly depends the success of his endeavours to mature them to any
degree of perfection.
In the remarks upon preserving the plants from a cold moisture, in the
most inclement weather, I have called to assistance what may be
technically termed an artificial sun; and as this most material point
may be perfectly understood I shall here describe it more particularly.
Keep the bed always wrapped up to nearly the top of the box with hay,
straw, or any kind of sweet litter; observing that hay, however
damaged, is certainly preferable; this will have the desired effect in
promoting a top heat, and obviating the difficulty above-mentioned, in
keeping the plants perfectly dry.
To those who are unacquainted with the management of a dung bed, a brick
one certainly appears more advantageous, in being attended with less
trouble to the horticulturist, though infinitely with more expense, both
in the building and consumption of dung: this, however, is a mistaken
idea, for nothing certainly can be more congenial to the growth of
either the cucumber or melon than a sweet steam heat: this essential
requisite, which may always be obtained by the process hereafter
described, can be but partially promoted in brick pits; for although
water, in its necessary application, may create a steam heat, it soon
evaporates; and the heat of the linings having to pass through the
bricks and tiles, it becomes dry, and quite incapable of affording any
nourishment to the plants.
The limited space in which the plants are confined in their growth by
brick pits, is also a very great objection to this mode of culture. That
they derive their chief support from the extremity of the roots must be
obvious to every one, and if these are concentred in the middle of the
bed, and thereby rendered incapable of expanding over the flues as in
the dung bed, they must be certainly deprived of that vigour which is
natural to them from a free and uninterrupted growth, and where they
experience the whole of the benefit that can arise from the bed in which
they are placed. In short, the dung bed in so many instances is superior
to brick pits, that competition in the culture of either the cucumber or
melon by the latter plan would be entirely useless; for whether in the
vigour of the plants, quickness of growth, or production of fine fruit,
the dung bed, systematically attended to, as described in this treatise,
will prove beyond doubt, that the most expensive means are not always
attended with the most beneficial results.
In the following directions, the first thing I have taken notice of, is
the early cucumber, as being the most difficult, and consequently the
most particular in its process of culture. Strict attention and
perseverance in the method prescribed, cannot fail to bring them to a
complete state of perfection within the time limited.
Secondly--The necessary directions will be found for promoting the
growth of such cucumbers as are sown in January. It is here necessary to
observe, that this is the most preferable season for those which are
not required so very early; as the increasing temperature of the weather
in the course of their growth, affords facility for their being matured
with a greater degree of strength.
Thirdly--The method of bringing to perfection the late frame, or spring
sown cucumber. The directions upon this head will be found extremely
useful, both to young practitioners, and those who are not professed
horticulturists. Many gentlemen who cultivate their own gardens, and are
desirous of possessing a cucumber bed, will find the information here
given of great utility.
Fourthly--In treating upon the process necessary for the management of
the hand-glass cucumber in the summer months, I have offered an improved
system, which will be found of considerable importance to gardeners in
general in enhancing the value of their fruit, by rendering it much
superior to that produced by the common method.
The directions I have given with regard to the melon, will be found to
explode all that difficulty which gardeners have usually imagined exists
in the production of this choice fruit. The description | 307.748867 |
2023-11-16 18:22:11.7362320 | 1,198 | 7 |
This etext was prepared by Bruce Metcalf of Chattanooga, TN.
THE SPIRIT OF THE BORDER
A ROMANCE OF THE EARLY SETTLERS IN THE OHIO VALLEY
BY ZANE GREY
1906
To my brother
With many fond recollections of days spent in the solitude of the
forests where only can be satisfied that wild fever of freedom of
which this book tells; where to hear the whirr of a wild duck in his
rapid flight is joy; where the quiet of an autumn afternoon swells
the heart, and where one may watch the fragrant wood-smoke curl from
the campfire, and see the stars peep over dark, wooded hills as
twilight deepens, and know a happiness that dwells in the wilderness
alone.
Introduction
The author does not intend to apologize for what many readers may
call the "brutality" of the story; but rather to explain that its
wild spirit is true to the life of the Western border as it was
known only a little more than one hundred years ago.
The writer is the fortunate possessor of historical material of
undoubted truth and interest. It is the long-lost journal of Colonel
Ebenezer Zane, one of the most prominent of the hunter-pioneer, who
labored in the settlement of the Western country.
The story of that tragic period deserves a higher place in
historical literature than it has thus far been given, and this
unquestionably because of a lack of authentic data regarding the
conquering of the wilderness. Considering how many years the
pioneers struggled on the border of this country, the history of
their efforts is meager and obscure.
If the years at the close of the eighteenth and the beginning of the
nineteenth century were full of stirring adventure on the part of
the colonists along the Atlantic coast, how crowded must they have
been for the almost forgotten pioneers who daringly invaded the
trackless wilds! None there was to chronicle the fight of these
sturdy, travelers toward the setting sun. The story of their stormy
lives, of their heroism, and of their sacrifice for the benefit of
future generations is too little known.
It is to a better understanding of those days that the author has
labored to draw from his ancestor's notes a new and striking
portrayal of the frontier; one which shall paint the fever of
freedom, that powerful impulse which lured so many to unmarked
graves; one which shall show his work, his love, the effect of the
causes which rendered his life so hard, and surely one which does
not forget the wronged Indian.
The frontier in 1777 produced white men so savage as to be men in
name only. These outcasts and renegades lived among the savages, and
during thirty years harassed the border, perpetrating all manner of
fiendish cruelties upon the settlers. They were no less cruel to the
redmen whom they ruled, and at the height of their bloody careers
made futile the Moravian missionaries' long labors, and destroyed
the beautiful hamlet of the Christian Indians, called Gnaddenhutten,
or Village of Peace.
And while the border produced such outlaws so did it produce hunters
Eke Boone, the Zanes, the McCollochs, and Wetzel, that strange,
silent man whose deeds are still whispered in the country where he
once roamed in his insatiate pursuit of savages and renegades, and
who was purely a product of the times. Civilization could not have
brought forth a man like Wetzel. Great revolutions, great crises,
great moments come, and produce the men to deal with them.
The border needed Wetzel. The settlers would have needed many more
years in which to make permanent homes had it not been for him. He
was never a pioneer; but always a hunter after Indians. When not on
the track of the savage foe, he was in the settlement, with his keen
eye and ear ever alert for signs of the enemy. To the superstitious
Indians he was a shadow; a spirit of the border, which breathed
menace from the dark forests. To the settlers he was the right arm
of defense, a fitting leader for those few implacable and unerring
frontiersmen who made the settlement of the West a possibility.
And if this story of one of his relentless pursuits shows the man as
he truly was, loved by pioneers, respected and feared by redmen, and
hated by renegades; if it softens a little the ruthless name history
accords him, the writer will have been well repaid.
Z. G.
The Spirit of the Border
Chapter I.
"Nell, I'm growing powerful fond of you."
"So you must be, Master Joe, if often telling makes it true."
The girl spoke simply, and with an absence of that roguishness which
was characteristic of her. Playful words, arch smiles, and a touch
of coquetry had seemed natural to Nell; but now her grave tone and
her almost wistful glance disconcerted Joe.
During all the long journey over the mountains she had been gay and
bright, while now, when they were about to part, perhaps never to
meet again, she showed him the deeper and more earnest side of her
character. It checked his boldness as nothing else had done.
Suddenly there came to him the real meaning of a woman's love when
she bestows it without reservation. Silenced by the thought that he
had not understood her at all, and the knowledge | 307.756272 |
2023-11-16 18:22:11.8256920 | 253 | 6 |
Produced by David Brannan
THE VALLEY OF FEAR
By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Part 1--The Tragedy of Birlstone
Chapter 1--The Warning
"I am inclined to think--" said I.
"I should do so," Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently.
I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals; but I'll
admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption. "Really, Holmes,"
said I severely, "you are a little trying at times."
He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give any immediate
answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his hand, with his untasted
breakfast before him, and he stared at the slip of paper which he had
just drawn from its envelope. Then he took the envelope itself, held it
up to the light, and very carefully studied both the exterior and the
flap.
"It is Porlock's writing," said he thoughtfully. "I can hardly doubt
that it is Porlock's writing, though I have seen it only twice before.
The Greek e with the peculiar top flourish is distinctive. But if it is
Porlock | 307.845732 |
2023-11-16 18:22:12.1812540 | 5,469 | 21 |
Produced by Chuck Greif & The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
MEMBERS OF THE FAMILY
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO
SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
[Illustration: “Pie like mother made,” said Scipio]
MEMBERS OF THE FAMILY
BY
OWEN WISTER
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. T. DUNN
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1911
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1901,
BY THE COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE.
COPYRIGHT, 1903,
BY P. F. COLLIER AND SON.
COPYRIGHT, 1902, 1908, 1909, 1911,
BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY.
COPYRIGHT, 1911,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1911.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
To
HORACE HOWARD FURNESS
OF LINDENSHADE, WALLINGFORD
_That is my home of love: if I have rang’d,
Like him that travels, I return again._
--SONNET CIX.
PREFACE
When this October comes, twenty years will be sped since the author of
these Western tales sat down one evening to begin his first tale of the
West, and--will you forgive him a preamble of gossip, of retrospection?
Time steps in between the now that is and the then that was with a
vengeance; it blocks the way for us all; we cannot go back. When the old
corner, the old place, the old house, wear the remembered look, beckon
to the memory as if to say, No change here! then verily is the change
worst, the shell most empty, the cheat well-nigh too piercing. In a
certain garden I used to plunder in 1866, the smell to-day of warm,
dusty strawberries.... But did we admit to our companionship ghosts
only, what would living be? I continue to eat strawberries. As for
smells, they’re worse than old melodies, I think. Lately I was the sport
of one. My train was trundling over the plains--a true train of the
past, half freight, half passenger, cars of an obsolete build, big
smoke-stack on the archaic engine, stops for meals, inveterate news-boy
with bad candy, bad novels, bad bananas--a dear old horrible train, when
magic was suddenly wrought. It came in through the open window, its
wand touched me, and the evoked spirits rose. With closed eyes I saw
them once more, standing there out in the alkali, the antelope by scores
and hundreds, only a little way off, a sort of color between cinnamon
and amber in the morning sun, transparent and phantom-like, with pale
legs. Only a little way off. Eyes closed, I watched them, as in 1885
with open ones I beheld them first from the train. Now they were
running; I saw the bobbing dots of their white receding rears, and
through me passed the ghost of that first thrill at first seeing
antelope yesterday--it seemed yesterday: only a little way off. I opened
my eyes; there was the train as it ought to look, there were the plains,
the alkali, the dry gullies, the mounds, the flats, the enormous
sunlight, the virgin air like the first five measures of
_Lohengrin_--but where were the antelope? So natural did everything
continue to look, surely they must be just over that next rise! No; over
the one beyond that? No; only a little, little way off, but gone for
evermore! And magic smote me once again through the window. Thousands of
cattle were there, with horsemen. Were they not there? Not over the next
rise? No; gone for evermore. What was this magic that came in through
the window? The smell of the sage-brush. After several years it was
greeting me again. All day long it breathed a welcome and a sigh, as if
the desert whispered: Yes, I look as if I were here; but I am a ghost,
too, there’s no coming back. All day long the whiffs of sage-brush
conjured old sights before me, till my heart ran over with homesickness
for what was no more, and the desert seemed to whisper: It’s not I
you’re seeking, you’re straining your eyes to see yourself,--you as you
were in your early twenties, with your illusion that I, the happy
hunting-ground of your young irresponsibility, was going to be
permanent. You must shut your eyes to see yourself and me and the
antelope as we all used to be. Why, if Adam and Eve had evaded the angel
and got back into the garden, do you think they would have found it the
same after Cain and Abel? Thus moralized the desert, and I thought, How
many things we have to shut our eyes to see!
Permanent! Living men, not very old yet, have seen the Indian on the
war-path, the buffalo stopping the train, the cow-boy driving his
cattle, the herder watching his sheep, the government irrigation dam,
and the automobile--have seen every one of these slides which progress
puts for a moment into its magic-lantern and removes to replace with a
new one. The final tale in this book could not possibly have happened in
the day of the first tale, although scarcely twenty years separate the
new, present Wyoming from that cow-boy Wyoming which then flourished so
boisterously, and is now like the antelope. Steam and electricity make
short work of epochs. We don’t know how many centuries the Indian and
the buffalo enjoyed before the trapper and pioneer arrived. These latter
had fifty or sixty good years of it, pushing westward until no west was
left to push to; a little beyond Ogden in 1869, the driving of that
golden spike which riveted the rails between New York and San Francisco,
rang out the old, rang in the new, and progress began to work its
magic-lantern faster. The soldier of the frontier, the frontier
post--gone; the cattle-range--gone; the sheep episode just come, yet
going already, or at any rate already mixed, diluted, with the farm, the
truck garden, the poultry yard, the wife, the telephone, the summer
boarder, and the Victor playing the latest Broadway “records” in valleys
where the august wilderness reigned silent--yesterday. The nomadic,
bachelor West is over, the housed, married West is established. This
rush of change, this speed we live at everywhere (only faster in some
places than in others) has led some one to remark sententiously that
when a Western baby is born, it immediately makes its will, while when a
New York baby is born, it merely applies for a divorce.
But what changes can ever efface that early vision which began with the
antelope? Wyoming burst upon the tenderfoot resplendent, like all the
story-books, like Cooper and Irving and Parkman come true again; here,
actually going on, was that something which the boy runs away from
school to find, that land safe and far from Monday morning, nine
o’clock, and the spelling-book; here was Saturday eternal, where you
slept out-of-doors, hunted big animals, rode a horse, roped steers, and
wore deadly weapons. Make no mistake: fire-arms were at times practical
and imperative, but this was not the whole reason for sporting them on
your hip; you had escaped from civilization’s school-room, an air never
breathed before filled your lungs, and you were become one large shout
of joy. College-boy, farm-boy, street-boy, this West melted you all down
to the same first principles. Were you seeking fortune? Perhaps,
incidentally, but money was not the point; you had escaped from school.
This holiday was leavened by hard bodily work, manly deeds, and deeds
heroic, and beneath all the bright brave ripple moved the ground-swell
of tragedy. Something of promise, also, was in the air, promise of a
democracy which the East had missed:--
“With no spread-eagle brag do I gather conviction each year that we
Americans, judged not hastily, are sound at heart, kind, courageous,
often of the truest delicacy, and always ultimately of excellent good
sense. With such belief, or, rather, knowledge, it is sorrowful to see
our fatal complacence, our as yet undisciplined folly, in sending to our
State Legislatures and to that general business office of ours at
Washington, a herd of mismanagers that seems each year to grow more
inefficient and contemptible, whether branded Republican or Democrat.
But I take heart, because oftener and oftener I hear upon my journey the
citizens high and low muttering, ‘There’s too much politics in this
country’; and we shake hands.”
Such “insurgent” sentiments did I in 1895, some time before insurgency’s
day, speak out in the preface to my first book of Western tales; to-day
my faith begins to be justified. In the West, where the heart of our
country has been this long while, and where the head may be pretty soon,
the citizens are awakening to the fact that our first century of “self”
government merely substituted the divine right of corporations for the
divine right of Kings. Surprising it is not, that a people whose genius
for machinery has always been paramount should expect more from
constitutions and institutions than these mere mechanisms of government
can of themselves perform; the initiative, referendum, and recall are
excellent inventions, but if left to run alone, as all our other patent
devices have been, they will grind out nothing for us: By his very creed
is the American dedicated to eternal vigilance. This we forgot for so
long that learning it anew is both painful and slow. We have further to
remember that prosperity is something of a curse in disguise; it is the
poor governments in history that have always been the purest; where
there is much to steal, there will be many to steal it. We must
discern, too, the illusion of “natural rights,” once an inspiration, now
a shell from which life has passed on into new formulas. A “right” has
no existence, save in its potential exercise; it does not proceed from
within, it is permitted from without, and “natural rights” is a phrase
empty of other meaning than to denote whatever primitive or acquired
inclinations of man each individual is by common consent allowed to
realize. These permissions have varied, and will vary, with the ages.
Polygamy would be called a natural right now in some parts of the world;
to the criminal and the diseased one wife will presently be forbidden in
many places. Let this single illustration serve. No argument based upon
the dogmatic premise of natural rights can end anywhere save in drifting
fog. We see this whenever a meeting of anarchists leads a judge or an
editor into the trap of attempting to define the “right” of free speech.
In fact, all government, all liberty, reduces itself to one man saying
to another: You may do _this_; but if you do _that_, I will kill you.
This power Democracy vests in “the people,” and our final lesson to
learn is that in a Democracy there is no such separate thing as “the
people”; all of us are the people. Truly his creed compels the American
to eternal vigilance! Will he learn to live up to it?
From the West the tenderfoot took home with him the health he had
sought, and an enthusiasm his friends fled from; what was Wyoming to
them or they to Wyoming? In 1885 the Eastern notion of the West was
“Alkali Ike” and smoking pistols. No kind of serious art had presented
the frontier as yet. Fresh visits but served to deepen the tenderfoot’s
enthusiasm and whet his impatience that so much splendid indigenous
material should literally be wasting its sweetness on the desert air. It
is likely always to be true that in each hundred of mankind ninety-nine
can see nothing new until the hundredth shakes it in their faces--and he
must keep shaking it. No plan of shaking was yet in the tenderfoot’s
mind, he was dedicated to other calling; but he besieged the ears of our
great painter and our great novelist. He told the painter of the strong,
strange shapes of the buttes, the epic landscape, the color, the
marvellous light, the red men blanketed, the white men in chapareros,
the little bronze Indian children; particularly does he recall--in 1887
or 1888--an occasion about two o’clock in the morning in a certain
beloved club in Boston, when he had been preaching to the painter. A
lesser painter (he is long dead) sat by, unbelieving. No, he said, don’t
go. I’m sure it’s all crude, repulsive, no beauty. But John Sargent did
believe. Other work waited him; his path lay elsewhere, he said, but he
was sure the tenderfoot spoke truth. Other work awaited the novelist,
too; both painter and novelist were wiser than to leave what they knew
to be their own for unknown fields. But would no one, then, disperse
the Alkali Ikes and bring the West into American art and letters?
It was a happy day for the tenderfoot when he read the first sage-brush
story by Mary Hallock Foote. At last a voice was lifted to honor the
cattle country and not to libel it. Almost at the same moment Charles
King opened for us the door upon frontier military life. He brought
spirited army scenes to our ken, Mrs. Foote more generally clothed the
civilian frontier with serious and tender art. They (so far as I know)
were the first that ever burst into that silent sea. Next, Mr. Roosevelt
began to publish his vivid, robust accounts of Montana life. But words
alone, no matter how skilfully used, were not of themselves adequate to
present to the public a picture so strange and new. Another art was
needed, and most luckily the man with the seeing eye and shaping hand
arrived.
A monument to Frederic Remington will undoubtedly rise some day; the
artist who more than any one has gathered up in a grand grasp an entire
era of this country’s history, and handed it down visible, living,
picturesque, for coming generations to see--such man will have a
monument. But in the manner of commemorating national benefactors, I
would we resembled the French who celebrate their great ones--not
soldiers and statesmen alone, but all their great ones--by naming public
places in their honor: the Quai Voltaire, the Rue Bizet, the Rue
Auber--to mention the first that come to memory. Everywhere in France
you will meet with these instances of a good custom. In this country we
seem to value even third-rate politicians more than first-rate men of
art and letters. If Paris can by her streets perpetuate the memory of
the composers of _Carmen_ and _Fra Diavolo_, would it not be fitting
that Denver, Cheyenne, Tucson, and other western cities, should have a
Remington street? I am glad I did not wait until he was dead to pay my
tribute to him. The two opportunities that came to me in his life I
took, nor has my opinion of his work changed since then. If he never
quite found himself in color, he was an incomparable draftsman; best of
all, he was a great wholesome force making for independence, and he
taught to our over-imitative American painters the needed lesson that
their own country furnishes subjects as worthy as any that Delacroix or
Millet ever saw. I have lived to see what I did not expect, the desert
on canvas; for which I thank Fernand Lungren. Tributes to the dead seem
late to me, and I shall take this chance to acknowledge my debt to some
more of the living.
Four years after that night vigil with Sargent, the tenderfoot had still
written no word about the West. It was in 1891, after repeated
sojournings in camp, ranch, and military post, that his saturation with
the whole thing ran over, so to speak, in the form of fiction. Writing
had been a constant pastime since the school paper; in 1884 Mr. Howells
(how kind he was!) had felt my literary pulse and pronounced it
promising; a quickening came from the pages of Stevenson; a far stronger
shove next from the genius of _Plain Tales from the Hills_; during an
unusually long and broad wandering through the Platte valley, Powder
River, Buffalo, Cheyenne, Fort Washakie, Jackson’s Hole, and the Park,
the final push happened to be given by Prosper Mérimée; I had the volume
containing _Carmen_ with me. After reading it in the Park I straightway
invented a traveller’s tale. This was written down after I got home--I
left some good company at a club dinner table one night to go off to a
lonely library and begin it. A second followed, both were sent to
Franklin Square and accepted by Mr. Alden. Then I found my pretty
faithfully-kept Western diaries (they would now fill a shelf) to be a
reservoir of suggestion--and at times a source of despair; as, for
instance, when I unearthed the following abbreviations: Be sure to
remember Green-hides--perpendicular--sediment--Tuesdays as a rule.
Aware of Mérimée’snot highly expansive nature, I should hesitate, were
he alive, to disclose my debt to his _Carmen_--my favorite of all short
stories; but Mr. Howells and Mr. Kipling will be indulgent, and there is
another who will have to bear with my gratitude. In 1896 I sat with him
and he went over my first book, patiently, minutely pointing out many
things. Everything that he said I could repeat this moment, and his own
pages have continued to give me hints without end. That the pupil in one
or two matters ventures to disagree with his benefactor may be from much
lingering ignorance, or because no two ever think wholly alike: _tot
homines quot sententiæ_, as the Latin grammar used so incontrovertibly
to remark. It is significant to note how this master seems to be
teaching a numerous young generation. Often do I pick up some popular
magazine and read a story (one even of murder, it may be, in tropic seas
or city slums) where some canny bit of foreshortening, of presentation,
reveals the spreading influence, and I say, Ah, my friend, never would
you have found out how to do that if Henry James hadn’t set you
thinking!
It can happen, says Montesquieu, that the individual through pursuing
his own welfare contributes to the general good; Mr. Herbert Croly
admirably and sagaciously applies this thought to the case of the artist
and the writer. Their way to be worthy citizens and serve the State, he
says, is to see to it that their work be reverently thorough, for thus
they set high the standard of national excellence. To which I would add,
that a writer can easily take himself too seriously, but he can never
take his art too seriously. In our country, the painter and writer have
far outstripped the working-man in their ideal of honest work. This is
(partly) because painter and writer have to turn out a good product to
survive, while the working-man manages to survive with the least
possible of personal effort and skill. Did I offer my publisher such
work as the plumber and carpenter offer me, I should feel myself
disgraced. Are we to see the day when the slovenly, lazy poet shall
enact that the careful, industrious poet must work no longer and sell no
more than he?
Editors have at times lamented to me that good work isn’t distinguished
from bad by our multifarious millions. I have the happiness to know the
editors to be wrong. Let the subject of a piece of fiction contain a
simple, broad appeal, and the better its art, the greater its success;
although the noble army of readers will not suspect that their pleasure
is largely due to the skill. Such a book as _The Egoist_, where the
subject is rarefied and complex, of course no height of art will render
acceptable, save to the rehearsed few. Thanks to certain of our more
robust editors, the noble army grows daily more rehearsed, reads
“harder” books than it did, accepts plainer speech and wider range of
subject than the skittish spinster generation of a while ago. But mark
here an underlying principle. The plain speech in Richardson was in his
day nothing to start back from; to-day it is inhibited by a change in
our circumambient reticence. The circumambient reticence varies in
degree with each race, and almost with every generation of each race.
Something like a natural law, it sets the limits for what can be said
aloud in grown-up company--and Art is speaking aloud in grown-up
company; it consists no more of the professional secrets of the doctor
than it does of the prattle of the nursery. Its business is indeed to
take notice of everything in life, but always subject to the
circumambient reticence. Those gentlemen (and ladies) who utter that
gaseous shibboleth about Art for Art (as well cry Beefsteak for
Beefsteak) and would have our books and plays be foul because Ben Jonson
frequently was and Anatole France frequently is, are out of their
reckoning; and generally they may be suspected not so much of an
abstract passion for truth as of a concrete letch for animalism. Almost
the only advice for the beginner is, Clearly feel what you intend to
express, and then go ahead, listening to nobody, unless to one who also
perceives clearly your intention. Great and small things does this rule
fit. Once in an early tale I sought to make our poor alphabet express
the sound of cow-bells, and I wrote that they _tankled_ on the hillside.
In the margin I stated my spelling to be intentional. Back it came in
the galley, tinkled. A revised proof being necessary, I restored my word
with emphasis--and lo, tinkle was returned me again. I appealed to the
veteran and well-loved sage at the head of _Harper’s Magazine_. He
supported me. Well, in the new Oxford dictionary, behold Tankle and me,
two flies in amber, perpetuated by that Supreme Court; I have coined a
new acknowledged word for the English language. This should not be told,
but for its small moral, and if I could not render a final set of thanks
to the living. Countless blunders have been saved me by the watchful eye
of the printer and proofreader, those friends I never see, whose names I
do not know. For twenty years they have marked places where through
carelessness or fatigue I have slipped; may some of them know through
this page that I appreciate their service.
This book is three years late; the first tale designed for it was
published in 1901. Its follower should even now be ready. It is not yet
begun; it exists merely in notes and intentions. Give me health and a
day, sighs Emerson; and I am sorry for all who have to say that. When
you see the new moon over your left shoulder, wish always for health;
never mind all the other things. I own to an attachment for the members
of this family; I would fain follow their lives a little more, into
twentieth century Wyoming, which knows not the cow-boy, and where the
cow-boy feels at times more lost than ever he was on the range. Of all
the ills that harass writing, plans deferred seem at times the worst;
yet great pleasures offset them--the sight of one’s pages in a foreign
tongue, meeting horses in the Rocky Mountains named after the members
of one’s family, being asked from across | 308.201294 |
2023-11-16 18:22:12.3734120 | 401 | 13 |
Produced by Giovanni Fini, StevenGibbs and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE JOURNALS
OF
MAJOR-GEN. C. G. GORDON, C.B.,
_AT KARTOUM_.
[Illustration: MAJOR-GEN. C. G. GORDON, C.B.]
THE JOURNALS
OF
MAJOR-GEN. C. G. GORDON, C.B.,
AT KARTOUM.
_PRINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL MSS._
INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
BY
A. EGMONT HAKE,
AUTHOR OF “THE STORY OF CHINESE GORDON,” ETC.
WITH PORTRAIT, TWO MAPS, AND THIRTY ILLUSTRATIONS AFTER SKETCHES
BY GENERAL GORDON.
[Illustration: LOGO]
LONDON:
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
1885.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
_The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved._
PREFACE.
THE work of editing these Journals is at an end; it only remains
now for me to thank one of my oldest and most valued friends, whose
assistance in every way I wish most thoroughly to acknowledge: this
is Mr. Godfrey Thrupp. When it became obvious that the public demand
for the work made its completion in so short a time impossible—as the
conscientious achievement of one man—he generously came forward. His
knowledge of the East and his deep interest in the subject made him an
invaluable colleague.
A. EGM | 308.393452 |
2023-11-16 18:22:12.5322080 | 1,200 | 6 | LEGENDS***
E-text prepared by David E. Brown and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 58185-h.htm or 58185-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/58185/58185-h/58185-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/58185/58185-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/crystalpalaceoth00frar
Transcriber’s note:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
[Illustration]
THE CRYSTAL PALACE
AND OTHER LEGENDS
Retold by
MARIE H. FRARY
and
CHARLES M. STEBBINS
With Illustrations by Herbert E. Martini
Stebbins and Company
New York
Publishers
Copyright, 1909
by
Stebbins and Company
PREFACE
Legends have a fascination for all classes of people, but they possess
a peculiar charm for children. They constitute, in fact, a form of
literature particularly fitting to the mental world of the child.
In them fact and fancy are happily blended. Around the bare facts
of recorded or unrecorded history, are woven the poetic ideals of a
romantic people.
Nothing could be more worth a child’s reading than a story of the past
that conveys not only an idea of the everyday life of real people,
but represents them also as striving after ideals in various forms of
beauty.
No influence is greater than the moral force of beauty. In the present
volume the purpose of the writers has been to present only such
legends as reveal simplicity, strength, and beauty. These qualities
make their inevitable appeal to the child fancy.
The subject matter of the book has been graded for children of eight
or ten years. It is, therefore, well suited for use as a supplementary
reader in the fourth or fifth grade.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
THE CRYSTAL PALACE 7
THE ANGEL PAGE 13
THE GNOME’S ROAD 21
THE LORELEI 26
THE SUNKEN CITY 31
THE BIRD OF PARADISE 39
THE BELL OF ATRI 48
THE POT OF HOT PORRIDGE 53
THE SILVER BELL 57
THE TWO BAKER BOYS 66
THE EMPEROR’S WOOING 70
THE MAGIC RING 76
CHARLEMAGNE’S GENEROSITY 83
THE SILVER BRIDGE 89
THE PET RAVEN 93
THE NIGHT OF THE STOLEN TREASURE 101
THE WATER SPRITES 106
THE GIANT MAIDEN 109
THE SWAN KNIGHT 113
THE CRYSTAL PALACE
Many, many years ago there lived in the village of Zurdorf, a queer
little old woman. She was a very kind old lady and a good nurse. Often
she was called upon to care for the boys and girls of the village.
They quite enjoyed being ill because she knew so many interesting
stories. She told them of great knights and ladies, of castles and
fairies, of the wood nymphs and the water sprites; but best of all was
the story of old Father Rhine.
One night as she sat knitting, a knock came at the cottage door. She
opened it and there stood a strange man, carrying a lantern of curious
pattern. He did not speak, but motioned to her to follow him.
The night was dark, and the rain was pouring down in torrents. Great
pools were found in the streets. Aunt Margot, as the children called
the old lady, hesitated to follow the stranger. It was not, however,
because she was afraid of the storm, but because the man was a stranger.
He motioned to her again. She saw that his face was kindly, and so
decided to follow him. Down the dark street they passed, splashing
through the deep pools of water.
Suddenly the water became deeper, and began to eddy about Margot’s
ankles. She became frightened and was about to turn and flee.
“I can go no farther,” she shouted; “what manner of man art thou, and
whither wouldst thou lead me?”
The old man did not answer, but caught Margot in his arms and plunged
into the river Rhine. It had risen from its banks, and its eddying
waters had frightened Margot.
Down, down, through cold green waters they sank. It seemed to Margot
as if she were going down forever. She closed her eyes and ceased to
struggle.
At last they seemed to have passed out of the water, and Margot opened
her eyes. She found herself in a wonderful crystal palace. Precious
stones glittered all about her. The ornaments were of silver and gold.
As soon as she had recovered from her wonder, she was led into an
immense chamber. Here on a bed of crystal, with silken coverings, lay a
beautiful golden haired nymph, who was ill.
“I have brought you here,” said the old man, “to care for my beautiful
wife | 308.552248 |
2023-11-16 18:22:12.5323150 | 392 | 6 |
Produced by Douglas L. Alley, III, Chris Curnow and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: _Painted by J. J. Masquerier._
_Engraved by W. T. Fry._
_William Spence, Esq^r., F.L.S._]
_Published by Longman & C^o. London, July 1825._
AN
INTRODUCTION
TO
ENTOMOLOGY:
OR
ELEMENTS
OF THE
_NATURAL HISTORY OF INSECTS_:
WITH PLATES.
BY WILLIAM KIRBY, M.A. F.R. AND L.S.
RECTOR OF BARHAM,
AND
WILLIAM SPENCE, ESQ. F.L.S.
IN FOUR VOLUMES.
VOL. IV.
_FIFTH EDITION._
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR
LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
1828.
PRINTED BY RICHARD TAYLOR,
RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.
CONTENTS OF VOL. IV.
Letter. Page.
XXXVII. Internal Anatomy and Physiology of
Insects. _Sensation_ 1-33
XXXVIII. Internal Anatomy and Physiology of
Insects continued. _Respiration_ 34-80
XXXIX. Internal Anatomy and Physiology of
Insects continued. _Circulation_ 81-101
XL. Internal Anatomy and Physiology of
Insects continued. _Digestion_ 102-126
| 308.552355 |
2023-11-16 18:22:12.9321620 | 1,295 | 17 |
Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE CURLYTOPS SNOWED IN
HOWARD R. GARIS
[Illustration: TED'S SLED WAS RUNNING AWAY, AND DOWN THE DANGEROUS
<DW72>. _Page 20_]
THE CURLYTOPS
SNOWED IN
OR
_Grand Fun with Skates and Sleds_
BY
HOWARD R. GARIS
AUTHOR OF "THE CURLYTOPS SERIES," "BEDTIME
STORIES," "UNCLE WIGGILY SERIES," ETC.
_Illustrations by
JULIA GREENE_
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
1941
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 SNOWED IN
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A LETTER FROM GRANDPA 1
II A RUNAWAY SLED 14
III NICKNACK ON THE ICE 25
IV THE SNOW HOUSE 36
V NICKNACK SEES HIMSELF 52
VI THE SNOW MAN 62
VII A STRANGE BEDFELLOW 78
VIII THE LAME BOY 88
IX THROUGH THE ICE 99
X THANKSGIVING 114
XI THE SNOW BUNGALOW 125
XII TROUBLE IS LOST 143
XIII NICKNACK HAS A RIDE 153
XIV SNOWED IN 167
XV DRIVEN BACK 177
XVI DIGGING A TUNNEL 187
XVII IN A BIG DRIFT 201
XVIII NICKNACK IS GONE 209
XIX WHAT NICKNACK BROUGHT 222
XX IN THE BUNGALOW 234
THE CURLYTOPS SNOWED IN
CHAPTER I
A LETTER FROM GRANDPA
"Ted! Teddy! Look, it's snowing!"
"Oh, is it? Let me see, Mother!"
Theodore Martin, who was seldom called anything but Teddy or Ted,
hurried away from the side of his mother, who was straightening his tie
in readiness for school. He ran to the window through which his sister
Janet, or Jan as she liked to be called, was looking.
"Oh, it really is snowing!" cried Ted in delight. "Now we can have some
fun!"
"And look at the big flakes!" went on Jan. "They're just like feathers
sifting down. It'll be a great big snowstorm, and we can go
sleigh-riding."
"And skating, too!" added Ted, his nose pressed flat against the window
pane.
"You can't skate when there's snow on the pond," objected Jan. "Anyhow
it hasn't frozen ice yet. Has it, Mother?"
"No, I think it hasn't been quite cold enough for that," answered Mrs.
Martin.
"But it'll be a big snowstorm, won't it?" asked Jan. "There'll be a lot
of big drifts, and we can wear our rubber boots and make snowballs! Oh,
what fun, Ted!" and she danced up and down.
"And we can make a snow man, too," went on Teddy. "And a big snowball!"
"An' I frow snowballs at snow man!" exclaimed the voice of a smaller
boy, who was eating a rather late breakfast at the dining-room table.
"Oh, Trouble, we'll make you a little snow house!" cried Jan, as she ran
over to his high chair to give him a hug and a kiss. "We'll make you a
snow house and you can play in it."
"Maybe it'll fall down on him and we'll have to dig him out, like the
lollypop-man dug Nicknack, our goat, out of the sand hole when we were
camping with grandpa," added Ted with a laugh. "Say, but it's going to
be a big storm! Guess I'd better wear my rubber boots; hadn't I,
Mother?"
"I hardly think so, Teddy," said Mrs. Martin. "I don't believe the snow
will get very deep."
"Oh, Mother, won't it?" begged Jan, as if her mother could make it deep
or not, just as she liked.
"Why won't it be a big storm, Mother?" asked Teddy. "See what big flakes
are coming down," and he looked up at the sky, pressing his face hard
against the window. "Why won't it?"
"Because it seldom snows long when the flakes are so big. The big flakes
show that the weather is hardly cold enough to freeze the water from the
clouds, which would be rain only it is hardly warm enough for that. It
is just cold enough now to make a little snow, with very large flakes,
and I think it will soon turn to rain. So you had better wear your
rubbers to school and take an umbrella. And, Teddy, be sure to wait for
Janet on coming home. Remember you're a year older than she is, and | 308.952202 |
2023-11-16 18:22:12.9444410 | 2,169 | 11 |
E-text prepared by sp1nd, Eleni Christofaki, 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 illustration.
See 42093-h.htm or 42093-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42093/42093-h/42093-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42093/42093-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/moragtaleofhighl00raemiala
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 | 308.964481 |
2023-11-16 18:22:13.0268740 | 2,823 | 15 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
A CHRISTMAS MORALITY
[Illustration: Remember my ears are so quick I can hear the grass
grow. _Frontispiece._]
[Illustration]
LITTLE PETER
A Christmas Morality
for Children of any Age
By LUCAS MALET
AUTHOR OF 'COLONEL ENDERBY'S WIFE' ETC.
[Illustration]
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY PAUL HARDY
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1888
TO
CECILY
IN TOKEN OF AFFECTION
TOWARDS HERSELF, HER MOTHER, AND HER STATELY HOME
THIS LITTLE STORY IS DEDICATED
BY
HER OBEDIENT SERVANT
LUCAS MALET
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Which deals with the opinions of a Cat, and the sorrows of
a Charcoal-burner 1
II. Which introduces the Reader to an Admirer of the Ancient
Romans 19
III. Which improves our acquaintance with the Grasshopper-man 36
IV. Which leaves some at Home, and takes some to Church 50
V. Which is both Social and Religious 68
VI. Which attempts to show why the Skies fall 84
VII. Which describes a pleasant Dinner Party, and an
unpleasant Walk 95
VIII. Which proves that even Philosophic Politicians may
have to admit themselves in the wrong 115
IX. Which is very short because, in some ways, it is rather
sad 132
X. Which ends the Story 143
_ILLUSTRATIONS._
'Remember my ears are so quick I can hear
the grass grow' _Frontispiece_
'What will happen? please tell me' _To face p._ 10
'Go to bed when you are told' " 34
'You all despise me' " 66
Going to Church " 72
Lost " 110
Waiting " 120
Found " 138
The Charcoal-burner visits Little Peter " 150
[Illustration: Little Peter.]
CHAPTER I.
WHICH DEALS WITH THE OPINIONS OF A CAT, AND THE SORROWS OF A CHARCOAL
BURNER.
The pine forest is a wonderful place. The pine-trees stand in ranks
like the soldiers of some vast army, side by side, mile after mile, in
companies and regiments and battalions, all clothed in a sober uniform
of green and grey. But they are unlike soldiers in this, that they are
of all ages and sizes; some so small that the rabbits easily jump
over them in their play, and some so tall and stately that the fall
of them is like the falling of a high tower. And the pine-trees are
put to many different uses. They are made into masts for the gallant
ships that sail out and away to distant ports across the great ocean.
Others are sawn into planks, and used for the building of sheds; for
the rafters and flooring, and clap-boards and woodwork of our houses;
for railway-sleepers, and scaffoldings, and hoardings. Others are
polished and fashioned into articles of furniture. Turpentine comes
from them, which the artist uses with his colours, and the doctor in
his medicines; which is used, too, in the cleaning of stuffs and in a
hundred different ways. While the pine-cones, and broken branches and
waste wood, make bright crackling fires by which to warm ourselves on a
winter's day.
But there is something more than just this I should like you to think
about in connection with the pine forest; for it, like everything else
that is fair and noble in nature, has a strange and precious secret of
its own.
You may learn the many uses of the trees in your school books, when
men have cut them down or grubbed them up, or poked holes in their
poor sides to let the turpentine run out. But you can only learn the
secret of the forest itself by listening humbly and reverently for it
to speak to you. For Nature is a very great lady, grander and more
magnificent than all the queens who have lived in sumptuous palaces and
reigned over famous kingdoms since the world began; and though she will
be very kind and gracious to children who come and ask her questions
modestly and prettily, and will show them the most lovely sights and
tell them the most delicious fairy tales that ever were seen or heard,
she makes very short work with conceited and impudent persons. She
covers their eyes and stops their ears, so that they can never see her
wonderful treasures or hear her charming stories, but live, all their
lives long, shut up in the dark fusty cupboard of their own ignorance,
and stupid self-love, and self-satisfaction, thinking they know all
about everything as well as if they had made it themselves, when they
do not really know anything at all. And because you and I dislike fusty
cupboards, and because we want to know anything and everything that
Nature is condescending enough to teach us, we will listen, to begin
with, to what the pine forest has to tell.
When the rough winds are up and at play, and the pine-trees shout and
sing together in a mighty chorus, while the hoarse voice of them is
like the roar of the sea upon a rocky coast, then you may learn the
secret of the forest. It sings first of the winged seed; and then of
the birth of the tiny tree; of sunrise and sunset, and the tranquil
warmth of noon-day, and of the soft, refreshing rain, and the kindly,
nourishing earth, and of the white moonlight, and pale, moist garments
of the mist, all helping the tree to grow up tall and straight, to
strike root deep and spread wide its green branches. It sings, too, of
the biting frost, and the still, dumb snow, and the hurrying storm,
all trying and testing the tree, to prove if it can stand firm and
show a brave face in time of danger and trouble. Then it sings of the
happy spring-time, when the forest is girdled about with a band of
flowers; while the birds build and call to each other among the high
branches; and the squirrel helps his wife to make her snug nest for the
little, brown squirrel-babies that are to be; and the dormice wake up
from their long winter sleep, and sit in the sunshine and comb their
whiskers with their dainty, little paws. And then the forest sings of
man--how he comes with axe and saw, and hammer and iron wedges, and
lays low the tallest of its children, and binds them with ropes and
chains, and hauls them away to be his bond-servants and slaves. And,
last of all, it sings slowly and very gently of old age and decay and
death; of the seed that falls on hard, dry places and never springs up;
of the tree that is broken by the tempest or scathed by the lightning
flash, and stands bare and barren and unsightly; sings how, in the end,
all things shrink and crumble, and how the dust of them returns and is
mingled with the fruitful soil from which at first they came.
This is the song of the pine forest, and from it you may learn this
lesson: that the life of the tree and of beast and bird are subject to
the same three great laws as the life of man--the law of growth, of
obedience, and of self-sacrifice. And perhaps, when you are older, if
you take care to avoid that spirit of conceit and impudence which, as
we have already said, gets people into such trouble with Nature, you
may come to see that these three laws are after all but one, bound for
ever together by the golden cord of love.
Once upon a time, just on the edge of the pine forest, there lived a
little boy. He lived in a big, brown, wooden house, with overhanging
eaves and a very deep roof to it, which swept down from the high middle
gable like the wings of a hen covering her chickens. The wood-sheds,
and hay-barn, and the stable where the brown-eyed, sweet-breathed
cows lay at night, and the clean, cool dairy, and the cheese-room
with its heavy presses were all under this same wide sheltering roof.
Before the house a meadow of rich grass stretched down to a stream,
that hurried along over rocky limestone ledges, or slipped away over
flat sandy places where you might see the little fishes playing at
hide-and-seek or puss in the corner among the bright pebbles at the
bottom. While on the shallow, marshy puddles by the stream side, where
the forget-me-not and brook-lime and rushes grow, the water-spiders
would dance quadrilles and jigs and reels all day long in the sunshine,
and the frogs would croak by hundreds in the still spring evenings,
when the sunset was red behind the pine-trees to the west. And in this
pleasant place little Peter lived, as I say, once upon a time, with his
father and mother, and his two brothers, and Eliza the servant-maid,
and Gustavus the cowherd.
He was the youngest of the children by a number of years, and was such
a small fellow that Susan Lepage, his mother, could make him quite a
smart blouse and pair of trousers out of Antony's cast-off garments,
even when all the patches and thin places had been cut out. He had a
black, curly head, and very round eyes--for many things surprised him,
and surprise makes the eyes grow round as everybody knows--and a dear,
little, red mouth, that was sweet to kiss, and nice, fat cheeks, which
began to look rather cold and blue, by the way, as he stood on the
threshold one evening about Christmas time, with Cincinnatus, the old,
tabby tom-cat, under his arm. He was waiting for his brother Antony
to come home from the neighbouring market-town of Nullepart. It was
growing dusk, yet the sky was very clear. The sound of the wind in the
pine branches and of the chattering stream was strange in the frosty
evening air; so that little Peter felt rather creepy, as the saying is,
and held on very tight to Cincinnatus for fear of--he didn't quite know
what.
'Come in, little man, come in,' cried his mother, as she moved to and
fro in the ruddy firelight, helping Eliza to get ready the supper. 'You
will be frozen standing there outside; and we shall be frozen, too,
sitting here with the door open. Antony will get home none the quicker
for your watching. That which is looked for hardest, they say, comes
last.'
But Peter only hugged Cincinnatus a little closer--thereby making that
long-suffering animal kick spasmodically with his hind legs, as a
rabbit does when you hold it up by the ears--and looked more earnestly
than ever down the forest path into the dimness of the pines.
Just then John Paqualin, the charcoal-burner, came up to the open
door, with a couple of empty sacks across his shoulders. Now the
charcoal-burner was a great friend of little Peter's, though he was
a queer figure to look at. For his red hair hung in wild locks down
over his shoulders, and his eyes glowed red too--as red as his own
smouldering charcoal fires--and his back was bent and crooked; while
his legs were so inordinately long and thin, that all the naughty
little boys in Nullepart, when he went down there to sell his sacks of
charcoal, used to run after him up the street, shouting:--
'Hurrah, hurrah! here's the grasshopper man again! Hey, ho!
grasshopper, give us a tune--haven't you brought your fiddle?'
But when Paqualin got annoyed, as he sometimes did, and turned round
upon them with his glowing eyes, they would all scuttle away as hard as
their legs could carry them. For, like a good many other people, they
were particularly courageous when they could only see the enemy | 309.046914 |
2023-11-16 18:22:13.6268810 | 820 | 16 |
Produced by David Clarke, JoAnn Greenwood, 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)
LYRE AND LANCET
_A STORY IN SCENES_
BY
F. ANSTEY
AUTHOR OF
"VICE VERSA," "THE GIANT'S ROBE," "VOCES POPULI," ETC.
LONDON:
SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE.
1895.
(_All rights reserved._)
_Reprinted from "Punch" by permission of the Proprietors._
CONTENTS
PART PAGE
I. SHADOWS CAST BEFORE 1
II. SELECT PASSAGES FROM A COMING POET 11
III. THE TWO ANDROMEDAS 21
IV. RUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS 31
V. CROSS PURPOSES 42
VI. ROUND PEGS IN SQUARE HOLES 53
VII. IGNOTUM PRO MIRIFICO 64
VIII. SURPRISES--AGREEABLE AND OTHERWISE 76
IX. THE MAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE 87
X. BORROWED PLUMES 98
XI. TIME AND THE HOUR 109
XII. DIGNITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES 119
XIII. WHAT'S IN A NAME? 130
XIV. LE VETERINAIRE MALGRE LUI 141
XV. TRAPPED! 152
XVI. AN INTELLECTUAL PRIVILEGE 163
XVII. A BOMB SHELL 174
XVIII. THE LAST STRAW 184
XIX. UNEARNED INCREMENT 194
XX. DIFFERENT PERSONS HAVE DIFFERENT OPINIONS 204
XXI. THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER 213
XXII. A DESCENT FROM THE CLOUDS 224
XXIII. SHRINKAGE 234
XXIV. THE HAPPY DISPATCH 244
CHARACTERS
GALFRID UNDERSHELL (_a minor poet_).
JAMES SPURRELL, M.R.C.V.S.
THE COUNTESS OF CANTIRE.
LADY MAISIE MULL (_her daughter_).
SIR RUPERT CULVERIN.
LADY CULVERIN.
LADY RHODA COKAYNE.
MRS. BROOKE-CHATTERIS.
MISS SPELWANE.
THE BISHOP OF BIRCHESTER.
LORD LULLINGTON.
LADY LULLINGTON.
MRS. EARWAKER.
THE HONOURABLE BERTIE PILLINER.
CAPTAIN THICKNESSE.
ARCHIE BEARPARK.
MR. SHORTHORN.
DRYSDALE (_a journalist_).
TANRAKE (_a job-master_).
EMMA PHILLIPSON (_maid to_ LADY CANTIRE).
MRS. POMFRET (_housekeeper at Wyvern Court_).
MISS STICKLER (_maid to_ LADY CULVERIN).
MISS DOLMAN (_maid to_ LADY RHODA COKAYNE).
MLLE. CHIFFON (_maid to_ MISS SPELWANE).
M. RIDEVOS (_chef at Wyvern_).
TREDWELL (_butler at Wyvern_).
STEPTOE (_valet | 309.646921 |
2023-11-16 18:22:13.7295550 | 2,169 | 21 |
Produced by Judith Wirawan, David Kline, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
HARPER'S
NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE
VOLUME III.
JUNE TO NOVEMBER, 1851.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
NOS. 329 AND 331 PEARL STREET,
(FRANKLIN SQUARE.)
1852.
ADVERTISEMENT.
This Number closes the Third Volume of HARPER'S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. In
closing the Second Volume the Publishers referred to the distinguished
success which had attended its establishment, as an incentive to further
efforts to make it worthy the immense patronage it had received:--they
refer with confidence to the Contents of the present Volume, for proof
that their promise has been abundantly fulfilled.
The Magazine has reached its present enormous circulation, simply
because it gives _a greater amount of reading matter, of a higher
quality, in better style, and at a cheaper price_ than any other
periodical ever published. Knowing this to be the fact, the Publishers
have spared, and will hereafter spare, no labor or expense which will
increase the value and interest of the Magazine in all these respects.
The outlay upon the present volume has been from five to ten thousand
dollars more than that upon either of its predecessors. The best talent
of the country has been engaged in writing and illustrating original
articles for its pages:--its selections have been made from a wider
field and with increased care; its typographical appearance has been
rendered still more elegant; and several new departments have been added
to its original plan.
The Magazine now contains, regularly:
_First._ One or more original articles upon some topic of historical or
national interest, written by some able and popular writer, and
illustrated by from fifteen to thirty wood engravings, executed in the
highest style of art.
_Second._ Copious selections from the current periodical literature of
the day, with tales of the most distinguished authors, such as DICKENS,
BULWER, LEVER, and others--chosen always for their literary merit,
popular interest, and general utility.
_Third._ A Monthly Record of the events of the day, foreign and
domestic, prepared with care and with the most perfect freedom from
prejudice and partiality of every kind.
_Fourth._ Critical Notices of the Books of the Day, written with
ability, candor, and spirit, and designed to give the public a clear and
reliable estimate of the important works constantly issuing from the
press.
_Fifth._ A Monthly Summary of European Intelligence, concerning books,
authors, and whatever else has interest and importance for the
cultivated reader.
_Sixth._ An Editor's Table, in which some of the leading topics of the
day will be discussed with ability and independence.
_Seventh._ An Editor's Easy Chair or Drawer, which will be devoted to
literary and general gossip, memoranda of the topics talked about in
social circles, graphic sketches of the most interesting minor matters
of the day, anecdotes of literary men, sentences of interest from papers
not worth reprinting at length, and generally an agreeable and
entertaining collection of literary miscellany.
The object of the Publishers is to combine the greatest possible VARIETY
and INTEREST, with the greatest possible UTILITY. Special care will
always be exercised in admitting nothing into the Magazine in the
slightest degree offensive to the most sensitive delicacy; and there
will be a steady aim to exert a healthy moral and intellectual
influence, by the most attractive means.
For the very liberal patronage the Magazine has already received, and
especially for the universally flattering commendations of the Press,
the Publishers desire to express their cordial thanks, and to renew
their assurances, that no effort shall be spared to render the work
still more acceptable and useful, and still more worthy of the
encouragement it has received.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME III.
Adventure with a Grizzly Bear 101
Ally Somers 610
American Notabilities 834
Anecdotes of Curran 108
Anecdotes of Paganini 39
Application of Electro-Magnetism to Railway Transit 786
Autobiography of a Sensitive Spirit 479
Bear-Steak 484
Blind Lovers of Chamouny 68
Bookworms 628
Bored Wells in Mississippi 539
Breton Wedding 87
Brush with a Bison 218
Captain's Self-Devotion 689
Chapter on Giraffes 202
Coffee-Planting in Ceylon 82
Conversation in a Stage Coach 105
Cricket 718
Convict's Tale 209
Daughter of Blood 74
Deserted House 241
Eagle and Swan 691
Eclipse in July, 1851 239
EDITOR'S DRAWER.
Preliminary; Word-painting; Grandiloquence; Memories of
Childhood; Good-nature, 282. Englishman's independence; Parodies;
Done twice; Punctuation; Epitaph; Personification, 284. Small
courtesies; Home California; Grumblers; Rachel Baker, 421. Take
physic, doctor; Moralizing; Curiosity, 422. Sabbath morning;
Pictures of Napoleon; Libraries; Booing; Childlike temper; Pretty
spry, 423. The sea; Old Eben; Harvest time; Long Island ghosts,
571. Alleged lunatic; Musical elephant, 572. The Bible; New use
of a note of hand; The Ship of Death; Taste in tombstones;
Tennyson's Word-painting, 573. Western eloquence; John Bull of
old; Interrupting conversation, 575. Ollapod on October; The
Virtues too cheap, 704. Charms of the incomprehensible; Harriet
Martineau on love; The fire annihilator, 705. Originality;
Eccentricities of Swift; The Iron Duke in Rhyme; On
reminiscences, 706. Taking an interest; Determination of the
Will, 707. In France without French; Mrs. Ramsbottom; The
Disbanded Volunteer, 851. Baron Vondullbrainz; Domestic Remedies;
Dr. Johnson on Scotland, 852. Hopeful Pupils; Lord Timothy
Dexter; Adjutant-birds, 853. Dinner-giving; Keep cool; Peter
Funk; Titles of songs; John Bull as a beat-ee, 854.
EDITOR'S EASY CHAIR.
Ex cathedra; The commercial and romantic way of telling a thing,
707. The winning loser, 708. Equestrianism as a beautifyer, 709.
Advent of autumn; Retrospective and prospective; Hard times; The
Arctic expedition, 849. Catherine Hayes; Madame Thillon; Mrs.
Warner; Healy's Webster; The Art Union; Leutze's Washington
Crossing the Delaware; American clippers, 850. French gossip;
Borrel and his wife, 851. Albert Smith, 852.
EDITOR'S TABLE.
The indestructibleness of the religious principle in the human
soul, 701. Night as represented by the Poets: Homer, Apollonius
Rhodius, Virgil, Byron, Job, 702. Pedantic fallacies on
education, 703. Progression of Ancestry and Posterity, 704.
Westward course of empire, 851. Marriage: the nuptial torch,
woman's rights, divorces, 846. True Charity: St. Augustine
thereupon, 848.
Episode in the Life of John Rayner 510
Escape from a Mexican Quicksand 481
Execution of Fieschi, Pepin, and Morey 76
Fairy's Choice 800
Faquir's Curse 375
Fashions for June 143
Fashions for July 287
Fashions for August 431
Fashions for September 575
Fashions for October 719
Fashions for November 863
Feet-Washing in Munich 349
Floating Island 781
Fortunes of the Reverend Caleb Ellison 680
Francis's Life Boats and Life Cars. By JACOB ABBOTT 161
French Cottage Cookery 369
Frenchman in London 236
Gallop for Life 802
Hartley Coleridge 334
Highest House in Wathendale 521
Household of Sir Thomas More 42, 183, 310, 498, 623, 757
Hunter's Wife 388
Ice-Hill Party in Russia 66
Incident during the Mutiny of 1797 652
Incidents of Dueling 630
Incident of Indian Life 80
Infirmities of Genius 327
Joanna Baillie 88
Jeweled Watch 96
Joe Smith and the Mormons 64
Josephine at Malmaison 222
Joys and Sorrows of Lumbering 517
Lamartine on the Restoration 685
Last days of the Emperor Alexander 565
Last Priestess of Pele 354
LEAVES FROM PUNCH.
Tired of the World; Pleasure Trip of Messrs. Robinson and Jones;
A Perfect Wretch, 141. Facts and Comments by Mr. Punch;
Comparative Love; Taking the Census; Mysterious Machine, | 309.749595 |
2023-11-16 18:22:13.7305430 | 1,698 | 46 |
Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
A
DIALOGUE
BETWEEN
Dean _Swift_ and _Tho. Prior_, Esq;
IN THE
Isles of St. _Patrick's_ Church, _Dublin_,
On that memorable Day, _October_ 9th, 1753.
_By a Friend to the Peace and Prosperity of_ IRELAND.
_Quae Gratia Curram
Armorumque fuit vivis, quae Cura nitentes
Pascere Equos, eadem sequitur Tellure repostos._
VIRG. AEN. VI.
_DUBLIN_:
Printed for G. and A. EWING, at the _Angel_ and _Bible_
in _Dame-Street_, 1753.
Transcribers Note. Inconsistent spelling has been retained as in the
original text.
ERRATA
_Page_ 7. _Line_ 19. _for_ Phrases _read_ Praises.
_P._ 11. _L._ 18. _for_ attack _read_ attack'd.
_P._ 14._ L._ 25. _for_ they _r._ the Ladies.
_P._ 17. _L._ 22. _for_ emnently _r._ eminently.
_P._ 18. _L._ 25. _for_ Henepius _r._ Henepin's.
_P._ 26. _L._ 26. _for_ their _r._ the.
_P._ 27. _L._ 13. _for_ brag _r._ boast.
_P._ 33. _L._ 25. _for_ runing _r._ running.
_P._ 34. _L._ 5. _for_ St. Foil _r._ St. Foin.
_P._ 36. _L._ 28. _for_ say _r._ see.
_P._ 42. _L._ 25. _for_ adaequate _r._ inadequate.
_P._ 63. _L._ 11. _for_ Teas _r._ Tea.
_P._ 71. _L._ 15. _after_ horrid _r._ and.
_P._ 72. _L._ 3. _for_ we. _r._ they.
_P._ 75. _L. the last_, _for_ 'tis employ'd in, _r._ that accompany it.
_P._ 85. _L._ 10. _after_ Virtue _add_, or Learning.
_P._ 88. _L._ 10. _after_ Wall _add_, of.
_P._ 88. _L._ 31. _for_ that _r._ than.
A
DIALOGUE
BETWEEN
Dean _Swift_ and _Tho. Prior_, Esq;
In the Isles of St. _Patrick's_ Church,
_Dublin, Oct. 9, 1753_.
PRIOR. Mr. Dean, I am sorry to see you up, if any of your private
Affairs disturb you. I came to call at your Grave, and have a little
Discourse with you; but unless 'tis the Publick has rouz'd you, I am
troubled to find you walking as well as my self.
SWIFT. 'Tis my Country keeps me walking! why who can lie still? I don't
believe there are many Ghosts now, that have any share of Understanding,
or any regard for _Ireland_, that are to be found in their Graves at
Midnight. For my part I can no more keep in my Den than if it were the
Day of Judgment. I have been earth'd now eight Years last _October_,
and I think on my Conscience (and you know _Tom_ the Conscience of one
dead Man is worth ten of those that are living) I have had very few
good Days Sleep since I got there. Ah _Tom_! poor _Ireland_! poor
_Ireland_! it plagued my Heart while I was trifling away Life there;
but my Curse on it, I never thought it would have broke my Rest thus
when I was dead. I have tumbled and toss'd from one Side to the other
(and by the by, they make these cursed Coffins so narrow 'tis a Plague
to be in them) first one Thing would come into my Head, and then
another, and often wrought me so, that I have many a time been forced
to walk a whole Moon to rest me and get the better Nap when I lay down.
Prithee how have you done?
PRIOR. Why, very little better; only as I have not been so long shut up
in my Dormitory as you, the Confinement is less irksome. But I was not
affected the same way with you, for I sometimes slept for Months
together like a Dormouse; but when _Ireland_ once gets into my Head and
its present melancholy Circumstances, it works my Thoughts upwards and
downwards from the Great Ones to their Slaves, like a poor Patient with
_Ward_'s Drop and Pill.
SWIFT. That has often been my Case _Tom_. When I get into that Train of
thinking, and consider the present Situation of our Country, it makes
me as uneasy in my Coffin as a Rat shut up in a Trap. I remember an old
She[1] Fool, that was fonder of scribling than reigning, used to say,
that the Dead have that melancholy Advantage over the Living of first
forgetting them; but 'tis as false as ten thousand other Truths, that
your Philosophers and Politicians above Ground keep such a babling with
over our Heads. For my part I never had that Pleasure, for since my
first Nap under my Gravestone, which did not last three Weeks, I have
been as much perplex'd about _Ireland_, as if I was still living at the
Deanry, writing for Posterity, and thinking for my poor Country. What
makes you sigh so _Tom_? Why you draw your Breath as hard as a
broken-winded Racer; some Qualm I suppose about this neglected Island.
[1] Queen _Christina_ of _Sweden_.
PRIOR. That was the Case indeed. But tho' I am chiefly grieved at the
ill Circumstances of _I----d_, my next trouble is, that the World seems
resolved they shall never mend; and, I think so, by their treating all
true Patriots in the most unhandsome Manner. This is as mad a Measure,
as imprisoning the Physicians in an epidemical Sickness would be. Yet
such Men, who only could heal our Distempers, are treated almost as
common Poisoners, and watch'd as if they were Incendiaries and the
Enemies of Society. It was too much our own Case when we were among
Men, and tho' I scorn to lament the indifferent Treatment Dean _Swift_
and _Tom Prior_ received from those who should have respected and
honoured them; yet I cannot help being concerned for the hard Usage all
true Patriots generally meet with in _I----d_. Their Writings, tho'
ever so disinterested are treated as so many mercenary Productions of
the Press; their Zeal and their Motives are ever suspected, as false
and personated, and most Governments look on such Authors at best, as
so many out-lying Deer, and give all the World leave to hunt them and
run them down. I am sure, as to my Particular, I may justly say, I
found it so; for, as I well knew, that writing with a Design to please
or serve others, ends, generally, either in Neglect or Censure; so, I
would not | 309.750583 |
2023-11-16 18:22:13.7305500 | 868 | 7 |
Produced by David Widger
SEX = LOVE,
AND ITS PLACE IN A FREE SOCIETY: (SECOND EDITION)
By Edward Carpenter.
Price Fourpence.
Manchester:
The Labour Press Society Limited, Printers and Publishers
1894.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: There are several pages missing from
this small book. A serious search was made both online and
in print without another copy found. It seemed worthwhile to
transcribe the book in spite of the missing pages as this is
a startling essay for its date. If any reader should ever
come across an intact print or online copy, kindly inform
Project Gutenberg. DW
SEX = LOVE
The subject of Sex is most difficult to deal with, not only on account
of a certain prudery as well as a natural reticence on the subject, but
doubtless also because the passion itself being so tremendously strong
and occupying such a large part of human thought--and words being so
scanty and inadequate on the subject--everything that _is_ said is
liable to be misunderstood; the most violent inferences are made, and
equivocations surmised, from the simplest remarks; qualified admissions
of liberty are interpreted into recommendations of unbridled licence;
and generally the perspective of literary expression is turned upside
down by the effect of the unfamiliarity of the topic on the reader's
mind.
There is indeed a vast deal of fetishism in the current treatment of
Sex; and the subject is dealt with as though it lay quite out of line
with any other need or faculty of human nature. Nor can one altogether
be surprised at this when one perceives of what vast import Sex is in
the scheme of things, and how deeply it it has been associated since the
earliest times not only with man's personal impulses but even with his
religious sentiments and ceremonials.
Next to hunger this is doubtless the most primitive and imperative of
our needs. But in modern civilised life Sex enters probably even more
into _consciousness_ than hunger. For the hunger-needs of the human race
are in the later societies fairly well satisfied, but the sex-desires
are strongly restrained, both by law and custom, from satisfaction--and
so assert themselves all the more in thought.
To find the place of these desires, their utterance, their control,
their personal import, their social import, is a tremendous problem to
every youth and girl, man and woman.
There are a few of both sexes, doubtless, who hardly feel the
passion--who have never been "in love," and who experience no strong
sexual appetite--but these are rare. Practically the passion is a
matter of universal experience; and speaking broadly and generally we
may say it is a matter on which it is quite desirable that every adult
at some time or other _should_ have experience--actual and physical, as
well as emotional. There may be exceptions; but, as said, the
sex-instinct lies so deep and is so universal, that for the
understanding of life--of one's own life, of that of others, and of
human nature in general--as well as for the proper development of one's
own capacities, such experience is almost indispensable.
While the glory of Sex pervades and suffuses all Nature; while the
flowers are rayed and starred out towards the sun in the very ecstasy of
generation; while the nostrils of the animals dilate, and their forms
become instinct, under the passion, with a proud and fiery beauty;
while even the human lover is transformed, and in the great splendors of
the mountains and the sky perceives something to which he had not the
key before--yet it is curious that just here, in Man, we find the magic
wand of Nature suddenly broken, and doubt and conflict and division
entering in, where a kind of unconscious harmony had erst prevailed.
Heine I think says somewhere that the man who loves unsuccessfully knows
himself to be a god. It is not perhaps till the great current of sexual
love is checked and | 309.75059 |
2023-11-16 18:22:13.8271400 | 4,451 | 97 |
Produced by David E. Brown, Bryan Ness, Matthew Wheaton
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
REBEL VERSES
NEW YORK AGENTS
LONGMANS, GREEN & CO.
FOURTH AVENUE AND 30TH STREET
REBEL VERSES
BY
BERNARD GILBERT
OXFORD
B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD STREET
MCMXVIII
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
VERSE: LINCOLNSHIRE LAYS;
FARMING LAYS;
GONE TO THE WAR;
WAR WORKERS.
DRAMA: ELDORADO;
THEIR FATHER'S WILL;
THE RUSKINGTON POACHER.
FICTION: WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT?
TATTERSHALL CASTLE;
THE YELLOW FLAG.
POLITICAL: FARMERS AND TARIFF REFORM: WHAT EVERY FARMER
WANTS: THE FARM LABOURER'S FIX.
MISCELLANEOUS: LIVING LINCOLN; FORTUNES FOR FARMERS.
FROM _The New Witness_
MR. BERNARD GILBERT is one of the discoveries of the War. For
years, it seems, he has been writing poetry, but it is only
recently that an inapprehensive country has awakened to the
fact. Now he is taking his rightful place among our foremost
singers. What William Barnes was to Dorset, what T. E. Brown was
to the Manx people--this is Mr. Gilbert to the folk of his
native county of Lincoln. He has interpreted their lives, their
sorrows, their aspirations, with a surprising fidelity. Mr.
Gilbert never loses his grip upon realities. One feels that he
knows the men of whom he writes in their most intimate moods;
knows, too, their defects, which he does not shrink from
recording. There is little of the dreamy idealism of the South
in the peasant people of Lincolnshire. The outwardly respectable
chapel-goer who asks himself, in a moment of introspection
But why not have a good time here?
Why should the Devil have all the beer?
is true to type. But he has, too, his softer moods. Fidelity in
friendship, courage, resource and perseverance--these are
typical of the men of the Fens.
TO
MORLEY ROBERTS
_Acknowledgments to the Editors of the:_
_English Review_
_New Age_
_Colour_
_Westminster Gazette_
_New Witness_
_To-Day_
_Clarion_
_Australian Triad_
_Bystander_
_Musical Student_
_and Nash's Magazine_
_in whose columns these verses have appeared during 1917._
Contents
THE REBEL
SONG OF REVOLT
THERE AINT NO GOD
THE NIGHT IS DARK
RETURN
NIETZSCHE
SACRAMENT
FIGHTIN' TOMLINSON
THE LABOURER'S HYMN
OLIVER CROMWELL
ANYWHERE BUT HERE
A. G. WEBSTER
EAST WIND
PETER WRAY
OH FOOLS
ELFIN DANCER
OH TO BE HOME
GIVE SOLDIERS A VOTE
ALONE
FLESH OF OUR FLESH
THIS TOWN IS HELL
TIMBERLAND BELLS
DAME PEACH
FRIENDS
CHARING CROSS
LOVE NOT TOO MUCH
MACHIAVELLI
REMORSE
THE MANDRAKE'S HORRID SCREAM
ONE DAY
NO WIFE
TO AN OLD FRIEND
IS IT FINISHED
OH LINCOLN, CITY OF MY DREAMS
THE FOOL
The Rebel
I live in music, in poetry, and in the life reflective.
I seek intellectual boldness in man, I worship mental swiftness in
women.
I have no love for lawyers, priests, schoolmasters, or any dogmatic
men.
I am with poor against rich, labour against employer, women against
men; I fight beside all strikers, mutineers, and rebels.
I welcome foes; I desire criticism.
I loathe prejudice, either social or national; I repudiate all
claims.
I demand freedom of action and leisure for reflection.
Facing Death, I would say: 'I have tasted all, tried all, dared
all, suffered all, and I repent nothing.'
Song of Revolt
Crowns are ashake,
The princes and the Kings are bending low,
And, round the world,
Before the blast of Freedom, thrones are hurled:
The People are awake!
Over the Ark of Tyranny
The red flag flaunts abroad for all to see!
Whilst to the roll of drums
Swelling triumphantly, the glad cry comes:
The People shall be free!
In dungeons, men, long-bound for freedom's sake,
Forgotten of God, deep-frozen by despair,
Hear with surprise that clangorous fanfare:
The People are awake!
Our fathers heard the call,
When Liberty from her bonds like the angry sea,
Pouring mightily forth, slew tyranny,
And singing the Marseillaise, bade crowns to fall,
That all men should be free!
Men shall be slaves no more!
From sea to sea
That Word of hope unspeakable succour brings;
The day dawneth when there are no more Kings:
And the People, the People shall be free!
There Aint no God
There aint no God!
Coz if there were--
My boy what's under foreign sod
Would be alive, and here:
Instead of which young William Porter
What never listed when he orter--
Has his farm;
And braunges yonder safe away from harm.
Poor lad!--he went--
I can't forgit that night--
While Porter laughed him outer sight;
Now--he is spent:
Porter's all right.
What does he care?
He's thinking of another farm,
Instead of laying in some ditch
He's rich!
And folk'll gallop at his nod.
I say it!
Dost hear me... Thou?
There aint no God!
'The Night is Dark'
Safe-guarded dwellers in your sea-girt eyrie
How fares the fight?
Terror has crept beneath your ocean wall,
Horror is over-reaching, to appal;
Your sons are menaced by a furnace fiery:
What of the night?
A hundred years have passed at ease
Since last you fought on bended knees;
And joints, unused, grow stiff and old,
And hearts unroused are faint and cold;
Whilst they who own but wealth, their creed,
Stand helpless in the hour of need.
Oh peace-bound nation!
Lapped in rich sloth; untroubled generation!
Know you that races change?
Some dwindle slowly downward in decay,
Unconscious, till the dawning of the day:
At touch of fire we learn how they are faring;
Thrice welcome is the test to nations daring;
To some--how strange!
Our ancient enemy--now brother--
From one Napoleon to another
Has seen his country ebb and flow
And now he holds the sternest foe,
Learning the lesson of strenuous fight
To brace defensive armour tight:
But what of you--old Islanders
So roughly woke?
Has gilded sloth'mid dreamless calm
Stifled your soul, close wrapped from harm,
In Neptune's cloak?
Or is it but an idle dress,
Thrown off at breath of fearful stress?
Or has it slowly strangled that old oak?
None may foretell;
But this we know:
As fire testeth iron through and through,
So shall it be with you!
Not yet have you passed furnace-wise,
But soon, with newly opened eyes,
Upon your knees,
You shall discern Heaven's judgment on an age-long ease.
Poets and prophets darkly sang;
Unheeded then the tocsin rang;
But now the sky is grey and dim,
Your enemy is stern and grim,
Your leaders slow;
And, though you realise it not...
You may lie low:
For, though to fight one son is bold,
Another hides, amassing gold;
The strain falls not in equal measure:
Whilst some lie cold--
Others distil their blood for treasure,
And that--Old England--if unchecked,
Shall see your ancient Empire wrecked.
You battle not to vanquish a great nation,
Nor for safety, nor the sceptre of the seas,
Nor for the Empire of a world at ease,
Nor fame's fair scroll:
For your salvation,
You wrestle with Apollyon for your soul.
And if you fail--
Your epitaph: 'too late'--
The Angel with the Pen shall grave your fate:
Your glorious history of no avail;
Whilst all the Earth shall know you were not great.
Not arms, nor weapons forged, nor serried forces,
Nor stout Allies nor multiplied resources
The victory giveth;
Not ships afar, nor numbers gradual tale,
Nor all your might, oh Britain! shall avail:
Only the Spirit liveth!
Yet this our hope (a hope unsaid),
And still our faith (though faith be dead),
That, as of old, you may awake,
Cast off your senile mood, and shake
Irresolution to the wall;
Bid equal sacrifice from all;
That each surrender to the state
A measured offering to fate,
Till Unity of Will, controlled
Shines through the nation, manifold:
Then should your Spirit conquer as before,
And Phoenix-like you should renew your youth and strength once more.
Return
From exile and disaster,
From banishment set free,
We shall return in sorrow,
Our homes once more to see.
The storm will surely finish,
The day must dawn at last,
The floods at length diminish,
The bitterness be past.
From Fatherland long-banished
(Oh, church in ruins low!
Oh, roofs and chimneys vanished!)
'Tis to our homes we go!
The land is torn asunder,
The orchard trees are bare;
A muttering of thunder
Still shakes the heavy air.
Yet life goes on undaunted:
With aching hearts, and sore,
To raise our hearths and altars
We shall return once more.
Nietzsche
In the silence of the night-time
Startled, we can hear a murmur
As of someone tapping, tapping,
Tapping at the breasts of idols
With an auscultating hammer,
Sounding all their hollow vitals
As they helplessly endeavour
To evade with vain pretences
Or atone:
Yes, we hear the distant thunder
Of an earthquake that convulses;
Poor old Mother Earth is shaken,
Sorely tried and whirled asunder,
Shaken by a fierce invader;
Where grim and slow you creep below,
Digging, digging, digging deep,
Troglodyte, untiring miner
All alone!
As you climb upon the mountains,
Glaciers, icy precipices,
Toward the lonely lightning-blasted
Peak that towers above in silence,
Plunging into deep crevasses
Where the frozen water falls:
Monotone:
And at last we wake from nightmare--
Wake, to find ourselves denuded
Naked, lonesome,'mid our fellows
Lacking father, wife, or mother,
Lacking neighbour, child or brother:
All disown.
Still our eyes are fixed steadfastly
Where you soar above the heavens,
Spurning with your mighty pinions
Countless deities and angels,
Shattering our fondest visions
With your own:
Ever on your knees you creep,
Where the way is wild and steep.
Digging, digging, digging deep,
Whilst the priests and idols weep.
Sacrament
Beloved mine! we cannot falter now;
No threats avail, no claims affect this hour;
That kiss, far more than sacerdotal vow
Or golden circlet, making truly one
--More solemn than any oath--
Hath passed our lips:
Whilst Love, the great compeller, the mighty power
In his bewildering hand, hath seized us both.
No pardon comes for those who wrongly read
The books on stone engraved--
Our Primal Laws--
Or fail to satisfy the unchanging Cause;
Who reach this height, and fail, are dead indeed:
Their being void, their souls are cast without;
And from the Book their names are blotted out.
There is no holding back, no base endeavour,
The cup of true communion is filled,
The sacrament prepared as we have willed;
Hand joined to hand in clasp that none can sever;
Our quittance sure, our resolution taken,
With vows fulfilled we face the world unshaken;
And each to each we pledge ourselves for ever.
Fightin' Tomlinson
I sit by the chimbley corner,
My blood is runnin' slow,
My hands is white as a printed paage,
Wot once wor red wi' the fighter's waage;
They're withered an' wrinkled now wi' old aage;
An' the fire's burnin' low.
Once I could lether anyone
An' strike a knock-down blow:
My legs were limmack as a young bough,
They could race or dance or foller the plough;
But they're crookled and wemblin' all waays now,
An' the fire's burnin' low.
I'member me of owden daays:
At Metheringham Show:
I fought young Jolland for a scarf,
I nearly brok his back in half;
He galloped hooam to Blankney Barff
As hard as he could go.
I fought an' danced an' carried on,
Razzlin 'igh an low;
I drank as long as I could see,
It made noa difference to me,
I wor a match for any three:
'Tis sixty year ago.
They called me 'Fightin' Tomlinson,'
(My name is Thomas Tow)
I wor the champion o' the sheer;
If any furriner come near,
I never shirked nor felt noa fear,
I allers 'ed a go.
On ivery night o' Saturday,
Noa matter raain nor snow,
We gethered in the market plaaces,
An' stripped stark naked to our waas'es,
Gev' one another bloody faaces--
A Sunday mornin' show!
I fought at all the County Fairs,
From Partney down to Stow;
They called me nobbut a 'Billinghay Rough,'
I niver knawed when I'd 'ed enough,
For I wor made o' the proper stuff,
I'd like to 'ev you know.
Aye--them wor roughish times--my word!
'Tis sixty year ago;
Our heads wor hard, our hearts as well,
I wonder as we niver fell,
Into the burnin' pit of hell,
Wheer dreadful fires glow.
I used to hit like this--but now
I cannot strike a blow:
My battle's nearly lost--or won,
My poor owd limbs is omost done,
The tears is droppin' one by one,
An' the fire's burnin' low.
The Labourers' Hymn
We have slaved for you long days and nights of bent and weary lives;
Giving the strength of our muscles, our sweat, and our sons and wives;
With less food than your horses, and homes less warm than your hives.
We have ploughed and dug and sowed and reaped the seasons through and
through,
We have gathered in your grain and raised the 'Harvest Home' for you,
Who gave starvation pay to us and kept from us our due.
We asked for land and freedom, the right to till our own;
To harvest and to garner for ourselves, what we had sown;
We sought the fruit of our labour; you granted us a stone.
Who gave our lives to your children? Who pledged our souls to thine?
Who made you Lord and Master and placed us with the kine?
Who gave you leave to drink our sweat and mix our blood with wine?
To save the land for your children, who denied their country's wage,
Our sons have left their homes to fight, to guard your heritage;
When they return--Ah! woe to you before their righteous rage.
You held the land in sufferance to answer for your right,
To cherish those beneath you and lead them into fight;
You have refused all payment, and trampled in your might.
Our sons shall trample you and yours in their bloody and righteous
rage,
Who hid at home in shelter whilst they paid for the land its wage:
They fought and died for the Land; and they shall enter their
heritage.
Oliver Cromwell
A group of men stood watching round the bed,
Gazing in sadness at the lion's head,
Ugly and massive, coarse, yet noble, too,
Transfigured by the power shining through,
The steadfast purpose, the unflinching will,
Decisive, swift to save alive, or kill,
As was required. Aye, and more was there;
The tenderness, the pity, all the care
Of one who watches o'er his fatherland,
And bears upon his countenance the brand
Of deep unutterable sorrow burned
Into his soul, whilst he, the lesson learned
That they who wield responsibility,
Alas, must always compromising be;
And to help on the cause they deem divine
Must waver from their ever rigid line.
The singleness of heart for which they pray,
Doth bow before expediency each day;
No longer fate allows the choice between
A good or evil course--with answer clean--
But rather shews two evils to be done,
And they must boldly choose the lesser one.
'Tis this that makes him groan with agony,
The searching question 'Is it well with me?'
The question that at last must come to all
When at their end, they wonderingly recall
This point--or that one--'_Was I justified?
For there--I stepped out of my way for pride
And there--I stooped, perhaps, to save a friend,
Or--Pity swayed me over much to bend
From justice there. Yes, I have always sinned.
Weak! Weak!_'
Have pity on him now,
The valley of the shadow dews his brow!
Then in a half delirium he saw
A vivid pageant passing through the door,
Of all the deeds that he had ever done,
Good or bad judgments, battles lost or won;
There, in procession wide, all who had died
Under his rule, either by civil law,
Or by the swifter penalty of war,
Passed mournfully, their faces ghastly pale,
Their gaping wounds accusingly did rail;
And last of all, stately, refined, and meek,
The 'Martyr King,' the obstinate and weak,
The strangest mixture England ever saw
Upon her throne (And yet, poor man, he wore
His crown with piteous regal dignity,
Whilst from his hands there slowly | 309.84718 |
2023-11-16 18:22:14.1291600 | 2,941 | 6 |
Produced by Giovanni Fini, Shaun Pinder and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
TOBIAS
SMOLLETT
[Illustration: PAGE DECORATIONS]
TOBIAS
SMOLLETT
BY
OLIPHANT
SMEATON
FAMOUS
SCOTS
SERIES
PUBLISHED BY:
CHARLES
SCRIBNER’S SONS
NEW YORK
FAMOUS SCOTS SERIES
_The following Volumes are now ready—_
THOMAS CARLYLE. By HECTOR C. MACPHERSON
ALLAN RAMSAY. By OLIPHANT SMEATON
HUGH MILLER. By W. KEITH LEASK
JOHN KNOX. By A. TAYLOR INNES
ROBERT BURNS. By GABRIEL SETOUN
THE BALLADISTS. By JOHN GEDDIE
RICHARD CAMERON. By Professor HERKLESS
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By EVE BLANTYRE SIMPSON
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. GARDEN BLAIKIE
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. KEITH LEASK
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By OLIPHANT SMEATON
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
BIRTH—PARENTAGE—EARLY YEARS 9
CHAPTER II
YEARS OF EDUCATION 19
CHAPTER III
WANDERJAHRE, OR YEARS OF WANDERING 32
CHAPTER IV
THE WEARY TRAGEDY—SHIFTS TO LIVE 44
CHAPTER V
RODERICK RANDOM 57
CHAPTER VI
PEREGRINE PICKLE—FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM—DOCTOR OF PHYSIC 69
CHAPTER VII
VISIT TO SCOTLAND—THE CRITICAL REVIEW—THE REPRISAL 80
CHAPTER VIII
HISTORY OF ENGLAND—SIR LAUNCELOT GREAVES—THE NORTH
BRITON—HACK HISTORICAL WORK—THE BEGINNING OF THE END 95
CHAPTER IX
SMOLLETT A ‘SWEATER’—TRAVELS ABROAD—ADVENTURES OF AN
ATOM—HUMPHREY CLINKER—LAST DAYS 109
CHAPTER X
SMOLLETT AS A NOVELIST 122
CHAPTER XI
SMOLLETT AS HISTORIAN AND CRITIC 137
CHAPTER XII
SMOLLETT AS POET AND DRAMATIST 147
TOBIAS GEORGE SMOLLETT
CHAPTER I
BIRTH—PARENTAGE—EARLY YEARS
‘Every successful novelist must be more or less a poet, even though he
may never have written a line of verse. The quality of imagination is
absolutely indispensable to him.... Smollett was a poet of distinction!’
Such was the estimate formed by Sir Walter Scott—one of the most
incisive and sympathetic critics that ever pronounced judgment—of the
element of inspiration in every great writer of fiction. Experimentally
conscious of what was of value in his own case,—himself the great
Wizard of Fiction,—he would reason by analogy what would be of power
to inspire other men. If the poetic faculty were indispensable for the
production of _The Heart of Midlothian_ and _Ivanhoe_, equally would it
be needed in _Peregrine Pickle_ and _Humphrey Clinker_. That the poetic
stimulus is the most powerful of all, is a truth that has been remarked
times and oft. That it forms the true key to unlock the otherwise
elusive and self–centred character of Tobias George Smollett, has not,
I think, previously been noted.
To write Smollett’s life with absolute impartiality is more than
ordinarily difficult. The creator of _Roderick Random_ was one for whom
a generous charity would require to make more allowances than man is
commonly called upon to make for man. Actions and utterances that might
be and were mistaken for irritation and shortness of temper, were in
reality due to the impatience of genius, chafing under the restrictions
laid upon it by the mental torpor or intellectual sluggishness of
others. The eagle eye of his genius perceived intuitively what other
men generally attain only as the result of ratiocinative process.
Smollett has unjustly been characterised as bad–tempered, choleric,
supercilious, and the like, simply because the key was lacking to his
character. Far indeed from being any of these was he. Impatient without
doubt he was, but by no means in larger measure than Carlyle, Tennyson,
Dickens, Goethe, or Schiller, and the feeling is wrongly defined as
impatience. It is rather the desire to give less intellectually nimble
companions a fillip up in the mental race, that they may not lag so far
behind as to make intercourse a martyrdom.
Smollett’s distinguishing characteristic in the great gallery of
eighteenth–century novelists was his exhaustless fertility. In his four
great novels, _Roderick Random_, _Peregrine Pickle_, _Ferdinand Count
Fathom_, and _Humphrey Clinker_, he has employed as many incidents,
developed as many striking situations, and utilised as many happily
conceived accidents of time and place, as Richardson, Fielding, Sterne,
Henry Mackenzie, and Mrs. Radcliffe put together. His invention is
marvellously fertile, and as felicitous as fertile. He makes no attempt
to excel in what may be termed the ‘architectonic’ faculty, or the
symmetrical evolution and interweaving of plot. Incident succeeds
incident, fact follows fact, and scene, scene, in the most bewildering
profusion. There is a prodigality visible, nay, an intellectual waste,
indicative of an imaginative wealth almost unique since the days of
Homer. By some critics, following in the footsteps of Sir Walter
Scott, a curious vagary has been rendered fashionable of introducing
the method of comparative analysis into every literary judgment. In
place of declaring in plain, straightforward terms the reason why they
either admire or censure the works of a man of genius, they must now
drag in somebody else, with whom he is supposed to present points of
affinity or contrast, and they glibly descant on the attributes wherein
the author under consideration surpasses or falls short of his rival,
what elements and qualities of style the one possesses which the other
lacks, until in the end the reader is thoroughly befogged to know which
is which and who is who. The higher criticism has its place in literary
judgments as well as in theological, and the change is not for the
better.
Tobias George Smollett resembled William Shakespeare in one respect
if in no other—that a doubt exists as to the precise date of his
birth. The first mention made of the future novelist occurs in no birth
register that is known to exist, but in the parish record of baptisms
in connection with the parochial district of Cardross. Therein,
under the date 19th March 1721, we read: ‘Tobias George, son to Mr.
Archd. Smollett and Barbara Cunningham, was baptised.’ The day in
question was a Sunday, and, as Robert Chambers very properly remarks,
‘it may be inferred that the baptism took place, according to old
Scottish fashion, in the parish kirk.’ This tentative inference may
be changed into certainty when we recall the strict Presbyterianism
of his grandfather’s household, in whose eyes such an injunction as
the following, taken from _The Directory for the Public Worship of
God_, established by Act of General Assembly and Act of Parliament
in 1645, would be as sacredly binding as the laws of the Medes and
Persians:—‘Baptism, as it is not unnecessarily to be delayed, so it is
not to be administered in any case by any private person,... nor is it
to be administered in private places or privately, but in the place of
public worship and in the face of the congregation.’
So much for the baptism. Now for the date of birth. Here only
second–hand evidence is forthcoming. In one of the unpublished letters
of John Home, author of _Douglas_, which it was recently my fortune to
see, he mentions a walk which Smollett and he had taken together during
the visit of the latter to London, when trying to get his first play,
_Agis_, accepted by the theatrical managers. During the course of the
walk Smollett mentioned the fact that his birthday had been celebrated
two days before. The date of their meeting was the 18th March 1750. If
reliance can be placed on this roundabout means of arriving at a fact,
Smollett’s birth took place on the 16th March 1721.
Genealogies are wearisome. Readers who desire to trace the family of
the Smolletts back to the sixteenth century can do so with advantage
in the Lives of Moore, Herbert, and Chambers. Our purpose is with
the novelist himself, not with his ancestors to the fourth and fifth
generations. Suffice it to say that Tobias George Smollett was the
son of Archibald, fourth son of Sir James Smollett of Bonhill, a
Dumbartonshire estate situated amidst the romantic scenery of the Vale
of Leven, and in the vicinity of the queen of Scottish lakes, Loch
Lomond.
Sir James Smollett, a stern old Whig of the Revolution type, to whom
‘Prelacy was only less tolerable than Popery, and the adherents of
both deserve hanging,’ had risked property, prospects, and life at
the time when James VII. staked his dynasty against a mass—and lost.
So prominent was the part Sir James Smollett took in influencing
public sentiment in favour of William and Mary, even while one of
the Commissaries or Consistorial Judges of Edinburgh, that the
grateful monarch knighted him, and the Earl of Argyll appointed him
deputy–lieutenant of Dumbartonshire.
A very different character was the novelist’s father. Archibald
Smollett seems to have been, in Scots parlance, ‘as _feckless_ as
his father was _fitty_.’ The characteristic of the rolling stone was
pre–eminently his. Consequently, as regards moss, in the shape of
worldly gear, he gathered not a stiver unto him. But that did not
trouble him. Like Charles Surface, his distresses were so many that
the only thing he could not afford to part with was his good spirits,
which, by the same token, chanced to be the only _good_ thing he had
about him. His health was bad, his morals were bad, his prospects were
bad,—for he never had been brought up to any profession, not having
the steadiness of application to make labour a pleasure; in a word, he
was one of those interesting individuals whose idleness enables his
Mephistophelic Majesty to make a strong bid for the fee–simple of their
soul.
Archibald Smollett, like most youths of good family, with whom, for
lack of employment, time hangs heavy on their hands, was not above
falling in love to lend a zest to the deadly _ennui_ of life. Whether
or no he obeyed Celia’s maxim on the matter, and did so ‘only to make
sport withal,’ is immaterial. The fact remains that, young though he
was, the love–making ended in matrimony. He had been sent to Leyden
to prosecute his studies—Leyden, whose University, from about 1680
to 1730, was the great finishing school of Europe, with the lustre
about it conferred by such professors as Arminius, Gomarus, Grotius,
Salmasius, Scaliger, and Boerhaave. From this seat of learning young
Archibald Smollett returned in ill health, but strong in his conviction
that it is not good for man to be alone. Principles are as empty air
if not reduced to practice. Archibald, therefore, electrified both
the old Commissary and his two celibate brothers by announcing, not
his intention to marry Barbara, the daughter of Mr. George Cunningham
of Gilbertfield, in the county of Lanark, but the fact of its already
having taken place. Probably, had the event been still in prospect,
the stern old judge would have found means to check the course of true
love on the score of his son’s feeble health. Sir James had read his
_Utopia_ to some purpose, and was a stickler for legal penalties being
attached to the union of persons of weak constitution. But there are
limits to the intervention of even a choleric Commissary, and not all
his indignation could put asunder what the Church had joined.
Passing wroth was the old man, doubtless, and tradition reports that he
considered carefully the alternatives—whether | 310.1492 |
2023-11-16 18:22:14.2584110 | 477 | 12 |
Produced by Brownfox, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
_Library Edition_
THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
JOHN RUSKIN
THE EAGLE'S NEST
LOVE'S MEINIE
ARIADNE FLORENTINA
VAL D'ARNO
PROSERPINA
NATIONAL LIBRARY ASSOCIATION
NEW YORK CHICAGO
ARIADNE FLORENTINA.
SIX LECTURES
ON
WOOD AND METAL ENGRAVING
WITH APPENDIX.
GIVEN BEFORE THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD,
IN MICHAELMAS TERM, 1872.
CONTENTS.
LECTURE I.
PAGE
DEFINITION OF THE ART OF ENGRAVING 1
LECTURE II.
THE RELATION OF ENGRAVING TO OTHER ARTS IN FLORENCE 22
LECTURE III.
THE TECHNICS OF WOOD ENGRAVING 42
LECTURE IV.
THE TECHNICS OF METAL ENGRAVING 61
LECTURE V.
DESIGN IN THE GERMAN SCHOOLS OF ENGRAVING (HOLBEIN AND DUeRER) 81
LECTURE VI.
DESIGN IN THE FLORENTINE SCHOOLS OF ENGRAVING (SANDRO BOTTICELLI) 108
APPENDIX.
ARTICLE
I. NOTES ON THE PRESENT STATE OF ENGRAVING IN ENGLAND 143
II. DETACHED NOTES 157
LIST OF PLATES
Facing Page
Diagram 27
The Last Furrow (Fig. 2). Facsimile from Holbein's woodcut 47
The Two Preachers (Fig. 3). Facsimile from Holbein's woodcut 48
I. Things Celestial and Terrestrial, as apparent to the English mind 56
II. Star of Florence 62
III. "At evening from the top of Fesole" | 310.278451 |
2023-11-16 18:22:14.2608890 | 2,075 | 10 |
Produced by Keith G. Richardson
WONDROUS LOVE
AND OTHER GOSPEL ADDRESSES
BY
D. L. MOODY
AUTHOR OF
"PREVAILING PRAYER" "SOVEREIGN GRACE" ETC.
DELIVERED DURING MESSRS. MOODY AND SANKEY'S
FIRST CAMPAIGN IN ENGLAND
PICKERING & INGLIS
14 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E.C. 4
229 BOTHWELL STREET, GLASGOW, C. 2
29 GEORGE IV. BRIDGE, EDINBURGH
_THE WORLD-WIDE LIBRARY_
THE SEEKING SAVIOUR
By Dr. W. P. Mackay
Author of "Grace and Truth"
HOW AND WHEN
Do we Become Children of God?
50 Answers by Well-Known Men
THE GOOD SHEPHERD
By H. Forbes Witherby
ABUNDANT GRACE
By DR. W. P. MACKAY
Author of "Grace and Truth"
FORGIVENESS, LIFE AND GLORY
By Sir S. Arthur Blackwood
WONDROUS LOVE: Original Addresses
By D. L. Moody
First issued in 1876
Made and Printed in Great Britain
CONTENTS
Christ's Boundless Compassion
The New Birth
The Blood (Two Addresses)
Christ All in All
Naaman the Syrian
One Word--"Gospel"
The Way of Salvation
Eight "I wills" of Christ
The Right Kind of Faith
The Dying Thief
WONDROUS LOVE
God loved the world of sinners lost
And ruined by the fall;
Salvation full, at highest cost,
He offers free to all.
Oh, 'twas love, 'twas wondrous love,
The love of God to me;
It brought my Saviour from above,
To die on Calvary!
E'en now by faith I claim Him mine,
The risen Son of God;
Redemption by His death I find,
And cleansing through the blood.
Love brings the glorious fulness in,
And to His saints makes known
The blessed rest from inbred sin,
Through faith in Christ alone.
Believing souls, rejoicing go;
There shall to you be given
A glorious foretaste, here below,
Of endless life in heaven.
Of victory now o'er Satan's power
Let all the ransomed sing,
And triumph in the dying hour
Through Christ, the Lord, our King.
WONDROUS LOVE
_Addresses by_ D. L. Moody
CHRIST'S BOUNDLESS COMPASSION
"And Jesus went forth, and saw a great multitude, and was moved with
compassion toward them, and He healed their sick."--Matthew xiv. 14.
It is often recorded in Scripture that Jesus was moved by compassion;
and we are told in this verse that after the disciples of John had
come to Him and told Him that their master had been beheaded, that he
had been put to a cruel death, He went out into a desert place, and
the multitude followed Him, and that when He saw the multitude He had
"compassion" on them, and healed their sick. If He were here to-night
in person, standing in my place, His heart would be moved as He looked
down into your faces, because He could also look into your hearts, and
could read the burdens and troubles and sorrows you have to bear. They
are hidden from my eye, but He knows all about them, and so when the
multitude gathered round about Him, He knew how many weary, broken,
and aching hearts there were there. But He is here to-night, although
we cannot see Him with the bodily eye, and there is not a sorrow, or
trouble, or affliction which any of you are enduring but He knows all
about it; and He is the same to-night as He was when here upon
earth--the same Jesus, the same Man of compassion.
When He saw that multitude He had compassion on it, and healed their
sick; and I hope He will heal a great many sin-sick souls here, and
will bind up a great many broken hearts. And let me say, in the
opening of this sermon, that there is no heart so bruised and broken
but the Son of God will have compassion upon you, if you will let Him.
"He will not break a bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax." He
came into the world to bring mercy, and joy, and compassion, and love.
If I were an artist I should like to draw some pictures to-night, and
put before you that great multitude on which He had compassion. And
then I would draw another painting of that man coming to Him full of
leprosy, full of it from head to foot. There he was, banished from his
home, banished from his friends, and he comes to Jesus with his sad
and miserable story. And now, my friends, let us make
THE BIBLE STORIES REAL,
for that is what they are. Think of that man. Think how much he had
suffered. I don't know how many years he had been away from his wife
and children and home; but there he was. He had put on a strange and
particular garb, so that anybody coming near him might know that he
was unclean. And when he saw any one approaching him he had to raise
the warning cry, "Unclean! unclean! unclean!" Aye, and if the wife of
his bosom were to come out to tell him that a beloved child was sick
and dying, he durst not come near her, he was obliged to fly. He might
hear her voice at a distance, but he could not be there to see his
child in its last dying moments. He was, as it were, in a living
sepulchre; it was worse than death. There he was, dying by inches, an
outcast from everybody and everything, and not a hand put out to
relieve him. Oh, what a terrible life! Then think of him coming to
Christ, and when Christ saw him, it says He was moved with compassion.
He had a heart that beat in sympathy with the poor leper, He had
compassion on him, and the man came to Him and said, "Lord, if Thou
wilt, Thou cant make me clean." He knew there was no one to do it but
the Son of God Himself, and
THE GREAT HEART OF CHRIST
was moved with compassion towards him. Hear the gracious words that
fell from His lips--"I will; be thou clean!" and the leprosy fled, and
the man was made whole immediately. Look at him now on his way back
home to his wife and children and friends! No longer an outcast, no
longer a loathsome thing, no longer cursed with that terrible leprous
disease, but going back to his friends rejoicing. Now, my friends, you
may say you pity a man who was so badly off, but did it ever strike
you that you are a thousand times worse off? The leprosy of the soul
is far worse than the leprosy of the body. I would rather a thousand
times have the body full of leprosy than go down to hell with the soul
full of sin. A good deal better that this right hand of mine were
lopped off, that this right foot should decay, and that I should go
halt and lame and blind all the days of my life, than be banished from
God by the leprosy of sin. Hear the wailing and the agony and the woe
that is going up from this earth caused by sin! If there is one poor
sin-sick soul filled with leprosy here to-night, if you come to Christ
He will have compassion on you, and say, as He did to that man, "I
will; be thou clean."
THE DEAD RAISED.
Well, now we come to the next picture that represents Him as moved
with compassion. Look into that little home. There is a poor widow
sitting there. Perhaps a few months before she had buried her husband,
and now she has an only son. How she dotes upon him! She looks to him
to be her stay and her support and friend in her old age. She loves
him far better than her own life-blood. But see, at last sickness
enters the dwelling, and death comes with it, and lays his ice-cold
hand upon the young man. You can see that widowed mother watching over
him day and night; but at last those eyes are closed, and that loved
voice is hushed, she thinks, for ever. She will never see or hear him
more after he is buried out of her sight. And so the hour comes for
his burial. Many of you have been in the house of mourning, and have
been with your friends when they have gone to the grave and looked at
the loved one for the last time. There is not one here, I dare say,
who has not lost some beloved one. I never went to a funeral and saw a
mother take the last look of her child but it has pierced my heart,
and I could not keep back the tears at such a sight. Well, the mother
kisses her only son on that poor, icy forehead; it is her last kiss,
her last look, and now the body is covered up, and they put him on the
bier and start for the place of burial. She had a | 310.280929 |
2023-11-16 18:22:14.6273270 | 2,171 | 26 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, David Wilson and PG Distributed Proofreaders
[Frontispiece:
LIFTING OFF HIS BROAD-BRIMMED HAT TO HER IN A GRACIOUS SWEEP]
THE
LIONS OF THE
LORD
A Tale of the Old West
By HARRY LEON WILSON
Author of "The Spenders"
Illustrated by ROSE CECIL O'NEILL
Published June, 1903
TO MY WIFE
FOREWORD
In the days of '49 seven trails led from our Western frontier into the
Wonderland that lay far out under the setting sun and called to the
restless. Each of the seven had been blazed mile by mile through the
mighty romance of an empire's founding. Some of them for long stretches
are now overgrown by the herbage of the plain; some have faded back into
the desert they lined; and more than one has been shod with steel. But
along them all flit and brood the memory-ghosts of old, rich-
days. To the shout of teamster, the yell of savage, the creaking of
tented ox-cart, and the rattle of the swifter mail-coach, there go dim
shapes of those who had thrilled to that call of the West;--strong,
brave men with the far look in their eyes, with those magic rude tools
of the pioneer, the rifle and the axe; women, too, equally heroic, of a
stock, fearless, ready, and staunch, bearing their sons and daughters in
fortitude; raising them to fear God, to love their country,--and to
labour. From the edge of our Republic these valiant ones toiled into the
dump of prairie and mountain to live the raw new days and weld them to
our history; to win fertile acres from the wilderness and charm the
desert to blossoming. And the time of these days and these people, with
their tragedies and their comedies, was a time of epic splendour;--more
vital with the stuff and colour of life, I think, than any since the
stubborn gray earth out there was made to yield its treasure.
Of these seven historic highways the one richest in story is the old
Salt Lake Trail: this because at its western end was woven a romance
within a romance;--a drama of human passions, of love and hate, of high
faith and low, of the beautiful and the ugly, of truth and lies; yet
with certain fine fidelities under it all; a drama so close-knit, so
amazingly true, that one who had lightly designed to make a tale there
was dismayed by fact. So much more thrilling was it than any fiction he
might have imagined, so more than human had been the cunning of the
Master Dramatist, that the little make-believe he was pondering seemed
clumsy and poor, and he turned from it to try to tell what had really
been.
In this story, then, the things that are strangest have most of truth.
The make-believe is hardly more than a cement to join the queerly
wrought stones of fact that were found ready. For, if the writer has now
and again had to divine certain things that did not show,--yet must have
been,--surely these are not less than truth. One of these deductions is
the Lute of the Holy Ghost who came in the end to be the Little Man of
Sorrows: who loved a woman, a child, and his God, but sinned through
pride of soul;--whose life, indeed, was a poem of sin and retribution.
Yet not less true was he than the Lion of the Lord, the Archer of
Paradise, the Wild Ram of the Mountains, or the gaunt, gray woman whom
hurt love had crazed. For even now, as the tale is done, comes a dry
little note in the daily press telling how such a one actually did the
other day a certain brave, great thing it had seemed the imagined one
must be driven to do. Only he and I, perhaps, will be conscious of the
struggle back of that which was printed; but at least we two shall know
that the Little Man of Sorrows is true, even though the cross where he
fled to say his last prayer in the body has long since fallen and its
bars crumbled to desert dust.
Yet there are others still living in a certain valley of the mountains
who will know why the soul-proud youth came to bend under invisible
burdens, and why he feared, as an angel of vengeance, that early cowboy
with the yellow hair, who came singing down from the high divide into
Amalon where a girl was waiting in her dream of a single love; others
who, to this day, will do not more than whisper with averted faces of
the crime that brought a curse upon the land; who still live in terror
of shapes that shuffle furtively behind them, fumbling sometimes at
their shoulders with weak hands, striving ever to come in front and turn
upon them. But these will know only one side of the Little Man of
Sorrows who was first the Lute of the Holy Ghost in the Poet's roster of
titles: since they have lacked his courage to try the great issue with
their God.
New York City, May 1st, 1903.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE DEAD CITY
II. THE WILD RAM OF THE MOUNTAINS
III. THE LUTE OF THE HOLY GHOST BREAKS HIS FAST
IV. A FAIR APOSTATE
V. GILES RAE BEAUTIFIES HIS INHERITANCE
VI. THE LUTE OF THE HOLY GHOST IS FURTHER CHASTENED
VII. SOME INNER MYSTERIES ARE EXPOUNDED
VIII. A REVELATION FROM THE LORD AND A TOAST FROM BRIGHAM
IX. INTO THE WILDERNESS
X. THE PROMISED LAND
XI. ANOTHER MIRACLE AND A TEMPTATION IN THE WILDERNESS
XII. A FIGHT FOR LIFE
XIII. JOEL RAE IS TREATED FOR PRIDE OF SOUL
XIV. HOW THE SAINTS WERE BROUGHT TO REPENTANCE
XV. HOW THE SOULS OF APOSTATES WERE SAVED
XVI. THE ORDER FROM HEADQUARTERS
XVII. THE MEADOW SHAMBLES
XVIII. IN THE DARK OF THE AFTERMATH
XIX. THE HOST OF ISRAEL GOES FORTH TO BATTLE
XX. HOW THE LION OF THE LORD ROARED SOFT
XXI. THE BLOOD ON THE PAGE
XXII. THE PICTURE IN THE SKY
XXIII. THE SINNER CHASTENS HIMSELF
XXIV. THE COMING OF THE WOMAN-CHILD
XXV. THE ENTABLATURE OF TRUTH MAKES A DISCOVERY AT AMALON
XXVI. HOW THE RED CAME BACK TO THE BLOOD TO BE A SNARE
XXVII. A NEW CROSS TAKEN UP AND AN OLD ENEMY FORGIVEN
XXVIII. JUST BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD
XXIX. THE WILD RAM OF THE MOUNTAINS OFFERS TO BECOME A SAVIOUR ON
MOUNT ZION
XXX. HOW THE WORLD DID NOT COME TO AN END
XXXI. THE LION OF THE LORD SENDS AN ORDER
XXXII. A NEW FACE IN THE DREAM
XXXIII. THE GENTILE INVASION
XXXIV. HOW THE AVENGER BUNGLED HIS VENGEANCE
XXXV. RUEL FOLLETT'S WAY OF BUSINESS
XXXVI. THE MISSION TO A DESERVING GENTILE
XXXVII. THE GENTILE ISSUES AN ULTIMATUM
XXXVIII. THE MISSION SERVICE IN BOX CANON IS SUSPENDED
XXXIX. A REVELATION CONCERNING THE TRUE ORDER OF MARRIAGE
XL. A PROCESSION, A PURSUIT, AND A CAPTURE
XLI. THE RISE AND FALL OF A BENT LITTLE PROPHET
XLII. THE LITTLE BENT MAN AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS
XLIII. THE GENTILE CARRIES OFF HIS SPOIL
ILLUSTRATIONS
Lifting off his broad-brimmed hat to her in a gracious sweep
"Her goal is Zion, not Babylon, sir--remember _that_!"
"_I'm_ the one will have to be caught"
"But you're not my really papa!"
Full of zest for the measure as any youth
"Oh, Man... how I've longed for that bullet of yours!"
THE LIONS OF THE LORD
CHAPTER I.
_The Dead City_
The city without life lay handsomely along a river in the early sunlight
of a September morning. Death had seemingly not been long upon it, nor
had it made any scar. No breach or rent or disorder or sign of violence
could be seen. The long, shaded streets breathed the still airs of utter
peace and quiet. From the half-circle around which the broad river bent
its moody current, the neat houses, set in cool, green gardens, were
terraced up the high hill, and from the summit of this a stately marble
temple, glittering of newness, towered far above them in placid
benediction.
Mile after mile the streets lay silent, along the river-front, up to the
hilltop, and beyond into the level; no sound nor motion nor sign of life
throughout their length. And when they had run their length, and the
outlying fields were reached, there, too, was the same brooding spell as
the land stretched away in the hush and haze. | 310.647367 |
2023-11-16 18:22:14.6485300 | 4,454 | 6 |
Produced by Col Choat. HTML version by Al Haines.
By Reef and Palm
by
Louis Becke
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
CHALLIS THE DOUBTER
"'TIS IN THE BLOOD"
THE REVENGE OF MACY O'SHEA
THE RANGERS OF TIA KAU
PALLOU'S TALOI
A BASKET OF BREAD-FRUIT
ENDERBY'S COURTSHIP
LONG CHARLEY'S GOOD LITTLE WIFE
THE METHODICAL MR BURR OF MAJURU
A TRULY GREAT MAN
THE DOCTOR'S WIFE
THE FATE OF THE ALIDA
THE CHILIAN BLUEJACKET
BRANTLEY OF VAHITAHI
INTRODUCTION
When in October, 1870, I sailed into the harbour of Apia, Samoa, in the
ill-fated ALBATROSS, Mr Louis Becke was gaining his first experiences
of island life as a trader on his own account by running a cutter
between Apia and Savai'i.
It was rather a notable moment in Apia, for two reasons. In the first
place, the German traders were shaking in their shoes for fear of what
the French squadron might do to them, and we were the bearers of the
good news from Tahiti that the chivalrous Admiral Clouet, with a very
proper magnanimity, had decided not to molest them; and, secondly, the
beach was still seething with excitement over the departure on the
previous day of the pirate Pease, carrying with him the yet more
illustrious "Bully" Hayes.
It happened in this wise. A month or two before our arrival, Hayes had
dropped anchor in Apia, and some ugly stories of recent irregularities
in the labour trade had come to the ears of Mr Williams, the English
Consul. Mr Williams, with the assistance of the natives, very cleverly
seized his vessel in the night, and ran her ashore, and detained Mr
Hayes pending the arrival of an English man-of-war to which he could be
given in charge. But in those happy days there were no prisons in
Samoa, so that his confinement was not irksome, and his only hard
labour was picnics, of which he was the life and soul. All went
pleasantly until Mr Pease--a degenerate sort of pirate who made his
living by half bullying, half swindling lonely white men on small
islands out of their coconut oil, and unarmed merchantmen out of their
stores--came to Apia in an armed ship with a Malay crew. From that
moment Hayes' life became less idyllic. Hayes and Pease conceived a
most violent hatred of each other, and poor old Mr Williams was really
worried into an attack of elephantiasis (which answers to the gout in
those latitudes) by his continual efforts to prevent the two
desperadoes from flying at each other's throat. Heartily glad was he
when Pease--who was the sort of man that always observed LES
CONVENANCES when possible, and who fired a salute of twenty-one guns on
the Queen's Birthday--came one afternoon to get his papers "all
regular," and clear for sea. But lo! the next morning, when his vessel
had disappeared, it was found that his enemy Captain Hayes had
disappeared also, and the ladies of Samoa were left disconsolate at the
departure of the most agreeable man they had ever known.
However, all this is another story, as Mr Kipling says, and one which I
hope Mr Becke will tell us more fully some day, for he knew Hayes well,
having acted as supercargo on board his ship, and shared a shipwreck
and other adventures with him.
But even before this date Mr Becke had had as much experience as falls
to most men of adventures in the Pacific Ocean.
Born at Port Macquarrie in Australia, where his father was clerk of
petty sessions, he was seized at the age of fourteen with an intense
longing to go to sea. It is possible that he inherited this passion
through his mother, for her father, Charles Beilby, who was private
secretary to the Duke of Cumberland, invested a legacy that fell to him
in a small vessel, and sailed with his family to the then very new
world of Australia. However this may be, it was impossible to keep
Louis Becke at home; and, as an alternative, a uncle undertook to send
him, and a brother two years older, to a mercantile house in
California. His first voyage was a terrible one. There were no
steamers, of course, in those days, and they sailed for San Francisco
in a wretched old barque. For over a month they were drifting about the
stormy sea between Australia and New Zealand, a partially dismasted and
leaking wreck. The crew mutinied--they had bitter cause to--and only
after calling at Rurutu, in the Tubuai Group, and obtaining fresh food,
did they permit the captain to resume command of the half-sunken old
craft. They were ninety days in reaching Honolulu, and another forty in
making the Californian coast.
The two lads did not find the routine of a merchant's office at all to
their taste; and while the elder obtained employment on a sheep ranche
at San Juan, Louis, still faithful to the sea, got a berth as a clerk
in a steamship company, and traded to the Southern ports. In a year's
time he had money enough to take passage in a schooner bound on a
shark-catching cruise to the equatorial islands of the North Pacific.
The life was a very rough one, and full of incident and
adventure--which I hope he will relate some day. Returning to Honolulu,
he fell in with an old captain who had bought a schooner for a trading
venture amongst the Western Carolines. Becke put in $1000, and sailed
with him as supercargo, he and the skipper being the only white men on
board. He soon discovered that, though a good seaman, the old man knew
nothing of navigation. In a few weeks they were among the Marshall
Islands, and the captain went mad from DELIRIUM TREMENS. Becke and the
three native sailors ran the vessel into a little uninhabited atoll,
and for a week had to keep the captain tied up to prevent his killing
himself. They got him right at last, and stood to the westward. On
their voyage they were witnesses of a tragedy (in this instance
fortunately not complete), on which the pitiless sun of the Pacific has
looked down very often. They fell in with a big Marshall Island sailing
canoe that had been blown out of sight of land, and had drifted six
hundred miles to the westward. Out of her complement of fifty people,
thirty were dead. They gave them provisions and water, and left them to
make Strong's Island (Kusaie), which was in sight. Becke and the chief
swore Marshall Island BRUDERSCHAFT with each other. Years afterwards,
when he came to live in the Marshall Group, the chief proved his
friendship in a signal manner.
The cruise proved a profitable one, and from that time Mr Becke
determined to become a trader, and to learn to know the people of the
north-west Pacific; and returning to California, he made for Samoa, and
from thence to Sydney. But at this time the Palmer River gold rush had
just broken out in North Queensland, and a brother, who was a bank
manager on the celebrated Charters Towers goldfields, invited him to
come up, as every one seemed to be making his fortune. He wandered
between the rushes for two years, not making a fortune, but acquiring
much useful experience, learning, amongst other things, the art of a
blacksmith, and becoming a crack shot with a rifle. Returning to
Sydney, he sailed for the Friendly Islands (Tonga) in company with the
king of Tonga's yacht--the TAUFAAHAU. The Friendly Islanders
disappointed him (at which no one that knows them will wonder), and he
went on to Samoa, and set up as a trader on his own account for the
first time. He and a Manhiki half-caste--the "Allan" who so frequently
figures in his stories--bought a cutter, and went trading throughout
the group. This was the time of Colonel Steinberger's brief tenure of
power. The natives were fighting, and the cutter was seized on two
occasions. When the war was over he made a voyage to the north-west,
and became a great favourite with the natives, as indeed seems to have
been the case in most of the places he went to in Polynesia and
Micronesia. Later on he was sent away from Samoa in charge of a vessel
under sealed orders to the Marshall Islands. These orders were to hand
the vessel over to the notorious Captain "Bully" Hayes. (Some day he
promises that he will give us the details of this very curious
adventure). He found Hayes awaiting him in his famous brig LEONORA in
Milli Lagoon. He handed over his charge and took service with him as
supercargo. After some months' cruising in the Carolines they were
wrecked on Strong's Island (Kusaie). Hayes made himself the ruler of
the island, and Mr Becke and he had a bitter quarrel. The natives
treated the latter with great kindness, and gave him land on the lee
side of the island, where he lived happily enough for five months.
Hayes was captured by an English man-of-war, but escaped and went to
Guam. Mr Becke went back in the cruiser to the Colonies, and then again
sailed for Eastern Polynesia, trading in the Gambiers, Paumotus, and
Easter and Pitcairn Islands. In this part of the ocean he picked up an
abandoned French barque on a reef, floated her, and loaded her with
coconuts, intending to sail her to New Zealand with a native crew, but
they went ashore in a hurricane and lost everything. Meeting with Mr
Tom de Wolf, the managing partner of a Liverpool firm, he took service
with him as a trader in the Ellice and Tokelau Groups, finally settling
down as a residential trader. Then he took passage once more for the
Carolines, and was wrecked on Peru, one of the Gilbert Islands (lately
annexed), losing every dollar that he possessed. He returned to Samoa
and engaged as a "recruiter" in the labour trade. He got badly hurt in
an encounter with some natives, and went to New Zealand to recover.
Then he sailed to New Britain on a trading venture, and fell in with,
and had much to do with, the ill-fated colonising expedition of the
Marquis de Ray in New Ireland. A bad attack of malarial fever, and a
wound in the neck (labour recruiting or even trading among the blacks
of Melanesia seems to have been a much less pleasant business than
residence among the gentle brown folk of the Eastern Pacific) made him
leave and return to the Marshall Islands, where Lailik, the chief whom
he had succoured at sea years before, made him welcome. He left on a
fruitless quest after an imaginary guano island, and from then until
two years ago he has been living on various islands in both the North
and South Pacific, leading what he calls "a wandering and lonely but
not unhappy existence," "Lui," as they call him, being a man both liked
and trusted by the natives from lonely Easter Island to the faraway
Pelews. He is still in the prime of life, and whether he will now remain
within the bounds of civilisation, or whether some day he will return to
his wanderings, as Odysseus is fabled to have done in his old age, I fancy
that he hardly knows himself. But when once the charm of a wild roving
life has got into a man's blood, the trammels of civilisation are irksome
and its atmosphere is hard to breathe. It will be seen from this
all-too-condensed sketch of Mr Becke's career that he knows the Pacific
as few men alive or dead have ever known it. He is one of the rare men
who have led a very wild life, and have the culture and talent
necessary to give some account of it. As a rule, the men who know don't
write, and the men who write don't know.
Every one who has a taste for good stories will feel, I believe, the
force of these. Every one who knows the South Seas, and, I believe,
many who do not, will feel that they have the unmistakable stamp of
truth. And truth to nature is a great merit in a story, not only
because of that thrill of pleasure hard to analyse, but largely made up
of associations, memories, and suggestions that faithfulness of
representation in picture or book gives to the natural man; but because
of the fact that nature is almost infinitely rich, and the unassisted
imagination of man but a poor and sterile thing, tending constantly
towards some ossified convention. "Treasure Island" is a much better
story than "The Wreckers," yet I, for one, shall never cease to regret
that Mr Stevenson did not possess, when he wrote "Treasure Island,"
that knowledge of what men and schooners do in wild seas that was his
when he gave us "The Wreckers." The detail would have been so much
richer and more convincing.
It is open to any one to say that these tales are barbarous, and what
Mrs Meynell, in a very clever and amusing essay, has called
"decivilised." Certainly there is a wide gulf separating life on a
Pacific island from the accumulated culture of centuries of
civilisation in the midst of which such as Mrs Meynell move and have
their being. And if there can be nothing good in literature that does
not spring from that culture, these stories must stand condemned. But
such a view is surely too narrow. Much as I admire that lady's
writings, I never can think of a world from which everything was
eliminated that did not commend itself to the dainty taste of herself
and her friends, without a feeling of impatience and suffocation. It
takes a huge variety of men and things to make a good world. And
ranches and CANONS, veldts and prairies, tropical forests and coral
islands, and all that goes to make up the wild life in the face of
Nature or among primitive races, far and free from the artificial
conditions of an elaborate civilisation, form an element in the world,
the loss of which would be bitterly felt by many a man who has never
set foot outside his native land.
There is a certain monotony, perhaps, about these stories. To some
extent this is inevitable. The interest and passions of South Sea
Island life are neither numerous nor complex, and action is apt to be
rapid and direct. A novelist of that modern school that fills its
volumes, often fascinatingly enough, by refining upon the shadowy
refinements of civilised thought and feeling, would find it hard to ply
his trade in South Sea Island society. His models would always be
cutting short in five minutes the hesitations and subtleties that ought
to have lasted them through a quarter of a life-time. But I think it is
possible that the English reader might gather from this little book an
unduly strong impression of the uniformity of Island life. The loves of
white men and brown women, often cynical and brutal, sometimes
exquisitely tender and pathetic, necessarily fill a large space in any
true picture of the South Sea Islands, and Mr Becke, no doubt of set
artistic purpose, has confined himself in the collection of tales now
offered almost entirely to this facet of the life. I do not question
that he is right in deciding to detract nothing from the striking
effect of these powerful stories, taken as a whole, by interspersing
amongst them others of a different character. But I hope it may be
remembered that the present selection is only an instalment, and that,
if it finds favour with the British public, we may expect from him some
of those tales of adventure, and of purely native life and custom,
which no one could tell so well as he.
PEMBROKE.
CHALLIS THE DOUBTER
The White Lady And The Brown Woman
Four years had come and gone since the day that Challis, with a dull
and savage misery in his heart, had, cursing the love-madness which
once possessed him, walked out from his house in an Australian city
with an undefined and vague purpose of going "somewhere" to drown his
sense of wrong and erase from his memory the face of the woman who, his
wife of not yet a year, had played with her honour and his. So he
thought, anyhow.
* * * * *
You see, Challis was "a fool"--at least so his pretty, violet-eyed wife
had told him that afternoon with a bitter and contemptuous ring in her
voice when he had brought another man's letter--written to her--and
with impulsive and jealous haste had asked her to explain. He was a
fool, she had said, with an angry gleam in the violet eyes, to think
she could not "take care" of herself. Admit receiving that letter? Of
course! Did he think she could help other men writing silly letters to
her? Did he not think she could keep out of a mess? And she smiled the
self-satisfied smile of a woman conscious of many admirers and of her
own powers of intrigue.
Then Challis, with a big effort, gulping down the rage that stirred
him, made his great mistake. He spoke of his love for her. Fatuity! She
laughed at him, said that as she detested women, his love was too
exacting for her, if it meant that she should never be commonly
friendly with any other man.
* * * * *
Challis looked at her steadily for a few moments, trying to smother the
wild flood of black suspicion aroused in him by the discovery of the
letter, and confirmed by her sneering words, and then said quietly, but
with a dangerous inflection in his voice--
"Remember--you are my wife. If you have no regard for your own
reputation, you shall have some for mine. I don't want to entertain my
friends by thrashing R----, but I'm not such a fool as you think. And
if you go further in this direction you'll find me a bit of a brute."
Again the sneering laugh--"Indeed! Something very tragic will occur, I
suppose?"
"No," said Challis grimly, "something damned prosaic--common enough
among men with pretty wives--I'll clear out."
"I wish you would do that now," said his wife, "I hate you quite
enough."
Of course she didn't quite mean it. She really liked Challis in her own
small-souled way--principally because his money had given her the
social pleasures denied her during her girlhood. With an unmoved face
and without farewell he left her and went to his lawyer's.
A quarter of an hour later he arose to go, and the lawyer asked him
when he intended returning.
"That all depends upon her. If she wants me back again, she can write,
through you, and I'll come--if she has conducted herself with a
reasonable amount of propriety for such a pretty woman."
Then, with an ugly look on his face, Challis went out; next day he
embarked in the LADY ALICIA for a six months' cruise among the islands
of the North-west Pacific.
* * * * *
That was four years ago, and to-day Challis, who stands working at a
little table set in against an open window, hammering out a ring from a
silver coin on a marline-spike and vyce, whistles softly and
contentedly to himself as he raises his head and glances through the
vista of coconuts that surround his dwelling on this lonely and almost
forgotten island.
"The devil!" he thinks | 310.66857 |
2023-11-16 18:22:14.7652800 | 1,957 | 10 |
Produced by Lee Dawei, David King, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
AMERICAN INSTITUTIONS AND THEIR INFLUENCE.
By Alexis De Tocqueville.
With Notes, by Hon. John C. Spencer.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851,
BY A.S. BARNES & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The American publishers of M. De Tocqueville's "Democracy in America,"
have been frequently solicited to furnish the work in a form adapted
to seminaries of learning, and at a price which would secure its more
general circulation, and enable trustees of School District Libraries,
and other libraries, to place it among their collections. Desirous to
attain these objects, they have consulted several gentlemen, in whose
judgment they confided, and particularly the editor of the American
editions, to ascertain whether the work was capable of abridgment or
condensation, so as to bring the expense of its publication within the
necessary limits. They are advised that the nature of the work renders
it impossible to condense it by omitting any remarks or illustrations of
the author upon any subject discussed by him, even if common justice to
him did not forbid any such attempt; and that the only mode of reducing
its bulk, is to exclude wholly such subjects as are deemed not to be
essential.
It will be recollected that the first volume was originally published
separately, and was complete in itself. It treated of the influence
of democracy upon the political institutions of the United States,
and exhibited views of the nature of our government, and of their
complicated machinery, so new, so striking, and so just, as to excite
the admiration and even the wonder of our countrymen. It was universally
admitted to be the best, if not the first systematic and philosophic
view of the great principles of our constitutions which has been
presented to the world. As a treatise upon the spirit of our
governments, it was full and finished, and was deemed worthy of being
introduced as a text-book in some of our Seminaries of Learning.
The publication of the first volume alone would therefore seem to be
sufficient to accomplish in the main the objects of the publishers above
stated.
And upon a careful re-examination of the second volume, this impression
is confirmed. It is entirely independent of the first volume, and is
in no way essential to a full understanding of the principles and views
contained in that volume. It discusses the effects of the democratic
principle upon the tastes, feelings, habits, and manners of the
Americans; and although deeply interesting and valuable, yet the
observations of the author on these subjects are better calculated for
foreign countries than for our own citizens. As he wrote for Europe
they were necessary to his plan. They follow naturally and properly the
profound views which had already been presented, and which they carry
out and illustrate. But they furnish no new developments of those views,
nor any facts that would be new to us.
The publishers were therefore advised that the printing of the first
volume complete and entire, was the only mode of attaining the object
they had in view. They have accordingly determined to adopt that course,
intending, if the public sentiment should require it, hereafter to print
the second volume in the same style, so that both may be had at the same
moderate price.
A few notes, in addition to those contained in the former editions, have
been made by the American editor, which upon a reperusal of the volume
seemed useful if not necessary: and some statistical results of the
census of 1840 have been added, in connection with similar results given
by the author from returns previous to that year.
PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION.
The following work of M. DE TOCQUEVILLE has attracted great attention
throughout Europe, where it is universally regarded as a sound,
philosophical, impartial, and remarkably clear and distinct view of our
political institutions, and of our manners, opinions, and habits, as
influencing or influenced by those institutions. Writers, reviewers, and
statesmen of all parties, have united in the highest commendations of
its ability and integrity. The people, described by a work of such a
character, should not be the only one in Christendom unacquainted with
its contents. At least, so thought many of our most distinguished men,
who have urged the publishers of this edition to reprint the work, and
present it to the American public. They have done so in the hope of
promoting among their countrymen a more thorough knowledge of their
frames of government, and a more just appreciation of the great
principles on which they are founded.
But it seemed to them that a reprint in America of the views of an
author so well entitled to regard and confidence, without any correction
of the few errors or mistakes that might be found, would be in effect
to give authenticity to the whole work, and that foreign readers,
especially, would consider silence, under such circumstances, as strong
evidence of the accuracy of its statements. The preface to the English
edition, too, was not adapted to this country, having been written, as
it would seem, in reference to the political questions which agitate
Great Britain. The publishers, therefore, applied to the writer of this,
to furnish them with a short preface, and such notes upon the text as
might appear necessary to correct any erroneous impressions. Having had
the honor of a personal acquaintance with M. DE TOCQUEVILLE while he was
in this country; having discussed with him many of the topics treated
of in this book; having entered deeply into the feelings and sentiments
which guided and impelled him in his task, and having formed a high
admiration of his character and of this production, the writer felt
under some obligation to aid in procuring for one whom he ventures
to call his friend, a hearing from those who were the subjects of his
observations. These circumstances furnish to his own mind an apology for
undertaking what no one seemed willing to attempt, notwithstanding
his want of practice in literary composition, and notwithstanding
the impediments of professional avocations, constantly recurring, and
interrupting that strict and continued examination of the work, which
became necessary, as well to detect any errors of the author, as any
misunderstanding or misrepresentation of his meaning by his translator.
If the same circumstances will atone in the least for the imperfections
of what the editor has contributed to this edition, and will serve to
mitigate the severity of judgment upon those contributions, it is all he
can hope or ask.
The NOTES are confined, with very few exceptions, to the correction of
what appeared to be misapprehensions of the author in regard to some
matters of fact, or some principles of law, and to explaining his
meaning where the translator had misconceived it. For the latter purpose
the original was consulted; and it affords great pleasure to bear
witness to the general fidelity with which Mr. REEVE has transferred
the author's ideas from French into English. He has not been a literal
translator, and this has been the cause of the very few errors which
have been discovered: but he has been more and better: he has caught the
spirit of M. DE TOCQUEVILLE, has understood the sentiment he meant to
express, and has clothed it in the language which M. DE TOCQUEVILLE
would have himself used, had he possessed equal facility in writing the
English language.
Being confined to the objects before mentioned, the reader will not find
any comments on the theoretical views of our author. He has discussed
many subjects on which very different opinions are entertained in the
United States; but with an ability, a candor, and an evident devotion
to the cause of truth, which will commend his views to those who most
radically dissent from them. Indeed, readers of the most discordant
opinions will find that he frequently agrees with both sides, and as
frequently differs from them. As an instance, his remarks on slavery
will not be found to coincide throughout with the opinions either of
abolitionists or of slaveholders: but they will be found to present a
masterly view of a most perplexing and interesting subject, which seems
to cover the whole ground, and to lead to the melancholy conclusion of
the utter impotency of human effort to eradicate this acknowledged evil.
But on this, and on the various topics of the deepest interest which are
discussed in this work, it was thought that the American readers would
be fully competent to form their own opinions, and to detect any errors
of the author, if such there are, without any attempt of the present
editor to enlighten them. At all events, it is to be hoped that
the citizens of the United States will patiently read, and candidly
consider, the views of this accomplished foreigner, however hostile they
may be to their own preconceived opinions or | 310.78532 |
2023-11-16 18:22:15.2247130 | 4,454 | 13 |
Produced by David Widger
SUPERNATURAL RELIGION:
AN INQUIRY INTO THE REALITY OF DIVINE REVELATION.
By Walter Richard Cassels
In Three Volumes: Vol. II.
Complete Edition.
Carefully Revised.
London:
Longmans, Greenland Co.,
1879.
PG EDITOR'S NOTE: This file has been provided with an image of the
original scan for each page which is linked to the page number in the
html file. Nearly every page in the text has many Greek passages which
have been indicated where they occur by [------] as have many complex
tables; these passages may be viewed in the page images. Some of the
pages have only a few lines of text and then the rest of the page is
taken up with complex footnotes in English, Greek and Hebrew. The reader
may click on the page numbers in the html file to see the entire page
with the footnotes. --DW
AN INQUIRY INTO THE REALITY OF DIVINE REVELATION
PART II.
CHAPTER V. THE CLEMENTINES--THE EPISTLE TO DIOGNETUS
We must now as briefly as possible examine the evidence furnished by
the apocryphal religious romance generally known by the name of "The
Clementines," and assuming, falsely of course,(1) to be the composition
of the Roman Clement. The Clementines are composed of three principal
works, the Homilies, Recognitions, and a so-called Epitome. The
Homilies, again, are prefaced by a pretended epistle addressed by the
Apostle Peter to James, and another from Clement. These Homilies were
only known in an imperfect form till 1853, when Dressel(2) published
a complete Greek text. Of the Recognitions we only possess a Latin
translation by Rufinus (a.d. 402).
{2}
Although there is much difference of opinion regarding the claims to
priority of the Homilies and Recognitions, many critics assigning that
place to the Homilies,(1) whilst others assert the earlier origin of the
Recognitions,(2) all are agreed that the one is merely a version of the
other, the former being embodied almost word for word in the latter,
whilst the Epitome is a blending of the other two, probably intended
to purge them from heretical doctrine. These works, however, which are
generally admitted to have emanated from the Ebionitic party of the
early Church,(3) are supposed to be based upon older Petrine writings,
such as the "Preaching of Peter" [------], and the "Travels of Peter"
[------].(4)
{3}
It is not necessary for our purpose to go into any analysis of the
character of the Clementines. It will suffice to say that they almost
entirely consist of discussions between the Apostle Peter and Simon
the Magician regarding the identity of the true Mosaic and Christian
religions. Peter follows the Magician from city to city for the purpose
of exposing and refuting him, the one, in fact, representing Apostolic
doctrine and the other heresy, and in the course of these discussions
occur the very numerous quotations of sayings of Jesus and of Christian
history which we have to examine.
The Clementine Recognitions, as we have already remarked, are only known
to us through the Latin translation of Rufinus; and from a comparison of
the evangelical quotations occurring in that work with the same in the
Homilies, it is evident that Rufinus has assimilated them in the course
of translation to the parallel passages of our Gospels. It is admitted,
therefore, that no argument regarding the source of the quotations can
rightly be based upon the Recognitions, and that work may, consequently,
be entirely set aside,(1) and the Clementine Homilies alone need occupy
our attention.
We need scarcely remark that, unless the date at which these Homilies
were composed can be ascertained, their value as testimony for the
existence of our Synoptic Gospels is seriously affected. The difficulty
of arriving at a correct conclusion regarding this point, great under
almost any circumstances, is of course increased by the fact that the
work is altogether apocryphal, and most certainly not held by any one to
have
{4}
been written by the person whose name it bears. There is in fact nothing
but internal evidence by which to fix the date, and that internal
evidence is of a character which admits of very wide extension down the
course of time, although a sharp limit is set beyond which it cannot
mount upwards. Of external evidence there is almost none, and what
little exists does not warrant an early date. Origen, it is true,
mentions [------],(1) which, it is conjectured, may either be the same
work as the [------], or Recognitions, translated by Rufinus, or
related to it, and Epiphanius and others refer to [------];(2) but
our Clementine Homilies are not mentioned by any writer before
pseudo-Athanasius.(3) The work, therefore, can at the best afford no
substantial testimony to the antiquity and apostolic origin of our
Gospels. Hilgenfeld, following in the steps of Baur, arrives at the
conclusion that the Homilies are directed against the Gnosticism of
Marcion (and also, as we shall hereafter see, against the Apostle Paul),
and he, therefore, necessarily assigns to them a date subsequent to a.d.
160. As Reuss, however, inquires: upon this ground, why should a still
later date not be named, since even Tertullian wrote vehemently against
the same Gnosis.(4) There can be little doubt that the author was a
representative of Ebionitic Gnosticism, which had once been the purest
form of primitive Christianity, but later, through its own development,
though still more through the rapid growth around it of Paulinian
doctrine, had
{5}
assumed a position closely verging upon heresy. It is not necessary
for us, however, to enter upon any exhaustive discussion of the date at
which the Clementines were written; it is sufficient to show that there
is no certain ground upon which a decision can be based, and that even
an approximate conjecture can scarcely be reasonably advanced. Critics
variously date the composition of the original Recognitions from about
the middle of the second century to the end of the third, though the
majority are agreed in placing them at least in the latter century.(1)
They assign to the Homilies an origin at different dates within a period
commencing about the middle of the second century, and extending to a
century later.2
In the Homilies there are very numerous quotations
{6}
of sayings of Jesus and of Gospel history, which are generally placed
in the mouth of Peter, or introduced with such formulae as: "The teacher
said," "Jesus said," "He said," "The prophet said," but in no case does
the author name the source from which these sayings and quotations are
derived. That he does, however, quote from a written source, and not
from tradition, is clear from the use of such expressions as "in another
place [------](1) he has said," which refer not to other localities or
circumstances, but another part of a written history.(2) There are in
the Clementine Homilies upwards of a hundred quotations of sayings of
Jesus or references to his history, too many by far for us to examine
in detail here; but, notwithstanding the number of these passages, so
systematically do they vary, more or less, from the parallels in our
canonical Gospels, that, as in the case of Justin, Apologists are
obliged to have recourse to the elastic explanation, already worn so
threadbare, of "free quotation from memory" and "blending of passages"
to account for the remarkable phenomena presented. It must, however,
be evident that the necessity for such an apology at all shows the
insufficiency of the evidence furnished by these quotations. De
Wette says: "The quotations of evangelical works and histories in the
pseudo-Clementine writings, from their nature free and inaccurate,
permit only an uncertain conclusion to be
{7}
drawn as to their written source."(1) Critics have maintained very
different and conflicting views regarding that source. Apologists, of
course, assert that the quotations in the Homilies are taken from
our Gospels only.(2) Others ascribe them to our Gospels, with a
supplementary apocryphal work: the Gospel according to the Hebrews, or
the Gospel according to Peter.(3) Some, whilst admitting a subsidiary
use of some of our Gospels, assert that the author of the Homilies
employs, in preference, the Gospel according to Peter;(4) whilst others,
recognizing also the similarity of the phenomena presented by these
quotations with those of Justin's, conclude that the author does not
quote our Gospels at all, but makes use of the Gospel according to
Peter, or the Gospel according to the Hebrews.(5) Evidence permitting of
such divergent conclusions manifestly cannot be of a decided character.
We may affirm, however, that few of those who are
{8}
willing to admit the use of our Synoptics by the author of the Homilies
along with other sources, make that concession on the strength of the
absolute isolated evidence of the Homilies themselves, but they are
generally moved by antecedent views on the point. In an inquiry like
that which we have undertaken, however, such easy and indifferent
judgment would obviously be out of place, and the point we have to
determine is not whether an author may have been acquainted with our
Gospels, but whether he furnishes testimony that he actually was in
possession of our present Gospels and regarded them as authoritative.
We have already mentioned that the author of the Clementine Homilies
never names the source from which his quotations are derived. Of these
very numerous quotations we must again distinctly state that only two or
three, of a very brief and fragmentary character, literally agree with
our Synoptics, whilst all the rest differ more or less widely from
the parallel passages in those Gospels. Some of these quotations are
repeated more than once with the same persistent and characteristic
variations, and in several cases, as we have already seen, they agree
more or less closely with quotations of Justin from the Memoirs of the
Apostles. Others, again, have no parallels at all in our Gospels, and
even Apologists are consequently compelled to admit the collateral
use of an apocryphal Gospel. As in the case of Justin, therefore, the
singular phenomenon is presented of a vast number of quotations of which
only one or two brief phrases, too fragmentary to avail as evidence,
perfectly agree with our Gospels; whilst of the rest, which all vary
more or less, some merely resemble combined passages of two Gospels,
others merely contain the sense, some
{9}
present variations likewise found in other writers or in various parts
of the Homilies are repeatedly quoted with the same variations, and
others are not found in our Gospels at all. Such phenomena cannot
be fairly accounted for by any mere theory of imperfect memory or
negligence. The systematic variation from our Synoptics, variation
proved by repetition not to be accidental, coupled with quotations which
have no parallels at all in our Gospels, more naturally point to the
use of a different Gospel. In no case can the Homilies be accepted as
furnishing evidence even of the existence of our Gospels.
As it is impossible here to examine in detail all of the quotations in
the Clementine Homilies, we must content ourselves with this distinct
statement of their character, and merely illustrate briefly the
different classes of quotations, exhausting, however, those which
literally agree with passages in the Gospels. The most determined
of recent Apologists do not afford us an opportunity of testing
the passages upon which they base their assertion of the use of our
Synoptics, for they simply assume that the author used them without
producing instances.(1)
The first quotation agreeing with a passage in our Synoptics occurs
in Hom. iii. 52: "And he cried, saying: Come unto me all ye that are
weary," which agrees with the opening words of Matt. xi. 28, but the
phrase does
1 Teschendorf only devotes a dozen linos, with a note, to
the Clemontinos, and only in connection with our fourth
Gospel, which shall hero-after have our attention. Wann
wurden u. s. w., p. 90. In the same way Canon Westcott
passes them over in a short paragraph, merely asserting the
allusions to our Gospels to be "generally admitted," and
only directly referring to one supposed quotation from Mark
which we shall presently examine, and one which he affirms
to be from the fourth Gospel. On the Canon, p. 251 f. [In
the 4th edition he has enlarged his remarks, p. 282 ff.]
{10}
not continue, and is followed by the explanation: "that is, who are
seeking the truth and not finding it."(1) It is evident, that so short
and fragmentary a phrase cannot prove anything.(2)
The next passage occurs in Hom. xviii. 15: "For Isaiah said: I will open
my mouth in parables, and I will utter things that have been kept secret
from the foundation of the world."(3) Now this passage, with a slightly
different order of words, is found in Matt. xiii. 35. After giving a
series of parables, the author of the Gospel says (v. 34), "All these
things spake Jesus unto the multitudes in parables; and without a
parable spake he not unto them; (v. 35) That it might be fulfilled which
was spoken by the prophet (Isaiah), saying: I will open my mouth in
parables, &c." There are two peculiarities which must be pointed out in
this passage. It is not found in Isaiah, but in Psalm lxxviii. 2,(4) and
it presents a variation from the version of the lxx. Both the variation
and the erroneous reference to Isaiah, therefore, occur also in the
Homily. The first part of the sentence agrees with, but the latter part
is quite different from, the Greek of the lxx., which reads: "I will
utter problems from the beginning," [------].(5)
The Psalm from which the quotation is really taken is, by its
superscription, ascribed to Asaph, who, in the Septuagint version of II.
Chronicles xxix. 30, is called a
{11}
prophet.(1) It was, therefore, early asserted that the original reading
of Matthew was "Asaph," instead of "Isaiah." Porphyry, in the third
century, twitted Christians with this erroneous ascription by their
inspired evangelist to Isaiah of a passage from a Psalm, and reduced the
Fathers to great straits. Eusebius, in his commentary on this verse
of the Psalm, attributes the insertion of the words, "by the prophet
Isaiah," to unintelligent copyists, and asserts that in accurate MSS.
the name is not added to the word prophet. Jerome likewise ascribes the
insertion of the name Isaiah for that of Asaph, which was originally
written, to an ignorant scribe,(2) and in the commentary on the Psalms,
generally, though probably falsely, ascribed to him, the remark is made
that many copies of the Gospel to that day had the name "Isaiah," for
which Porphyry had reproached Christians,(3) and the writer of the same
commentary actually allows himself to make the assertion that Asaph was
found in all the old codices, but ignorant men had removed it.(4) The
fact is, that the reading "Asaph" for "Isaiah" is not found in any
extant MS., and, although "Isaiah" has disappeared from all but a few
obscure codices, it cannot be denied that the name anciently stood in
the text.(5) In the Sinaitic Codex, which is probably the earliest
MS. extant, and which is assigned to the fourth century, "the prophet
_Isaiah_" stands in the text by the first hand, but is erased by the
second (b).
{12}
The quotation in the Homily, however, is clearly not from our Gospel.
It is introduced by the words "For Isaiah says:" and the context is so
different from that in Matthew, that it seems most improbable that the
author of the Homily could have had the passage suggested to him by the
Gospel. It occurs in a discussion between Simon the Magician and Peter.
The former undertakes to prove that the Maker of the world is not the
highest God, and amongst other arguments he advances the passage:
"No man knew the Father, &c.," to show that the Father had remained
concealed from the Patriarchs, &c., until revealed by the Son, and in
reply to Peter he retorts, that if the supposition that the Patriarchs
were not deemed worthy to know the Father was unjust, the Christian
teacher was himself to blame, who said: "I thank thee, Lord of heaven
and earth, that what was concealed from the wise thou hast revealed to
suckling babes." Peter argues that in the statement of Jesus: "No man
knew the Father, &c.," he cannot be considered to indicate another
God and Father from him who made the world, and he continues: "For the
concealed things of which he spoke may be those of the Creator himself;
for Isaiah says: 'I will open my mouth, &c.' Do you admit, therefore,
that the prophet was not ignorant of the things concealed,"(1) and so
on. There is absolutely nothing in this argument to indicate that the
passage was suggested by the Gospel, but, on the contrary, it is used in
a totally different way, and is quoted not as an evangelical text, but
as a saying from the Old Testament, and treated in connection with the
prophet himself, and not with its supposed fulfilment in Jesus. It may
be remarked, that in the corresponding part of
{13}
the Recognitions, whether that work be of older or more recent date, the
passage does not occur at all. Now, although it is impossible to say
how and where this erroneous reference to a passage of the Old Testament
first occurred, there is no reason for affirming that it originated in
our first Synoptic, and as little for asserting that its occurrence
in the Clementine Homilies, with so different a context and object,
involves the conclusion that their author derived it from the Gospel,
and not from the Old Testament or some other source. On the contrary,
the peculiar argument based upon it in the Homilies suggests a different
origin, and it is very probable that the passage, with its erroneous
reference, was derived by both from another and common source.
Another passage is a phrase from the "Lord's Prayer," which occurs in
Hom. xix. 2: "But also in the prayer which he commended to us, we have
it said: Deliver us from the evil one" [------]. It need scarcely be
said, however, that few Gospels can have been composed without including
this prayer, and the occurrence of this short phrase demonstrates
nothing more than the mere fact, that the author of the Homilies was
acquainted with one of the most universally known lessons of Jesus, or
made use of a Gospel which contained it. There would have been cause for
wonder had he been ignorant of it.
The only other passage which agrees literally with our Gospels is also
a mere fragment from the parable of the Talents, and when the other
references to the same parable are added, it is evident that the
quotation is not from our Gospels. In Hom. iii. 65, the address to
the good servant is introduced: "Well done, good and faithful servant"
[------], which agrees
{14}
with the words in Matt. xxv. 21. The allusion to the parable of the
talents in the context is perfectly clear | 311.244753 |
2023-11-16 18:22:15.3124110 | 4,360 | 11 |
E-text prepared by Henry Flower and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/bohemiaunderhaps00capeuoft
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
BOHEMIA UNDER HAPSBURG MISRULE
A Study of the Ideals and Aspirations of the Bohemian and
Slovak Peoples, as they relate to and are affected
by the great European War
Edited by
THOMAS CAPEK
Author of "Slovaks of Hungary," etc.
[Illustration]
New York Chicago Toronto
Fleming H. Revell Company
London and Edinburgh
Copyright, 1915, by
Fleming H. Revell Company
New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: 125 N. Wabash Ave.
Toronto: 25 Richmond St., W.
London: 21 Paternoster Square
Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street
Dedicated
_To the Cause of
Bohemian-Slovak Freedom_
"_I trust in God that the
Government of Thine affairs will again
revert to Thee, O Bohemian People!_"
JOHN AMOS COMENIUS.
(In exile.)
PREFACE
The object of this volume is to make Bohemia and her people better
known to the English-speaking world. The average Englishman's and
American's knowledge of Bohemia is very vague. It is only within
recent years that Anglo-American writers have begun to take a deeper
interest in her people. Among the more prominent students of Bohemian
contemporary life should be mentioned: Will S. Monroe, Emily G.
Balch, and Herbert Adolphus Miller, in the United States; and A. R.
Colquhoun, Richard J. Kelly, F. P. Marchant, James Baker, Wickham H.
Steed, Charles Edmund Maurice, W. R. Morfill, and R. W. Seton-Watson
in England. Count Luetzow has written in English a number of works on
Bohemian matters.
While it is yet too early to foresee the precise results of the Great
War, one may judge of coming events by the shadows they cast before
them. A close observer of the Austrian shadows is justified in thinking
that the Bohemian people, so long suppressed, stand on the threshold
of a new destiny. This destiny points to the restoration of their
ancient freedom. If the Allies win--and every loyal son of the Land
of Hus fervently wishes that their arms might prevail, notwithstanding
the fact that Bohemian soldiers are constrained to fight for the cause
of the two Kaisers--Bohemia is certain to re-enter the family of
self-governing European nations. The proclamation which the Russian
Generalissimo addressed to the Poles may be said to apply with equal
force to the Bohemians: "The hour has sounded when the sacred dream of
your fathers may be realized.... Bohemia will be born again, free in
her religion, her language, and autonomous.... The dawn of a new life
begins for you.... In this glorious dawn is seen the sign of the cross,
the symbol of suffering and the resurrection of a people."
At the close of the Franco-Prussian War, Frenchmen erected in the
Place de la Concorde in Paris the Statue of Strassburg, which they
have kept draped, as a sign of mourning for the loss of their beloved
Alsace-Lorraine. The Bohemians have grieved for their motherland much
longer than the French for the "Lost Provinces." Bohemia put on her
mourning garb in 1620, the year her rebel army was defeated by the
imperialist troops of Ferdinand II., at the Battle of White Mountain
near Prague, the capital of the kingdom. May it not be hoped that
the joyous moment is near when her sons can substitute for the black
and yellow of Austria the red and white of Bohemia--the colors that
Charles Havlicek loved so well. "My colors are red and white," declared
this fearless patriot to his Austrian tormentors. "You can promise me,
you can threaten me, but a traitor I shall never be."
Never during the three hundred years of Austrian misrule were
conditions so propitious for throwing off the shackles of oppression
as now. In the darkest hours of national humiliation, the children of
Hus and of Komensky (Comenius) did not despair. "We existed before
Austria," Palacky used to tell them, "and we shall survive her."
May not the words of the "Father of his Country," as Palacky was
affectionately called by his countrymen, come true, in view of what is
taking place in the Hapsburg Monarchy to-day?
With what form of government would Bohemia make her re-entry into the
European family of nations--as a free state, as a dependency of Russia,
as a ward of the Allies, or incorporated in a federation of the states
remaining to the Hapsburg Empire?
It was a favorite theory of Palacky that the Austrian nations would,
for their own protection, have to create an Austria, if she were ever
destroyed. But what Palacky has said may no longer be true, because
the events of 1914 have created issues and opened up possibilities
undreamt of in his times. Palacky, let it be understood, had in mind a
Confederated Austria that should form a bulwark for small races against
German expansion from the north and the west.
It has been intimated that the Allies might agree to create Bohemia and
Hungary as independent buffer states to curb German aggression, just
as Belgium and Holland are buffer states between Germany and France.
If this war has shown anything, it has demonstrated the usefulness of
a small state like that of the Belgians. Albania, it will be recalled,
had been brought into being by Austria and Italy, not for humanitarian
reasons, we may be sure, but to menace and weaken Serbia, of whose
growth they were jealous.
Another probability is that Russia might demand, as one of the prizes
of war, the cession of the northern part of Austria-Hungary, which
is wholly Slavic. She might contend that she could not carry out her
traditional policy of guardianship of the Slavs, unless her kinsfolk
came under her influence, if not actually under her rule.
Francis Josef waged two wars in the past, both of which ended
disastrously for the empire. Yet from both of these wars good has come
to his subjects. The campaign in Italy, which resulted in the defeat of
the Austrians at Magenta and Solferino in 1859, dealt a severe blow
to the bureaucracy, liberating, incidentally, the Italians who were
trampled under foot by Radecky. As a result of the war with Prussia
in 1866, the Magyars came to their own. Hungarian autonomy dates from
1867. Now it is the turn of the Bohemians to profit from Austria's
predicament.
Self-government is not only an ideal but a necessity to Bohemians. Why
should Bohemia, in addition to paying for her own needs, make good the
deficits of lands which are passive, and in whose domestic affairs she
has no greater interest than the State of New York has, for instance,
in the local constabulary of Nevada? Year after year Bohemians justly
complain that Vienna wrings millions in taxes from them that it spends
on lands that are passive. It is partly this feature of the case, the
high revenue flowing from the Bohemian Kingdom, which has made Vienna
hostile to the home rule agitation. Is it reasonable to suppose,
however, that if Austria could not wholly suppress the national
aspiration of Bohemians in times of peace, under normal conditions,
she is more likely to accomplish it if she returns home from the war
exhausted, humiliated, perchance vanquished?
It may seem hazardous to forecast Austria's future in the event of the
Allies winning. But this much is already apparent, that the Austria of
1914, the government of which rested on the mediaeval idea that one
white race was superior to another white race, is doomed to perish.
Austria needed a crushing blow from without, such as a lost war, to
send toppling the ramshackle structure that has menaced for so long
a time the security of the Slavic inhabitants. For, though rent by
internal discord, the monarchy obviously lacked forces powerful enough
to effect its own redemption. If the Teutonic forces are beaten, the
logical sequel will be the breakdown of the Germanic hegemony and a
corresponding rise of Slavism. With Poland resuscitated and Serbia
strengthened, Vienna, it is certain, will be powerless to hold the
Bohemians down.
But no matter what may happen, whether Austria-Hungary will remain
Hapsburg, whether the Allies will impose their will on her destiny, or
whether the Russians will become the masters of the North Slavs, let
us hope that the future map-makers will not be military conquerors, as
was the case at the Congress of Vienna in 1814, or statesmen of the
Bismarck type, who, at the Berlin Congress in 1878, were determined
to separate the people of one race, instead of uniting them. Let the
map-makers be ethnologists who will, wherever practicable, deliminate
boundaries according to racial, not political lines, giving German
territory to the Germans, Magyar territory to the people of that race,
Slavic lands to the Slavs.
Bohemia would not assume the serious task of self-government as an
inexperienced novice. Bohemia is one of the oldest states in Central
Europe. As a kingdom she antedates the German kingdoms, not excepting
Prussia, Saxony, Bavaria. Some of these were yet minor states when she
already played a conspicuous role in the affairs of Europe. In point
of population the United States of Bohemia--including Bohemia herself,
Moravia, Silesia, and Slovakland--would have within her borders a
population numbering about 12,000,000. The combined area of the three
first-named states is almost twice the size of Switzerland. Prague, the
capital, had in 1910 581,163 inhabitants. As a wealth-providing and
revenue-yielding country Bohemia stands unrivalled among the Hapsburg
States.
T. C.
NEW YORK
CONTENTS
I. HAVE THE BOHEMIANS A PLACE IN THE SUN? 17
Thomas Capek.
II. THE SLOVAKS OF HUNGARY 113
Thomas Capek.
III. WHY BOHEMIA DESERVES FREEDOM 123
Professor Bohumil Simek.
IV. THE BOHEMIAN CHARACTER 130
Professor H. A. Miller.
V. PLACE OF BOHEMIA IN THE CREATIVE ARTS 153
Professor Will S. Monroe.
VI. THE BOHEMIANS AND THE SLAVIC REGENERATION 160
Professor Leo Wiener.
Addenda. THE BOHEMIANS AS IMMIGRANTS 176
Professor Emily G. Balch.
I
HAVE THE BOHEMIANS A PLACE IN THE SUN?
Bohemia (German Boehmen, Bohemian Cechy[1]) has an area of 20,223 square
miles, and is bounded on the north by Saxony and Prussian Silesia; on
the east by Prussia and Moravia; on the south by Lower Austria; on the
west by Bavaria. According to the census of 1910, 4,241,918 inhabitants
declared for Bohemian and 2,467,724 for the German language.
Historians recognize two epochal events in the life of the nation.
The first begins with the outbreak of the Hussite wars, following the
death of King Vaclav IV. in 1419; the second, with the battle of White
Mountain in 1620. The period intervening between the first two events
is referred to as the Middle Age. That which preceded the Hussite wars
is called the Old Age, and, that which followed the defeat at White
Mountain, the New Age.
THE LAND AND THE PEOPLE
The Margravate of Moravia, a sister state of Bohemia, and one of her
crown-lands, contains an area of 8,583 square miles. The population of
Moravia is 1,868,971 Bohemians and 719,435 Germans.
The third crown-land of Bohemia is the Duchy of Silesia, with an area
of 1,987 square miles. The population is divided as follows: 180,348
Bohemians, 325,523 Germans, 235,224 Poles.[2]
Although statisticians found in Austria, in 1910, only 6,435,983
Bohemians, it is generally known that the actual figure is higher by
several hundred thousands. Singularly enough, the test in Austria
of one's nationality is not the mother tongue of the citizen,
as elsewhere, but the lingual medium which one employs in daily
association with others. This medium the statisticians designate the
"Verkehrsprache"--the "Language of Association." The first decennial
census, under this novel system, was taken in 1880, and the results
thereby obtained pleased Vienna so well that the method has remained
in use ever since. When the matter was debated in parliament in 1880
the Bohemians and other Slavs indignantly protested against it as
unscientific and as a device dictated by political motives. A census
so taken, they contended, was calculated to raise by artful means the
numerical strength of the Germans and to deduce from it the superior
importance to the state of the Germanic element to the disadvantage
of the non-Germans.[3] It was argued that the mother tongue of the
citizens should serve as the test of one's nationality, not the
language in which the Slavic workman may be compelled to address his
German employer or a Slavic subaltern his German military superior.
But, as usual, Slavic opposition was over-ridden. Even fair-minded
Austrians condemned the system as unscientific. Innama-Sternegg, for
instance, deplored the fact that the empire should have recourse to the
"Verkehrsprache" test for political purposes. On this ground Austrian
official figures should be scrutinized with extreme caution. It has
repeatedly been proven by private census-takers that the official
census is unreliable, and that it grossly underestimates the numerical
strength of the Bohemians.
From an agricultural state, that it was until recently, Bohemia is
rapidly changing into an industrial state. Two of the most valuable
products, which make for the wealth of industrial countries, namely,
coal and iron, the hills of Bohemia contain in abundance. Among her
specialties, which have acquired world-wide renown, are decorated
and engraved glassware, beer (Pilsener), high-class cotton textiles
and linen goods, grass seeds, embroidery, hops, fezzes worn by the
Mohammedan people of the Orient, toys, etc.
From times immemorial, Bohemia has been the battle-ground between the
Slav and the Teuton. A glance at the map of Central Europe will tell
the story. Most westerly of all the Slavic peoples, the Bohemians are
surrounded on the north, west, and south by Germans. Only on the south
and east frontiers are there strips of territory that connect them with
kindred races. More than once the Germanic sea has threatened to engulf
them in the same way that it swept away the Slavic tribes that lived
north of them in Lusatia and of whose existence nothing now remains
but the Slavic names of rivers and cities. The struggle for supremacy
in Bohemia may be said to have begun the year the fabled leader Cech,
in the gray dawn of history (about 450 A.D.), migrated to the country,
having dispossessed the non-Slavic tribes of Boii, from whom Bohemia
acquired her name. The Hussite wars in the fifteenth century are
popularly believed to have been waged to free men's intellects from the
spiritual trammels of Rome; yet in the last analysis it will be found
that the Hussites, in making war on the invaders who poured into the
country from Germany, rejoiced in vanquishing alike the foes of their
race and the oppressors of their conscience. Such, at least, is the
conviction that one acquires in perusing those chapters of the history
of the country that treat of the Hussite wars.
Jointly with Moravia, Bohemia formed the nucleus of the Bohemian State;
this state had never ceased to be Bohemian-Slavic in character, though
at times ruled by alien kings. The whole of Silesia and both Lusatias
(Upper and Lower) also constituted part and parcel of this state, yet
the latter were never so closely affiliated with Bohemia as Moravia
had been, because the inhabitants of the Lusatias were not by origin
or preponderatingly Bohemian, but of Polish and Serb (Wend) ancestry,
having been largely Germanized at the time they passed under the rule
of the Bohemian Kings in the fourteenth century.
Generally speaking, the Bohemians inhabited the flat lands of the
interior, while the Germans overflowed the border line on the south,
west, and north, forming an almost uninterrupted chain of settlements.
As a matter of fact, however, there is no compact, unmixed German
territory in Bohemia, which is exclusively German and into which the
Bohemian workman, going in search of employment to the mines, mills,
and shops in the northwest, has not penetrated, and in which he has
not domiciled himself. The invasion of Bohemian workmen has virtually
rendered bilingual every such Germanized district where industrialism
flourishes.
So intermixed are the two races on the border line that a person
cannot say confidently that his ancestry is either pure German or pure
Bohemian. Observe, for example, the names of Bohemian leaders: Rieger,
Brauner, Gregr, Zeithammer. They have an unmistakable Teutonic ring.
Again, note the names of Schmeykal, Tascheck, Chlumecky, and Giskra,
who lead the German cohorts. These clearly betray Slavic origin.
It has been remarked sarcastically that the Bohemians were really
German-speaking Slavs. Certain it is that their association of more
than a thousand years' duration with Teutonic neighbors resulted in
their accepting many of the latter's customs and western culture. Then,
too, foreigners have noticed in Bohemians a degree of aggressiveness
that they claim is singularly lacking in the make-up of the other
Slavs. This trait, aggressiveness, may have been inherited as a result
of an almost ceaseless struggle for national existence. It is not
improbable, however, that the racial mixture above mentioned may have
been one of the contributing causes.
Fear of the Teutonic peril has always harried the soul of the nation.
Every historian, every poet, every patriot has admonished the people
to be on their guard. One of the oldest chorals extant contains the
pathetic invocation to the patron saint of the country. "St. Vaclav,
Duke of the Bohemian Land, do not let us perish nor our descendants."
In course of time many Germans and denationalized Bohemians were
Bo | 311.332451 |
2023-11-16 18:22:15.4846410 | 1,586 | 15 | COLNE***
Transcribed from the 1864 Chapman and Hall “Tales of All Countries”
edition by David Price, email [email protected]
THE PARSON’S DAUGHTER OF OXNEY COLNE.
THE prettiest scenery in all England—and if I am contradicted in that
assertion, I will say in all Europe—is in Devonshire, on the southern and
south-eastern skirts of Dartmoor, where the rivers Dart, and Avon, and
Teign form themselves, and where the broken moor is half cultivated, and
the wild-looking upland fields are half moor. In making this assertion I
am often met with much doubt, but it is by persons who do not really know
the locality. Men and women talk to me on the matter, who have travelled
down the line of railway from Exeter to Plymouth, who have spent a
fortnight at Torquay, and perhaps made an excursion from Tavistock to the
convict prison on Dartmoor. But who knows the glories of Chagford? Who
has walked through the parish of Manaton? Who is conversant with
Lustleigh Cleeves and Withycombe in the moor? Who has explored Holne
Chase? Gentle reader, believe me that you will be rash in contradicting
me, unless you have done these things.
There or thereabouts—I will not say by the waters of which little river
it is washed—is the parish of Oxney Colne. And for those who wish to see
all the beauties of this lovely country, a sojourn in Oxney Colne would
be most desirable, seeing that the sojourner would then be brought nearer
to all that he would wish to visit, than at any other spot in the
country. But there in an objection to any such arrangement. There are
only two decent houses in the whole parish, and these are—or were when I
knew the locality—small and fully occupied by their possessors. The
larger and better is the parsonage, in which lived the parson and his
daughter; and the smaller is a freehold residence of a certain Miss Le
Smyrger, who owned a farm of a hundred acres, which was rented by one
Farmer Cloysey, and who also possessed some thirty acres round her own
house, which she managed herself; regarding herself to be quite as great
in cream as Mr. Cloysey, and altogether superior to him in the article of
cyder. “But yeu has to pay no rent, Miss,” Farmer Cloysey would say,
when Miss Le Smyrger expressed this opinion of her art in a manner too
defiant. “Yeu pays no rent, or yeu couldn’t do it.” Miss Le Smyrger was
an old maid, with a pedigree and blood of her own, a hundred and thirty
acres of fee-simple land on the borders of Dartmoor, fifty years of age,
a constitution of iron, and an opinion of her own on every subject under
the sun.
And now for the parson and his daughter. The parson’s name was
Woolsworthy—or Woolathy, as it was pronounced by all those who lived
around him—the Rev. Saul Woolsworthy; and his daughter was Patience
Woolsworthy, or Miss Patty, as she was known to the Devonshire world of
those parts. That name of Patience had not been well chosen for her, for
she was a hot-tempered damsel, warm in her convictions, and inclined to
express them freely. She had but two closely intimate friends in the
world, and by both of them this freedom of expression had now been fully
permitted to her since she was a child. Miss Le Smyrger and her father
were well accustomed to her ways, and on the whole well satisfied with
them. The former was equally free and equally warm-tempered as herself,
and as Mr. Woolsworthy was allowed by his daughter to be quite paramount
on his own subject—for he had a subject—he did not object to his daughter
being paramount on all others. A pretty girl was Patience Woolsworthy at
the time of which I am writing, and one who possessed much that was
worthy of remark and admiration, had she lived where beauty meets with
admiration, or where force of character is remarked. But at Oxney Colne,
on the borders of Dartmoor, there were few to appreciate her, and it
seemed as though she herself had but little idea of carrying her talent
further afield, so that it might not remain for ever wrapped in a
blanket.
She was a pretty girl, tall end slender, with dark eyes and black hair.
Her eyes were perhaps too round for regular beauty, and her hair was
perhaps too crisp; her mouth was large and expressive; her nose was
finely formed, though a critic in female form might have declared it to
be somewhat broad. But her countenance altogether was wonderfully
attractive—if only it might be seen without that resolution for dominion
which occasionally marred it, though sometimes it even added to her
attractions.
It must be confessed on behalf of Patience Woolsworthy, that the
circumstances of her life had peremptorily called upon her to exercise
dominion. She had lost her mother when she was sixteen, and had had
neither brother nor sister. She had no neighbours near her fit either
from education or rank to interfere in the conduct of her life, excepting
always Miss La Smyrger. Miss Le Smyrger would have done anything for
her, including the whole management of her morals and of the parsonage
household, had Patience been content with such an arrangement. But much
as Patience had ever loved Miss Le Smyrger, she was not content with
this, and therefore she had been called on to put forth a strong hand of
her own. She had put forth this strong hand early, and hence had come
the character which I am attempting to describe. But I must say on
behalf of this girl, that it was not only over others that she thus
exercised dominion. In acquiring that power she had also acquired the
much greater power of exercising rule over herself.
But why should her father have been ignored in these family arrangements?
Perhaps it may almost suffice to say, that of all living men her father
was the man best conversant with the antiquities of the county in which
he lived. He was the Jonathan Oldbuck of Devonshire, and especially of
Dartmoor, without that decision of character which enabled Oldbuck to
keep his womenkind in some kind of subjection, and probably enabled him
also to see that his weekly bills did not pass their proper limits. Our
Mr. Oldbuck, of Oxney Colne, was sadly deficient in these. As a parish
pastor with but a small cure, he did his duty with sufficient energy, to
keep him, at any rate, from reproach. He was kind and charitable to the
poor, punctual in his services, forbearing with the farmers around him,
mild with his brother clergymen, and indifferent to aught that bishop or | 311.504681 |
2023-11-16 18:22:15.9850400 | 3,383 | 79 |
Produced by sp1nd, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
KING ROBERT
THE BRUCE:
FAMOUS SCOTS SERIES
_The following Volumes are now ready_:--
THOMAS CARLYLE. By HECTOR C. MacPHERSON.
ALLAN RAMSAY. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
HUGH MILLER. By W. KEITH LEASK.
JOHN KNOX. By A. TAYLOR INNES.
ROBERT BURNS. By GABRIEL SETOUN.
THE BALLADISTS. By JOHN GEDDIE.
RICHARD CAMERON. By PROFESSOR HERKLESS.
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By EVE BLANTYRE SIMPSON.
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. GARDEN BLAIKIE.
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. KEITH LEASK.
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
FLETCHER OF SALTOUN. By G. W. T. OMOND.
THE "BLACKWOOD" GROUP. By Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS.
NORMAN MacLEOD. By JOHN WELLWOOD.
SIR WALTER SCOTT. By Professor SAINTSBURY.
KIRKCALDY OF GRANGE. By LOUIS A. BARBE.
ROBERT FERGUSSON. By A. B. GROSART.
JAMES THOMSON. By WILLIAM BAYNE.
MUNGO PARK. By T. BANKS MacLACHLAN.
DAVID HUME. By Professor CALDERWOOD.
WILLIAM DUNBAR. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. By Professor MURISON.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. By MARGARET MOYES BLACK.
THOMAS REID. By Professor CAMPBELL FRASER.
POLLOK AND AYTOUN. By ROSALINE MASSON.
ADAM SMITH. By HECTOR C. MacPHERSON.
ANDREW MELVILLE. By WILLIAM MORISON.
JAMES FREDERICK FERRIER. By E. S. HALDANE.
KING ROBERT THE BRUCE. By A. F. MURISON.
[Illustration]
KING ROBERT
THE BRUCE
BY
A. F.
MURISON
FAMOUS
SCOTS
SERIES
PUBLISHED BY
OLIPHANT ANDERSON
& FERRIER. EDINBURGH
AND LONDON
The designs and ornaments of this volume are by Mr Joseph Brown, and
the printing from the press of Messrs Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh.
_July 1899._
ALMAE MATRI
VNIVERSITATI ABERDONENSI
"O, ne'er shall the fame of the patriot decay--
De Bruce! in thy name still our country rejoices;
It thrills Scottish heart-strings, it swells Scottish voices,
As it did when the Bannock ran red from the fray.
Thine ashes in darkness and silence may lie;
But ne'er, mighty hero, while earth hath its motion,
While rises the day-star, or rolls forth the ocean,
Can thy deeds be eclipsed or their memory die:
They stand thy proud monument, sculptur'd sublime
By the chisel of Fame on the Tablet of Time."
PREFACE
The present volume on King Robert the Bruce is the historical
complement to the former volume on Sir William Wallace. Together they
outline, from the standpoint of the leading spirits, the prolonged and
successful struggle of the Scots against the unprovoked aggression of
Edward I. and Edward II.--the most memorable episode in the history of
Scotland.
As in the story of Wallace, so in the story of Bruce, the narrative
is based on the primary authorities. Happily State records and
official papers supply much trustworthy material, which furnishes
also an invaluable test of the accuracy of the numerous and wayward
race of chroniclers. Barbour's poem, with all its errors of fact
and deflections of judgment, is eminently useful--in spite of the
indulgence of historical criticism.
There is no space here to set forth the long list of sources, or to
attempt a formal estimate of their comparative value. Some of them
appear incidentally in the text, though only where it seems absolutely
necessary to name them. The expert knows them; the general reader will
not miss them. Nor is there room for more than occasional argument on
controverted points; it has very frequently been necessary to signify
disapproval by mere silence. The writer, declining the guidance of
modern historians, has formed his own conclusions on an independent
study of the available materials.
After due reduction of the exaggerated pedestal of Patriotism reared
for Bruce by the indiscriminating, if not time-serving, eulogies
of Barbour and Fordun, and maintained for some five centuries, the
figure of the Hero still remains colossal: he completed the national
deliverance.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE ANCESTRY OF BRUCE 11
CHAPTER II
OPPORTUNIST VACILLATION 18
CHAPTER III
THE CORONATION OF BRUCE 26
CHAPTER IV
DEFEAT AND DISASTER: METHVEN AND KILDRUMMY 36
CHAPTER V
THE KING IN EXILE 53
CHAPTER VI
THE TURN OF THE TIDE 58
CHAPTER VII
RECONQUEST OF TERRITORY 69
CHAPTER VIII
RECOVERY OF FORTRESSES 84
CHAPTER IX
THE BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN 92
CHAPTER X
INVASION OF ENGLAND AND IRELAND 108
CHAPTER XI
CONCILIATION AND CONFLICT 119
CHAPTER XII
PEACE AT THE SWORD'S POINT 134
CHAPTER XIII
THE HEART OF THE BRUCE 149
KING ROBERT THE BRUCE
CHAPTER I
THE ANCESTRY OF BRUCE
When Sir William Wallace, the sole apparent hope of Scottish
independence, died at the foot of the gallows in Smithfield, and was
torn limb from limb, it seemed that at last 'the accursed nation' would
quietly submit to the English yoke. The spectacle of the bleaching
bones of the heroic Patriot would, it was anticipated, overawe such of
his countrymen as might yet cherish perverse aspirations after national
freedom. It was a delusive anticipation. In fifteen years of arduous
diplomacy and warfare, with an astounding expenditure of blood and
treasure, Edward I. had crushed the leaders and crippled the resources
of Scotland, but he had inadequately estimated the spirit of the
nation. Only six months, and Scotland was again in arms. It is of the
irony of fate that the very man destined to bring Edward's calculations
to naught had been his most zealous officer in his last campaign, and
had, in all probability, been present at the trial--it may be at the
execution--of Wallace, silently consenting to his death. That man of
destiny was Sir Robert de Brus, Lord of Annandale and Earl of Carrick.
* * * * *
The Bruces came over with the Conqueror. The theory of a Norse origin
in a follower of Rollo the Ganger, who established himself in the
diocese of Coutances in Manche, Normandy, though not improbable, is but
vaguely supported. The name is territorial; and the better opinion is
inclined to connect it with Brix, between Cherbourg and Valognes.
The first Robert de Brus on record was probably the leader of the
Brus contingent in the army of the Conqueror. His services must have
been conspicuous; he died (about 1094) in possession of some 40,000
acres, comprised in forty-three manors in the East and West Ridings of
Yorkshire, and fifty-one in the North Riding and in Durham. The chief
manor was Skelton in Cleveland.
The next Robert de Brus, son of the first, received a grant of
Annandale from David I., whose companion he had been at the English
court. This fief he renounced, probably in favour of his second son,
just before the Battle of the Standard (1138), on the failure of his
attempted mediation between David and the English barons. He died in
1141, leaving two sons, Adam and Robert.
This Robert may be regarded as the true founder of the Scottish branch.
He is said to have remained with David in the Battle of the Standard,
and, whether for this adherence or on some subsequent occasion, he was
established in possession of the Annandale fief, which was confirmed
to him by a charter of William the Lion (1166). He is said to have
received from his father the manor of Hert and the lands of Hertness in
Durham, 'to supply him with wheat, which did not grow in Annandale.' He
died after 1189.
The second Robert de Brus of Annandale, son of the preceding lord,
married (1183) Isabel, daughter of William the Lion, obtaining as her
dowry the manor of Haltwhistle in Tyndale. His widow married Robert de
Ros in 1191. The uncertainty as to the dates of his father's death and
his own has suggested a doubt whether he ever succeeded to the lordship.
William de Brus, a brother, the next lord, died in 1215.
The third Robert de Brus of Annandale, son of William, founded the
claim of his descendants to the crown by his marriage with Isabel,
second daughter of David, Earl of Huntingdon, younger brother of
William the Lion. He died in 1245.
The fourth Robert de Brus of Annandale, eldest son of the preceding
lord, was born in 1210. In 1244, he married Isabel, daughter of Gilbert
de Clare, Earl of Gloucester. Next year he succeeded to Annandale,
and, on his mother's death in 1251, he obtained ten knight's fees in
England, her share of the Earldom of Huntingdon. He took an active
part in public affairs. In 1249-50 he sat as a Justice of the King's
Bench, and in 1268 he became Chief Justice of England, but Edward, on
his accession (1272), did not reappoint him. He served as Sheriff of
Cumberland and Governor of Carlisle Castle in 1254-55, and in 1264 he
fought for Henry at Lewes, and was taken prisoner.
At the same time, de Brus was a prominent figure in the baronage of
Scotland. The alleged arrangement of 1238 whereby Alexander II., with
the consent of the Scots parliament, appointed de Brus his successor in
the event of his dying childless, was frustrated by the King's second
marriage (1239), and the birth of a son, Alexander III. (1241). As one
of the fifteen Regents (1255) during the minority of Alexander III.,
he headed the party that favoured an English alliance, cemented by the
young King's marriage with Margaret, daughter of Henry III. At the
Scone convention on February 5, 1283-84, he was one of the Scots lords
that recognised the right of Margaret of Norway. The sudden death of
Alexander III., however, in March 1285-86, and the helplessness of the
infant Queen, put him on the alert for the chances of his own elevation.
On September 20, 1286, de Brus met a number of his friends at Turnberry
Castle, the residence of his son, the Earl of Carrick. There fourteen
Scots nobles, including de Brus and the Earl of Carrick, joined in a
bond obliging them to give faithful adherence to Richard de Burgh,
Earl of Ulster, and Lord Thomas de Clare (de Brus's brother-in-law),
'in their affairs.' One of the clauses saved the fealty of the parties
to the King of England and to 'him that shall obtain the kingdom of
Scotland through blood-relationship with King Alexander of blessed
memory, according to the ancient customs in the kingdom of Scotland
approved and observed.' The disguise was very thin. The instrument
meant simply that the parties were to act together in support of de
Brus's pretensions to the crown when opportunity should serve. It
'united the chief influence of the West and South of Scotland against
the party of John de Balliol, Lord of Galloway, and the Comyns.' There
need be no difficulty in connecting this transaction with the outbreak
of 1287-88, which devastated Dumfries and Wigton shires. The party of
de Brus took the castles of Dumfries, Buittle and Wigton, killing and
driving out of the country many of the lieges. There remains nothing
to show by what means peace was restored, but it may be surmised that
Edward interfered to restrain his ambitious vassal.
For, by this time, Edward was full of his project for the marriage
of the young Queen with his eldest son, Prince Edward. The Salisbury
convention, at which de Brus was one of the Scottish commissioners,
and the Brigham conference, at which the project was openly declared,
seemed to strike a fatal blow at the aspirations of de Brus. But the
death of the Queen, reported early in October 1290, again opened up a
vista of hope.
When the news arrived, the Scots estates were in session. 'Sir Robert
de Brus, who before did not intend to come to the meeting,' wrote the
Bishop of St Andrews to Edward on October 7, 'came with great power,
to confer with some who were there; but what he intends to do, or
how to act, as yet we know not. But the Earls of Mar and Athol are
collecting their forces, and some other nobles of the land are drawing
to their party.' The Bishop went on to report a 'fear of a general
war,' to recommend Edward to deal wisely with Sir John de Balliol,
and to suggest that he should 'approach the March for the consolation
of the Scots people and the saving of bloodshed.' The alertness of de
Brus and his friends is conspicuously manifest, and the foremost of the
party of Balliol is privately stretching out his hands for the cautious
intervention of the English King.
The Earl of Fife had been assassinated; the Earl of Buchan was dead;
and the remaining four guardians divided their influence, the Bishop of
St Andrews and Sir John Comyn siding with Balliol, and the Bishop of
Glasgow and the Steward of Scotland with de Brus. Fordun thus describes
the balance of parties in the early part of 1291:
The nobles of the kingdom, with its guardians, often-times
discussed among themselves the question who should be made their
king; but they did not make | 312.00508 |
2023-11-16 18:22:15.9962240 | 825 | 12 |
Produced by Donald Lainson
LITTLE RIVERS
A BOOK OF ESSAYS IN PROFITABLE IDLENESS
by Henry Van <DW18>
"And suppose he takes nothing, yet he enjoyeth a delightful walk by
pleasant Rivers, in sweet Pastures, amongst odoriferous Flowers, which
gratifie his Senses, and delight his Mind; which Contentments induce
many (who affect not Angling) to choose those places of pleasure for
their summer Recreation and Health."
COL. ROBERT VENABLES, The Experienc'd Angler, 1662.
DEDICATION
To one who wanders by my side
As cheerfully as waters glide;
Whose eyes are brown as woodland streams,
And very fair and full of dreams;
Whose heart is like a mountain spring,
Whose thoughts like merry rivers sing:
To her--my little daughter Brooke--
I dedicate this little book.
CONTENTS
I. Prelude
II. Little Rivers
III. A Leaf of Spearmint
IV. Ampersand
V. A Handful of Heather
VI. The Ristigouche from a Horse-Yacht
VII. Alpenrosen and Goat's-Milk
VIII. Au Large
IX. Trout-Fishing in the Traun
X. At the sign of the Balsam Bough
XI. A Song after Sundown
PRELUDE
AN ANGLER'S WISH IN TOWN
When tulips bloom in Union Square,
And timid breaths of vernal air
Are wandering down the dusty town,
Like children lost in Vanity Fair;
When every long, unlovely row
Of westward houses stands aglow
And leads the eyes toward sunset skies,
Beyond the hills where green trees grow;
Then weary is the street parade,
And weary books, and weary trade:
I'm only wishing to go a-fishing;
For this the month of May was made.
I guess the pussy-willows now
Are creeping out on every bough
Along the brook; and robins look
For early worms behind the plough.
The thistle-birds have changed their dun
For yellow coats to match the sun;
And in the same array of flame
The Dandelion Show's begun.
The flocks of young anemones
Are dancing round the budding trees:
Who can help wishing to go a-fishing
In days as full of joy as these?
I think the meadow-lark's clear sound
Leaks upward slowly from the ground,
While on the wing the bluebirds ring
Their wedding-bells to woods around:
The flirting chewink calls his dear
Behind the bush; and very near,
Where water flows, where green grass grows,
Song-sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer:"
And, best of all, through twilight's calm
The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm:
How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing
In days so sweet with music's balm!
'Tis not a proud desire of mine;
I ask for nothing superfine;
No heavy weight, no salmon great,
To break the record, or my line:
Only an idle little stream,
Whose amber waters softly gleam,
Where I may wade, through woodland shade,
And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream:
Only a trout or two, to dart
From foaming pools, and try my art:
No more I'm wishing--old-fashioned fishing,
And just a day on Nature's heart.
1894.
LITTLE RIVERS
A river is the most human and | 312.016264 |
2023-11-16 18:22:16.1266060 | 2,174 | 28 |
SOMEBODY'S LITTLE GIRL
by Martha Young
Dedication
To
Two Little Elizabeths:
Elizabeth Young
and
Elizabeth Magruder
SOMEBODY'S LITTLE GIRL
If I were just to tell the things that Bessie Bell remembered I should
tell you some very strange things. Bessie Bell did not know whether
she remembered them, or just knew them, or whether they just grew,
those strange things in some strange country that never was anywhere in
the world; for when Bessie Bell tried to tell about those strange
things great grown wise people said: "No, no, Bessie Bell, there is
nothing in the world like that."
So Bessie Bell just remembered and wondered.
She remembered how somewhere, sometime, there was a window where you
could look out and see everything green, little and green, and always
changing and moving, away, away--beyond everything little, and green,
and moving all the time. But great grown wise folks said: "No, there
is no window in all the world like that."
And once when some one gave Bessie Bell a little round red apple she
caught her breath very quickly and her little heart jumped and then
thumped very loudly (that is the way it seemed to her) and she
remembered: Little apple trees all just alike, and little apple trees
in rows all just alike on top of those and again on top of those until
they came to a great row of big round red apples on top of all.
Rut great grown people said: "No, no, Bessie Bell, there are no apple
trees in all the world like that."
And one time Bessie Bell was at a pretty house and somebody sat her on
a little low chair and said: "Keep still, Bessie Bell."
She kept still so long that at last she began to be afraid to move at
all, and she got afraid even to crook up her little finger for fear it
would pop off loud,--she had kept still so long that all her round
little fingers and her round little legs felt so stiff.
Then one, great grown person said: "She seems a very quiet child." And
the other said: "She is a very quiet child--sometimes."
But just then Bessie Bell turned her head, and though her round little
neck felt stiff it did not pop!--and she saw--something in a corner
that was blue, green, and brown, and soft, and she forgot how afraid to
move she was, and she forgot how stiff she thought she was, and she
forgot how still she was told to be, and she jumped up and ran to the
corner and cried out: "Pretty! Pretty! Pretty!"
One grown person took up the Thing that was blue, and green, and brown,
and soft, and waved it to and fro, to and fro in front of Bessie Bell.
And Bessie Bell clapped her hands, and jumped for joy, and laughed, and
cried: "Boo! boo! boo!"
And Bessie Bell ran right into the Thing that was blue, and green, and
brown, and soft, and she threw out her round little arms and clasped
them about the Thing that was blue, and green, and brown, and soft!
And she pulled it over her face, and she laughed and cried for
joy--because she remembered--
But the great grown person who had brought Bessie Bell to the pretty
house said: "Oh, Bessie Bell! Why, Bessie Bell! For shame, Bessie
Bell! How could you do so to the beautiful peacock-feather-fly-brush!"
So Bessie Bell could only cry--and that very softly--and feel ashamed
as she was bid, and forget what it was that she remembered.
Bessie Bell might have remembered one time when a great house was all
desolate, and when nobody or nothing at all breathed in the whole great
big house, but one little tiny girl and one great big white cat, with
just one black spot on its tail.
The nurse that always had played so nicely with the tiny little girl
was lying with her cheek in her hand over yonder.
The Grandmother who had always talked so much to the tiny little girl
was not talking any more.
The tiny little girl was so sick that she only just could breathe
quickly, just so--and just so--.
If Bessie Bell could remember that, it was only that she remembered the
big white cat like a big soft dream. And she might have remembered
how, now and then, the big cat put out a paw and touched the little
girl's cheek, like a soft white dream-touch.
And that little girl had on a night-gown that was long, and soft, and
white, and on that little white night-gown was worked, oh so carefully,
in linen thread: "Bessie Bell."
Then the few people who walked about the world in Fever-time came in to
that big house, and they took up that little tiny girl that breathed so
softly and so quickly--just so!
And they read on her little white night-gown the words written with the
linen thread: "Bessie Bell."
And they said: "Let us take this little girl with us."
They put a big soft white blanket around the little girl and walked out
of the big house with her, someone carrying her in strong arms.
And the big white cat got down off the big white bed and rubbed himself
against the bedpost, and went round and round the bed-post, and rubbed
himself round and round the bed-post.
And the tiny little girl never saw the big house, or the big soft white
cat any more.
And now when it happened that she remembered something, great grown
people said: "No, no, Bessie Bell, there is nothing in the world like
that."
So she just wondered and remembered, and almost forgot what it was that
she did remember.
* * *
* *
*
Sister Mary Felice had all the little tiny girls playing in the sand:
that was the place that was meant for the little girls to play in.
All the little girls had on blue checked aprons. All the aprons had
straps and buttons behind.
For just one hour every day all the little tiny girls played in the
sand, and while they played Sister Mary Felice sat on a willow-wrought
bench and watched them play.
Then when that hour was exactly passed Sister Angela always came with a
basket of netted canes, an Indian basket, on her arm. In the Indian
basket were little cakes--such nice little cakes--always they had
caraway seeds in them.
One day Sister Mary Felice said: "Sister Angela, did Sister Ignatius
put too many caraway seeds in the cakes this time?"
Sister Angela said: "I think not, Sister Mary Felice. Will you try
one?"
Sister Mary Felice said: "I thank you, Sister Angela."
Then Sister Mary Felice took one to try.
Then always Sister Angela, with the Indian basket on her arm, took all
the little girls to the long back gallery that was latticed in.
On a low shelf close against the lattice sat a row of white basins.
Then all the little tiny girls washed their little tiny hands in the
white basins. And while they washed their little tiny hands by twos
and by threes together, two little girls washing their hands in one
basin together, three little girls washing their hands together, they
all oftentimes laughed together and said:
"Wash together!
And be friends forever!
Wash together!
And be friends forever!"
Then Sister Angela held a long pink checked towel in her hands while
the little tiny girls came as their tiny hands were washed and wiped
them on the pink checked towel.
Then if two little girls took hold of the pink checked towel at once
they both laughed and sang:
"Don't wipe together,
Or we'll fight
Before night."
And the other little girls that were still washing their hands in the
white basins on the low shelf by the back-gallery lattice sang over and
over again:
"Wash together! We'll wash together!
And we'll be happy forever!"
When all the pink clean tiny hands were wiped dry, or as nearly dry as
little girls do wipe tiny pink hands, on the pink checked towel held
for them by Sister Angela, then Sister Angela hung the pink checked
towel on the lowest limb of the arbor-vita tree. Then the little girls
all ran to sit down in a row on the lowest step of the back gallery,
with their little feet on the gravel below. Sister Angela walked the
length of the row, and gave to each little girl in the row a sweet tiny
cake, or maybe Sister Angela walked twice down the row and gave to each
little girl two cakes, or sometimes maybe she walked three times down
the row, and then each little girl had three cakes; but no one little
girl ever had more than every other little girl.
Always Sister Angela sat a little way off from the row of the little
girls. She always sat on a bench under the great magnolia-tree and
watched the tiny girls as they ate their tiny cakes.
And always the pink checked towel waved itself ever so softly to and
fro on the lowest limb of the arbor-vitae-tree, for that was the way
that pink checked towels did to help to dry themselves after helping to
dry so many little pink fingers. Often, so often, little brown
sparrows came hopping to the gravel to pick up any tiny crumbs of cake
that the little girls dropped, but you may be sure that they did not
drop so very many, many little brown crumbs for little brown birds to
find.
But if they were dropped, even if by rare chance were the crumbs so
large as to be nearly as large as half of a cake--why then, that crumb
had to stay for those little birds. It was the law! | 312.146646 |
2023-11-16 18:22:16.5567090 | 3,616 | 42 |
Produced by Norbert H. Langkau, Martin Pettit and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
A VINDICATION OF NATURAL DIET.
BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
A NEW EDITION.
"Our simple life wants little, and true taste
Hires not the pale drudge Luxury to waste
The scene it would adorn, and therefore still
Nature, with all her children, haunts the hill."
_Epipsychidion._
LONDON: F. PITMAN, 20, PATERNOSTER ROW.
MANCHESTER: JOHN HEYWOOD, RIDGEFIELD; AND OFFICES
OF THE VEGETARIAN SOCIETY, 75, PRINCESS STREET.
1884.
PREFATORY NOTICE.
Shelley's "Vindication of Natural Diet" was first written as part of the
notes to "Queen Mab," which was privately issued in 1813. Later in the
same year the "Vindication" was separately published as a pamphlet, and
it is from this later publication that the present reprint is made. The
original pamphlet is now exceedingly scarce, but it is said to have been
reprinted in 1835, as an appendix to an American medical work, the
"Manual on Health," by Dr. Turnbull, of New York. Two copies only are
known to have been preserved of this excessively rare pamphlet, though
possibly others may be hidden in unfrequented libraries and out of the
way country houses. One copy is in the British Museum, and the other is
in the possession of Mr. H. Buxton Forman, who has reprinted it in his
great edition of Shelley, where it forms the opening part of the second
volume of the "Prose Works."
The main object of Shelley's pamphlet was to show that a vegetable diet
is the most _natural_, and therefore the best for mankind. It is not an
appeal to humanitarian sentiment, but an argument based on individual
experience, concerning the intimate connection of health and morality
with food. It has no claim to originality in the arguments adduced; its
materials being avowedly drawn from the works of Dr. Lambe and Mr.
Newton, of whom an account may be read in Mr. Howard Williams' "Catena,"
but the style is Shelley's own, and the pamphlet is in many ways one of
the most interesting and characteristic of his prose works. Perhaps its
most remarkable feature is to be found in the very pertinent remarks as
to the bearing of Vegetarianism on those questions of economy and social
reform, which are now forcing themselves more and more on the attention
of the English people.[1]
At the time of writing his "Vindication of Natural Diet," Shelley had
himself, for some months past, adopted a Vegetarian diet, chiefly, no
doubt, through his intimacy with the Newton family. There seems no
reason to doubt that he continued to practise Vegetarianism during the
rest of his stay in England, that is from 1813 to the spring of 1818.
Leigh Hunt's account of his life at Marlow, in 1817, is as
follows:--"This was the round of his daily life. He was up early,
breakfasted sparingly, wrote this 'Revolt of Islam' all the morning;
went out in his boat, or in the woods, with some Greek author or the
Bible in his hands; came home to a dinner of vegetables (for he took
neither meat nor wine); visited, if necessary, the sick and fatherless,
whom others gave Bibles to and no help; wrote or studied again, or read
to his wife and friends the whole evening; took a crust of bread or a
glass of whey for his supper, and went early to bed."
In 1818, he left England for Italy, and during his last four years, the
most dreamy and speculative period of his life, he seems to have been
less strict in his observance of Vegetarian practice. It is not true
however, as has sometimes been asserted, that Shelley lost faith in the
principles of Vegetarianism; for his change in diet was owing partly to
his well-known carelessness about his food, which became more marked at
this time, and partly to a desire to avoid giving trouble to the other
members of his household, which, as we see from a line in his letter to
Maria Gisborne, written in 1820, "Though we eat little flesh and drink
no wine" was not entirely a Vegetarian one. Yet, even at this period of
his life, he himself was practically, if not systematically, a
Vegetarian, for all his biographers agree in informing us that bread was
literally his "staff of life." We cannot doubt that if he had lived in
the present time he would have taken a leading part in the movement
towards Food Reform. As it is, he has left us an invaluable legacy in
his "Vindication of Natural Diet," perhaps the most powerful and
eloquent plea ever put forward in favour of the Vegetarian cause.
He found in this the presage of his ideal future. To his enthusiastic
faith in the transforming effect of the Vegetarian principle, we owe
some of the finest passages in his poetry. In the close of the eighth
canto of "Queen Mab," we have a picture of a time when man no more
Slays the lamb that looks him in the face.
It is the same ideal of bloodless innocence as that of Israel's
prophet-poet, who declares that in the Holy Mountain they shall not hurt
nor destroy. Never did sage or singer, prophet or priest, or poet, see a
brighter vision of the future than that which is imaged in the
description of a glorified earth, from which cruelty, bloodshed, and
tyranny, have been banished.
"My brethren, we are free! The fruits are glowing
Beneath the stars, and the night-winds are flowing
O'er the ripe corn. The birds and beasts are dreaming.
Never again may blood of bird or beast
Stain with its venomous stream a human feast,
To the pure skies in accusation steaming;
Avenging poisons shall have ceased
To feed disease and fear and madness;
The dwellers of the earth and air
Shall throng around our steps in gladness,
Seeking their food or refuge there.
Our toil from thought all glorious forms shall cull,
To make this earth, our home, more beautiful;
And Science, and her sister Poesy,
Shall clothe in light the fields and cities of the free!"
* * * * *
Over the plain the throngs were scattered then
In groups around the fires, which from the sea
Even to the gorge of the first mountain-glen
Blazed wide and far. The banquet of the free
Was spread beneath many a dark cypress-tree;
Beneath whose spires which swayed in the red flame
Reclining as they ate, of liberty,
And hope, and justice, and Laone's name,
Earth's children did a woof of happy converse frame.
Their feast was such as Earth, the general mother,
Pours from her fairest bosom, when she smiles
In the embrace of Autumn. To each other
As when some parent fondly reconciles
Her warring children, she their wrath beguiles
With her own sustenance; they relenting weep:--
Such was this festival, which, from their isles
And continents and winds and oceans deep,
All shapes might throng to share that fly or walk or creep.
That this was no mere poetic sentiment is proved by this pamphlet, which
is an earnest vindication of Vegetarianism.
H. S. S.
W. E. A. A.
[ORIGINAL TITLE PAGE.]
A VINDICATION OF NATURAL DIET.
BEING ONE IN A SERIES OF NOTES TO QUEEN MAB
(A PHILOSOPHICAL POEM).
[Greek: Iapetionide, panton peri medea eidos,
Chaireis pur klepsas, kai emas phrenas eperopeusas;
Soit' auto mega pema kai andrasin essomenoisi.
Toisd'ego anti puros doso kakon, o ken apantes
Terpontai kata thumon, eon kakon amphagapontes.]
[Greek: ESIOD.] Op. et Dies. 1, 54.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. CALLOW, MEDICAL BOOKSELLER, CROWN COURT,
PRINCE'S STREET, SOHO,
BY SMITH & DAVY, QUEEN STREET, SEVEN DIALS.
1813.
_PRICE ONE SHILLING AND SIXPENCE._
A VINDICATION OF NATURAL DIET.
I hold that the depravity of the physical and moral nature of man
originated in his unnatural habits of life. The origin of man, like that
of the universe of which he is a part, is enveloped in impenetrable
mystery. His generations either had a beginning, or they had not. The
weight of evidence in favour of each of these suppositions seems
tolerably equal; and it is perfectly unimportant to the present argument
which is assumed. The language spoken, however, by the mythology of
nearly all religions seems to prove, that at some distant period man
forsook the path of nature, and sacrificed the purity and happiness of
his being to unnatural appetites. The date of this event seems to have
also been that of some great change in the climates of the earth, with
which it has an obvious correspondence. The allegory of Adam and Eve
eating of the tree of evil, and entailing upon their posterity the wrath
of God, and the loss of everlasting life, admits of no other explanation
than the disease and crime that have flowed from unnatural diet. Milton
was so well aware of this, that he makes Raphael thus exhibit to Adam
the consequence of his disobedience:--
... Immediately a place
Before his eyes appeared: sad, noisome, dark:
A lazar-house it seemed; wherein were laid
Numbers of all diseased: all maladies
Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms
Of heart-sick agony, all feverous kinds,
Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs;
Intestine stone and ulcer, cholic pangs,
Daemoniac frenzy, moping melancholy,
And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy,
Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence,
Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums.
And how many thousands more might not be added to this frightful
catalogue!
The story of Prometheus is one likewise which, although universally
admitted to be allegorical, has never been satisfactorily explained.
Prometheus stole fire from heaven, and was chained for this crime to
Mount Caucasus, where a vulture continually devoured his liver, that
grew to meet its hunger. Hesiod says, that, before the time of
Prometheus, mankind were exempt from suffering; that they enjoyed a
vigorous youth, and that death, when at length it came, approached like
sleep, and gently closed their eyes. Again, so general was this opinion,
that Horace, a poet of the Augustan age, writes:--
Audax omnia perpeti,
Gens humana ruit per vetitum nefas,
Audax Iapeti genus
Ignem fraude mala gentibus intulit,
Post ignem aetherea domo
Subductum, macies et nova febrium
Terris incubuit cohors
Semotique prius tarda necessitas
Lethi corripuit gradum.
How plain a language is spoken by all this. Prometheus (who represents
the human race) effected some great change in the condition of his
nature, and applied fire to culinary purposes; thus inventing an
expedient for screening from his disgust the horrors of the shambles.
From this moment his vitals were devoured by the vulture of disease. It
consumed his being in every shape of its loathsome and infinite variety,
inducing the soul-quelling sinkings of premature and violent death. All
vice arose from the ruin of healthful innocence. Tyranny, superstition,
commerce, and inequality, were then first known, when reason vainly
attempted to guide the wanderings of exacerbated passion. I conclude
this part of the subject with an extract from Mr. Newton's Defence of
Vegetable Regimen, from whom I have borrowed this interpretation of the
fable of Prometheus.
"Making allowance for such transposition of the events of the allegory
as time might produce after the important truths were forgotten, which
this portion of the ancient mythology was intended to transmit, the
drift of the fable seems to be this: Man at his creation was endowed
with the gift of perpetual youth; that is, he was not formed to be a
sickly suffering creature as we now see him, but to enjoy health, and to
sink by slow degrees into the bosom of his parent earth without disease
or pain. Prometheus first taught the use of animal food (primus bovem
occidit Prometheus)[2] and of fire, with which to render it more
digestible and pleasing to the taste. Jupiter, and the rest of the gods,
foreseeing the consequences of these inventions, were amused or
irritated at the short-sighted devices of the newly-formed creature, and
left him to experience the sad effects of them. Thirst, the necessary
concomitant of a flesh diet," (perhaps of all diet vitiated by culinary
preparation) "ensued; water was resorted to, and man forfeited the
inestimable gift of health which he had received from heaven; he became
diseased, the partaker of a precarious existence and no longer descended
slowly to his grave."[3]
But just disease to luxury succeeds,
And every death its own avenger breeds;
The fury passions from that blood began,
And turned on man a fiercer savage--Man.
Man and the animals whom he has infected with his society, or depraved
by his dominion, are alone diseased. The wild hog, the mouflon, the
bison, and the wolf are perfectly exempt from malady, and invariably die
either from external violence or natural old age. But the domestic hog,
the sheep, the cow, and the dog are subject to an incredible variety of
distempers; and, like the corrupters of their nature, have physicians
who thrive upon their miseries. The supereminence of man is like
Satan's, a supereminence of pain; and the majority of his species,
doomed to penury, disease, and crime, have reason to curse the untoward
event that, by enabling him to communicate his sensations, raised him
above the level of his fellow animals. But the steps that have been
taken are irrevocable. The whole of human science is comprised in one
question--How can the advantages of intellect and civilisation be
reconciled with the liberty and pure pleasures of natural life? How can
we take the benefits and reject the evils of the system which is now
interwoven with all the fibres of our being? I believe that abstinence
from animal food and spirituous liquors would in a great measure
capacitate us for the solution of this important question.
Comparative anatomy teaches us that man resembles frugivorous animals in
everything, and carnivorous in nothing: he has neither claws wherewith
to seize his prey, nor distinct and pointed teeth to tear the living
fibre. A mandarin of the first class, with nails two inches long, would
probably find them alone inefficient to hold even a hare. After every
subterfuge of gluttony, the bull must be degraded into the ox, and the
ram into the wether, by an unnatural and inhuman operation, that the
flaccid fibre may offer a fainter resistance to rebellious nature. It is
only by softening and disguising dead flesh by culinary preparation that
it is rendered susceptible of mastication or digestion, and that the
sight of its bloody juices and raw horror does not excite intolerable
loathing and disgust. Let the | 312.576749 |
2023-11-16 18:22:16.6389820 | 825 | 19 |
Produced by Roger Burch with scans from the Internet Archive.
{Transcriber's Note: Quotation marks have been standardized to modern
usage. Footnotes have been placed to immediately follow the paragraphs
referencing them. Transcriber's notes are in curly braces; square brackets
and parentheses indicate original content.}
{Illustration: Frontispiece--Norman B. Wood.}
LIVES of FAMOUS
INDIAN CHIEFS
FROM COFACHIQUI, THE INDIAN PRINCESS, AND
POWHATAN; DOWN TO AND INCLUDING
CHIEF JOSEPH AND GERONIMO.
Also an answer, from the
latest research, of the query,
WHENCE CAME THE INDIAN?
Together with a number
of thrillingly interesting
INDIAN STORIES AND ANECDOTES FROM HISTORY
* * * * *
COPIOUSLY AND SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED, IN PART,
BY OUR SPECIAL ARTIST.
* * * * *
By
NORMAN B. WOOD
Historian, Lecturer, and Author of "The White Side of a Black Subject" (out
of print after twelve editions) and "A New <DW64> for a New Century,"
which has reached a circulation of nearly a _hundred thousand copies._
{Illustration: Two Indians in a canoe.}
PUBLISHED BY
AMERICAN INDIAN HISTORICAL PUBLISHING COMPANY
Brady Block, Aurora, Ill.
Copyrighted in 1906 by American Indian Historical Publishing Co.,
Aurora, Illinois.
* * * * *
All rights of every kind reserved.
{Illustration: seal.}
PRINTING AND BINDING BY THE HENRY O. SHEPARD CO.
ENGRAVING BY THE INLAND-WALTON CO.
CHICAGO.
TO
THEODORE ROOSEVELT,
PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES,
Who has observed closely and recorded justly the
character of the Red Man, and who, in the words
of Chief Quanah Parker, "is the Indian's President
as well as the white man's," this volume is respectfully
dedicated by
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS
* * * * *
page
Introduction, 11
CHAPTER I.
Cofachiqui, The Indian Princess, 21
CHAPTER II.
Powhatan, or Wah-Un-So-Na-Cook, 41
CHAPTER III.
Massasoit, The Friend of the Puritans, 65
CHAPTER IV.
King Philip, or Metacomet, The Last of the Wampanoaghs, 85
CHAPTER V.
Pontiac, The Red Napoleon, Head Chief of the Ottawas and
Organizer of the First Great Indian Confederation, 121
CHAPTER VI.
Logan, or Tal-Ga-Yee-Ta, The Cayuga (Mingo) Chief, Orator
and Friend of the White Man. Also a Brief Sketch of
Cornstalk, 173
CHAPTER VII.
Captain Joseph Brant, or Thay-En-Da-Ne-Gea, Principal
Sachem of the Mohawks and Head Chief of the Iroquois
Confederation, 191
CHAPTER VIII.
Red Jacket, or Sa-Go-Ye-Wat-Ha, "The Keeper Awake." The
Indian Demosthenes, Chief of the Senecas, 237
CHAPTER IX.
Little Turtle, or Michikiniqua, War Chief of the Miamis, and
Conqueror of Harmar and St. | 312.659022 |
2023-11-16 18:22:40.2052910 | 10 | 10 |
Produced by Denis Pronovost, | 336.225331 |
2023-11-16 18:22:40.5780860 | 2,297 | 31 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE DEMAGOGUE AND LADY PHAYRE
By William J. Locke
London: John Lane, The Bodley Head New York
Third Edition
1911
[Illustration: 0009]
THE DEMAGOGUE AND LADY PHAYRE
CHAPTER I--THE ETERNAL FEMININE
“If you are coming my way, Goddard, we may as well walk back
together,” said the Member, putting on his fur-lined coat.
Mr. Aloysius Gleam, member for Sunington, was a spare, precisely dressed
little man on the hither side of forty. He was somewhat bald, and
clean-shaven all to a tightly-screwed fair moustache. A gold-rimmed
eye-glass added a quaint air of alertness to a shrewd, sharp-featured
face.
Goddard acquiesced readily, although on this particular evening his
road lay in a different direction. But democrat though he was, he felt
flattered by Mr. Gleam’s friendly proposal. He was young--eight
and twenty, a cabinetmaker by trade, self-taught and consequently
self-opinionated, yet humble enough before evident superiority of
knowledge or experience. Besides, in coming to take the chair at his
lecture on The New Trades Unionism, before the Sunington Radical Club,
the Member had paid him a decided compliment. A member of Parliament has
many pleasanter and more profitable ways of spending a precious spare
evening during a busy session.
They formed a singular contrast as they stood side by side in the little
knot of committee-men who had remained behind after the audience had
left. Goddard was above the middle height, squarely built, deep-chested,
large-limbed; his decent workman’s clothes hung loosely upon him. His
features were dark and massive, chin and forehead square, nose somewhat
fleshy, mouth shutting stubbornly with folds at the sides; the lip, on
which, like the rest of his face, no hair grew, rather long; altogether
it was a powerful face, showing a nature capable of strong passions both
for good and evil. The accident of straight black hair generally falling
across his forehead, and a humorous setting of his eyes, relieved the
face of harshness. At the present moment it was alive with the frankness
of youth, and flushed with the success that had attended his lecture.
The group walked slowly down the hall through the chairs, and lingered
for a moment at the clubhouse door. It was a new quarter of London. Mr.
Aloysius Gleam had lived in the neighbourhood most of his life, and had
seen it spring up from fields and market-gardens into a bustling town,
with arteries fed from the life-stream of Oxford Street and the Strand.
Its development had been dear to him. There was strong local feeling,
and he was deservedly popular. It was therefore some time before he
could break away from his supporters. At last he did so, and started
with Goddard at a brisk pace up the High Street.
“I have been wondering,” he said, after a short silence, “whether you
would care to take to politics seriously.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m playing at it,” replied Goddard.
“Tut! don’t be so confoundedly touchy,” said Gleam good-humouredly. “By
‘seriously’ I meant entirely, professionally. Would you like to devote
all your time to the work?”
“I should think I would,” replied Goddard quickly; “but I can’t. I have
my bread and butter to earn. I don’t quite see why you ask me.”
“Would you accept a position if your bread and butter were assured to
you?”
“As a paid agitator? Oh no, thanks! I couldn’t stand that. Work of that
sort must be given, not sold.”
“That’s rubbish,” said the Member lightly. “The labourer is worthy of
his hire. The notion is as cranky as Tolstoi’s.”
“It isn’t,” said Goddard. “The paid agitator is a fraud. He pretends to
be a working-man and he isn’t. When I address a crowd I can say, ‘I am
one of yourselves, the real thing. I belong to the Amalgamated Union of
Cabinetmakers, and earn my forty bob a week with the work of my hands.’
Men listen to me, and respect me. What I could not swallow would be for
a fellow to get up and tell me, ‘It’s all very well for you to talk; but
you’re paid for talking, and make a jolly good thing of it. Instead of
helping the working-man, you are simply growing fat on the working-man’s
hard-earned money.’ I’ve heard that said to paid agitators myself.”
“Well, who said I wanted you to become a paid agitator?” asked Gleam.
“I don’t want you to stand on a barrel and address people as
‘fellow-sufferers.’ You are a cut above that kind of thing. What I
wanted to propose to you was work on our new National Progressive
League. Of course, scores of men are giving their services; but they are
men of a certain amount of leisure. They can afford it. The working-man
has no leisure to speak of, and we would give anything for the services
of a few well-educated, clearheaded working-men like yourself. We could
manage three pounds a week--perhaps more. Well, there’s a chance for
you.”
Goddard walked on a few steps in silence. He was young, earnest, a
passionate champion of the great questions on the Progressive programme.
He felt in himself a power to grip the attention of men. He had dreamed
vague dreams of personal ambition. Gleam’s offer was a great temptation.
But the consciousness that it was a temptation made him adhere all the
more obstinately to his principles.
“You are very kind,” he said at last, “and I am flattered by your
opinion of me. But I shouldn’t feel justified in giving up my trade: it
wouldn’t seem right.”
“Well, do as you like, my good fellow,” replied the Member cheerily.
“But I think you’re a bit of an idiot. You’ll find a thousand first-rate
cabinetmakers for one competent politician. Anyhow, if you change your
mind----”
“I don’t like changing my mind,” returned Goddard, with a laugh, “as if
it were a shirt.”
“We are none of us infallible, not even the youngest,” quoted the Member
below his breath.
But, taking a broad view of youth, he forbore to rebuke the young
man, and turned the conversation upon certain points in the recently
delivered lecture. When he reached his turning he shook hands and
disappeared.
Goddard looked at his watch, and gave a little whistle of dismay. An
omnibus from the west lumbered up. Goddard climbed on to the roof, and
returned down the High Street. At the “Golden Stag,” where the ’bus
route ended, he descended, and proceeded almost at a run down some
side streets and lanes, and eventually knocked at a door in a row of
workmen’s cottages.
“Well, you _are_ late,” said a girl who opened the door to him. “I’ve
been waiting with my ’at on for the last three-quarters of an hour.
No; you ain’t going to kiss me. If you’d wanted to do that, you’d have
found your way here before.”
“I’ve come as fast as I could, Lizzie,” said the young man, somewhat out
of breath. “But I went back part of the way with Mr. Gleam, who wanted
to speak to me.”
“That’s all very fine,” said Lizzie. “But I think I count for
something.”
She led the way into a little front room, where a couple of girls were
busy with dressmaking. One of them was bending over a sewing-machine.
Bits of stuff and patterns littered the table. A few spotted
fashion-plates adorned the walls. The air was heavy with the smell of
new mercery.
“Here’s Dan at last!” said Lizzie. “It’s only a case of how d’ye do and
good-bye. These are my two cousins. This one’s Emily, and that’s Sophie.
Oh, look at the clock! It _is_ a shaime!” Goddard shook hands with the
two cousins of his affianced--pale, anemic girls, who giggled a little,
while Lizzie saw to the straightness of her hat in the gilt mirror over
the mantelpiece. When that was done, she admired herself for a moment.
She was pretty--with the devil’s prettiness; fluffy fair hair, a pink
complexion and small, watery blue eyes--a poetic but discarded admirer
had termed them “liquid azure,” which had pleased her mightily. Her
mouth had a ripe way of pouting that took the edge off tart speeches, at
any-rate in a lover’s opinion, but otherwise it was loose and devoid of
character.
“I can’t let him stop to talk,” she said, turning to her cousins.
“Father’ll be in an awful stew. I’ll bring him round another day.”
“If he’ll come,” said Emily, the elder of the two.
“Oh, of course I will,” said Goddard. “I’m very pleased to make your
acquaintance.”
He was feeling, somewhat abashed amid these feminine surroundings, and
laughed awkwardly. When the door closed behind Lizzie and himself he was
relieved.
“I hope you are not vexed with me, Lizzie,” he said humbly. “I really
did not know it was so late.”
“It’s no use talking about it,” said Lizzie in an injured tone. “But
just let me keep you waiting, and see how you’d like it.”
However, after a time, Lizzie was mollified, and in token thereof drew
Daniel’s arm, correctly loverwise, within her own.
“The lecture was a great success,” he said at length. “Many more people
than I had expected. I wish you had been there. Only they don’t admit
ladies.”
“What was it about? Politics, wasn’t it?”
“Yes--broadly speaking. Strictly it was on the New Trades Unionism. I
traced its development, you know, showing how the spirit has changed.
The Old Trades Unions were intensely jealous of State interference,
| 336.598126 |
2023-11-16 18:22:40.8346490 | 405 | 7 |
Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Music
transcribed by June Troyer.
THE
NURSERY
_A Monthly Magazine_
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
VOLUME XXIX.--No. 3.
BOSTON:
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
NO. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.
1881.
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
[Illustration: JOHN WILSON
& SON.
UNIVERSITY PRESS.]
[Illustration: Contents.]
IN PROSE.
PAGE
Telling a Story 65
Turtles 71
Feeding the Swans in Winter 72
Two Friends 74
The Swallows' Nest 76
Drawing-Lesson 81
The Faithful Sentinel 86
Bruce and Old Sheepy 88
Elfrida's Present 92
"Parley-voo" 93
IN VERSE.
PAGE
To the Snowdrop 69
Rather Bashful 72
Bird, Lamb, Baby 75
The Gentleman in Gray 78
The Little Scholars 80
The Three Dolls 82
"Right of Way" 91
Winter (_with music_) 96
[Illustration: VOL. XXIX.--NO. 3.]
TELLING A STORY.
DREAR and cold is the winter outside; but within
there is a bright fire on the hearth. Jane and
Susie, and Charles and John, and their elder | 336.854689 |
2023-11-16 18:22:40.9262100 | 4,631 | 433 |
Transcribed by David Price, email [email protected]
THE SAINT'S TRAGEDY
PREFACE BY THE REV. F. D. MAURICE, M.A. (1848)
The writer of this play does not differ with his countrymen
generally, as to the nature and requirements of a Drama. He has
learnt from our Great Masters that it should exhibit human beings
engaged in some earnest struggle, certain outward aspects of which
may possibly be a spectacle for the amusement of idlers, but which
in itself is for the study and the sympathy of those who are
struggling themselves. A Drama, he feels, should not aim at the
inculcation of any definite maxim; the moral of it lies in the
action and the character. It must be drawn out of them by the heart
and experience of the reader, not forced upon him by the author.
The men and women whom he presents are not to be his spokesmen; they
are to utter themselves freely in such language, grave or mirthful,
as best expresses what they feel and what they are. The age to
which they belong is not to be contemplated as if it were apart from
us; neither is it to be measured by our rules; to be held up as a
model; to be condemned for its strangeness. The passions which
worked in it must be those which are working in ourselves. To the
same eternal laws and principles are we, and it, amenable. By
beholding these a poet is to raise himself, and may hope to raise
his readers, above antiquarian tastes and modern conventions. The
unity of the play cannot be conferred upon it by any artificial
arrangements; it must depend upon the relation of the different
persons and events to the central subject. No nice adjustments of
success and failure to right and wrong must constitute its poetical
justice; the conscience of the readers must be satisfied in some
deeper way than this, that there is an order in the universe, and
that the poet has perceived and asserted it.
Long before these principles were reduced into formal canons of
orthodoxy, even while they encountered the strong opposition of
critics, they were unconsciously recognised by Englishmen as sound
and national. Yet I question whether a clergyman writing in
conformity with them might not have incurred censure in former
times, and may not incur it now. The privilege of expressing his
own thoughts, sufferings, sympathies, in any form of verse is easily
conceded to him; if he liked to use a dialogue instead of a
monologue, for the purpose of enforcing a duty, or illustrating a
doctrine, no one would find fault with him; if he produced an actual
Drama for the purpose of defending or denouncing a particular
character, or period, or system of opinions, the compliments of one
party might console him for the abuse or contempt of another.
But it seems to be supposed that he is bound to keep in view one or
other of these ends: to divest himself of his own individuality
that he may enter into the working of other spirits; to lay aside
the authority which pronounces one opinion, or one habit of mind, to
be right and another wrong, that he may exhibit them in their actual
strife; to deal with questions, not in an abstract shape, but mixed
up with the affections, passions, relations of human creatures, is a
course which must lead him, it is thought, into a great
forgetfulness of his office, and of all that is involved in it.
No one can have less interest than I have in claiming poetical
privileges for the clergy; and no one, I believe, is more thoroughly
convinced that the standard which society prescribes for us, and to
which we ordinarily conform ourselves, instead of being too severe
and lofty, is far too secular and grovelling. But I apprehend the
limitations of this kind which are imposed upon us are themselves
exceedingly secular, betokening an entire misconception of the
nature of our work, proceeding from maxims and habits which tend to
make it utterly insignificant and abortive. If a man confines
himself to the utterance of his own experiences, those experiences
are likely to become every day more narrow and less real. If he
confines himself to the defence of certain propositions, he is sure
gradually to lose all sense of the connection between those
propositions and his own life, or the life of man. In either case
he becomes utterly ineffectual as a teacher. Those whose education
and character are different from his own, whose processes of mind
have therefore been different, are utterly unintelligible to him.
Even a cordial desire for sympathy is not able to break through the
prickly hedge of habits, notions, and technicalities which separates
them. Oftentimes the desire itself is extinguished in those who
ought to cherish it most, by the fear of meeting with something
portentous or dangerous. Nor can he defend a dogma better than he
communes with men; for he knows not that which attacks it. He
supposes it to be a set of book arguments, whereas it is something
lying very deep in the heart of the disputant, into which he has
never penetrated.
Hence there is a general complaint that we 'are ignorant of the
thoughts and feelings of our contemporaries'; most attribute this to
a fear of looking below the surface, lest we should find hollowness
within; many like to have it so, because they have thus an excuse
for despising us. But surely such an ignorance is more inexcusable
in us, than in the priests of any nation: we, less than any, are
kept from the sun and air; our discipline is less than any contrived
merely to make us acquainted with the commonplaces of divinity. We
are enabled, nay, obliged, from our youth upwards, to mix with
people of our own age, who are destined for all occupations and
modes of life; to share in their studies, their enjoyments, their
perplexities, their temptations. Experience, often so dearly
bought, is surely not meant to be thrown away: whether it has been
obtained without the sacrifice of that which is most precious, or
whether the lost blessing has been restored twofold, and good is
understood, not only as the opposite of evil, but as the deliverance
from it, we cannot be meant to forget all that we have been
learning. The teachers of other nations may reasonably mock us, as
having less of direct book-lore than themselves; they should not be
able to say, that we are without the compensation of knowing a
little more of living creatures.
A clergyman, it seems to me, should be better able than other men to
cast aside that which is merely accidental, either in his own
character, or in the character of the age to which he belongs, and
to apprehend that which is essential and eternal. His acceptance of
fixed creeds, which belong as much to one generation as another, and
which have survived amid all changes and convulsions, should raise
him especially above the temptation to exalt the fashion of his own
time, or of any past one; above the affectation of the obsolete,
above slavery to the present, and above that strange mixture of both
which some display, who weep because the beautiful visions of the
Past are departed, and admire themselves for being able to weep over
them--and dispense with them. His reverence for the Bible should
make him feel that we most realise our own personality when we most
connect it with that of our fellow-men; that acts are not to be
contemplated apart from the actor; that more of what is acceptable
to the God of Truth may come forth in men striving with infinite
confusion, and often uttering words like the east-wind, than in
those who can discourse calmly and eloquently about a righteousness
and mercy, which they know only by hearsay. The belief which a
minister of God has in the eternity of the distinction between right
and wrong should especially dispose him to recognise that
distinction apart from mere circumstance and opinion. The
confidence which he must have that the life of each man, and the
life of this world, is a drama, in which a perfectly Good and True
Being is unveiling His own purposes, and carrying on a conflict with
evil, which must issue in complete victory, should make him eager to
discover in every portion of history, in every biography, a divine
'Morality' and 'Mystery'--a morality, though it deals with no
abstract personages--a mystery, though the subject of it be the
doings of the most secular men.
The subject of this Play is certainly a dangerous one, it suggests
questions which are deeply interesting at the present time. It
involves the whole character and spirit of the Middle Ages. A
person who had not an enthusiastic admiration for the character of
Elizabeth would not be worthy to speak of her; it seems to me, that
he would be still less worthy, if he did not admire far more
fervently that ideal of the female character which God has
established, and not man--which she imperfectly realised--which
often exhibited itself in her in spite of her own more confused,
though apparently more lofty, ideal; which may be manifested more
simply, and therefore more perfectly, in the England of the
nineteenth century, than in the Germany of the thirteenth. To enter
into the meaning of self-sacrifice--to sympathise with any one who
aims at it--not to be misled by counterfeits of it--not to be unjust
to the truth which may be mixed with those counterfeits--is a
difficult task, but a necessary one for any one who takes this work
in hand. How far our author has attained these ends, others must
decide. I am sure that he will not have failed from forgetting
them. He has, I believe, faithfully studied all the documents of
the period within his reach, making little use of modern narratives;
he has meditated upon the past in its connection with the present;
has never allowed his reading to become dry by disconnecting it with
what he has seen and felt, or made his partial experiences a measure
for the acts which they help him to understand. He has entered upon
his work at least in a true and faithful spirit, not regarding it as
an amusement for leisure hours, but as something to be done
seriously, if done at all; as if he was as much 'under the Great
Taskmaster's eye' in this as in any other duty of his calling. In
certain passages and scenes he seemed to me to have been a little
too bold for the taste and temper of this age. But having written
them deliberately, from a conviction that morality is in peril from
fastidiousness, and that it is not safe to look at questions which
are really agitating people's hearts merely from the outside--he
has, and I believe rightly, retained what I should from cowardice
have wished him to exclude. I have no doubt, that any one who wins
a victory over the fear of opinion, and especially over the opinion
of the religious world, strengthens his own moral character, and
acquires a greater fitness for his high service.
Whether Poetry is again to revive among us, or whether the power is
to be wholly stifled by our accurate notions about the laws and
conditions under which it is to be exercised, is a question upon
which there is room for great differences of opinion. Judging from
the past, I should suppose that till Poetry becomes less self-
conscious, less self-concentrated, more _dramatical_ in spirit, if
not in form, it will not have the qualities which can powerfully
affect Englishmen. Not only were the Poets of our most national age
dramatists, but there seems an evident dramatical tendency in those
who wrote what we are wont to call narrative, or epic, poems. Take
away the dramatic faculty from Chaucer, and the Canterbury Tales
become indeed, what they have been most untruly called, mere
versions of French or Italian Fables. Milton may have been right in
changing the form of the Paradise Lost,--we are bound to believe
that he was right; for what appeal can there be against his genius?
But he could not destroy the essentially dramatic character of a
work which sets forth the battle between good and evil, and the Will
of Man at once the Theatre and the Prize of the conflict. Is it not
true, that there is in the very substance of the English mind, that
which naturally predisposes us to sympathy with the Drama, and this
though we are perhaps the most untheatrical of all people? The love
of action, the impatience of abstraction, the equity which leads us
to desire that every one may have a fair hearing, the reserve which
had rather detect personal experience than have it announced--
tendencies all easily perverted to evil, often leading to results
the most contradictory, yet capable of the noblest cultivation--seem
to explain the fact, that writers of this kind should have
flourished so greatly among us, and that scarcely any others should
permanently interest us.
These remarks do not concern poetical literature alone, or chiefly.
Those habits of mind, of which I have spoken, ought to make us the
best _historians_. If Germany has a right to claim the whole realm
of the abstract, if Frenchmen understand the framework of society
better than we do, there is in the national dramas of Shakespeare an
historical secret, which neither the philosophy of the one nor the
acute observation of the other can discover. Yet these dramas are
almost the only satisfactory expression of that historical faculty
which I believe is latent in us. The zeal of our factions, a result
of our national activity, has made earnest history dishonest: our
English justice has fled to indifferent and sceptical writers for
the impartiality which it sought in vain elsewhere. This resource
has failed,--the indifferentism of Hume could not secure him against
his Scotch prejudices, or against gross unfairness when anything
disagreeably positive and vehement came in his way. Moreover, a
practical people demand movement and life, not mere judging and
balancing. For a time there was a reaction in favour of party
history, but it could not last long; already we are glad to seek in
Ranke or Michelet that which seems denied us at home. Much, no
doubt, may be gained from such sources; but I am convinced that
_this_ is not the produce which we are meant generally to import;
for this we may trust to well-directed native industry. The time
is, I hope, at hand, when those who are most in earnest will feel
that therefore they are most bound to be just--when they will
confess the exceeding wickedness of the desire to distort or
suppress a fact, or misrepresent a character--when they will ask as
solemnly to be delivered from the temptation to this, as to any
crime which is punished by law.
The clergy ought especially to lead the way in this reformation.
They have erred grievously in perverting history to their own
purposes. What was a sin in others was in them a blasphemy, because
they professed to acknowledge God as the Ruler of the world, and
hereby they showed that they valued their own conclusions above the
facts which reveal His order. They owe, therefore, a great amende
to their country, and they should consider seriously how they can
make it most effectually. I look upon this Play as an effort in
this direction, which I trust may be followed by many more. On this
ground alone, even if its poetical worth was less than I believe it
is, I should, as a clergyman, be thankful for its publication.
F. D. M.
INTRODUCTION
The story which I have here put into a dramatic form is one familiar
to Romanists, and perfectly and circumstantially authenticated.
Abridged versions of it, carefully softened and sentimentalised, may
be read in any Romish collection of Lives of the Saints. An
enlarged edition has been published in France, I believe by Count
Montalembert, and translated, with illustrations, by an English
gentleman, which admits certain miraculous legends, of later date,
and, like other prodigies, worthless to the student of human
character. From consulting this work I have hitherto abstained, in
order that I might draw my facts and opinions, entire and unbiassed,
from the original Biography of Elizabeth, by Dietrich of Appold, her
contemporary, as given entire by Canisius.
Dietrich was born in Thuringia, near the scene of Elizabeth's
labours, a few years before her death; had conversed with those who
had seen her, and calls to witness 'God and the elect angels,' that
he had inserted nothing but what he had either understood from
religious and veracious persons, or read in approved writings, viz.
'The Book of the Sayings of Elizabeth's Four Ladies (Guta,
Isentrudis, and two others)'; 'The Letter which Conrad of Marpurg,
her Director, wrote to Pope Gregory the Ninth' (these two documents
still exist); 'The Sermon of Otto' (de Ordine Praedic), which begins
thus: 'Mulierem fortem.'
'Not satisfied with these,' he 'visited monasteries, castles, and
towns, interrogated the most aged and veracious persons, and wrote
letters, seeking for completeness and truth in all things;' and thus
composed his biography, from which that in Surius (Acta Sanctorum),
Jacobus de Voragine, Alban Butler, and all others which I have seen,
are copied with a very few additions and many prudent omissions.
Wishing to adhere strictly to historical truth, I have followed the
received account, not only in the incidents, but often in the
language which it attributes to its various characters; and have
given in the Notes all necessary references to the biography in
Canisius's collection. My part has therefore been merely to show
how the conduct of my heroine was not only possible, but to a
certain degree necessary, for a character of earnestness and piety
such as hers, working under the influences of the Middle Age.
In deducing fairly, from the phenomena of her life, the character of
Elizabeth, she necessarily became a type of two great mental
struggles of the Middle Age; first, of that between Scriptural or
unconscious, and Popish or conscious, purity: in a word, between
innocence and prudery; next, of the struggle between healthy human
affection, and the Manichean contempt with which a celibate clergy
would have all men regard the names of husband, wife, and parent.
To exhibit this latter falsehood in its miserable consequences, when
received into a heart of insight and determination sufficient to
follow out all belief to its ultimate practice, is the main object
of my Poem. That a most degrading and agonising contradiction on
these points must have existed in the mind of Elizabeth, and of all
who with similar characters shall have found themselves under
similar influences, is a necessity that must be evident to all who
know anything of the deeper affections of men. In the idea of a
married Romish saint, these miseries should follow logically from
the Romish view of human relations. In Elizabeth's case their
existence is proved equally logically from the acknowledged facts of
her conduct.
I may here observe, that if I have in no case made her allude to the
Virgin Mary, and exhibited the sense of infinite duty and loyalty to
Christ alone, as the mainspring of all her noblest deeds, it is
merely in accordance with Dietrich's biography. The omission of all
Mariolatry is remarkable. My business is to copy that omission, as
I should in the opposite case have copied the introduction of
Virgin-worship into the original tale. The business of those who
make Mary, to women especially, the complete substitute for the
Saviour--I had almost said, for all Three Persons of the Trinity--is
to explain, if they can, her non-appearance in this case.
Lewis, again, I have drawn as I found him, possessed of all virtues
but those of action; in knowledge, in moral courage, in spiritual
attainment, infinitely inferior to his wife, and depending on her to
be taught to pray; giving her higher faculties nothing to rest on in
himself, and leaving the noblest offices of a husband to be supplied
by a spiritual director. He thus becomes a type of the husbands of
the Middle Age, and of the woman-worship of chivalry. Woman-
worship, 'the honour due to the weaker vessel,' is indeed of God,
and woe to the nation and to the man in whom it dies. But in the
Middle Age, this feeling | 336.94625 |
2023-11-16 18:22:40.9695750 | 7,436 | 56 |
Produced by Mary Meehan and The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE CAPTAIN OF THE GRAY-HORSE TROOP
By HAMLIN GARLAND
SUNSET EDITION
HARPER & BROTHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1901. BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
COPYRIGHT 1902. BY HAMLIN GARLAND
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
I. A CAMP IN THE SNOW
II. THE STREETER GUN-RACK
III. CURTIS ASSUMES CHARGE OF THE AGENT
IV. THE BEAUTIFUL ELSIE BEE BEE
V. CAGED EAGLES
VI. CURTIS SEEKS A TRUCE
VII. ELSIE RELENTS A LITTLE
VIII. CURTIS WRITES A LONG LETTER
IX. CALLED TO WASHINGTON
X. CURTIS AT HEADQUARTERS
XI. CURTIS GRAPPLES WITH BRISBANE
XII. SPRING ON THE ELK
XIII. ELSIE PROMISES TO RETURN
XIV. ELSIE REVISITS CURTIS
XV. ELSIE ENTERS HER STUDIO
XVI. THE CAMP AMONG THE ROSES
XVII. A FLUTE, A DRUM, AND A MESSAGE
XVIII. ELSIE'S ANCIENT LOVE AFFAIR
XIX. THE SHERIFF'S MOB
XX. FEMININE STRATEGY
XXI. IN STORMY COUNCILS
XXII. A COUNCIL AT NIGHT
XXIII. THE RETURN OF THE MOB
XXIV. THE GRAY-HORSE TROOP
XXV. AFTER THE STRUGGLE
XXVI. THE WARRIOR PROCLAIMS HIMSELF
XXVII. BRISBANE COMES FOR ELSIE
XXVIII. A WALK IN THE STARLIGHT
XXIX. ELSIE WARNS CURTIS
XXX. THE CAPTURE OF THE MAN
XXXI. OUTWITTING THE SHERIFF
XXXII. AN EVENTFUL NIGHT
XXXIII. ELSIE CONFESSES HER LOVE
XXXIV. SEED-TIME
XXXV. THE BATTLE WITH THE WEEDS
XXXVI. THE HARVEST-HOME
XXXVII. THE MINGLING OF THE OLD AND THE NEW
THE CAPTAIN OF THE GRAY-HORSE TROOP
I
A CAMP IN THE SNOW
Winter in the upper heights of the Bear Tooth Range is a glittering
desolation of snow with a flaming blue sky above. Nothing moves, nothing
utters a sound, save the cony at the mouth of the spiral shaft, which
sinks to his deeply buried den in the rocks. The peaks are like marble
domes, set high in the pathway of the sun by day and thrust amid the
stars by night. The firs seem hopeless under their ever-increasing
burdens. The streams are silenced--only the wind is abroad in the waste,
the tireless, pitiless wind, fanged like ingratitude, insatiate as fire.
But it is beautiful, nevertheless, especially of a clear dawn, when the
shadows are vividly purple and each rime-wreathed summit is smit with
ethereal fire, and each eastern <DW72> is resplendent as a high-way of
powdered diamonds--or at sunset, when the high crests of the range stand
like flaming mile-stones leading to the Celestial City, and the lakes
are like pools of pure gold caught in a robe of green velvet. Yet always
this land demands youth and strength in its explorer.
King Frost's dominion was already complete over all the crests, over
timber-line, when young Captain Curtis set out to cross the divide which
lay between Lake Congar and Fort Sherman--a trip to test the virtue of a
Sibley tent and the staying qualities of a mountain horse.
Bennett, the hairy trapper at the head of the lake, advised against it.
"The snow is soft--I reckon you better wait a week."
But Curtis was a seasoned mountaineer and took pride in assaulting the
stern barrier. "Besides, my leave of absence is nearly up," he said to
the trapper.
"Well, you're the doctor," the old trapper replied. "Good luck to ye,
Cap."
It was sunrise of a crisp, clear autumn morning when they started, and
around them the ground was still bare, but by noon they were wallowing
mid-leg deep in new-fallen snow. Curtis led the way on foot--his own
horse having been packed to relieve the burdens of the others--while
Sergeant Pierce, resolute and uncomplaining, brought up the rear.
"We must camp beside the sulphur spring to-night," Curtis said, as they
left timber-line and entered upon the bleak, wind-swept <DW72>s of
Grizzly Bear.
"Very well, sir," Pierce cheerily replied, and till three o'clock they
climbed steadily towards the far-off glacial heights, the drifts ever
deepening, the cold ever intensifying. They had eaten no food since
dawn, and the horses were weak with hunger and weariness as they topped
the divide and looked down upon the vast eastern <DW72>. The world before
them seemed even more inhospitable and wind-swept than the land they had
left below them to the west. The air was filled with flying frost, the
sun was weak and pale, and the plain was only a pale-blue sea far, far
below to the northeast. The wind blew through the pass with terrible
force, and the cold nipped every limb like a famishing white wolf.
"There is the sulphur spring, sir," said Pierce, pointing towards a
delicate strand of steam which rose from a clump of pines in the second
basin beneath them.
"Quite right, sergeant, and we must make that in an hour. I'd like to
take an observation here, but I reckon we'd better slide down to camp
before the horses freeze."
The dry snow, sculptured by the blast in the pass, made the threadlike
path an exceedingly elusive line to keep, and trailing narrowed to a
process of feeling with the feet; but Curtis set his face resolutely
into the northeast wind and led the way down the gulch. For the first
half-mile the little pack-train crawled slowly and hesitatingly, like a
bewildered worm, turning and twisting, retracing its way, circling huge
bowlders, edging awful cliffs, slipping, stumbling, but ever moving,
ever descending; and, at last, while yet the sun's light glorified the
icy kings behind them, the Captain drew into the shelter of the clump of
pines from which the steam of the warm spring rose like a chimney's
cheery greeting.
"Whoa, boys!" called Curtis, and with a smile at Pierce, added, "Here we
are, home again!"
It was not a cheerful place to spend the night, for even at this level
the undisturbed snow lay full twelve inches deep and the pines were
bowed with the weight of it, and as the sun sank the cold deepened to
zero point; but the sergeant drew off his gloves and began to free the
horses from their packs quite as if these were the usual conditions of
camping.
"Better leave the blankets on," remarked the young officer. "They'll
need 'em for warmth."
The sergeant saluted and continued his work, deft and silent, while
Curtis threw up a little tent on a cleared spot and banked it snugly
with snow. In a very short time a fire was blazing and some coffee
boiling. The two men seemed not to regard the cold or the falling night,
except in so far as the wind threatened the horses.
"It's hard luck on them," remarked Curtis, as they were finishing their
coffee in the tent; "but it is unavoidable. I don't think it safe to try
to go down that slide in the dusk. Do you?"
"It's dangerous at any time, sir, and with our horses weak as they are,
it sure would be taking chances."
"We'll make Tom Skinner's by noon to-morrow, and be out of the snow,
probably." The young soldier put down his tin cup and drew a map from
his pocket. "Hold a light, sergeant; I want to make some notes before I
forget them."
While the sergeant held a candle for him, Curtis rapidly traced with a
soft pencil a few rough lines upon the map. "That settles that
water-shed question;" he pointed with his pencil. "Here is the dividing
wall, not over there where Lieutenant Crombie drew it. Nothing is more
deceptive than the relative heights of ranges. Well, now take a last
look at the horses," he said, putting away his pencil, "and I'll unroll
our blankets."
As they crawled into their snug sleeping-bags Curtis said again, with a
sigh, "I'm sorry for the ponies."
"They'll be all right now, Captain; they've got something in their
stomachs. If a cayuse has any fuel in him he's like an engine--he'll
keep warm," and so silence fell on them, and in the valley the cold
deepened till the rocks and the trees cried out in the rigor of their
resistance.
The sun was filling the sky with an all-pervading crimson-and-orange
mist when the sergeant crawled out of his snug nest and started a fire.
The air was perfectly still, but the frost gripped each limb with
benumbing fury. The horses, with blankets awry, stood huddled close
together in the shelter of the pines not far away. As the sergeant
appeared they whinnied to express their dependence upon him, and when
the sun rose they turned their broadsides to it gratefully.
The two men, with swift, unhesitating action, set to work to break camp.
In half an hour the tent was folded and packed, the horses saddled, and
then, lustily singing, Curtis led the way down upon the floor of the
second basin, which narrowed towards the north into a deep and wooded
valley leading to the plains. The grasp of winter weakened as they
descended; December became October. The snow thinned, the streams sang
clear, and considerably before noon the little train of worn and hungry
horses came out upon the grassy shore of a small lake to bask in genial
sunshine. From this point the road to Skinner's was smooth and easy,
and quite untouched of snow.
As they neared the miner's shack, a tall young Payonnay, in the dress of
a cowboy, came out to meet them, smiling broadly.
"I'm looking for you, Captain."
"Are you, Jack? Well, you see me. What's your message?"
"The Colonel says you are to come in right off. He told me to tell you
he had an order for you."
A slouching figure, supporting a heap of greasy rags, drew near, and a
low voice drawled, weakly: "Jack's been here since Friday. I told him
where you was, but he thought he'd druther lay by my fire than hunt ye."
Curtis studied the squat figure keenly. "You weren't looking for the job
of crossing the range yourself, were you?"
The tramplike miner grinned and sucked at his pipe. "Well, no--I can't
say that I was, but I like to rub it into these lazy Injuns."
Jack winked at Curtis with humorous appreciation. "He's a dandy to rub
it into an Injun, don't you think?"
Even Skinner laughed at this, and Curtis said: "Unsaddle the horses and
give them a chance at the grass, sergeant. We can't go into the fort
to-night with the packs. And, Skinner, I want to hire a horse of you,
while you help Pierce bring my outfit into the fort to-morrow. I must
hurry on to see what's in the wind."
"All right, Captain, anything I've got is yours," responded the miner,
heartily.
The bugles were sounding "retreat" as the young officer rode up to the
door of Colonel Quinlan's quarters and reported for duty.
"Good-evening, Major," called the Colonel, with a quizzical smile and a
sharp emphasis on the word major.
"Major!" exclaimed Curtis; "what do you mean--"
"Not a wholesale slaughter of your superiors. Oh no! You are Major by
the grace of the Secretary of Indian Affairs. Colonel Hackett, of the
War Department, writes me that you have been detailed as Indian agent at
Fort Smith. You'll find your notification in your mail, no doubt."
Curtis touched his hat in mock courtesy. "Thanks, Mr. Secretary; your
kindness overwhelms me."
"Didn't think the reform administration could get along without you, did
you?" asked the Colonel, with some humor. He was standing at his gate.
"Come in, and we'll talk it over. You seem a little breathless."
"It does double me up, I confess. But I can't consistently back out
after the stand I've made."
"Back out! Well, not if I can prevent it. Haven't you hammered it into
us for two years that the army was the proper instrument for dealing
with these redskins? No, sir, you can't turn tail now. Take your
medicine like a man."
"But how did they drop onto me? Did you suggest it?"
The Colonel became grave. "No, my boy, I did not. But I think I know who
did. You remember the two literary chaps who camped with us on our trial
march two years ago?"
The young officer's eyes opened wide. "Ah! I see. They told me at the
time that they were friends of the Secretary. That explains it."
"Your success with that troop of enlisted Cheyennes had something to do
with it, too," added the Colonel. "I told those literary sharps about
that experience, and also about your crazy interest in the sign-language
and Indian songs."
"You did? Well, then you _are_ responsible, after all."
The Colonel put his hand on his subordinate's shoulder. "Go and do the
work, boy! It's better than sitting around here waiting promotion. If I
weren't so near retirement I'd resign. I have lived out on these cursed
deserts ever since 1868--but I'll fool 'em," he added, with a grim
smile. "I'm going to hang on to the last, and retire on half-pay. Then
I'll spend all my time looking after my health and live to be
ninety-five, in order to get even."
Curtis laughed. "Quite right, Colonel," and, then becoming serious, he
added, "It's my duty, and I will do it." And in this quiet temper he
accepted his detail.
Captain George Curtis, as the Colonel had intimated, was already a
marked man at Fort Sherman--and, indeed, throughout the western division
of the army. He feared no hardship, and acknowledged no superior on the
trail except Pierce, who was as invincible to cold and snow as a grizzly
bear, and his chief diversions were these trips into the wild. Each
outing helped him endure the monotony of barrack life, for when it was
over he returned to the open fire of his study, where he pored over his
maps, smoking his pipe and writing a little between bugle-calls. In
this way he had been able to put together several articles on the
forests, the water-sheds, and the wild animals of the region he had
traversed, and in this way had made himself known to the Smithsonian
Institution. He was considered a crank on trees and Indians by his
fellow-officers, who all drank more whiskey and played a better hand at
poker than he; "but, after all, Curtis is a good soldier," they often
said, in conclusion. "His voice in command is clear and decisive, and
his control of his men excellent." He was handsome, too, in a firm,
brown, cleanly outlined way, and though not a popular officer, he had no
enemies in the service.
His sister Jennie, who had devotedly kept house for him during his
garrison life, was waiting for him at the gate of his little yard, and
cried out in greeting:
"How _did_ you cross the range in this weather? I was frightened for
you, George. I could see the storm raging up there all day yesterday."
"Oh, a little wind and snow don't count," he replied, carelessly. "I
thought you'd given up worrying about me."
"I have--only I thought of poor Sergeant Pierce and the horses. There's
a stack of mail here. Do you know what's happened to you?"
"The Colonel told me."
"How do you like it?"
"I don't know yet. At this moment I'm too tired to express an opinion."
From the pile of mail on his desk he drew out the order which directed
him to "proceed at once to Fort Smith, and as secretly as may be. You
will surprise the agent, if possible--intercepting him at his desk, so
that he will have no opportunity for secreting his private papers. You
will take entire charge of the agency, and at your earliest convenience
forward to us a report covering every detail of the conditions there."
"Now that promises well," he said, as he finished reading the order. "We
start with a fair expectancy of drama. Sis--we are Indian agents! All
this must be given up." He looked round the room, which glowed in the
light of an open grate fire. The floor was bright with Navajo blankets
and warm with fur rugs, and on the walls his books waited his hand.
"I don't like to leave our snug nest, Jennie," he said, with a sigh.
"You needn't. Take it with you," she replied, promptly.
He glanced ruefully at her. "I knew I'd get mighty little sympathy from
you."
"Why should you? I'm ready to go. I don't want you trailing about over
these mountains till the end of time; and you know this life is fatal to
you, or any other man who wants to do anything in the world. It's all
very well to talk about being a soldier, but I'm not so enthusiastic as
I used to be. I don't think sitting around waiting for some one to die
is very noble."
He rose and stood before the fire. "I wish this whole house could be
lifted up and set down at Fort Smith; then I might consider the matter."
She came over, and, as he put his arm about her, continued earnestly:
"George, I'm serious about this. The President is trying to put the
Indian service into capable hands, and I believe you ought to accept;
in fact, you can't refuse. There is work for us both there. I am
heartily tired of garrison life, George. As the boys say, there's
nothing in it."
"But there's danger threatening at Smith, sis. I can't take you into an
Indian outbreak."
"That's all newspaper talk. Mr. Dudley writes--"
"Dudley--is he down there? Oh, you are a masterful sly one! Your
touching solicitude for the Tetongs is now explained. What is Dudley
doing at Smith besides interfering with my affairs?"
"He's studying the Tetong burial customs--but he isn't there at
present."
"These Smithsonian sharps are unexpectedly keen. He'd sacrifice me and
my whole military career to have you study skulls with him for a few
days. Do you know, I suspect him and Osborne Lawson of this whole
conspiracy--and you--you were in it! I've a mind to rebel and throw
everything out o' gear."
Jennie gave him a shove. "Go dress for dinner. The Colonel and his wife
and Mr. Ross are coming in to congratulate you, and you must pretend to
be overjoyed."
As he sat at the head of his handsome table that night Curtis began to
appreciate his comforts. He forgot the dissensions and jealousies, the
cynical speculations and the bitter rivalries of the officers--he
remembered only the pleasant things.
His guests were personable and gracious, and Jennie presided over the
coffee with distinction. She was a natural hostess, and her part in the
conversation which followed was notable for its good sense, but Mr.
Ross, the young lieutenant, considered her delicate color and shining
hair even more remarkable than her humor. He liked her voice, also, and
had a desire to kick the shins of the loquacious Colonel for absorbing
so much of her attention. Mrs. Quinlan, the Colonel's wife, was, by the
same token, a retiring, silent little woman, who smiled and nodded her
head to all that was said, paying special attention to the Colonel's
stories, with which all were familiar; even Mr. Ross had learned them.
At last the Colonel turned to Curtis. "You'll miss this, Curtis, when
you're exiled down there at old Fort Smith among the Tetongs. Here we
are a little oasis of civilization in the midst of a desert of
barbarians; down there you'll be swallowed up."
"We'll take civilization with us," said Jennie. "But, of course, we
shall miss our friends."
"Well, you'll have a clear field for experiment at Smith. You can try
all your pet theories on the Tetongs. God be with them!--their case is
desperate." He chuckled gracelessly.
"When do you go?" asked Mrs. Quinlan.
"At once. As soon as I can make arrangements," replied Curtis, and then
added: "And, by-the-way, I hope you will all refrain from mentioning my
appointment till after I reach Fort Smith."
The visitors did not stay late, for their host was plainly preoccupied,
and as they shook hands with him in parting they openly commiserated
him. "I'm sorry for you," again remarked the Colonel, "but it's a just
punishment."
After they were gone Curtis turned to his sister. "I must leave here
to-morrow morning, sis."
"Why, George! Can't you take time to breathe and pack up?"
"No, I must drop down on that agent like a hawk on a June-bug, before he
has a chance to bury his misdeeds. The Colonel has given out the news of
my detail, and the quicker I move the better. I must reach there before
the mail does."
"But I want to go with you," she quickly and resentfully replied.
"Well, you can, if you are willing to leave our packing in Pierce's
hands."
"I don't intend to be left behind," she replied. "I'm going along to see
that you don't do anything reckless. I never trust a man in a place
requiring tact."
Curtis laughed. "That's your long suit, sis, but I reckon we'll need all
the virtues that lie in each of us. We are going into battle with
strange forces."
II
THE STREETER GUN-RACK
There is a good wagon-road leading to old Fort Smith from Pinon City,
but it runs for the most part through an uninteresting country, and does
not touch the reservation till within a few miles of the agency
buildings. From the other side, however, a rough trail crosses a low
divide, and for more than sixty miles lies within the Tetong boundaries,
a rolling, cattle country rising to grassy hills on the west.
For these reasons Curtis determined to go in on horseback and in
civilian's dress, leaving his sister to follow by rail and buckboard;
but here again Jennie promptly made protest.
"I'll not go that way, George. I am going to keep with you, and you
needn't plan for anything else--so there!"
"It's a hard ride, sis--sixty miles and more. You'll be tired out."
"What of that? I'll have plenty of time to rest afterwards."
"Very well. It is always a pleasure to have you with me, you stubborn
thing," he replied, affectionately.
It had been hard to leave everything at the Fort, hard to look back from
the threshold upon well-ordered books and furniture, and harder still
to know that rude and careless hands would jostle them into heaps on the
morrow, but Jennie was accustomed to all the hardships involved in being
sister to a soldier, and, after she had turned the key in the lock, set
her face to the south cheerfully. There was something of the missionary
in her, and she had long burned with a desire to help the red people.
They got off at a squalid little cow-town called "Riddell" about noon of
the second day, and Curtis, after a swift glance around him, said: "Sis,
our chances for dinner are poor."
The hotel, a squat, battlemented wooden building, was trimmed with
loafing cowboys on the outside and speckled with flies on the inside,
but the landlord was unexpectedly attractive, a smiling, courteous host,
to whom flies and cowboys were matters of course. It was plain he had
slipped down to his present low level by insensible declinations.
"The food is not so bad if it were only served decently," said Jennie,
as they sat at the table eying the heavy china chipped and maimed in the
savage process of washing.
"I hope you won't be sorry we've left the army, sis."
"I would, if we had to live with these people," she replied, decisively,
looking about the room, which was filled with uncouth types of men,
keen-eyed, slouchy, and loud-voiced. The presence of a pretty woman had
subdued most of them into something like decorum, but they were not
pleasant to look at. They were the unattached males of the town, a mob
of barkeepers, hostlers, clerks, and railway hands, intermixed with a
half-dozen cowboys who had ridden in to "loaf away a day or two in
town."
"The ragged edge of the cloth of gold," said Curtis, as he glanced round
at them. "Civilization has its seamy side."
"This makes the dear old Fort seem beautiful, doesn't it?" the girl
sighed. "We'll see no more green grass and well-groomed men."
An hour later, with a half-breed Indian boy for a guide, they rode away
over the hills towards the east, glad to shake the dust of Riddell off
their feet.
The day was one of flooding sunlight, warm and golden. Winter seemed far
away, and only the dry grass made it possible to say, "This is autumn."
The air was without dust or moisture--crystalline, crisp, and
deliciously invigorating.
The girl turned to her brother with radiant face. "This is living! Isn't
it good to escape that horrid little town?"
"You'd suppose in an air like this all life would be clean and sweet,"
he replied. "But it isn't. The trouble is, these people have no inner
resource. They lop down when their accustomed props are removed. They
come from defective stock."
The half-breed guide had the quality of his Indian mother--he knew when
to keep silence and when to speak. He led the way steadily, galloping
along on his little gray pony, with elbows flapping like a rooster about
to take flight.
There was a wonderful charm in this treeless land, it was so lonely and
so sinister. It appealed with great power to Curtis, while it appalled
his sister. The solitary buttes, smooth of <DW72> and grotesque of line;
the splendid, grassy hollows, where the cattle fed; the burned-up mesas,
where nothing lived but the horned toad; the alkaline flats, leprous and
ashen; the occasional green line of cottonwood-trees, deep sunk in a dry
water-course--all these were typical of the whole vast eastern
water-shed of the continental divide, and familiar to the young officer,
for in such a land he had entered upon active service.
It was beautiful, but it was an ill place for a woman, as Jennie soon
discovered. The air, so dry, so fierce, parched her skin and pinched her
red lips. The alkali settled in a gray dust upon her pretty hair and
entered her throat, increasing her thirst to a keen pain.
"Oh, George! here is a little stream," she cried out.
"Courage, sis. We will soon get above the alkali. That water is rank
poison."
"It looks good," she replied, wistfully.
"We'll find some glorious water up there in that clump of willows," and
a few minutes' hard riding brought them to a gurgling little brook of
clear, cold water, and the girl not merely drank--she laved away all
traces of the bitter soil of the lower levels.
At about four o'clock the guide struck into a transverse valley, and
followed a small stream to its source in a range of pine-clad hills
which separate the white man's country from the Tetong reservation. As
they topped this divide, riding directly over a smooth swell, Curtis
drew rein, crying out, "Wait a moment, Louie."
They stood on the edge of a vast dip in the plain, a bowl of amethyst
and turquoise. Under the vivid October sun the tawny grass seemed to be
transmuted into something that shimmered, was translucent, and yet was
firm, while the opposite wall, already faintly in shadow, rose by two
degrees to snow-flecked mountains, faintly showing in the west and
north. On the floor of this resplendent amphitheatre a flock of cattle
fed irregularly, luminous as red and white and deep-purple beads. The
landscape was silent--as silent as the cloudless sky above. No bird or
beast, save the cattle, and the horses the three travellers rode, was
abroad in this dream-world.
"Oh, isn't it beautiful!" exclaimed Jennie.
Curtis sat in silence till the guide said: "We must hurry. Long ways to
Streeter."
Then he drew a sigh. "That scene is typical of the old time. Nothing
could be more moving to me. I saw the buffaloes feed like that once.
Whose are the cattle?" he asked of the boy.
"Thompson's, I think."
"But what are they doing here--that's Tetong land, isn't it?"
The guide grinned. "That don't make no difference to Thompson. All same
to him whose grass he eats."
"Well, lead on," said Curtis, and the boy galloped away swiftly down the
trail. As they descended to the east the sun seemed to slide down the
sky and the chill dusk rose to meet them from the valley of the Elk,
like an exhalation from some region of icy waters. Night was near, but
Streeter's was in sight, a big log-house, surrounded by sheds and
corrals of various sorts and sizes.
"How does Mr. Streeter happen to be so snugly settled on Indian land?"
asked Jennie.
"He made his location before the reservation was set aside. I believe
there are about twenty ranches of the same sort within the lines,"
replied Curtis, "and I think we'll find in these settlers the chief
cause of friction. The cattle business is not one that leads to
scrupulous regard for the rights of others."
As they clattered up to the door of the ranch-house a tall young fellow
in cowboy dress came out to meet them. He was plainly amazed to find a
pretty girl at his door, and for a moment fairly gaped with lax jaws.
"Good-evening," said Curtis. "Are you the boss here?"
He recovered himself quickly. "Howdy--howdy! Yes, I'm Cal Streeter.
Won't you 'light off?"
"Thank you. We'd like to take shelter for the night if you can spare us
room."
"Why, cert. Mother and the old man are away just now, but there's plenty
to eat." He took a swift stride towards Jennie. "Let me help you down,
miss."
"Thank you, I'm already down," said Jennie, anticipating his service.
The young man called shrilly, and a Mexican appeared at the door of the
stable. "Hosy, come and take these horses." Turning to Jennie with a
grin, he said: "I can't answer for the quality of the grub, fer Hosy is
cooking just now. Mother's been gone a week, and the bread is wiped out.
If you don't mind slapjacks I'll see what we can do for you."
Jennie didn't know whether she liked this young fellow or not. After his
first stare of astonishment he was by no means lacking in assurance.
However, she was plains-woman enough to feel the necessity of making the
best of any hospitality when night was falling, and quickly replied:
"Don't take any trouble for us. If you'll show me your kitchen and
pantry I'll be glad to do the cooking."
"Will you? Well, now, that's a sure-enough trade," and he led the way
into the house, which was a two-story building, with one-story wings on
either side. The room into which they entered was large and bare as a
guard-room. The floor was uneven, the log walls merely whitewashed, and
the beams overhead were rough pine boles. Some plain wooden chairs, a
table painted a pale blue, and covered with dusty newspapers, comprised
the visible furniture, unless a gun-rack which filled one entire wall
could be listed among the furnishings. Curtis brought a keen gaze | 336.989615 |
2023-11-16 18:22:41.0287480 | 6,965 | 7 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
BLACK IS WHITE
By George Barr Mccutcheon
Author Of “Graustark,” “Brewster's Millions,” “Truxton King,” “Rose In
The Ring,” “Mary Midthorne,” Etc.
London
Everett & Co., Ltd.
1915
BLACK IS WHITE
CHAPTER I
The two old men sat in the library, eyeing the blue envelope that lay
on the end of the long table nearest the fireplace, where a merry but
unnoticed blaze crackled in the vain effort to cry down the shrieks of
the bleak December wind that whistled about the corners of the house.
Someone had come into the room--they did not know who nor when--to poke
up the fire and to throw fresh coals into the grate. No doubt it was the
parlourmaid. She was always doing something of the sort. It seemed to
be her duty. Or, it might have been the housekeeper, in case the
parlourmaid was out for the evening. Whoever it was, she certainly had
poked up the fire, and in doing so had been compelled to push two pairs
of feet out of the way to avoid trampling upon them.
Still they couldn't recall having seen her. For that matter, it wasn't
of the slightest consequence. Of course, they might have poked it up
themselves and saved her the trouble, but these ancients were not in the
habit of doing anything that could be done by menials in the employ
of Mr Brood. Their minds were centred upon the blue envelope that
had arrived shortly after dinner. The fire was an old story; the blue
envelope was a novelty.
From some shifting spot far out upon the broad Atlantic the contents
of that blue envelope had come through the air, invisible, mysterious,
uncanny. They could not understand it at all. A wireless message! It was
the first of its kind they had seen, and they were very old men, who had
seen everything else in the world--if one could believe their boastful
tales.
They had sailed the seven seas and they had traversed all the lands of
the earth, and yet here was mystery. A man had spoken out of the air
a thousand miles away, and his words were lying there on the end of a
library-table, in front of a cheerful hearthstone, within reach of their
wistful fingers; and someone had come in to poke up the fire without
their knowledge. How could they be expected to know?
There was something maddening in the fact that the envelope would have
to remain unopened until young Frederic Brood came home for the night.
They found themselves wondering if by any chance he would fail to come
in at all. Their hour for retiring was ten o'clock, day in, day out.
As a rule they went to sleep about half-past eight. They seldom retired
unless someone made the act possible by first awakening them.
The clock on the wide mantelpiece had declared some time before, in
ominous tones, that half-past ten had arrived, and yet they were not
sleepy. They had not been so thoroughly wideawake in years.
Up to half-past nine they discussed the blue envelope with every inmate
of the house, from Mrs John Desmond, the housekeeper, down to the
voiceless but eloquent decanter of port that stood between them, first
on the arm of one chair, then the other. They were very old men;
they could soliloquise without in the least disturbing each other. An
observer would say, during these periods of abstraction, that their
remarks were addressed to the decanter, and that the poor decanter had
something to say in return. But, for all that, their eyes seldom left
the broad blue envelope that had lain there since half-past eight.
They knew that it came directly or indirectly from the man to whom
they owed their present condition of comfort and security after half
a century of vicissitudes; from the man whose life they had saved more
than once in those old, evil days when comforts were so few that they
passed without recognition in the maelstrom of events. From mid-ocean
James Brood was speaking to his son. His words--perhaps his cry for
help--were lying there on the end of the table, confined in a flimsy blue
envelope, and no one dared to liberate them.
Frederic Brood deserved a thrashing for staying out so late--at least,
so the decanter had been told a dozen times or more, and the clock,
too, for that matter, to say nothing of the confidences reposed in the
coal-scuttle, the fire implements, and other patient listeners of a like
character.
It may be well to state that these bosom friends and comrades of half a
hundred years had quarrelled at seven o'clock that evening over a very
important matter--the accuracy of individual timepieces. The watch of
Mr Danbury Dawes had said it was five minutes before seven; that of Mr
Joseph Riggs three minutes after. Since then neither had spoken to the
other, but each slyly had set his watch by the big clock in the hall
before going into dinner, and was prepared to meet any argument.
Twenty years ago these two old cronies had met James Brood in one of the
blackest holes of Calcutta, a derelict being swept to perdition with
the swiftness and sureness of a tide that knows no pause. They found him
when the dregs were at his lips and the stupor of defeat in his brain.
Without meaning to be considered Samaritans, good or bad, they dragged
him from the depths and found that they had revived _a man_. Those were
the days when James Brood's life meant nothing to him, days when he was
tortured by the thought that it would be all too long for him to endure;
yet he was not the kind to murder himself as men do who lack the courage
to go on living.
Weeks after the rescue in Calcutta, these two soldiers of fortune, and
another John Desmond, learned from the lips of the man himself that he
was not such as they, but rich in this world's goods, richer than the
Solomon of their discreet imagination. Shaken, battered, but sobered, he
related portions of his life's story to them, and they guessed the rest,
being men who had lived by correctly guessing for half the years of
their adventurous lives.
Like Brood they were Americans. But, unlike him, they had spent most of
their lives in the deserts of time and had sown seeds which could
never be reaped except in the form of narrative. Ever in pursuit of the
elusive thing called luck, they had found it only in hairbreadth escapes
from death, in the cunning avoidance of catastrophe, in devil-may-care
leaps in the dark, in all the ways known to men who find the world too
small.
Never had luck served them on a golden platter. For twenty-five years
and more these three men, Dawes, Riggs, and poor John Desmond, had
thrashed through the world in quest of the pot of gold at the foot of
the rainbow, only to find that the rainbow was for ever lifting, for
ever shifting; yet they complained not. They throve on misfortune, they
courted it along with the other things in life, and they were unhappy
only when ill luck singled one of them out and spared the others.
What Brood told them of his life brought the grim smile of appreciation
to the lips of each. He had married a beautiful foreigner--an Austrian,
they gathered--of excellent family, and had taken her to his home in
New York City, a house in lower Fifth Avenue where his father and
grandfather had lived before him. And that was the very house in
which two of the wayfarers, after twenty years, now sat in rueful
contemplation of a blue envelope.
A baby boy came to the Broods in the second year of their wedded life,
but before that there had come a man--a music-master, dreamy-eyed,
handsome, Latin; a man who played upon the harp as only the angels are
believed to play. In his delirious ravings Brood cursed this man and the
wife he had stolen away from him; he reviled the baby boy, even denying
him; he laughed with blood-curdling glee over the manner in which he had
cast out the woman who had broken his heart and crushed his pride; he
wailed in anguish over the mistake he had made in allowing the man to
live that he might gloat in triumph.
This much the three men who lifted him from hell were able to learn from
lips that knew not what they said, and they were filled with pity. Later
on, in a rational weakness, he told them more, and without curses. A
deep, silent, steadfast bitterness succeeded the violent ravings. He
became a wayfarer with them, quiet, dogged, fatal; where they went he
also went; what they did so also did he.
Soon he led, and they followed. Into the dark places of the world they
plunged. Perils meant little to him, death even less. They no longer
knew days of privation, for he shared his wealth with them; but they
knew no rest, no peace, no safety. Life had been a whirlwind before they
came upon James Brood; it was a hurricane afterward.
Twice John Desmond, younger than Dawes and Riggs, saved the life of
James Brood by acts of unparalleled heroism: once in a South African
jungle when a lioness fought for her young, and again in upper India
when, single-handed, he held off a horde of Hindus for days while his
comrade lay wounded in a cavern. Dawes and Riggs, in the Himalayas,
crept down the wall of a precipice, with five thousand feet between them
and the bottom of the gorge, to drag him from a narrow ledge upon which
he lay unconscious after a misstep in the night. More than once--aye,
more than a dozen times--one or the other of these loyal friends stood
between him and death, and times without number he, too, turned the grim
reaper aside from them.
John Desmond, gay, handsome, and still young as men of his kind go, met
the fate that brooks no intervention. He was the first to drop out of
the ranks. In Cairo, during a curious period of inactivity some ten
months after the advent of James Brood, he met the woman who conquered
his venturesome spirit; a slim, clean, pretty English governess in the
employ of a British admiral's family. They were married inside of a
fortnight. After the quiet little ceremony, from which the sinister
presence of James Brood was missing, he shook the bronzed hands of his
older comrades, and gave up the life he had led for the new one she
promised. At the pier Brood appeared and wished him well, and he sailed
away on a sea that bade fair to remain smooth to the end of time. He
was taking her home to the little Maryland town that had not seen him in
years.
Ten years passed before James Brood put his foot on the soil of his
native land. Then he came back to the home of his fathers, to the home
that had been desecrated, and with him came the two old men who now sat
in his huge library before the crackling fire. He could go on with life,
but they were no longer fit for its cruel hardships. His home became
theirs. They were to die there when the time came.
Brood's son was fifteen years of age before he knew, even by sight, the
man whom he called father. Up to the time of the death of his mother who
died heart-broken in her father's home--he had been kept in seclusion.
There had been deliberate purpose in the methods of James Brood in so
far as this unhappy child was concerned. When he cast out the mother he
set his hand heavily upon her future.
Fearing, even feeling, the infernal certainty that this child was not
his own, he planned with diabolical cruelty to hurt her to the limit of
his powers and to the end of her days. He knew she would hunger for this
baby boy of hers, that her heart could be broken through him, that her
punishment could be made full and complete.
He sequestered the child in a place where he could not be found, and
went his own way, grimly certain that he was making her pay! She died
when Frederic was twelve years old, without having seen him again after
that dreadful hour when, protesting her innocence, she had been turned
out into the night and told to go whither she would, but never to return
to the house she had disgraced. James Brood heard of her death when in
the heart of China, and he was a haggard wreck for months thereafter.
He had worshipped this beautiful Viennese. He could not wreak vengeance
upon a dead woman; he could not hate a dead woman. He had always loved
her. It was after this that he stood on the firing-line of many a
fiercely fought battle in the Orient, inviting the bullet that would rip
through his heart.
It was not courage, but cowardice, that put him in spots where the
bullets were thickest; it was not valour that sent him among the
bayonets and sabres of a fanatical enemy. It was the thing at the bottom
of his soul that told him she would come to him once more when the
strife was ended, and that she was waiting for him somewhere beyond
the border to hear his plea for pardon! Of such flimsy shreds is man's
purpose made!
Five years after his return to New York he brought her son back to the
house in lower Fifth Avenue and tried, with bitterness in his soul,
to endure the word “father” as it fell from lips to which the term was
almost strange.
The old men, they who sat by the fire on this wind-swept night and
waited for the youth of twenty-two to whom the blue missive was
addressed, knew the story of James Brood and his wife Matilde, and they
knew that the former had no love in his heart for the youth who bore his
name. Their lips were sealed. Garrulous on all other subjects, they were
as silent as the grave on this.
They, too, were constrained to hate the lad. He made not the slightest
pretence of appreciating their position in the household. To him they
were pensioners, no more, no less; to him their deeds of valour were
offset by the deeds of his father; there was nothing left over for a
balance on that score. He was politely considerate; he was even kindly
disposed toward their vagaries and whims; he endured them because there
was nothing else left for him to do. But, for all that, he despised
them; justifiably, no doubt, if one bears in mind the fact that they
signified more to James Brood than did his long-neglected son.
The cold reserve that extended to the young man did not carry beyond him
in relation to any other member of the household so far as James Brood
was concerned. The unhappy boy, early in their acquaintance, came to
realise that there was little in common between him and the man he
called father. After a while the eager light died out of his own eyes
and he no longer strove to encourage the intimate relations he had
counted upon as a part of the recompense for so many years of separation
and loneliness.
It required but little effort on his part to meet his father's
indifference with a coldness quite as pronounced. He had never known the
meaning of filial love; he had been taught by word of mouth to love the
man he had never seen, and he had learned as one learns astronomy--by
calculation. He hated the two old men because his father loved them.
In a measure, this condition may serve to show how far apart they stood
from each other, James Brood and Frederic. Wanderlust and a certain
feeling of unrest that went even deeper than the old habits kept James
Brood away from his home many months out of the year. He was not an old
man; in fact, he was under fifty, and possessed of the qualities that
make for strength and virility even unto the age of fourscore years.
While his old comrades, far up in the seventies, were content to sit
by the fire in winter and in the shade in summer, he, not yet so old as
they when their long stretch of intimacy began, was not resigned to the
soft things of life. He was built of steel, and the steel within him
called for the clash with flint. He loved the spark of fire that flashed
in the contact.
It was a harsh December night when the two old men sat guard over the
message from the sea, and it was on a warm June day that they had said
good-bye to him at the outset of his most recent flight.
The patient butler, Jones, had made no less than four visits to the
library since ten o'clock to awaken them and pack them off to bed. Each
time he had been ordered away, once with the joint admonition to “mind
his own business.”
“But it is nearly midnight,” protested Jones irritably, with a glance at
the almost empty decanter.
“Jones,” said Danbury Dawes with great dignity and an eye that deceived
him to such a degree that he could not for the life of him understand
why Jones was attending them in pairs, “Jones, you ought to be
in--hic--bed, damn you both of you. Wha' you mean, sir, by coming in--hic--here
thish time o' night dis-disturbing----”
“You infernal ingrate,” broke in Mr Riggs fiercely, “don't you dare to
touch that bottle, sir! Let it alone!”
“It's time you were in bed,” pronounced Jones, taking Mr Dawes by the
arm.
Mr Dawes sagged heavily in his chair and grinned triumphantly. He was a
short, very fat old man.
“People who live in--hic--glass houses--------” he began amiably, and then
suddenly was overtaken by the thought of the moment before. “Take your
hand off of me, confoun' you! D' you sup-supposh I can go to bed with
my bes' frien' out there--hic--in the mid-middle of Atlan'ic Oc-o-shum,
sinking in four miles of wa-wa'er and calling f-far help?”
“Take him to bed, Jones,” said Mr Riggs firmly. “He's drunk and-and
utterly useless at a time like this. Take him along.”
“Who the dev--hic--il are you, sir?” demanded Mr Dawes, regarding Mr Riggs
as if he had never seen him before.
“You are both drunk,” said Jones succinctly. Mr Riggs began to whimper.
“My bes' frien' is drawnin' by inches, and you come in here and tell me
I'm drunk. It's most heartless thing I ever heard of. Isn't it, Danbury,
ol' pal? Isn't it, damn you? Speak up!”
“Drawnin' by inches--hic--in four miles of wa-water,” admitted Mr Dawes
miserably. “My God, Jo-Jones, do you know how many--hic--inches there are
in four miles?”
Moved by the same impulse, the two old men struggled to their feet and
embraced each other, swayed by an emotion so honest that all sense of
the ludicrous was removed. Even Jones, though he grinned, allowed a note
of gentleness to creep into his voice.
“Come along, gentlemen, like good fellows. Let's go to bed. I'm sure the
message to Mr Frederic is not as bad as you----”
Mr Riggs, who was head and shoulders taller than Mr Dawes, made a
gesture of despair with both arms, forgetting that they encircled his
friend's neck, with the result that both of his bony elbows came in
violent contact with Mr Dawes's ears, almost upsetting him.
“Don't argue, Jones,” he interrupted dismally. “I know it's bad news. So
does Mr Dawes. Don't you, Danbury?”
“What d' you mean by--hic--knockin' my hat off?” demanded Mr Dawes
furiously, shaking his fist at Mr Riggs from rather close quarters--so
close, in fact, that Mr Riggs suddenly clapped his hands to his stomach
and emitted a surprised groan.
Jones inserted his figure between them.
“Come, come, gentlemen; don't forget yourselves. What now, Mr Riggs?”
“I'm lookin' for the gentleman's hat, sir,” said Mr Riggs impressively
from a stooping posture.
“His hat is on the rack in the hall,” said Jones sharply.
“Then I shan't ex-expect an--hic--'pology,” said Mr Dawes magnanimously.
Mr Riggs opened his mouth to retort, but as he did so his eyes fell upon
the blue envelope.
“Poor old Jim--poor old Jim Brood!” he groaned. “We mustn't lose
a minute, Danbury. He needs us, old pal. We must start relief
exp'ition' fore mornin'. Not a minute to be lost, Jones--not a----”
The heavy front door closed with a bang at that instant, and the sound
of footsteps, came from the hall--a quick, firm tread that had decision
in it.
Jones cast a furtive, nervous glance over his shoulder.
“I'm sorry to have Mr Frederic see you like this,” he said, biting his
lip. “He hates it so.”
The two old men made a commendable effort to stand erect, but no effort
to stand alone. They linked arms and stood shoulder to shoulder.
“Show him in,” said Mr Riggs magnificently.
“Now we'll fin' out wass in telegram off briny deep,” said Mr Dawes,
straddling his legs a little farther apart in order to declare a staunch
front.
“It's worth waiting up for,” said Mr Riggs.
“Abs'lutely,” said his staunch friend.
Frederic Brood appeared in the door, stopping short just inside the
heavy curtains. There was a momentary picture, such as a stage-director
would have arranged. He was still wearing his silk hat and top-coat, and
one glove had been halted in the process of removal. Young Brood stared
at the group of three, a frank stare of amazement. A crooked smile came
to his lips.
“Somewhat later than usual, I see,” he said, and the glove came off with
a jerk. “What's the matter, Jones? Rebellion?”
“No, sir. It's the wireless, sir.”
“Wireless?”
“Briny deep,” said Mr Dawes, vaguely pointing.
“Oh,” said young Brood, crossing slowly to the table. He picked up the
envelope and looked at the inscription. “Oh,” said he again in quite a
different tone on seeing that it was addressed to him. “From father, I
dare say,” he went on, a fine line appearing between his eyebrows.
The old men leaned forward, fixing their blear eyes upon the missive.
“Le's hear the worst, Freddy,” said Mr Riggs.
The young man ran his finger under the flap and deliberately drew out
the message. There ensued another picture. As he read, his eyes widened
and then contracted; his firm young jaw became set and rigid. Suddenly
a short, bitter execration fell from his lips and the paper crumpled in
his hand. Without another word he strode to the fireplace and tossed it
upon the coals. It flared for a second and was wafted up the chimney, a
charred, feathery thing.
Without deigning to notice the two old men who had sat up half the night
to learn the contents of that wonderful thing from the sea, he whirled
on his heel and left the room. One might have noticed that his lips were
drawn in a mirthless, sardonic smile, and that his eyes were angry.
“Oh, Lordy!” sighed Danbury Dawes, blinking, and was on the point of
sitting down abruptly. The arm of Jones prevented.
“I never was so insulted in my----” began
Joseph Riggs feebly.
“Steady, gentlemen,” said Jones. “Lean on me, please.”
CHAPTER II
James Brood's home was a remarkable one. That portion of the house
which rightly may be described as “public” in order to distinguish it
from other parts where privacy was enforced, was not unlike any of the
richly furnished, old-fashioned places in the lower part of the city
where there are still traces left of the Knickerbockers and their times.
Dignified, stately, almost gloomy, it was a mansion in which memories
dwelt, where the past strode unseen among sturdy things of mahogany and
walnut and worn but priceless brocades and silks.
The crystal chandelier in the long drawing-room had shed light for the
Broods since the beginning of the nineteenth century; the great old
sideboard was still covered with the massive plate of a hundred years
ago; the tables, the chairs, the high-boys, the chests of drawers, and
the huge four-posters were like satin to the eye and touch; the rugs,
while older perhaps than the city itself, alone were new to the house of
Brood. They had been installed by the present master of the house.
Age, distinction, quality attended one the instant he set foot inside
the sober portals. This was not the home of men who had been merely
rich; it was not wealth alone that stood behind these stately
investments.
At the top of the house were the rooms which no one entered except by
the gracious will of the master. Here James Brood had stored the quaint,
priceless treasures of his own peculiar fancy: exquisite, curious things
from the mystic East, things that are not to be bought and sold, but
come only to the hand of him who searches in lands where peril is the
price.
Worlds separated the upper and lower regions of that fine old house; a
single step took one from the sedate Occident into the very heart of the
Orient; a narrow threshold was the line between the rugged West and the
soft, languorous, seductive East. In this part of the house James Brood,
when at home for one of his brief stays, spent many of his hours in
seclusion, shut off from the rest of the establishment as completely
as if he were the inhabitant of another world. Attended by his Hindu
servant, a silent man named Ranjab, and on occasions by his secretary,
he saw but little of the remaining members of his rather extensive
household.
For several years he had been engaged in the task of writing his
memoirs--so-called--in so far as they related to his experiences and
researches of the past twenty years. It was not his intention to give
this long and elaborate account of himself to the world at large, but
to publish privately a very limited edition without regard for expense,
copies of which were to find their way into exclusive collections and
libraries given over to science and travel. This work progressed slowly
because of his frequent and protracted absences. When at home, he
laboured ardently and with a purpose that more than offset the periods
of indifference.
His secretary and amanuensis was Lydia Desmond, the nineteen-year-old
daughter of his one-time companion and friend, the late John Desmond,
whose death occurred when the girl was barely ten years of age.
Brood, on hearing of his old comrade's decease, immediately made
inquiries concerning the condition in which he had left his wife and
child, with the result that Mrs Desmond was installed as housekeeper in
the New York house and the daughter given every advantage in the way of
an education.
Desmond had left nothing in the shape of riches except undiminished love
for his wife and a diary kept during those perilous days before he met
and married her. This diary was being incorporated in the history of
James Brood's adventures, by consent of the widow, and was to speak for
Brood in words he could not with modesty utter for himself.
In those pages John Desmond was to tell his own story in his own way,
for Brood's love for his friend was broad enough even to admit of that.
He was to share his life in retrospect with Desmond and the two old men,
as he had shared it with them in reality.
Lydia's room, adjoining her mother's, was on the third floor at the foot
of the small stairway leading up to the proscribed retreat at the top
of the house. There was a small sitting-room off the two bed-chambers,
given over entirely to Mrs Desmond and her daughter. In this little room
Frederic Brood spent many a quiet, happy hour.
The Desmonds, mother and daughter, understood and pitied the lonely boy
who came to the big house soon after they were themselves installed. His
heart, which had many sores, expanded and glowed in the warmth of their
kindness and affection; the plague of unfriendliness that was his by
absorption gave way before this unexpected kindness, not immediately, it
is true, but completely in the end.
By nature he was slow to respond to the advances of others; his life had
been such that avarice accounted for all that he received from others
in the shape of respect and consideration. He was prone to discount
a friendly attitude, for the simple reason that in his experience all
friendships were marred by the fact that their sincerity rested entirely
upon the generosity of the man who paid for them--his father. No one had
loved him for himself; no one had given him an unselfish thought in all
the years of his boyhood.
The family with whom he had lived in a curious sort of retirement up to
the time he was fifteen had no real feeling for him beyond the bounds of
duty; his tutors had taken their pay in exchange for all they gave; his
companions were men and women who dealt with him as one deals with a
precious investment. He represented ease and prosperity to them--no more.
As he grew older he understood all this. What warmth there may have been
in his little heart was chilled by contact with these sordid influences.
At first he held himself aloof from the Desmonds; he was slow to
surrender. He suspected them of the same motives that had been the basis
of all previous attachments. When at last he realised that they were not
like the others, his cup of joy, long an empty vessel, was filled to the
brim and his happiness was without bounds.
They were amazed by the transformation. The rather sullen,
unapproachable lad became at once so friendly, so dependent, that,
had they not been acquainted with the causes behind the old state of
reticence, his very joy might have made a
nuisance of him. He followed Mrs Desmond
about in very much the
same spirit that inspires a hungry dog; he watched her with eager,
half-famished eyes; he was on her heels four-fifths of the time.
As for Lydia, pretty little Lydia, he adored her. His heart began for
the first time to sing with the joy of youth, and the sensation was a
novel one. It had seemed to him that he could never be anything but an
old man.
Not a day passed during his career at Harvard that he failed to write
to one or other of these precious friends. His vacations were spent
with them | 337.048788 |
2023-11-16 18:22:41.1271550 | 4,610 | 6 |
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, was a famous spot for trading of
all kinds; but there were other localities which had their specialized
activities. St. Paul’s, for instance, was the acknowledged quarter for
booksellers, as indeed it has continued to be down to the present time.
Houndsditch, like the Houndsditch of to-day, and Long Lane in
Smithfield, abounded in shops for second-hand clothing—_fripperies_, as
they were called. “He shows like a walking frippery,” says one of the
characters in “The City Madam”; while it was in the latter place that
Mistress Birdlime in “Westward Ho” speaks of “hiring three liveries.” In
St. Martin’s-le-Grand clustered the foreign handicraftsmen of doubtful
character, who manufactured copper lace and imitation jewellery; and
Watling Street and Birchin Lane were the haunts of the tailors. Then,
again, it was in Bucklersbury that the grocers and druggists most did
congregate. “Go to Bucklersbury and fetch me two ounces of preserved
melons,” says Mistress Tenterhook in “Westward Ho.” Fleet Lane and Pie
Corner were so famous for their cook-shops that Anne in “The City Madam”
might well exclaim, when the porters enter with their baskets of
provisions, that they smell unmistakably of these localities; while to
Panyer Alley repaired all true lovers of tripe. Even religious opinions
had their special homes. Bloomsbury and Drury Lane, for example, were
favorite haunts of Catholics; and the Puritans were particularly strong
in Blackfriars. This explains the words put by Webster into the mouth of
one of his characters: “We are as pure about the heart as if we dwelt
amongst ’em in Blackfriars,” and Doll Common’s description of Face, in
“The Alchemist,” as—
“A rascal, upstart, apocryphal captain,
Whom not a Puritan in Blackfriars will trust.”
And through all this jumble of wealth and dirt, away past the suburbs
and into the open country beyond, ran “the famous River Thames”—the
“great silent highway,” as it has been called,—fed by the Fleet and
other forgotten and now hidden streams, and bearing upon its majestic
current its hundreds of watermen, its boats, its barges, and its swans.
It was spanned by a single bridge, of which Lyly speaks enthusiastically
in his “Euphues,” and which is described by the German traveller, Paul
Hentzner, as “a bridge of stone, eight hundred feet in length, of
wonderful work. It is supported,” this writer continues, “upon twenty
piers of square stone, sixty feet high and thirty broad, joined by
arches of about twenty feet diameter.” And he adds, touching in a brief
sentence upon a characteristic of its structure which must seem
particularly curious to modern readers: “The whole is covered on each
side with houses, so disposed as to have the appearance of a continued
street, not at all of a bridge.”
But if the difference between to-day and three centuries ago is striking
enough within the city walls, still more striking does it become as we
pass beyond the gates. Fleet Street, where Dr. Johnson was presently to
enjoy watching the ceaseless ebb and flow of the great tide of human
life, was still suburban; Chancery Lane, with its wide gardens on the
eastern side and Lincoln’s Inn enclosure on the western, possessed only
a few scattered houses at either end. The Strand—
“That goodly thoroughfare between
The court and city,”
as a Puritan poet called it—was a long country road flanked with
noblemen’s houses (“a continual row of palaces, belonging to the chief
nobility,” Hentzner says), the gardens of which on the one side ran down
to the river, and on the other backed upon the fine open space of
pasture-land called Covent (that is, Convent) Garden. At Charing there
was an ancient cross, and beyond, wide fields known as the Haymarket,
the quiet stretches of St. James’s Park, and the wide country road
called Piccadilly, the regular highway to Reading and the west. St.
Martin’s Lane ran up between hedgerows and meadows to Tottenham, or
Totten Court. In the other direction, towards Westminster, there was the
Court, with its Tiltyard, standing where the Horseguards now stand, and
beyond this the city of Westminster, with its abbey and great hall,
lying in the quiet fields. Just opposite, on the other bank, in an
unbroken expanse of country, stood Lambeth Palace, whence a long, lonely
road led eastward, through Lambeth Marsh, to the city purlieus on the
Surrey side | 337.147195 |
2023-11-16 18:22:41.3965260 | 706 | 10 |
Produced by MWS, Charlie Howard, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
Transcriber’s note: Superscripts are preceded by the caret character ^,
as in 20^d. Multi-letter and mid-word superscripts are enclosed in
{braces}, as in w^{th} and w^{t}out. Italics are represented by
_underscores_.
WOMEN IN ENGLISH LIFE.
[Illustration: _C. Cook, sculp._
ANN,
_Lady Fanshawe_.
London Richard Bentley & Son 1896]
WOMEN
IN ENGLISH LIFE
from Mediæval to Modern Times.
BY
GEORGIANA HILL,
AUTHOR OF “A HISTORY OF ENGLISH DRESS.”
_IN TWO VOLUMES._
VOL. I.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
MDCCCXCVI.
INTRODUCTION.
The object aimed at in the following pages is to show the place that
women have held in our national life, from the days when what we call
the Saxon race was dominant in England, down to the present time. For
this purpose those phases of our social history have been dwelt upon
which display most clearly the changes that have taken place in the
position of women, and the influence of great forces like the Church
and Feudalism. Names have been used as illustrations, and not with any
intention of adding to biographical literature. Instances that are
the most striking individually do not always serve best as examples.
For this reason many familiar historical scenes and figures have
been omitted. The continuity of a general record would be broken by
divergence into episodes interesting on account of their exceptional
character. Prominence has been given to domestic life, as that
concerns the larger number, and to those aspects of the case which have
not been summed up in the numerous accounts of noteworthy women.
In literature and art, which have their own special histories, where
the part that women have played is recounted at length, only a few
general points have been noted in order to show how women have stood
in relation to letters and art in successive periods. The subjects
themselves are treated as stages marking social advance, not discussed
in the light of their intrinsic interest and attractiveness.
A consideration of the position of women in England leads, naturally,
to the subject of their position in Europe generally, for the main
influences which have affected women in this country are the same
as those that have operated on the Continent, although the result
has taken different forms in accordance with the idiosyncracies of
each nation. It is unnecessary to discuss the condition of women
in the Eastern parts, for while Western Europe has been changing
and progressing with ever-increasing rapidity during the last ten
centuries, Eastern Europe--as far as social life is concerned--remained
for a long period in an almost stationary state. In character it was
Asiatic, though during the last three hundred years it has succumbed
more to the influences of its geographical | 337.416566 |
2023-11-16 18:22:41.4200210 | 406 | 7 |
Produced by Simon Gardner, Dianna Adair, Louise Davies and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by the Digital & Multimedia
Center, Michigan State University Libraries.)
Transcriber's Notes
Archaic, dialect and inconsistent spellings have been retained as they
appear in the original. With the exception of minor changes to format or
punctuation, any changes to the text have been listed at the end of the
book.
In this Plain Text version of the e-book, symbols from the ASCII
character set only are used. The following substitutions are made for
other symbols, accents and diacritics in the text:
[ae] = ae-ligature
[:a] = a-umlaut
['e] = e-acute
[a'], [e'] = a-grave, e-grave
[OE] and [oe] = oe-ligature (upper and lower case).
[hand] = a right pointing hand symbol.
Other conventions used to represent the original text are as follows:
Italic typeface is indicated by _underscores_.
Small caps typeface is represented by UPPER CASE.
Footnotes are numbered in sequence throughout the book and presented at
the end of the section or ballad in which the footnote anchor appears.
Notes with reference to ballad line numbers are presented at the end of
each ballad and are indicated in the form [Lnn] at line number nn.
* * * * *
ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH
BALLADS.
EDITED BY
FRANCIS JAMES CHILD.
VOLUME IV.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY.
M.DCCC.LX.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857 by L | 337.440061 |
2023-11-16 18:22:41.5255380 | 2,158 | 26 |
Produced by Larry Mittell and PG Distributed Proofreaders
FIFTEENTH THOUSAND.
THE
EXPLORING EXPEDITION
TO THE
ROCKY MOUNTAINS,
OREGON AND CALIFORNIA,
BY BREVET COL. J.C. FREMONT.
TO WHICH IS ADDED A DESCRIPTION OF THE
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY OF CALIFORNIA.
WITH RECENT NOTICES OF
THE GOLD REGION
FROM THE LATEST AND MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES.
1852
* * * * *
PREFACE.
No work has appeared from the American press within the past few years
better calculated to interest the community at large than Colonel J.C.
Fremont's Narrative of his Exploring Expedition to the Rocky Mountains,
Oregon, and North California, undertaken by the orders of the United
States government.
Eminently qualified for the task assigned him, Colonel Fremont entered
upon his duties with alacrity, and has embodied in the following pages
the results of his observations. The country thus explored is daily
making deeper and more abiding impressions upon the minds of the
people, and information is eagerly sought in regard to its natural
resources, its climate, inhabitants, productions, and adaptation for
supplying the wants and providing the comforts for a dense population.
The day is not far distant when that territory, hitherto so little
known, will be intersected by railroads, its waters navigated, and its
fertile portions peopled by an active and intelligent population.
To all persons interested in the successful extension of our free
institutions over this now wilderness portion of our land, this work of
Fremont commends itself as a faithful and accurate statement of the
present state of affairs in that country.
Since the preparation of this report, Colonel Fremont has been engaged
in still farther explorations by order of the government, the results
of which will probably be presented to the country as soon as he shall
be relieved from his present arduous and responsible station. He is now
engaged in active military service in New Mexico, and has won
imperishable renown by his rapid and successful subjugation of that
country.
The map accompanying this edition is not the one prepared by the order
of government, but it is one that can be relied upon for its accuracy.
July, 1847.
* * * * *
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE NEW EDITION.
The dreams of the visionary have "come to pass!" the unseen El Dorado
of the "fathers" looms, in all its virgin freshness and beauty, before
the eyes of their children! The "set time" for the Golden age, the
advent of which has been looked for and longed for during many
centuries of iron wrongs and hardships, has fully come. In the sunny
clime of the south west--in Upper California--may be found the modern
Canaan, a land "flowing with milk and honey," its mountains studded and
its rivers lined and choked, with gold!
He who would know more of this rich and rare land before commencing his
pilgrimage to its golden bosom, will find, in the last part of this new
edition of a most deservedly popular work, a succinct yet comprehensive
account of its inexhaustible riches and its transcendent loveliness,
and a fund of much needed information in regard to the several routes
which lead to its inviting borders.
January 1849.
* * * * *
A REPORT
ON
AN EXPLORATION OF THE COUNTRY
LYING BETWEEN THE
MISSOURI RIVER AND THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS,
ON THE LINE OF THE
KANSAS AND GREAT PLATTE RIVERS.
* * * * *
Washington, March 1, 1843.
To Colonel J.J. Abert, _Chief of the Corps of Top. Eng._
Sir: Agreeably to your orders to explore and report upon the country
between the frontiers of Missouri and the South Pass in the Rocky
Mountains, and on the line of the Kansas and Great Platte rivers, I set
out from Washington city on the 2d day of May, 1842, and arrived at St.
Louis by way of New York, the 22d of May, where the necessary
preparations were completed, and the expedition commenced. I proceeded
in a steamboat to Chouteau's landing, about four hundred miles by water
from St. Louis, and near the mouth of the Kansas river, whence we
proceeded twelve miles to Mr. Cyprian Chouteau's trading-house, where
we completed our final arrangements for the expedition.
Bad weather, which interfered with astronomical observations, delayed
us several days in the early part of June at this post, which is on the
right bank of the Kansas river, about ten miles above the mouth, and
six beyond the western boundary of Missouri. The sky cleared off at
length and we were enabled to determine our position, in longitude 90 deg.
25' 46", and latitude 39 deg. 5' 57". The elevation above the sea is about
700 feet. Our camp, in the mean time, presented an animated and
bustling scene. All were busily engaged in completing the necessary
arrangements for our campaign in the wilderness, and profiting by this
short stay on the verge of civilization, to provide ourselves with all
the little essentials to comfort in the nomadic life we were to lead
for the ensuing summer months. Gradually, however, every thing--the
_materiel_ of the camp--men, horses, and even mules--settled into its
place; and by the 10th we were ready to depart; but, before we mount
our horses, I will give a short description of the party with which I
performed the service.
I had collected in the neighborhood of St. Louis twenty-one men,
principally Creole and Canadian _voyageurs_, who had become familiar
with prairie life in the service of the fur companies in the Indian
country. Mr. Charles Preuss, native of Germany, was my assistant in the
topographical part of the survey; L. Maxwell, of Kaskaskia, had been
engaged as hunter, and Christopher Carson (more familiarly known, for
his exploits in the mountains, as Kit Carson) was our guide. The
persons engaged in St. Louis were:
Clement Lambert, J.B. L'Esperance, J.B. Lefevre, Benjamin Potra, Louis
Gouin, J.B. Dumes, Basil Lajeunesse, Francois Tessier, Benjamin
Cadotte, Joseph Clement, Daniel Simonds, Leonard Benoit, Michel Morly,
Baptiste Bernier, Honore Ayot, Francois La Tulipe, Francis Badeau,
Louis Menard, Joseph Ruelle, Moise Chardonnais, Auguste Janisse,
Raphael Proue.
In addition to these, Henry Brant, son of Col. J.B. Brant, of St.
Louis, a young man of nineteen years of age, and Randolph, a lively boy
of twelve, son of the Hon. Thomas H. Benton, accompanied me, for the
development of mind and body such an expedition would give. We were
well armed and mounted, with the exception of eight men, who conducted
as many carts, in which were packed our stores, with the baggage and
instruments, and which were drawn by two mules. A few loose horses, and
four oxen, which had been added to our stock of provisions, completed
the train. We set out on the morning of the 10th, which happened to be
Friday, a circumstance which our men did not fail to remember and
recall during the hardships and vexations of the ensuing journey. Mr.
Cyprian Chouteau, to whose kindness, during our stay at his house, we
were much indebted, accompanied us several miles on our way, until we
met an Indian, whom he had engaged to conduct us on the first thirty or
forty miles, where he was to consign us to the ocean of prairie, which,
we were told, stretched without interruption almost to the base of the
Rocky Mountains.
From the belt of wood which borders the Kansas, in which we had passed
several good-looking Indian farms, we suddenly emerged on the prairies,
which received us at the outset with some of their striking
characteristics; for here and there rode an Indian, and but a few miles
distant heavy clouds of smoke were rolling before the fire. In about
ten miles we reached the Santa Fe road, along which we continued for a
short time, and encamped early on a small stream--having traveled about
eleven miles. During our journey, it was the customary practice to
encamp an hour or two before sunset, when the carts were disposed so as
to form a sort of barricade around a circle some eighty yards in
diameter. The tents were pitched, and the horses hobbled and turned
loose to graze; and but a few minutes elapsed before the cooks of the
messes, of which there were four, were busily engaged in preparing the
evening meal. At nightfall, the horses, mules, and oxen were driven in
and picketed,--that is, secured by a halter, of which one end was tied
to a small steel-shod picket, and driven into the ground; the halter
being twenty or thirty feet long, which enabled them to obtain a little
food during the night. When we had reached a part of the country where
such a precaution became necessary, the carts being regularly arranged
for defending the camp, guard was mounted at eight o'clock, consisting
of three men, who were relieved every two hours--the morning-watch
being horse-guard for the day. At daybreak the camp was roused, the
animals turned loose | 337.545578 |
2023-11-16 18:22:41.6266990 | 1,002 | 26 |
E-text prepared by Henry Flower and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/bohemiaunderhaps00capeuoft
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
BOHEMIA UNDER HAPSBURG MISRULE
A Study of the Ideals and Aspirations of the Bohemian and
Slovak Peoples, as they relate to and are affected
by the great European War
Edited by
THOMAS CAPEK
Author of "Slovaks of Hungary," etc.
[Illustration]
New York Chicago Toronto
Fleming H. Revell Company
London and Edinburgh
Copyright, 1915, by
Fleming H. Revell Company
New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: 125 N. Wabash Ave.
Toronto: 25 Richmond St., W.
London: 21 Paternoster Square
Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street
Dedicated
_To the Cause of
Bohemian-Slovak Freedom_
"_I trust in God that the
Government of Thine affairs will again
revert to Thee, O Bohemian People!_"
JOHN AMOS COMENIUS.
(In exile.)
PREFACE
The object of this volume is to make Bohemia and her people better
known to the English-speaking world. The average Englishman's and
American's knowledge of Bohemia is very vague. It is only within
recent years that Anglo-American writers have begun to take a deeper
interest in her people. Among the more prominent students of Bohemian
contemporary life should be mentioned: Will S. Monroe, Emily G.
Balch, and Herbert Adolphus Miller, in the United States; and A. R.
Colquhoun, Richard J. Kelly, F. P. Marchant, James Baker, Wickham H.
Steed, Charles Edmund Maurice, W. R. Morfill, and R. W. Seton-Watson
in England. Count Luetzow has written in English a number of works on
Bohemian matters.
While it is yet too early to foresee the precise results of the Great
War, one may judge of coming events by the shadows they cast before
them. A close observer of the Austrian shadows is justified in thinking
that the Bohemian people, so long suppressed, stand on the threshold
of a new destiny. This destiny points to the restoration of their
ancient freedom. If the Allies win--and every loyal son of the Land
of Hus fervently wishes that their arms might prevail, notwithstanding
the fact that Bohemian soldiers are constrained to fight for the cause
of the two Kaisers--Bohemia is certain to re-enter the family of
self-governing European nations. The proclamation which the Russian
Generalissimo addressed to the Poles may be said to apply with equal
force to the Bohemians: "The hour has sounded when the sacred dream of
your fathers may be realized.... Bohemia will be born again, free in
her religion, her language, and autonomous.... The dawn of a new life
begins for you.... In this glorious dawn is seen the sign of the cross,
the symbol of suffering and the resurrection of a people."
At the close of the Franco-Prussian War, Frenchmen erected in the
Place de la Concorde in Paris the Statue of Strassburg, which they
have kept draped, as a sign of mourning for the loss of their beloved
Alsace-Lorraine. The Bohemians have grieved for their motherland much
longer than the French for the "Lost Provinces." Bohemia put on her
mourning garb in 1620, the year her rebel army was defeated by the
imperialist troops of Ferdinand II., at the Battle of White Mountain
near Prague, the capital of the kingdom. May it not be hoped that
the joyous moment is near when her sons can substitute for the black
and yellow of Austria the red and white of Bohemia--the colors that
Charles Havlicek loved so well. "My colors are red and white," declared
this fearless patriot to his Austrian tormentors. "You can promise me,
you can threaten me, but a traitor I shall never be."
Never during the three hundred years of Austrian misrule were
conditions so propitious for throwing off the shackles of oppression
as | 337.646739 |
2023-11-16 18:22:41.7944050 | 196 | 14 | III) ***
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
CLARA VAUGHAN
_A NOVEL_
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL III.
R. D. Blackmore
London and Cambridge:
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1864.
_The Right of Translation and Reproduction is reserved._
LONDON:
R. CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS,
BREAD STREET HILL.
CLARA VAUGHAN
BOOK IV. (_continued_).
CHAPTER X.
STORY OF EDGAR VAUGHAN.
Child Clara, for your own dear sake, as well as mine and my sweet
love's, I will not dwell on that tempestuous time. If you cannot
comprehend it without words, no words will enable you. If you can, | 337.814445 |
2023-11-16 18:22:42.2881430 | 11 | 19 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry | 338.308183 |
2023-11-16 18:22:42.4262920 | 2,248 | 23 |
Produced by Giovanni Fini and The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
FOLK–LORE AND LEGENDS
_ENGLISH_
FOLK–LORE
AND
LEGENDS
ENGLISH
[Illustration: DECORATION]
W. W. GIBBINGS
18 BURY ST., LONDON, W.C.
1890
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
The old English Folklore Tales are fast dying out. The simplicity of
character necessary for the retaining of old memories and beliefs is
being lost, more rapidly in England, perhaps, than in any other part of
the world. Our folk are giving up the old myths for new ones. Before
remorseless “progress,” and the struggle for existence, the poetry
of life is being quickly blotted out. In editing this volume I have
endeavoured to select some of the best specimens of our Folklore. With
regard to the nursery tales, I have taken pains to give them as they
are in the earliest editions I could find. I must say, however, that,
while I have taken every care to alter only as much as was absolutely
necessary in these tales, some excision and slight alteration has at
times been required.
C. J. T.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
A Dissertation on Fairies, 1
Nelly the Knocker, 39
The Three Fools, 42
Some Merry Tales of the Wise Men of Gotham, 46
The Tulip Fairies, 54
The History of Jack and the Giants, 57
The Fairies’ Cup, 84
The White Lady, 86
A Pleasant and Delightful History of Thomas
Hickathrift, 89
The Spectre Coach, 117
The Baker’s Daughter, 123
The Fairy Children, 126
The History of Jack and the Beanstalk, 129
Johnny Reed’s Cat, 150
Lame Molly, 156
The Brown man of the Moors, 159
How the Cobbler cheated the Devil, 161
The Tavistock Witch, 165
The Worm of Lambton, 168
The Old Woman and the Crooked Sixpence, 174
The Yorkshire Boggart, 177
The Duergar, 181
The Barn Elves, 185
Legends of King Arthur, 187
Silky, 192
A DISSERTATION ON FAIRIES.
BY JOSEPH RITSON, ESQ.
The earliest mention of Fairies is made by Homer, if, that is, his
English translator has, in this instance, done him justice:—
“Where round the bed, whence Achelöus springs,
The wat’ry Fairies dance in mazy rings.”
(_Iliad_, B. xxiv. 617.)
These Nymphs he supposes to frequent or reside in woods, hills, the
sea, fountains, grottos etc., whence they are peculiarly called Naiads,
Dryads and Nereids:
“What sounds are those that gather from the shores,
The voice of nymphs that haunt the sylvan bowers,
The fair–hair’d dryads of the shady wood,
Or azure daughters of the silver flood?”
(_Odyss._ B. vi. 122.)
The original word, indeed, is _nymphs_, which, it must be confessed,
furnishes an accurate idea of the _fays_ (_fées_ or _fates_) of the
ancient French and Italian romances; wherein they are represented as
females of inexpressible beauty, elegance, and every kind of personal
accomplishment, united with magic or supernatural power; such, for
instance, as the Calypso of Homer, or the Alcina of Ariosto. Agreeably
to this idea it is that Shakespeare makes Antony say in allusion to
Cleopatra—
“To this great fairy I’ll commend thy acts,”
meaning this grand assemblage of power and beauty. Such, also, is the
character of the ancient nymphs, spoken of by the Roman poets, as
Virgil, for instance:
“Fortunatus et ille, deos qui novit agrestes,
Panaque, Sylvanumque senem, Nymphasque sorores.”
(_Geor._ ii. 493.)
They, likewise, occur in other passages as well as in Horace—
“——gelidum nemus
Nympharumque leves cum Satyris chori.”
(_Carmina_, I., O. 1, v. 30.)
and, still more frequently, in Ovid.
Not far from Rome, as we are told by Chorier, was a place formerly
called “Ad Nymphas,” and, at this day, “Santa Ninfa,” which without
doubt, he adds, in the language of our ancestors, would have been
called “The Place of Fays” (_Recherches des Antiquitez, de Vienne_,
Lyon, 1659).
The word _faée_, or _fée_, among the French, is derived, according
to Du Cange, from the barbarous Latin _fadus_ or _fada_, in Italian
_fata_. Gervase of Tilbury, in his _Otia Imperialia_ (D. 3, c. 88),
speaks of “some of this kind of _larvæ_, which they named _fadœ_, we
have heard to be lovers,” and in his relation of a nocturnal contest
between two knights (c. 94) he exclaims, “What shall I say? I know not
if it were a true _horse_, or if it were a fairy (_fadus_), as men
assert.” From the _Roman de Partenay_, or _de Lezignan_, MS. Du Cange
cites—
“Le chasteau fut fait d’une fée
Si comme il est partout retrait.”
Hence, he says, _faërie_ for spectres:
“Plusieurs parlant de Guenart,
Du Lou, de l’Asne, et de Renart,
De faëries, et de songes,
De fantosmes, et de mensonges.”
The same Gervase explains the Latin _fata_ (_fée_, French) a divining
woman, an enchantress, or a witch (D. 3, c. 88).
Master Wace, in his _Histoire des Ducs de Normendie_ (confounded by
many with the _Roman de Rou_), describing the fountain of Berenton, in
Bretagne, says—
“En la forest et environ,
Mais jo ne sais par quel raison
La scut l’en les fées veeir,
Se li Breton nos dient veir, etc.”
(In the forest and around,
I wot not by what reason found,
There may a man the fairies spy,
If Britons do not tell a lie.)
but it may be difficult to conceive an accurate idea, from the mere
name, of the popular French _fays_ or _fairies_ of the twelfth century.
In Vienne, in Dauphiny, is _Le puit des fées_, or Fairy–well. These
_fays_, it must be confessed, have a strong resemblance to the nymphs
of the ancients, who inhabited caves and fountains. Upon a little rock
which overlooks the Rhone are three round holes which nature alone has
formed, although it seem, at first sight, that art has laboured after
her. They say that they were formerly frequented by Fays; that they
were full of water when it rained; and that they there frequently took
the pleasure of the bath; than which they had not one more charming
(Chorier, _Recherches_, etc.).
Pomponius Mela, an eminent geographer, and, in point of time, far
anterior to Pliny, relates, that beyond a mountain in Æthiopia, called
by the Greeks the “High Mountain,” burning, he says, with perpetual
fire, is a hill spread over a long tract by extended shores, whence
they rather go to see wide plains than to behold [the habitations]
of Pans and Satyrs. Hence, he adds, this opinion received faith,
that, whereas, in these parts is nothing of culture, no seats of
inhabitants, no footsteps—a waste solitude in the day, and a mere waste
silence—frequent fires shine by night; and camps, as it were, are seen
widely spread; cymbals and tympans sound; and sounding pipes are heard
more than human (B. 3, c. 9). These invisible essences, however, are
both anonymous and nondescript.
The _penates_ of the Romans, according to honest Reginald Scot, were
“the domesticall gods, or rather divels, that were said to make men
live quietlie within doores. But some think that _Lares_ are such as
trouble private houses. _Larvæ_ are said to be spirits that walk onelie
by night. _Vinculi terrei_ are such as was Robin Goodfellowe, that
would supplie the office of servants, speciallie of maides, as to make
a fier in the morning, sweepe the house, grind mustard and malt, drawe
water, etc. These also rumble in houses, drawe latches, go up and down
staiers,” etc. (_Discoverie of Witchcraft_, London, 1584, p. 521). A
more modern writer says “The Latins have called the fairies _lares_
and _larvæ_, frequenting, as they say, houses, delighting in neatness,
pinching the slut, and rewarding the good house | 338.446332 |
2023-11-16 18:22:42.7537300 | 3,230 | 23 |
Produced by Shaun Pinder, Cindy Horton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: The Lone Wolf
(_See page 61_)]
_Days Before History_
_UNIFORM WITH THIS BOOK_
In Nature’s School
_By_ LILIAN GASK
_With Sixteen exquisite Full-page Illustrations and a Title-page Design_
_By_ DOROTHY HARDY
THIS STORY details the experiences of a sensitive boy who, in a moment
of revolt, flees from the oppression of some cruel schoolfellows into
the woods, where he meets Nature, who takes him round the world and
shows to him her kingdom of fur and feather. The child is introduced to
all manner of beasts and birds, and learns valuable lessons of kindness
and toleration, while at the same time the facts of natural history
are not distorted to serve the purpose of a story. Everything is true
to facts, so far as they are known from observation and from the best
authorities.
The Illustrations are of quite unusual merit, and will establish the
claims of this talented artist to a place amongst the best English
interpreters of animal life.
DAYS BEFORE
HISTORY
BY
H·R·HALL
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
A·M·RANDALL
[Illustration]
George·G·Harrap·&·Co
15 York Street·Covent Garden
London
_FIRST EDITION
November 1906, 5000; December 1907, 5000._
_SECOND EDITION
Revised, Enlarged, and Newly Illustrated, September 1908, 3000._
_Letchworth; At the Arden Press_
_Preface to the New Edition_
IN a book of this kind nothing more will be expected than an outline
sketch of some phases of the life lived by the prehistoric dwellers in
our land. The known facts are few; yet there must have been, even in
those far-away times, well-defined differences of habit and custom due
to local circumstances; so that details more or less true of one tribe
or group would possibly be quite untrue of others.
But, for all that, there are various conclusions upon which the learned
may be considered to be in agreement; and, working from these and
from the descriptions of primitive life in our own times, there is
brought within our reach the possibility of constructing a picture of
man in early Britain which, without leaving the lines of reasonable
conjecture, need be neither meagre nor misleading.
An attempt has been made here to introduce only descriptions which
can in some degree be vouched for; and as much of such authenticated
detail as possible has been included. Some licence has been taken in
bringing together events which in nature were, no doubt, separated by
long intervals of time and space; in suggesting, for instance, that a
man of the newer stone age might have heard some vague tradition of
the makers of the old stone weapons, and yet, in his lifetime, have
witnessed the incoming of the first weapons of bronze: yet, for the
sake of picturesqueness, such licence may be considered to be not only
permissible but, in a book with the purpose of this, actually desirable.
When first it was suggested to the writer that he should undertake
this task, there was only one detail of the necessary equipment which
he could feel to be his own--a childhood’s interest in the subject,
never forgotten. There was the recollection of a chapter in an old
lesson-book, much pored over, with its two or three simple woodcuts
showing the skin-clad “ancient Briton” hollowing out his log canoe,
or shooting at the deer in the forest. There was the memory of a
reputed “British village,” with its pits and mounds, situated on a
distant hill in the neighbourhood of his old home, often talked about,
but too remote to be visited. There were recollections of a village
philosopher, an amateur bird-stuffer and collector of fossils and
antiquities, who carried in his purse and would show a treasure beyond
gold, a barbed flint arrow-head. One he was who did not resent the
companionship of an inquisitive little boy, but took him fishing and
taught him something of the old country lore.
The road into fairyland lay open before that boy in his childhood. With
home-made bow and arrows he stalked the deer on the open hill-side,
or, armed with the deadly besom-stake for spear, tracked the wild boar
to his lair among the whins. A running stream bounding the distant
fields was for him a river to be forded with caution; the woodland
pool was a forest lake, deep and mysterious; the grove of oaks on the
hill-side was a woodland, and the more distant woods a forest vast and
impenetrable.
And the skin-clad hunters of the bygone time peopled those hills and
woods. The rabbits became red-deer, the hovering kestrel a flapping
eagle, a chance fox galloping over the hill a ravening wolf, and
the shy badger (only that one could never get more than the hearsay
of him) a fierce old wild-boar. Then there were huts to be built,
fires kindled, and weapons fashioned, marksmanship to be practised,
hunting expeditions to be carried out, and ruthless warfare waged with
unfriendly tribes.
Thus when the writer began the welcome task of setting down something
about the life of a time so remote that only the indestructible
fragments of its framework are now to be recovered, he had for his
guidance these memories of childish games and wonderings; games that
were never played out, and wonderings that have never been satisfied.
And it was his hope that others, whether or not situated as fortunately
as he once was, might perhaps catch a hint of the joy of playing the
old games and following the old ways of life out-of-doors, as our
forefathers followed them in the days before history. We have not all
forgotten them yet.
A glance at the Contents will show that the chapters fall into two
groups; those headed _The Story of Tig_, which are meant to be a story
and nothing more; and those headed _Dick and his Friends_, which aim at
explaining parts of the story and giving further details and comments
from the standpoint of a later time. For anyone who finds these
chapters dull, nothing is easier than to skip them.
A longish list might be made of the various books which have been
read or consulted in the preparation of these chapters. They are
all well-known standard books, such as would be readily found by
anyone who might wish to follow the subject further. This edition
includes six chapters that are new--numbers six, nine, and fifteen to
eighteen--besides various paragraphs and oddments scattered throughout
the book; the chapter-headings have been altered in most instances, and
the illustrations are nearly all new.
The author wishes to offer his sincere thanks to Professor W. Boyd
Dawkins, F.R.S., who generously consented to look over the proofs of
the original book; and to Professor J. J. Findlay and Miss Maria E.
Findlay for their invaluable help and kindly encouragement.
_The Contents of Chapters_
Preface _page_ v
I How Dick and his Friends heard a
Story 1
II _The Story of Tig_: Tig’s Birthday & his
Home 11
III _The Story of Tig_: Tig’s Mother and the
Lessons that she taught him 18
IV _Dick & his Friends_: The Hut that the
Boys built 26
V _The Story of Tig_: How Garff provided
Food for his Family 34
VI _The Story of Tig_: How Gofa sold some
Meal to a Hungry Man 42
VII _The Story of Tig_: The Harvest of the
Fields and of the Woods 48
VIII _The Story of Tig_: How Crubach became
a Sower of Corn 54
IX _The Story of Tig_: The Story of the
Wolf that hunted alone 57
X _Dick & his Friends_: A Talk about
Food Supplies 64
XI _The Story of Tig_: How Tig got his
first Bow and Arrows 72
XII _The Story of Tig_: How Tig visited
Goba the Spearmaker 76
XIII _The Story of Tig_: Arsan’s Story about
Grim the Hunter 86
XIV _Dick & his Friends_: A Talk about
Stone Weapons 93
XV _The Story of Tig_: How the Pond of
the Village went dry 99
XVI _The Story of Tig_: What Arsan said
about the Old Pond 103
XVII _The Story of Tig_: How they made
the Pond anew 108
XVIII _Dick & his Friends_: A Talk about
Dew-Ponds 114
XIX _The Story of Tig_: How Gofa made
Pottery 122
XX _The Story of Tig_: How Tig went
hunting the Deer 129
XXI _The Story of Tig_: How Tig became
a Man 137
XXII _Dick & his Friends_: Dick’s Pottery
and how he made it 140
XXIII _The Story of Tig_: How Tig made
Friends with the Lake People 146
XXIV _The Story of Tig_: How Tig saw the
Lake People’s Village 153
XXV _Dick & his Friends_: A Talk about
ancient Lake Dwellings 162
XXVI _The Story of Tig_: How the Old Chief
died and was buried 168
XXVII _The Story of Tig_: How Tig chose a
Wife from the Lake People 174
XXVIII _Dick & his Friends_: The Boys’ Bows
and Arrows 180
XXIX _The Story of Tig_: How the Lake
People brought Tidings of War 185
XXX _The Story of Tig_: How they fought
the Battle in the Wood 192
XXXI _Dick & his Friends_: How they dug
out the Barrow 201
[Illustration]
_List of Illustrations_
Tig Shoots a Stag _Cover_
The Lone Wolf _Frontispiece_
Dressing a Skin page _page_ 18
The Stags 34
Gofa Alarmed 42
Going to the Fields 48
The Wild Boar 52
The Wolf at the Beaver’s Hut 60
The Spear-maker 80
The Bear 88
Making Pottery 124
The Wild Ducks 130
Making a Canoe 154
Weaving at the Loom 160
The Beacon 190
The Warrior Chief 196
DAYS BEFORE HISTORY
_Chapter the First_
_How Dick and his Friends heard a Story_
I KNOW a boy called Dick. He is nine, and he lives near London. Last
spring Dick’s father and mother moved house. All their furniture and
things were taken in the vans, and Dick and his father and mother went
in a cab.
When they got to the house, Dick ran in at once to explore. It was
not really a new house, because people had lived in it before; but
Dick was disappointed to find it very much the same as the house they
had just left. There was the drawing-room on one side of the hall and
the dining-room on the other, and all the rooms upstairs, and the
bath-room, and the box-room, just the same as in their other house;
and there was a garden with walls round the three sides, very like
their last one. And Dick was sorry that there was nothing new to see.
So he said to his father that he did not like the new house because it
was just like the old one. But his father said: “You must not grumble
at that. Lots of houses are very much alike, of course. There are so
many people in these days who want the same sort of house built for
them.”
That summer Dick went to pay a visit to his uncle, a long way off in
the country. Dick’s uncle lived in a very old house; part of it was
more than four hundred years old, and Dick had never been in such an
old house in his life. His uncle took him all round it, and showed him
many strange things. The oldest part of the house was a square tower
with very thick walls and long, very narrow windows. Dick’s uncle
told him that the windows were made like slits so that the men inside
the tower could shoot their arrows out at their enemies; while the
enemies would find it very hard to shoot their arrows in and hit the
men inside. And he said, also, that in the old days before people could
make glass for windows, it was better to have little windows than big
ones in very cold weather.
And Dick’s uncle took him to the top of the tower and showed him the
remains of an open fireplace, in which the men of the tower used to
light a beacon fire to give the alarm to people in the villages and
towns when enemies were coming.
And outside the tower he showed him part of a deep ditch, and told him
that once this ditch went right round the house and was called a moat,
only that now it was nearly all filled up with earth and stones. But at
one time it was always full of water, so that no one could get at the
tower without crossing the moat. And the people in the tower used to
let down a bridge, called the drawbridge, because it was drawn up and
down by means of chains. So that when they or their friends wanted to
go out or come in, the drawbridge used to be let down for them, and
pulled up afterwards.
And Dick’s uncle told him that all these things used to be done to
make houses safe to live in, because once upon a time long ago there
were a great many thieves and robbers in the land, and there were no
policemen to keep them in order; also that the people used to fight
among themselves a great deal; and his uncle showed him some old pieces
of armour, and a helmet and a | 338.77377 |
2023-11-16 18:22:42.7858230 | 4,063 | 8 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Paul Marshall and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes:
Underscores “_” before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_
in the original text.
A single underscore after a symbol indicates a subscript.
Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.
Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved.
Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations
in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.
The Table of Contents was added by the transcriber, it is not part of
the original text.
THE BOSTON
SCHOOL ATLAS,
EMBRACING A COMPENDIUM OF GEOGRAPHY.
BY B. FRANKLIN EDMANDS.
Table of Contents.
PREFACE.
ELEMENTAL GEOGRAPHY. 3
EXPLANATION OF MAPS. 5
GRAND DIVISIONS OF THE EARTH. 17
CIVIL AND POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY. 17
STATE OF SOCIETY. 18
NORTH AMERICA. 21
UNITED STATES. 25
MAINE. 26
NEW HAMPSHIRE.... and... VERMONT. 31
MASSACHUSETTS, CONNECTICUT, AND RHODE ISLAND. 32
NEW YORK. 37
PENNSYLVANIA, MARYLAND, NEW JERSEY, AND DELAWARE. 38
WESTERN STATES. 43
UNITED STATES. 44
SOUTH AMERICA. 57
EUROPE. 61
BRITISH ISLES. 65
ASIA. 69
AFRICA. 73
GENERAL QUESTIONS. 74
WEST INDIA ISLANDS. 75
OCEANICA. 75
ELEMENTAL ASTRONOMY. 76
TIDES. 77
QUESTIONS IN REVIEW OF THE COMPENDIUM. 78
[Illustration]
TWELFTH EDITION; STEREOTYPED,
CONTAINING THE FOLLOWING MAPS AND CHARTS.
1. MAP OF THE WORLD.
2. CHART... MOUNTAINS.
3. CHART... RIVERS.
4. NORTH AMERICA.
5. UNITED STATES.
6. PART OF MAINE.
7. VERMONT & N. HAMPSHIRE.
8. MASSACHUSETTS, CONNECTICUT, AND R. ISLAND.
9. NEW YORK.
10. PENN. MD., N. JER. AND DEL.
11. WESTERN STATES.
12. CHART... CANALS, RAIL ROADS.
13. CHART... POLITICAL AND STATISTICAL.
14. SOUTH AMERICA.
15. EUROPE.
16. BRITISH ISLES.
17. ASIA.
18. AFRICA.
_Embellished with Instructive Engravings._
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY ROBERT S. DAVIS,
SUCCESSOR TO LINCOLN, EDMANDS, & CO.,
No. 77, Washington Street.
1840.
PREFACE.
A careful examination of Maps is a sure and at the same time the most
convenient method of acquiring a knowledge of Geography. With a view
of furnishing to young classes an _economical means_ of commencing a
course of geographical study, this work has been prepared; and it is
believed that a thorough acquaintance with its contents will impart
such general ideas, as will prepare them to enter upon a more _minute
investigation_ of the subject, when they shall have arrived at a proper
age.
The use of this work will also obviate the necessity which has
heretofore existed, of furnishing such classes with larger volumes, the
greater part of which is useless to them, till the book is literally
worn out; and although it is adapted to young students, it will be
found that the Atlas exercises are equally proper for more advanced
pupils.
The study of this work should commence with recitations of short
lessons previously explained by the instructer; and after the pupils
are well versed in the elements, the study of the maps should be
commenced. Embodied with the questions on the maps will be occasionally
found questions in _italic_, referring to the elements. These are
intended as a review, and the pupils should be made to understand, that
through the whole of the maps, the instructer will require a similar
review of the Geography. This course cannot fail to be interesting and
advantageous.
The elements of Astronomy are annexed to the work; and it is left
to the discretion of the instructer to determine the proper time to
introduce this pleasing study to his pupils.
BOSTON, AUGUST, 1830.
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SIXTH (STEREOTYPE) EDITION.
The universal approbation and liberal patronage bestowed upon the
former editions of the Boston School Atlas, have induced the publishers
to make in this edition numerous improvements. The maps have all
been re-engraved on steel, and in pursuance of hints from several
instructers, a concise compendium of descriptive Geography has been
added, while at the same time the text of the preceding edition has
not been so altered as to cause confusion in the use of the two
editions in the same class. Many engravings calculated to instruct,
rather than merely to amuse, have been interspersed, to render the
book more attractive and useful to pupils. The work, in addition to
being stereotyped, has been kept as much as possible free from subjects
liable to changes, in order that it may be a _permanent Geography_,
which may hereafter be used without the inconvenience of variations in
different reprints.
THE INDUCTIVE SYSTEM has deservedly become the most popular method
of imparting instruction to the youthful mind, and may be used with
as much advantage in the study of Geography as of any other science.
To compile treatises of Geography on this plan, with the necessary
arrangement of the maps adapted to every place, would multiply them
indefinitely. The Inductive System, however, can be used with advantage
in the study of this book by pursuing the following course. Let the
Instructer describe to the pupils the town in which they reside, and
require them to become familiar with its boundaries, rivers, ponds,
hills, &c. After this is accomplished, the map of the State should be
laid before them, and the situation of the town should be pointed out,
and they should be told what a State is, and what towns are nearest
them, &c. This plan can be carried to any extent the instructer may
think necessary to enable his pupils to acquire a correct knowledge of
their own State; and, if necessary, he should write for them additional
questions of a local nature, beside those contained in the work. If the
town be not on the map, it should be inserted with a pen on all the
maps used in the class. After the pupils shall have acquired a correct
idea of their own State, they may be taught respecting the adjoining
States, countries, &c. and the plan may be pursued as successfully as
if they possessed an Atlas with maps arranged in particular reference
to their own place of residence.
BOSTON, JUNE 17, 1833.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1832, by LINCOLN AND
EDMANDS, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
RECOMMENDATIONS TO THE
BOSTON SCHOOL ATLAS.
_From R. G. Parker, Author of “Progressive Exercises in English
Composition,” and other popular works._
I have examined a copy of the Boston School Atlas, and have no
hesitation in recommending it as the best introduction to the study of
Geography that I have seen. The compiler has displayed much judgment
in what he has _omitted_, as well as what he has selected; and has
thereby presented to the public a neat manual of the elements of the
science, unencumbered with useless matter and uninteresting detail. The
mechanical execution of the work is neat and creditable, and I doubt
not that its merits will shortly introduce it to general use.
Respectfully yours,
R. G. PARKER.
_From E. Bailey, Principal of the Young Ladies’ High School, Boston._
I was so well pleased with the plan and execution of the Boston School
Atlas, that I introduced it into my school, soon after the first
edition was published. I regard it as the best work for beginners in
the study of Geography which has yet fallen under my observation; as
such I would recommend it to the notice of parents and teachers.
Very respectfully,
E. BAILEY.
_From the Preceptors of Leicester Academy._
Among the great variety of school-books which have recently been
published, few are in our opinion more valuable than the Boston School
Atlas. As an introduction to the study of Geography, it is preferable
to any work of the kind with which we are acquainted.
JOHN RICHARDSON,
ALBERT SPOONER.
_From the Principal of New Ipswich (N. H.) Academy._
I have with much pleasure examined the copy of the Boston School Atlas,
which you politely sent to me. I think it admirably well calculated
to excite in the young mind a love of the study of Geography, and to
convey correct ideas of the rudiments of that science. I shall be happy
to recommend it wherever I have opportunity. It is, in my opinion, the
very thing that is needed in our primary schools.
Respectfully yours,
ROBERT A. COFFIN.
_From Mr. Emerson, formerly a Teacher in Boston._
I have examined the Boston School Atlas, and I assure you, I am highly
pleased with it. It appears to me to contain exactly what it should, to
render it an easy and adequate introduction to the study of Geography.
Yours, respectfully,
F. EMERSON.
_From Rev. Benj. F. Farnsworth, Principal of the New Hampton Literary
and Theological Seminary._
I have long lamented the deficiency of school-books in the elementary
parts of education. A good introduction to the study of Geography has
been much needed. The Boston School Atlas, recently published by you,
appears well; and I think it should be preferred to most other works of
the same class. I know of none that could be used with equal advantage
in its place. I hope you may succeed in making School Committees and
Teachers acquainted with this Introduction to an interesting and
important study of our primary schools; as I doubt not that, in this
case, it may obtain a very desirable patronage.
Yours, respectfully,
BENJ. F. FARNSWORTH.
_From the United States Literary Advertiser, Boston._
This is one of the most beautiful elementary works of the kind,
which has yet come within the range of our observation. The Maps are
elegantly executed, and finely —and the whole work is got up in
a style that cannot fail to insure its general introduction into our
schools, as a most valuable standard book.
_From the Principal of one of the High Schools in Portland._
I have examined the Boston School Atlas, Elements of Geography, &c.,
and think it admirably adapted to beginners in the study of the
several subjects treated on. It is what is wanted in all books for
learners,—_simple_, _philosophical_, _and practical_. I hope it will be
used extensively.
Yours respectfully,
JAS. FURBISH.
_From Mr. Emerson, Author of the Spelling and Reading Books._
I have perused your Boston School Atlas with much satisfaction. It
seems to me to be what has been needed as an introduction to the study
of Geography, and admirably adapted to that purpose.
Very respectfully, yours, &c.,
B. D. EMERSON.
_From Rev. Dr. Perry, of E. Bradford._
I received, some months since, the Boston School Atlas, and having
given it a trial among my children, I am free to say, that I think it
very happily adapted to the wants and conveniences of beginners in
Geography, and hope it may get into extensive use.
Respectfully,
GARDNER B. PERRY.
[Illustration: AN ENGLISHMAN. A SCOTCHMAN. A DUTCHMAN. AN ITALIAN.
A SPANIARD. AN INDIAN.]
ELEMENTAL GEOGRAPHY.
The Earth, on which we live, is _nearly a round body_, the distance
through the centre from north to south, being _twenty-six miles less_,
than the distance through from west to east. That it is a round body
is proved, 1st, _By having been circumnavigated, or sailed round_; 2d,
_From the appearance of a vessel approaching the land_, the top of the
masts being seen first; 3d, _By the shadow of the earth upon the moon_,
during an eclipse of the moon.
[Illustration: A VIEW OF THE EARTH’S SURFACE, VIZ. MOUNTAINS, RIVERS,
OCEAN, ISLAND, &c.
MINE. GROTTO.
This cut represents, in a striking manner, the mines and caverns as
they exist under the land and ocean. The mine here exhibited, is a
picture of a salt mine in Poland, Europe. The grotto is under the
island Antiparos in the Mediterranean Sea. A mine is a cavern made by
man, in digging for the articles found in the earth. A grotto is a
cavern formed by nature.]
PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY, or Geography of the Earth, is a description of the
earth’s structure and surface. The _surface_ consists of two elements,
viz, water and land; only one-third part being land.
CIVIL OR POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY defines the boundaries and extent of the
various countries in possession of the different nations of the earth.
Civil Geography also treats of government, religion, commerce, the
characteristic features of the principal races of men, and various
other subjects.
STATISTICAL GEOGRAPHY is a description of States, Kingdoms, Empires, or
Cities, with reference to their population and resources.
WATER.
Comprises Oceans, Seas, Lakes, Gulfs or Bays, Havens or Harbours,
Straits, Channels, Sounds, and Rivers.
An OCEAN is a large expanse of water not separated by land.
A SEA is a lesser extent of water than an ocean, almost surrounded by
land.
A LAKE is a large collection of water in the interior of a
country;—generally fresh. A salt water lake is called a _Sea_.
A GULF or BAY is a part of the sea extending up into the land.
A HAVEN or HARBOUR is a small portion of water, almost enclosed by
land, where ships may lie safely at anchor.
A STRAIT is a narrow communication between two large collections of
water. If it be so shallow as to be sounded, it is called a _Sound_.
A CHANNEL is the deepest part of a river. A Strait is also sometimes
called a _Channel_.
The _vapours_ which rise from the surface of the earth ascend to the
clouds, whence they fall in dew, snow, or rain, to water the earth, and
supply springs, and small streams or rivers.
A RIVER is an inland stream of water flowing from an elevated portion
of land into some larger stream or body of water. The commencement of a
river is called its SOURCE, or RISE; the direction to which it flows,
its COURSE; and its communication with any other water, its MOUTH.
If the mouth of a river, which flows into an ocean or sea be wide, and
is affected by tides, it is called an ESTUARY or FRITH.
A CATARACT or FALLS is formed by a sudden declivity or precipice in the
course of a river, over which the water falls with great force.
A CANAL is an artificial passage for water, supplied from an elevated
lake or river; and is constructed for the purpose of _inland
navigation_. Canals often pass under mountains and over rivers.
Standing water, and low grounds filled with water, are called MORASSES,
BOGS, and FENS; or, as in the United States, SWAMPS.
LAND.
Is divided into Continents, Islands, Peninsulas, Isthmuses, and Capes;
and is diversified by Plains, Mountains, and Valleys.
A CONTINENT is a large tract of land nowhere entirely separated by
water. There are two continents, viz. the Western and Eastern.
An ISLAND is a portion of land surrounded by water.
A PENINSULA is a portion of land almost surrounded by water.
An ISTHMUS is the neck of land which joins a peninsula to the main land.
A CAPE is a point of land, projecting into the sea. A mountainous Cape
is called a PROMONTORY.
A PLAIN is a large extent of level country. A plain naturally destitute
of trees is called a PRAIRIE; when entirely destitute of vegetation, it
is called a DESERT.
A MOUNTAIN is a lofty elevation of land. If it send forth smoke and
flame, it is called a VOLCANO.
The opening at the top of a volcano, from whence issues the flame,
smoke, &c., is called a CRATER.
If the elevation of a mountain be small, it is then called a HILL.
A VALLEY is a tract of land, bounded by hills, and generally watered by
a river.
A SHORE or COAST is that part of the land which borders upon a body of
water.
EXPLANATION OF MAPS.
A MAP is a picture of the whole, or of a part, of the Earth’s surface,
on a plane or level. Generally the top of a map represents _north_;
the right hand side, _east_; the bottom, _south_; the left hand side,
_west_. West, east, north, and south, are called the Cardinal Points.
Young persons in studying maps, imbibe an idea that the top of a
map represents the | 338.805863 |
2023-11-16 18:22:43.2254820 | 1,738 | 10 |
Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Querist
by
George Berkley
1735
The Querist Containing Several Queries Proposed to the Consideration
of the Public
Part I
Query 1.
Whether there ever was, is, or will be, an industrious nation poor,
or an idle rich?
2. Qu. Whether a people can be called poor, where the common sort
are well fed, clothed, and lodged?
3. Qu. Whether the drift and aim of every wise State should not be,
to encourage industry in its members? And whether those who employ
neither heads nor hands for the common benefit deserve not to be
expelled like drones out of a well-governed State?
4. Qu. Whether the four elements, and man's labour therein, be not
the true source of wealth?
5. Qu. Whether money be not only so far useful, as it stirreth up
industry, enabling men mutually to participate the fruits of each
other's labour?
6. Qu. Whether any other means, equally conducing to excite and
circulate the industry of mankind, may not be as useful as money.
7. Qu. Whether the real end and aim of men be not power? And whether
he who could have everything else at his wish or will would value
money?
8. Qu. Whether the public aim in every well-govern'd State be not
that each member, according to his just pretensions and industry,
should have power?
9. Qu. Whether power be not referred to action; and whether action
doth not follow appetite or will?
10. Qu. Whether fashion doth not create appetites; and whether the
prevailing will of a nation is not the fashion?
11. Qu. Whether the current of industry and commerce be not
determined by this prevailing will?
12. Qu. Whether it be not owing to custom that the fashions are
agreeable?
13. Qu. Whether it may not concern the wisdom of the legislature to
interpose in the making of fashions; and not leave an affair of so
great influence to the management of women and <DW2>s, tailors and
vintners?
14. Qu. Whether reasonable fashions are a greater restraint on
freedom than those which are unreasonable?
15. Qu. Whether a general good taste in a people would not greatly
conduce to their thriving? And whether an uneducated gentry be not
the greatest of national evils?
16. Qu. Whether customs and fashions do not supply the place of
reason in the vulgar of all ranks? Whether, therefore, it doth not
very much import that they should be wisely framed?
17. Qu. Whether the imitating those neighbours in our fashions, to
whom we bear no likeness in our circumstances, be not one cause of
distress to this nation?
18. Qu. Whether frugal fashions in the upper rank, and comfortable
living in the lower, be not the means to multiply inhabitants?
19. Qu. Whether the bulk of our Irish natives are not kept from
thriving, by that cynical content in dirt and beggary which they
possess to a degree beyond any other people in Christendom?
20. Qu. Whether the creating of wants be not the likeliest way to
produce industry in a people? And whether, if our peasants were
accustomed to eat beef and wear shoes, they would not be more
industrious?
21. Qu. Whether other things being given, as climate, soil, etc.,
the wealth be not proportioned to the industry, and this to the
circulation of credit, be the credit circulated or transferred by
what marks or tokens soever?
22. Qu. Whether, therefore, less money swiftly circulating, be not,
in effect, equivalent to more money slowly circulating? Or, whether,
if the circulation be reciprocally as the quantity of coin, the
nation can be a loser?
23. Qu. Whether money is to be considered as having an intrinsic
value, or as being a commodity, a standard, a measure, or a pledge,
as is variously suggested by writers? And whether the true idea of
money, as such, be not altogether that of a ticket or counter?
24. Qu. Whether the value or price of things be not a compounded
proportion, directly as the demand, and reciprocally as the plenty?
25. Qu. Whether the terms crown, livre, pound sterling, etc., are
not to be considered as exponents or denominations of such
proportion? And whether gold, silver, and paper are not tickets or
counters for reckoning, recording, and transferring thereof?
26. Qu. Whether the denominations being retained, although the
bullion were gone, things might not nevertheless be rated, bought,
and sold, industry promoted, and a circulation of commerce
maintained?
27. Qu. Whether an equal raising of all sorts of gold, silver, and
copper coin can have any effect in bringing money into the kingdom?
And whether altering the proportions between the kingdom several
sorts can have any other effect but multiplying one kind and
lessening another, without any increase of the sum total?
28. Qu. Whether arbitrary changing the denomination of coin be not a
public cheat?
29. Qu. Whether, nevertheless, the damage would be very
considerable, if by degrees our money were brought back to the
English value there to rest for ever?
30. Qu. Whether the English crown did not formerly pass with us for
six shillings? And what inconvenience ensued to the public upon its
reduction to the present value, and whether what hath been may not
be?
31. Qu. What makes a wealthy people? Whether mines of gold and
silver are capable of doing this? And whether the <DW64>s, amidst
the gold sands of Afric, are not poor and destitute?
32. Qu. Whether there be any vertue in gold or silver, other than as
they set people at work, or create industry?
33. Qu. Whether it be not the opinion or will of the people,
exciting them to industry, that truly enricheth a nation? And
whether this doth not principally depend on the means for counting,
transferring, and preserving power, that is, property of all kinds?
34. Qu. Whether if there was no silver or gold in the kingdom, our
trade might not, nevertheless, supply bills of exchange, sufficient
to answer the demands of absentees in England or elsewhere?
35. Qu. Whether current bank notes may not be deemed money? And
whether they are not actually the greater part of the money of this
kingdom?
36. Qu. Provided the wheels move, whether it is not the same thing,
as to the effect of the machine, be this done by the force of wind,
or water, or animals?
37. Qu. Whether power to command the industry of others be not real
wealth? And whether money be not in truth tickets or tokens for
conveying and recording such power, and whether it be of great
consequence what materials the tickets are made of?
38. Qu. Whether trade, either foreign or domestic, be in truth any
more than this commerce of industry?
39. Qu. Whether to promote, transfer, and secure this commerce, and
this property in human labour, or, in other words, this power, be
not the sole means of enriching a people, and how far this may be
done independently of gold and silver?
40. Qu. Whether it were not wrong to suppose land itself to be
wealth? And whether the industry of the people is not first to be
consider'd, as that which constitutes wealth, which makes even land
and silver to be wealth, neither of which would have, any value but
as means and motives to industry?
41. Qu. Whether in the wastes of America a man might not possess
twenty miles square of land, and yet want his dinner, or a coat to
his back?
42. Qu. Whether a fertile land, and the industry of its inhabitants,
would not prove inexhaustible funds of real wealth, be the | 339.245522 |
2023-11-16 18:22:43.5973030 | 7,435 | 34 |
Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Prince
THE HISTORY
OF
DAVID GRIEVE
BY
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
AUTHOR OF 'ROBERT ELSMERE,' ETC.
TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF MY MOTHER
CONTENTS
BOOK I CHILDHOOD
BOOK II YOUTH
BOOK III STORM AND STRESS
BOOK IV MATURITY
BOOK I CHILDHOOD
CHAPTER I
'Tak your hat, Louie! Yo're allus leavin summat behind yer.'
'David, yo go for 't,' said the child addressed to a boy by her
side, nodding her head insolently towards the speaker, a tall and
bony woman, who stood on the steps the children had just descended,
holding out a battered hat.
'Yo're a careless thing, Louie,' said the boy, but he went back and
took the hat.
'Mak her tie it,' said the woman, showing an antiquated pair of
strings. 'If she loses it she needna coom cryin for anudder. She'd
lose her yead if it wor loose.'
Then she turned and went back into the house. It was a smallish
house of grey stone, three windows above, two and a door below.
Dashes of white on the stone gave, as it were, eyebrows to the
windows, and over the door there was a meagre trellised porch, up
which grew some now leafless roses and honeysuckles. To the left of
the door a scanty bit of garden was squeezed in between the hill,
against which the house was set edgeways, and the rest of the flat
space, occupied by the uneven farmyard, the cart-shed and stable,
the cow-houses and duck-pond. This garden contained two shabby
apple trees, as yet hardly touched by the spring; some currant and
gooseberry bushes, already fairly green; and a clump or two of
scattered daffodils and wallflowers. The hedge round it was broken
through in various places, and it had a casual neglected air.
The children went their way through the yard. In front of them a
flock of some forty sheep and lambs pushed along, guarded by two
black short-haired collies. The boy, brandishing a long stick,
opened a gate deplorably in want of mending, and the sheep crowded
through, keenly looked after by the dogs, who waited meanwhile on
their flanks with heads up, ears cocked, and that air of
self-restrained energy which often makes a sheep-dog more human
than his master. The field beyond led to a little larch plantation,
where a few primroses showed among the tufts of long, rich grass,
and the drifts of last year's leaves. Here the flock scattered a
little, but David and the dogs were after them in a twinkling, and
the plantation gate was soon closed on the last bleating mother.
Then there was nothing more for the boy to do than to go up to the
top of the green rising ground on which the farm stood and see if
the gate leading to the moor was safely shut. For the sheep he had
been driving were not meant for the open moorland. Their feeding
grounds lay in the stone-walled fields round the homestead, and had
they strayed on to the mountain beyond, which was reserved for a
hardier Scotch breed, David would have been answerable. So he
strode, whistling, up the hill to have a look at that top gate,
while Louie sauntered down to the stream which ran round the lower
pastures to wait for him.
The top gate was fast, but David climbed the wall and stood there a
while, hands in his pockets, legs apart, whistling and looking.
'They can't see t' Downfall from Stockport to-day,' he was saying
to himself; 'it's coomin ower like mad.'
Some distance away in front of him, beyond the undulating heather
ground at his feet, rose a magnificent curving front of moor, the
steep sides of it crowned with black edges and cliffs of grit, the
outline of the south-western end sweeping finely up on the right to
a purple peak, the king of all the moorland round. No such colour
as clothed that bronzed and reddish wall of rock, heather, and
bilberry is known to Westmoreland, hardly to Scotland; it seems to
be the peculiar property of that lonely and inaccessible district
which marks the mountainous centre of mid-England--the district of
Kinder Scout and the High Peak. Before the boy's ranging eye spread
the whole western rampart of the Peak--to the right, the highest
point, of Kinder Low, to the left, 'edge' behind 'edge,' till the
central rocky mass sank and faded towards the north into milder
forms of green and undulating hills. In the very centre of the
great curve a white and surging mass of water cleft the mountain
from top to bottom, falling straight over the edge, here some two
thousand feet above the sea, and roaring downward along an almost
precipitous bed into the stream--the Kinder--which swept round the
hill on which the boy was standing, and through the valley behind
him. In ordinary times the 'Downfall,' as the natives call it, only
makes itself visible on the mountain-side as a black ravine of
tossed and tumbled rocks. But there had been a late snowfall on the
high plateau beyond, followed by heavy rain, and the swollen stream
was to-day worthy of its grand setting of cliff and moor. On such
occasions it becomes a landmark for all the country round, for the
cotton-spinning centres of New Mills and Stockport, as well as for
the grey and scattered farms which climb the long backs of moorland
lying between the Peak and the Cheshire border.
To-day, also, after the snow and rains of early April, the air was
clear again. The sun was shining; a cold, dry wind was blowing;
there were sounds of spring in the air, and signs of it on the
thorns and larches. Far away on the boundary wall of the farmland a
cuckoo was sitting, his long tail swinging behind him, his
monotonous note filling the valley; and overhead a couple of
peewits chased each other in the pale, windy blue.
The keen air, the sun after the rain, sent life and exhilaration
through the boy's young limbs. He leapt from the wall, and raced
back down the field, his dogs streaming behind him, the sheep, with
their newly dropped lambs, shrinking timidly to either side as he
passed. He made for a corner in the wall, vaulted it on to the
moor, crossed a rough dam built in the stream for sheep-washing
purposes, jumped in and out of the two grey-walled sheep-pens
beyond, and then made leisurely for a spot in the brook--not the
Downfall stream, but the Red Brook, one of its westerly
affluents--where he had left a miniature water-wheel at work the
day before. Before him and around him spread the brown bosom of
Kinder Scout; the cultivated land was left behind; here on all
sides, as far as the eye could see, was the wild home of heather
and plashing water, of grouse and peewit, of cloud and breeze.
The little wheel, shaped from a block of firwood, was turning
merrily under a jet of water carefully conducted to it from a
neighbouring fall. David went down on hands and knees to examine
it. He made some little alteration in the primitive machinery of
it, his fingers touching it lightly and neatly, and then, delighted
with the success of it, he called Louie to come and look.
Louie was sitting a few yards further up the stream, crooning to
herself as she swung to and fro, and snatching every now and then
at some tufts of primroses growing near her, which she wrenched
away with a hasty, wasteful hand, careless, apparently, whether
they reached her lap or merely strewed the turf about her with
their torn blossoms. When David called her she gathered up the
flowers anyhow in her apron, and dawdled towards him, leaving a
trail of them behind her. As she reached him, however, she was
struck by a book sticking out of his pocket, and, stooping over
him, with a sudden hawk-like gesture, as he sprawled head
downwards, she tried to get hold of it.
But he felt her movement. 'Let goo!' he said imperiously, and,
throwing himself round, while one foot slipped into the water, he
caught her hand, with its thin predatory fingers, and pulled the
book away.
'Yo just leave my books alone, Louie. Yo do 'em a mischeef whaniver
yo can--an I'll not have it.'
He turned his handsome, regular face, crimsoned by his position and
splashed by the water, towards her with an indignant air. She
laughed, and sat herself down again on the grass, looking a very
imp of provocation.
'They're stupid,' she said, shortly. 'They mak yo a stupid gonner
ony ways.'
'Oh! do they?' he retorted, angrily. 'Bit I'll be even wi yo. I'll
tell yo noa moor stories out of 'em, not if yo ast iver so.'
The girl's mouth curled contemptuously, and she began to gather her
primroses into a bunch with an air of the utmost serenity. She was
a thin, agile, lightly made creature, apparently about eleven. Her
piercing black eyes, when they lifted, seemed to overweight the
face, whereof the other features were at present small and pinched.
The mouth had a trick of remaining slightly open, showing a line of
small pearly teeth; the chin was a little sharp and shrewish. As
for the hair, it promised to be splendid; at present it was an
unkempt, tangled mass, which Hannah Grieve, the children's aunt,
for her own credit's sake at chapel, or in the public street, made
occasional violent attempts to reduce to order--to very little
purpose, so strong and stubborn was the curl of it. The whole
figure was out of keeping with the English moorside, with the
sheep, and the primroses.
But so indeed was that of the boy, whose dark colouring was more
vivacious and pronounced than his sister's, because the red of his
cheek and lip was deeper, while his features, though larger than
hers, were more finely regular, and his eyes had the same piercing
blackness, the same all-examining keenness, as hers. The yellowish
tones of his worn fustian suit and a red Tam-o'-Shanter cap
completed the general effect of brilliancy and, as it were,
_foreignness_.
Having finished his inspection of his water-mill, he scrambled
across to the other side of the stream so as to be well out of his
sister's way, and, taking out the volume which was stretching his
pocket, he began to read it. It was a brown calf-bound book, much
worn, and on its title-page it bore the title of 'The Wars of
Jerusalem,' of Flavius Josephus, translated by S. Calmet, and a
date somewhere in the middle of the eighteenth century. To this
antique fare the boy settled himself down. The two collies lay
couched beside him; a stone-chat perched on one or other of the
great blocks which lay scattered over the heath gave out his
clinking note; while every now and then the loud peevish cluck of
the grouse came from the distant sides of the Scout.
Titus was now making his final assault on the Temple. The Zealots
were gathered in the innermost court, frantically beseeching Heaven
for a sign; the walls, the outer approaches of the Sanctuary were
choked with the dying and the dead. David sat absorbed, elbows on
knees, his face framed in his hands. Suddenly the descent of
something cold and clammy on his bent neck roused him with a most
unpleasant shock.
Quick as lightning he faced round, snatching at his assailant; but
Louie was off, scudding among the bilberry hillocks with peals of
laughter, while the slimy moss she had just gathered from the edges
of the brook sent cold creeping streams into the recesses of
David's neck and shoulders. He shook himself free of the mess as
best he could, and rushed after her. For a long time he chased her
in vain, then her foot tripped, and he came up with her just as she
rolled into the heather, gathered up like a hedgehog against
attack, her old hat held down over her ears and face. David fell
upon her and chastised her; but his fisticuffs probably looked more
formidable than they felt, for Louie laughed provokingly all the
time, and when he stopped out of breath she said exultantly, as she
sprang up, holding her skirts round her ready for another flight,
'It's greened aw yur neck and yur collar--luvely! Doan't yo be
nassty for nothink next time!'
And off she ran.
'If yo meddle wi me ony moor,' he shouted after her fiercely, 'yo
see what I'll do!'
But in reality the male was helpless, as usual. He went ruefully
down to the brook, and loosening his shirt and coat tried to clean
his neck and hair. Then, extremely sticky and uncomfortable, he
went back to his seat and his book, his wrathful eyes taking
careful note meanwhile of Louie's whereabouts. And thenceforward he
read, as it were, on guard, looking up every other minute.
Louie established herself some way up the further <DW72>, in a steep
stony nook, under two black boulders, which protected her rear in
case of reprisals from David. Time passed away. David, on the other
side of the brook, revelling in the joys of battle, and all the
more alive to them perhaps because of the watch kept on Louie by
one section of his brain, was conscious of no length in the
minutes. But Louie's mood gradually became one of extreme flatness.
All her resources were for the moment at an end. She could think of
no fresh torment for David; besides, she knew that she was
observed. She had destroyed all the scanty store of primroses along
the brook; gathered rushes, begun to plait them, and thrown them
away; she had found a grouse's nest among the dead fern, and,
contrary to the most solemn injunctions of uncle and keeper,
enforced by the direst threats, had purloined and broken an egg;
and still dinner-time delayed. Perhaps, too, the cold blighting
wind, which soon made her look blue and pinched, tamed her
insensibly. At any rate, she got up after about an hour, and coolly
walked across to David.
He looked up at her with a quick frown. But she sat down, and,
clasping her hands round her knees, while the primroses she had
stuck in her hat dangled over her defiant eyes, she looked at him
with a grinning composure.
'Yo can read out if yo want to,' she remarked.
'Yo doan't deserve nowt, an I shan't,' said David, shortly.
'Then I'll tell Aunt Hannah about how yo let t' lambs stray lasst
evenin, and about yor readin at neet.'
'Yo may tell her aw t' tallydiddles yo can think on,' was the
unpromising reply.
Louie threw all the scorn possible into her forced smile, and then,
dropping full-length into the heather, she began to sing at the top
of a shrill, unpleasing voice, mainly, of course, for the sake of
harrying anyone in her neighbourhood who might wish to read.
'Stop that squealing!' David commanded, peremptorily. Whereupon
Louie sang louder than before.
David looked round in a fury, but his fury was, apparently,
instantly damped by the inward conviction, born of long experience,
that he could do nothing to help himself. He sprang up, and thrust
his book into his pocket.
'Nobory ull mak owt o' yo till yo get a bastin twice a day, wi an
odd lick extra for Sundays,' he remarked to her with grim emphasis
when he had reached what seemed to him a safe distance. Then he
turned and strode up the face of the hill, the dogs at his heels.
Louie turned on her elbow, and threw such small stones as she could
discover among the heather after him, but they fell harmlessly
about him, and did not answer their purpose of provoking him to
turn round again.
She observed that he was going up to the old smithy on the side of
Kinder Low, and in a few minutes she got up and sauntered lazily
after him.
'T' owd smithy' had been the enchanted ground of David's childhood.
It was a ruined building standing deep in heather, half-way up the
mountain-side, and ringed by scattered blocks and tabular slabs of
grit. Here in times far remote--beyond the memory of even the
oldest inhabitant--the millstones of the district, which gave their
name to the'millstone grit' formation of the Peak, were fashioned.
High up on the dark moorside stood what remained of the primitive
workshop. The fire-marked stones of the hearth were plainly
visible; deep in the heather near lay the broken jambs of the
window; a stone doorway with its lintel was still standing; and on
the <DW72> beneath it, hardly to be distinguished now from the great
primaeval blocks out of which they had sprung and to which they
were fast returning, reposed two or three huge millstones. Perhaps
they bordered some ancient track, climbed by the millers of the
past when they came to this remote spot to give their orders; but,
if so, the track had long since sunk out of sight in the heather,
and no visible link remained to connect the history of this high
and lonely place with that of those teeming valleys hidden to west
and north among the moors, the dwellers wherein must once have
known it well. From the old threshold the eye commanded a
wilderness of moors, rising wave-like one after another, from the
green swell just below whereon stood Reuben Grieve's farm, to the
far-distant Alderley Edge. In the hollows between, dim tall
chimneys veiled in mist and smoke showed the places of the cotton
towns--of Hayfield, New Mills, Staleybridge, Stockport; while in
the far northwest, any gazer to whom the country-side spoke
familiarly might, in any ordinary clearness of weather, look for
and find the eternal smoke-cloud of Manchester.
So the deserted smithy stood as it were spectator for ever of that
younger, busier England which wanted it no more. Human life
notwithstanding had left on it some very recent traces. On the
lintel of the ruined door two names were scratched deep into the
whitish under-grain of the black weather-beaten grit. The upper one
ran: 'David Suveret Grieve, Sept. 15, 1863;' the lower, 'Louise
Stephanie Grieve, Sept. 15, 1863.' They were written in bold
round-hand, and could be read at a considerable distance. During
the nine months they had been there, many a rustic passer-by had
been stopped by them, especially by the oddity of the name
_Suveret_, which tormented the Derbyshire mouth.
In a corner of the walls stood something more puzzling still--a
large iron pan, filled to the brim with water, and firmly bedded on
a foundation of earth and stones. So still in general was the
shining sheltered round, that the branches of the mountain ash
which leant against the crumbling wall, the tufts of hard fern
growing among the stones, the clouds which sailed overhead, were
all delicately mirrored in it. That pan was David Grieve's dearest
possession, and those reflections, so magical, and so alive, had
contrived for him many a half-hour of almost breathless pleasure.
He had carried it off from the refuse-yard of a foundry in
the valley, where he had a friend in one of the apprentices.
The farm donkey and himself had dragged it thither on a certain
never-to-be-forgotten day, when Uncle Reuben had been on the other
side of the mountain at a shepherds' meeting in the Woodlands,
while Aunt Hannah was safely up to her elbows in the washtub. Boy's
back and donkey's back had nearly broken under the task, but there
the pan stood at last, the delight of David's heart. In a crevice
of the wall beside it, hidden jealously from the passer-by, lay the
other half of that perpetual entertainment it provided--a store of
tiny boats fashioned by David, and another friend, the lame
minister of the 'Christian Brethren' congregation at Clough End,
the small factory town just below Kinder, who was a sea-captain's
son, and with a knife and a bit of deal could fashion you any craft
you pleased. These boats David only brought out on rare occasions,
very seldom admitting Louie to the show. But when he pleased they
became fleets, and sailed for new continents. Here were the ships
of Captain Cook, there the ships of Columbus. On one side of the
pan lay the Spanish main, on the other the islands of the South
Seas. A certain tattered copy of the 'Royal Magazine,' with
pictures, which lay in Uncle Reuben's cupboard at home, provided
all that for David was to be known of these names and places. But
fancy played pilot and led the way; she conjured up storms and
islands and adventures; and as he hung over his pan high on the
Derbyshire moor, the boy, like Sidney of old,'sailed the seas where
there was never sand'--the vast and viewless oceans of romance.
CHAPTER II
Once safe in the smithy, David recovered his temper. If Louie
followed him, which was probable, he would know better how to deal
with her here, with a wall at his back and a definite area to
defend, than he did in the treacherous openness of the heath.
However, just as he was settling himself down, with a sigh of
relief, between the pan and the wall, he caught sight of something
through one of the gaps of the old ruin which made him fling down
his book and run to the doorway. There, putting his fingers to his
mouth, he blew a shrill whistle along the side of the Scout. A bent
figure on a distant path stopped at the sound. It was an old man,
with a plaid hanging from his shoulders. He raised the stick he
held, and shook it in recognition of David's signal. Then resuming
his bowed walk, he came slowly on, followed by an old hound, whose
gait seemed as feeble as his master's.
David leant against the doorway waiting. Louie, meanwhile, was
lounging in the heather just below him, having very soon caught him
up.
'What d'yo want 'im for?' she asked contemptuously, as the
new-comer approached: 'he'd owt to be in th' sylum. Aunt Hannah says
he's gone that silly, he owt to be took up.'
'Well, he woan't be, then,' retorted David. 'Theer's nobory about as
ull lay a finger on 'im. He doan't do her no harm, nor yo noather.
Women foak and gells allus want to be wooryin soomthin.'
'Aunt Hannah says he lost his wits wi fuddlin,' repeated Louie
shrilly, striking straighter still for what she knew to be one of
David's tenderest points--his friendship for 'owd 'Lias Dawson,' the
queer dreamer, who, fifteen years before, had been the schoolmaster
of Frimley Moor End, and in local esteem 't' cliverest mon abeawt
t'Peak.'
David with difficulty controlled a hot inclination to fall upon his
sister once more. Instead, however, he affected not to hear her,
and shouted a loud 'Good mornin' to the old man, who was toiling up
the knoll on which the smithy stood.
'Lias responded feebly, panting hard the while. He sank down on a
stone outside the smithy, and for a while had neither breath nor
voice. Then he began to look about him; his heaving chest subsided,
and there was a rekindling of the strange blue eyes. He wore a high
white stock and neckcloth; his plaid hung round his emaciated
shoulders with a certain antique dignity; his rusty wideawake
covered hair still abundant and even curly, but snow-white; the
face, with its white eyebrows, was long, thin, and full of an
ascetic delicacy.
'Wal, Davy, my lad,' the old man said at last, with a sort of
pompous mildness; 'I winna blame yo for 't, but yo interrupted me
sadly wi yur whistlin. I ha been occupied this day wi business o'
_graat_ importance. His Majesty King Charles has been wi me
since seven o'clock this mornin. And for th' fust time I ha been
gettin reet to th' _bottom_ o' things wi him. I ha been
_probin_ him, Davy--probin him. He couldno riddle through wi
lees; I kept him to 't, as yo mun keep a horse to a jump--straight
an tight. I had it aw out about Strafford, an t'Five Members, an
thoose dirty dealins wi th' Irish devils! Yo should ha yerd it,
Davy--yo should, I'll uphowd yo!'
And placing his stick between his knees, the old man leant his
hands upon it, with a meditative and judicial air. The boy stood
looking down at him, a broad smile lighting up the dark and vivid
face. Old 'Lias supplied him with a perpetual'spectacle' which
never palled.
'Coe him back, 'Lias, he's soomwheer about. Yo need nobbut coe him,
an he'll coom.'
'Lias looked fatuously pleased. He lifted his head and affected to
scan the path along which he had just travelled.
'Aye, I daur say he's not far.--Yor Majesty!'
And 'Lias laid his head on one side and listened. In a few seconds
a cunning smile stole over his lips.
'Wal, Davy, yo're in luck. He's noan so onwillin, we'st ha him here
in a twinklin. Yo may coe him mony things, but yo conno coe him
proud. Noa, as I've fund him, Charles Stuart has no soart o' pride
about him. Aye, theer yo are! Sir, your Majesty's obleeged an
humble servant!'
And, raising his hand to his hat, the old man took it off and swept
it round with a courtly deliberation. Then replacing it, he sat
with his face raised, as though to one standing near, his whole
attitude full of a careful and pompous dignity.
'Now then, yor Majesty,' said 'Lias grimly,' I'st ha to put that
question to yo, yance moor, yo wor noan so well pleased wi this
mornin. But yo shouldno be soa tender, mon! Th' truth can
do yo _noa_ harm, wheer yo are, an I'm nobbut askin for
_informashun's_ sake. Soa out wi it; I'st not use it agen yo.
_That--wee--bit--o'--damned--paper,_--man, what sent poor
Strafford to his eend--yo mind it?--aye, _'at yo do!_ Well,
now'--and the old man's tone grew gently seductive--_'explain
yursel._ We'n had _their_ tale,' and he pointed away to
some imaginary accusers. 'But yo mun trust an Englishman's sense o'
fair play. Say your say. We'st gie yo a varra patient hearin.'
And with chin thrown up, and his half-blurred eyes blinking under
their white lashes, 'Lias waited with a bland imperativeness for the
answer.
'Eh?' said 'Lias at last, frowning and hollowing his hand to his
ear.
He listened another few seconds, then he dropped his hand sharply.
'What's 'at yo're sayin?' he asked hastily; ''at yo couldno help it,
not _whativer_--that i' truth yo had nothin to do wi't, no
moor than mysel--that yo wor _forcit_ to it--willy-nilly--by
them devils o' Parliament foak--by Mr. Pym and his loike, wi whom,
if God-amighty ha' not reckoned since, theer's no moor justice i'
His Kingdom than yo found i' yours?'
The words came out with a rush, tumbling over one another till they
suddenly broke off in a loud key of indignant scorn. Then 'Lias
fell silent a moment, and slowly shook his head over the inveterate
shuffling of the House of Stuart.
''Twinna do, man--'twinna do,' he said at last, with an air of
fine reproof. 'He wor your _friend_, wor that poor sinner
Strafford--your awn familiar friend, as t' Psalm says. I'm not
takin up a brief for him, t' Lord knows! He wor but meetin his
deserts, to _my_ thinkin, when his yed went loupin. But yo put
a black mark agen _yore_ name when yo signed that bit paper
for your awn skin's sake. Naw, naw, man, yo should ha lost your awn
yed a bit sooner fust. Eh, it wor base--it wor cooardly!'
'Lias's voice dropped, and he fell muttering to himself
indistinctly. David, bending over him, could not make out whether
it was Charles or his interlocutor speaking, and began to be afraid
that the old man's performance was over before it had well begun.
But on the contrary, 'Lias emerged with fresh energy from the gulf
of inarticulate argument in which his poor wits seemed to have lost
themselves awhile.
'But I'm no blamin yo awthegither,' he cried, raising himself, with
a protesting wave of the hand. 'Theer's naw mak o' mischief i' this
world, but t' _women_ are at t' bottom o't. Whar's that proud
foo of a wife o' yourn? Send her here, man; send her here! 'Lias
Dawson ull mak her hear reason! Now, Davy!'
And the old man drew the lad to him with one hand, while he raised
a finger softly with the other.
'Just study her, Davy, my lad,' he said in an undertone, which
swelled louder as his excitement grew, 'theer she stan's, by t' side
o' t' King. She's a gay good-lookin female, that I'll confess to,
but study her; look at her curls, Davy, an her paint, an her
nakedness. For shame, madam! Goo hide that neck o' yourn, goo hide
it, I say! An her faldaddles, an her jewles, an her ribbons. Is
that a woman--a French hizzy like that--to get a King out o'
trooble, wha's awready lost aw t' wits he wor born wi?'
And with sparkling eyes and outstretched arm 'Lias pointed sternly
into vacancy. Thrilled with involuntary awe the boy and girl looked
round them. For, in spite of herself, Louie had come closer, little
by little, and was now sitting cross-legged in front of 'Lias. Then
Louie's shrill voice broke in--
'Tell us what she's got on!' And the girl leant eagerly forward,
her magnificent eyes kindling into interest.
'What she's got on, my lassie? Eh, but I'm feart your yead, too, is
fu' o' gauds!--Wal, it's but nateral to females. She's aw in white
satin, my lassie,--an in her brown hair theer's pearls, an a blue
ribbon just howdin down t' little luve-locks on her forehead--an on
her saft neck theer's pearls again--not soa white, by a thoosand
mile, as her white skin--an t' lace fa's ower her proud shoothers,
an | 339.617343 |
2023-11-16 18:22:43.7380010 | 2,144 | 22 |
Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
Fourth Series
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.
NO. 695. SATURDAY, APRIL 21, 1877. PRICE 1-1/2_d._]
A MARVEL OF ARTISTIC GENIUS.
Coggeshall in Essex is a small market-town, which, in days past was of
some slight importance as a busy little manufacturing place, but which
of later years has been drained of population, like many another place,
to supply material for the great 'centres.' It now has little to boast
of but its fine church, one of the three finest in the county, and some
most interesting ruins, well known to antiquaries; it takes, however, a
great pride in owning the parentage of the subject of this notice.
John Carter was the only son of a respectable labourer in Coggeshall,
but was himself brought up to silk-weaving, that being the staple
trade of the town. He was educated in the usual way at the national
school; but at the age of thirteen was transferred to Sir R. Hitcham's
grammar-school, where he continued about two years. During this
period he was chiefly remarkable for his aptitude for getting into
mischief; and the only sign given of the latent talent which was
afterwards so strangely developed in him was in drawing horses and
dogs of questionable beauty on his slates and copy-books; the walls of
his cottage also were frequently put under requisition for the same
purpose; a mark of talent which his mother in those days could have
readily dispensed with, as not tending to improve the look of her
humble apartment, which she always kept most scrupulously neat and
clean. He was a bright intelligent boy, and this and his high spirits
made him a general favourite, but proved also a great snare to him. He
became acquainted with a set of wild young men, and soon, naturally
enough, became the ringleader in all sorts of daring enterprise.
When Carter was about twenty he married; but though his wife was a
quiet and respectable young woman, his marriage does not appear to have
steadied him. He and his wild companions used to meet at one of the
public-houses and there talk over and arrange their operations. One
of the projects which these choice spirits agreed upon was a rooking
expedition, the young rooks being then in season. It was in the month
of May 1836. The place agreed on was Holfield Grange, there being there
a fine old avenue of elms, in which the rooks from time immemorial had
comfortably settled. The avenue was disused; and as it was some little
way from the house and away from the road and preserves, there was
little chance of their being interrupted by watchmen or gamekeepers.
They arranged to meet in a field outside the town with a given signal,
by which they might know friend from foe; this was to avoid leaving the
town in a body, which might have suggested suspicions of mischief, and
induced a little watching. Midnight found them all at the rendezvous,
and little more than half an hour's walking brought them to the chosen
spot. Carter, foremost as usual, was the first to climb one of the
tall trees, and was soon busy enough securing the young birds. The
trees in the avenue are very old, and stand somewhat close together,
their gnarled and massive boughs frequently interlacing, making it
quite possible for an expert climber to pass from one tree to another.
In attempting to perform this, Carter deceived either in the distance
or strength of a bough, missed his hold and fell to the ground, a
distance of about forty feet. He had fallen apparently on his head, for
it was crushed forwards on to his chest. For a time he lay perfectly
senseless, and the dismay of his wretched companions may be imagined.
Their position was an unenviable one, to say the least. What were they
to do? A mile and a half from the town, in the dead of night, in the
midst of their depredations, which must now inevitably become known,
and with one of their party dying or dead, they knew not which.
After a time, Carter seems to have recovered consciousness partially,
and made them understand, though his speech was so much affected as to
be almost unintelligible, that he wanted them to 'pull him out!' This
rough surgery they therefore tried, some taking his head and some his
feet, and pulled till he could once more speak plainly; and having done
that, seemed to think that there was nothing more they could do.
Would one or two more judicious tugs have fitted the dislocated bones
together again, or would they have broken the spinal marrow? Who can
tell? In either case the world would have lost one striking case of
latent talent developed by a misfortune which seemed indeed only one
remove from death; so we will not complain.
Finding that no further improvement took place in the poor fellow, and
that he had lapsed into unconsciousness, his companions procured a
hurdle, and laying him on it with all the skill and gentleness of which
they were capable, retraced their steps to the town, and bore him to
the home which he had left a few hours before in the full strength and
health of early manhood. They laid him on his bed and then slunk away,
glad to shut out from their sight the terrible result of their headlong
folly, one only remaining to tell to the poor wife the sad story of the
disaster. The doctor was sent for; and the result of his examination
was the terrible verdict that Carter had not in all probability many
days or even hours to live; in any case, whether he lived or not, he
was paralysed without hope of recovery.
He did not recover consciousness entirely till the following night;
and we who have the full enjoyment of our limbs and health can hardly
realise what that poor fellow must have suffered in learning that,
even if life were granted to him at all, it was under such terrible
conditions as at first to seem to him less a boon than a burden. He
would never again be able to move hand or foot, the only power of
movement remaining to him being in the neck, which just enabled him
to raise or turn round his head; that was _all_--there was not even
feeling in the rest of his body. What a dreary blank in the future!
What wonder if the undisciplined soul cried out aloud with repining,
like a wild bird beating against the bars of a cage; what wonder if in
the bitterness of his heart he cried: 'Of what good is my life to me!
Better that I had never been born, since all that makes life sweet is
taken from me.'
Anguish unknown, terrors too great for words, must that poor soul
have met and overcome, ere he had learned the great lesson of sorrow,
that life, true life, does not consist in mere physical capabilities
and enjoyments, but that there is a far higher, nobler life, the
life of the soul and mind, which is as infinitely above the other as
heaven is above earth. His mind being now no longer overridden by his
superabundant physical nature, began to work and put forth its powers
and energies; but it was long ere he found any object on which to
expend those powers; not till he had, through several long and heavy
years of suffering, learned the great and most difficult lesson of
patience--patience, without which he would never have accomplished the
wonderful work which we will now proceed to describe.
Having read one day of some young woman who, deprived of the use of
her hands, had learned to draw little things with her _mouth_, he was
seized with a desire to try the same thing, and was not content till
he had made his first attempt. Deprived of the use of his hands, why
not try his mouth! A butterfly that had fluttered into the cottage
was caught and transfixed; a rough desk extemporised, and with such
materials as a sixpenny box of paints afforded, he made a sketch of the
insect. Delighted with his success, he determined to persevere. A light
deal desk was made after his own directions, on which to fix his paper;
the picture he was about to copy being fastened above, or if large,
hung from the top of the bed by tapes; he always drew in bed, his head
being slightly raised by pillows. A pencil about six inches long and
bound round with thread was put in his mouth, and with this he sketched
his subject. A saucer of Indian ink was prepared, and a fine camel-hair
brush was dipped and placed in his mouth by the attendant; these
brushes were sometimes not more than four inches long. In this way he
produced the most exquisite drawings, equal to fine line engravings,
which were sold for him by his friends and patrons, some of them
finding their way into the highest quarters; and thus he was enabled to
experience the delight of feeling that paralysed as he was, he was not
a mere burden, but was able to contribute to his own support.
Several of the most beautiful of his works are now in America, and we
believe we are right in saying that as much as twenty-five and fifty
pounds apiece have been given for them. Another very fine work, a copy
of 'St John and the Angel,' about eighteen inches by twelve, is in the
possession of Robert Hanbury, Esq., of Poles Ware, Hertfordshire, and
is wonderful in its power | 339.758041 |
2023-11-16 18:22:44.1270930 | 2,253 | 18 |
Produced by the Mormon Texts Project
(MormonTextsProject.org), with thanks to Paul Freebairn
and Cheryl Jennings for proofreading.
[Frontispiece Image: Mount Calvary.]
THE HAND OF
PROVIDENCE,
AS SHOWN IN THE
HISTORY OF
NATIONS AND INDIVIDUALS,
From the Great Apostasy to the Restoration of the Gospel.
ILLUSTRATED.
BY ELDER J. H. WARD.
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH:
Published at the Juvenile Instructor Office. 1883.
PREFACE.
Don't throw this book down carelessly. It will do you no harm. It
assumes no dictation. It may benefit you if you will read it carefully.
"We have plenty of histories."
True. But most are too large to be of practical value to the sons and
daughters of toil. Many are written in the interest of some party or
sect, and in order to gain favor, they flatter the vanity of men.
"But they tell of wonderful deeds, and thrilling adventures."
Very true. Some of them are mostly composed of recitals of legalized
slaughter, and praise of tyrants who have climbed to power over the
mangled bodies of their fellow-men, and whose names will not live
in one grateful memory; while the real benefactors of the race, the
unfolding of new and higher truths and, above all, the over-ruling hand
of God are unnoticed, or, at most, barely mentioned.
"Does God rule the world?"
Yes, verily. The greatest actors on the theatre of the world are only
instruments in the hand of God, for the execution of His purposes.
"Where have you obtained the facts contained in this volume?"
From many authentic works, some of them not easily accessible to most
readers.
{IV.}
"This will be a good book for the young, and all those who have not the
opportunity to consult larger works, will it not?"
With this idea it has been written and to this end I dedicate it to my
children as heirs in the kingdom of God, to the youth of Zion and to my
earnest friends everywhere.
THE AUTHOR.
Salt Lake City,
March 16th, 1883.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Injustice of Roman Governors--Nero Emperor--Vespasian and Titus
Sent to Judea--Fortifications of Jerusalem--Titus Offers Terms of
Peace--Horrors of the Siege--Women Devour their own Children--Temple
Burned--City Destroyed--Dispersion of the Jews--Universal
Apostasy--Priesthood no More--Ideas of God Perverted--Worship
Corrupted with Heathen Rites--Persecution of Christians--Emperor
Constantine--Rise of Monastic Order.
CHAPTER II.
Description of Arabia--Arabian Customs--Birth of Mahomet--Early
Life--Journey to Syria--Christian Sects--Doctrines Taught by
Mahomet--His Marriage--Proclaims Himself a Prophet--Persecution--Flees
to Medina--Becomes Powerful--Sickness and Death--Personal Appearance.
CHAPTER III.
Causes of Triumphs--Abou-Beker Elected Caliph--War Declared--Fall of
Bozrah--Battle of Aiznadin--Siege of Jerusalem--Departure of Roman
Emperor--Saracen Fleet--Eastern Conquests--Fall of Alexandria--Conquest
of Northern Africa--Conquest of Spain--Battle of Poictiers--Extent of
Saracen Empire.
CHAPTER IV.
Intellectual Stagnation--Saracens and Jews Revive Learning--University
of Bagdad--Public Schools--Medical College of Cairo--Circulating
Library--Modern Form of Books--Arabic Notation--Discoveries in
Chemistry--Rotundity of the Earth--Mariner's Compass--Discoveries of
Alhazin--Astronomical Observatories--Golden Age of Judaism--Cities of
Andalusia--Saracen Dwellings--Condition of Women--Female Physicians.
CHAPTER V.
Jerusalem the Sacred City--Alexandria Noted for Philosophy--School of
Hypatia--Mob Murders Her--Doctrines of Cyril--Jerusalem a Scene of
Suffering--Fulfillment of Prophecy--Herculaneum and Pompeii--Their
Destruction--Evidences {VI.} of their Wickedness--Excavations--Roman
Rule--Removal of Capital--Crimes of Constantine--Commencement
of Greek Empire--Description of Constantinople--Its
Capture by Crusaders--Taken by the Turks--Intellectual
Degradation--Priestcraft--Debauchery--Turkish Rule.
CHAPTER VI.
Growth of Relic-Worship--Schemes of the Roman Pontiffs--Manufacture
of Relics--Their Great Variety--Value of Relics--Insults Offered to
Pilgrims--Peter the Hermit--Crusades--Disorderly Rabble--Terrible
Suffering--Capture of Jerusalem--Terrible Massacre--Capture
of Constantinople--Crusades of the Children--Results of the
Crusades--Revival of Learning.
CHAPTER VII.
The Morning Dawns--Rise of Knighthood--Principles of
Knights--Apostate Priests Held in Contempt--Waldenses--Persecutions
in Southern France--Rise of the Inquisition--Liberal Policy of
Frederick--"Everlasting Gospel"--Its Remarkable Teachings--Bacon's
Discoveries--Geographical Knowledge--Azores and Canary Islands--Travels
of Marco Polo--Condition of European States--Modern States.
CHAPTER VIII.
Lesson from Heathen Mythology--Vicissitudes of Roman Church--Boniface
Pope--Advancement in Civilization--Work of the Roman Church--Invention
of Printing--Gutenberg--Bible First Printed--Columbus--His Wonderful
Dream--His Great Voyage--Discovery of America--Trials and Triumphs.
CHAPTER IX.
History in Words--British Coat of Arms--The Ten Tribes--Account
of Esdras--Dispersion of the Tribes--Mixed Seed of Israel--Effect
on European Society--Jewish Influence--Discovery of Cape of Good
Hope--Pacific Ocean Discovered--Magellan's Voyage--Discovers Cape
Horn--Distance Sailed--Death of Magellan--Voyage Completed--Its Effect
on the Public--Huss and Jerome Burned--John Ziska--Persecutions
of Waldenses--Capture of Mentz--Dispersion of Printers--Hans
Boheim--Joss Fritz--Sale of Indulgences--Martin Luther Burns the Pope's
Letter--Grand Council at Worms--Rome in a Rage--Luther Kidnapped.
CHAPTER X.
Germany Aroused--Peasants' War--Muntzer's Proclamation--Emperor
Quarrels With the Pope--Results in Other {VII.} Countries--Growth
in Modern Languages--Luther's Crowning Work--Power of
Superstition--Witchcraft--Reformers not Inspired--Extracts from
Mosheim--Battle-Ax of God--Copernicus--Galileo--Newton--Death of
Bruno--Change in Commercial Affairs--Spanish Armada--Blessed by the
Pope--Destroyed by a Storm--Its Effect on Europe--England's Influence
and Position--America the Land of Refuge.
CHAPTER XI.
Columbus Destroyed Papal Dogmas--Cruelty of Spaniards--Their
Retribution--Relics in Massachusetts--Newport Tower--Mounds in
Ohio--Remains Found in Iowa--Plates Found in Illinois--Ancient Mexican
Pyramids--Human Sacrifices--View from the Great Pyramid--Ancient
American Sculptures--Mammoths--Mexican Customs--Religious
Rites--Computation of Time--Arts and Sciences--Description of Peru--Its
Civilization--Massacre of the Incas--Testimony of Travellers--Indian
Traditions.
CHAPTER XII.
England's Development--Reign of Elizabeth--Influence of the
Bible--Tyranny of the Kings--Jacques Cartier--Discovery of the
St. Lawrence--Quebec Founded--Acadia Colonized--Transferred to
England--Extracts from Longfellow's Poem--Virginia Settled.
CHAPTER XIII.
Character of the Colonists--They Leave England--Sojourn in
Holland--Brewster's Printing Press--Puritans Embark for America--Their
Trust in God--Robinson's Prophecy--Plymouth Founded--Sufferings of the
Colonists--Conflict in England--Peculiarities of the Puritans--Harvard
College Founded--Extent of Settlements--First Confederation.
CHAPTER XIV.
Description of Holland--A Land of Refuge--Tyranny of Alva--The Struggle
for Independence--Siege of Leyden--The Country Submerged--Famine in the
City--Speech of the Mayor--Heroic Conduct--Trust in God--Storm Raises
the Waters--Spaniards Retreat--Leyden is Saved--Thanksgiving--Waters
Retire.
CHAPTER XV.
Rise of Quakerism--George Fox--William Penn--Founds
Pennsylvania--Kindness to the Indians--Philadelphia Founded--Maryland,
Carolina and Georgia Settled--Roger Williams--Rhode Island Founded--Its
Toleration.
{VIII.}
CHAPTER XVI.
Condition of English Society--Manufacture of Gin and Rum--Origin of
Methodism--Eloquence of Whitfield--John and Charles Wesley--Remarkable
Teachings--Robert Raikes--John Howard--William Wilberforce--Mechanical
Inventions--Growth of American Freedom--Three Great Battles--Cook's
Voyages--Extension of the English Language--Greatness of
Pitt--Washington's Early Life--Benjamin Franklin.
CHAPTER XVII.
Gathering of Political Forces--General Revolution--Civil
Reformers--Decay of Old Institutions--Rosseau and His
Writings--Voltaire--Holland, a Political Refuge--American
Settlers--Lines of Albert B. Street--Growth of the Colonies--Love for
England--Causes of Revolution--Manufactures Forbidden--Stamp Act--Tax
on Tea--Philadelphia Convention--Address to the King--Appeal To
England--To Canada--Incident in Old South Church, Boston--Paul Revere's
R | 340.147133 |
2023-11-16 18:22:44.3289320 | 16 | 7 |
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Corsetiere, and the | 340.348972 |
2023-11-16 18:22:44.3604160 | 7,435 | 6 |
Produced by Ted Garwin, Annika and PG Distributed Proofreaders
THE GOLDEN BOOK OF VENICE
A Historical Romance of the 16th Century
By
MRS. LAWRENCE TURNBULL
'This noble citie doth in a manner
chalenge this at my hands, that
I should describe her... the
fairest Lady, yet the richest Paragon,
and Queene of Christendome.'
1900
AS A TRIBUTE TO HIS GIFT OF VIVID
HISTORIC NARRATION WHICH WAS
THE DELIGHT OF MY CHILDHOOD,
I INSCRIBE THIS ROMANCE TO THE
MEMORY OF MY DEAR FATHER.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
I desire gratefully to acknowledge my indebtedness to many faithful,
loving and able students of Venetian lore, without whose books my own
presentation of Venice in the sixteenth century would have been
impossible. Mr. Ruskin's name must always come first among the prophets
of this City of the Sea, but among others from whom I have gathered
side-lights I have found quite indispensable Mr. Horatio F. Brown's
"Venice; An Historical Sketch of the Republic," "Venetian Studies," and
"Life on the Lagoons"; Mr. Hare's suggestive little volume of "Venice";
M. Leon Galibert's "Histoire de la Republique de Venise"; and Mr.
Charles Yriarte's "Venice" and his work studied from the State papers in
the Frari, entitled "La vie d'un Patricien de Venise."
Mr. Robertson's life of Fra Paolo Sarpi gave me the first hint of this
great personality, but my own portrait has been carefully studied from
the volumes of his collected works which later responded to my search;
these were collected and preserved for the Venetian government under the
title of "Opere di Fra Paolo Sarpi, Servita, Teologo e Consultore della
Serenissima Repubblica di Venezia" and included his life, letters and
"opinions," and all others of his writings which escaped destruction in
the fire of the Servite Convent, as well as many important extracts from
the original manuscripts so destroyed and which had been transcribed by
order of the Doge, Marco Foscarini, a few years before.
FRANCESE LITCHFIELD TURNBULL.
_La-Paix, June_, 1900.
PRELUDE
Venice, with her life and glory but a memory, is still the _citta
nobilissima_,--a city of moods,--all beautiful to the beauty-lover, all
mystic to the dreamer; between the wonderful blue of the water and the
sky she floats like a mirage--visionary--unreal--and under the spell of
her fascination we are not critics, but lovers. We see the pathos, not
the scars of her desolation, and the splendor of her past is too much a
part of her to be forgotten, though the gold is dim upon her
palace-fronts, and the sheen of her precious marbles has lost its bloom,
and the colors of the laughing Giorgione have faded like his smile.
But the very soul of Venetia is always hovering near, ready to be
invoked by those who confess her charm. When, under the glamor of her
radiant skies the faded hues flash forth once more, there is no ruin nor
decay, nor touch of conquering hand of man nor time, only a splendid
city of dreams, waiting in silence--as all visions wait--until that
invisible, haunting spirit has turned the legends of her power into
actual activities.
_THE GOLDEN BOOK OF VENICE_
I
Sea and sky were one glory of warmth and color this sunny November
morning in 1565, and there were signs of unusual activity in the Campo
San Rocco before the great church of Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari,
which, if only brick without, was all glorious within, "in raiment of
needlework" and "wrought gold." And outside, the delicate tracery of the
cornice was like a border of embroidery upon the sombre surface; the
sculptured marble doorway was of surpassing richness, and the airy grace
of the campanile detached itself against the entrancing blue of the sky,
as one of those points of beauty for which Venice is memorable.
Usually this small square, remote from the centres of traffic as from
the homes of the nobility, seemed scarcely more than a landing-place for
the gondolas which were constantly bringing visitors and worshippers
thither, as to a shrine; for this church was a sort of memorial abbey to
the illustrious dead of Venice,--her Doges, her generals, her artists,
her heads of noble families,--and the monuments were in keeping with all
its sumptuous decorations, for the Frati Minori of the convent to which
it belonged--just across the narrow lane at the side of the church--were
both rich and generous, and many of its gifts and furnishings reflected
the highest art to which modern Venice had attained. Between the
wonderful, mystic, Eastern glory of San Marco, all shadows and
symbolisms and harmonies, and the positive, realistic assertions,
aesthetic and spiritual, of the Frari, lay the entire reach of the art
and religion of the Most Serene Republic.
The church was ancient enough to be a treasure-house for the historian,
and it had been restored, with much magnificence, less than a century
before,--which was modern for Venice,--while innumerable gifts had
brought its treasures down to the days of Titian and Tintoret.
To-day the people were coming in throngs, as to a _festa_, on foot from
under the Portico di Zen, across the little marble bridge which spanned
the narrow canal; on foot also from the network of narrow paved lanes,
or _calle_, which led off into a densely populated quarter; for to-day
the people had free right of entrance, equally with those others who
came in gondolas, liveried and otherwise, from more distant and
aristocratic neighborhoods. This pleasant possibility of entrance
sufficed for the crowd at large, who were not learned, and who preferred
the attractions of the outside show to the philosophical debate which
was the cause of all this agreeable excitement, and which was presently
to take place in the great church before a vast assembly of nobles and
clergy and representatives from the Universities of Padua, Mantua, and
Bologna; and outside, in the glowing sunshine, with the strangers and
the confusion, the shifting sounds and lights, the ceaseless unlading of
gondolas and massing and changing of colors, every minute was a
realization of the people's ideal of happiness.
Brown, bare-legged boys flocked from San Pantaleone and the people's
quarters on the smaller canals, remitting, for the nonce, their
absorbing pastimes of crabbing and petty gambling, and ragged and
radiant, stretched themselves luxuriously along the edge of the little
quay, faces downward, emphasizing their humorous running commentaries
with excited movements of the bare, upturned feet; while the gondoliers
landed their passengers to a lively refrain of "_Stali_!" their curses
and appeals to the Madonna blending not discordantly with the general
babel of sound which gives such a sense of companionship in
Venice--human voices calling in ceaseless interchange from shore to
shore, resonant in the brilliant atmosphere, quarrels softened to
melodies across the water, cries of the gondoliers telling of ceaseless
motion, the constant lap and plash of the wavelets and the drip of the
oars making a soothing undertone of content.
From time to time staccato notes of delight added a distinct jubilant
quality to this symphony, heralding the arrival of some group of Church
dignitaries from one or other of the seven principal parishes of Venice,
gorgeous in robes of high festival and displaying the choicest of
treasures from sacristies munificently endowed, as was meet for an
ecclesiastical body to whom belonged one half of the area of Venice,
with wealth proportionate.
Frequent delegations from the lively crowd of the populace--flashing
with repartee, seemly or unseemly, as they gathered close to the door
just under the marble slab with its solemn appeal to reverence,
"Rispettati la Casa di Dio"--penetrated into the Frari to see where the
more pleasure could be gotten, as also to claim their right to be there;
for this pageant was for the people also, which they did not forget, and
their good-humored ripple of comment was tolerant, even when most
critical. But outside one could have all of the festa that was worth
seeing, with the sunshine added,--the glorious sunshine of this November
day, cold enough to fill the air with sparkle,--and the boys, at least,
were sure to return to the free enjoyment impossible within.
A group of young nobles, in silken hose and velvet mantles, were met
with ecstatic approval and sallies deftly personal. Since the beginning
of the Council of Trent, which was still sitting, philosophy had become
the mode in Venice, and had grown to be a topic of absorbing interest by
no means confined to Churchmen; and young men of fashion took courses of
training in the latest and most intellectual accomplishment.
Confraternities of every order were arriving in stately processions,
their banners borne before them by gondoliers gaudy and awkward in
sleazy white tunics, with brilliant cotton sashes--habiliments which
possessed a singular power of relieving these sun-browned sons of the
lagoon of every vestige of their native grace. On such days of Church
festival--and these alone--they might have been mistaken for peasants of
some prosaic land, instead of the graceful, free-born Venetians that
they were, as, with no hint of their natural rhythm of motion, they
filed in cramped and orderly procession through the avenue that opened
to them in the crowd to the door of the church, where they disappeared
behind the great leather curtain.
It was a great day for the friars of the Servi, who were rivals of the
Frari both in learning and splendor, and the entire Servite Brotherhood,
black-robed and white-cowled, was just coming in sight over the little
marble bridge, preceded by youthful choristers, chanting as they came
and bearing with them that famous banner which had been sent them as a
gift from their oldest chapter of San Annunziata in Florence, and which
was the early work of Raphael.
A small urchin, leaning far over the edge of the quay and craning his
neck upward for a better view, reported some special attraction in this
approaching group which elicited yells of vociferous greeting from his
colleagues, with such forceful emphasis of his own curling, expressive
toes, that he lost his balance and rolled over into the water; from
which he was promptly rescued by a human ladder, dexterously let down to
him in sections, without a moment's hesitation, by his allies, who, like
all Venetian boys of the populace, were amphibious animals, full of
pranks.
But now there was no more time for fooling on the quay, for at the great
end-window of the library of the convent of the Frari it could be seen
that a procession of this body was forming and would presently enter the
church, and the fun would begin for those who understood Latin.
A round-faced friar was giving obliging information. The contest would
be between the Frari and the Servi; there was a new brother who had just
entered their order,--and very learned, it was said,--but the name was
not known. He would appear to respond to the propositions of the Frari.
"Yes, the theses would be in Latin--and harder, it was said, had never
been seen. There were the theses in one of those black frames, at the
side of the great door."
"But Latin is no good, except in missals, for women and priests to
read."
The gondolier who owned the voice was undiscoverable among the crowd,
and the remark passed with some humorous retaliation.
Hints of the day's entertainment sifted about, with much more,--each
suggestion, true or otherwise, waking its little ripple of interest,--as
some nearest the curtain lifted it up, went in, and returned, bringing
reports.
"The church is filled with great ones, and Mass is going on," a small
scout reported; "and that was Don Ambrogio Morelli that just went in
with a lady--our old Abbe from the school at San Marcuolo--Beppo goes
there now! And don't some of us remember Pierino--always studying and
good for nothing, and not knowing enough to wade out of a _rio_? The
Madonna will have hard work to look after _him_!"
"Don Ambrogio just wants to cram us boys," Beppo confessed, in a
confidential tone; "but it's no use knowing too much, even for a priest.
For once, at San Marcuolo--true as true, faith of the Madonna!--one of
those priests told the people one day in his sermon that there were no
ghosts!"
The boy crossed himself and drew a quick breath, which increased the
interest of his auditors.
"_Ebbene_!" he continued, in an impressive, awestruck whisper. "He had
to come out of his bed at night--Santissima Maria!--and it was the
ghosts of all the people buried in San Marcuolo who dragged him and
kicked him to teach him better, because he wanted to make believe the
dead stayed in their graves! So where was the use of his Latin?"
"Pierino will be like his uncle, the Abbe Morelli, some day; they say he
also will be a priest."
"I believe thee," said Beppo, earnestly; "and that was he going in
behind the banner, with the Servi."
The little fellows made an instant rush for the door, and squeezed
themselves in behind the poor old women of the neighborhood for whom
festivals were perquisites, and who, maimed or deformed, knelt on the
stone floor close to the entrance, while with keenly observant,
ubiquitous eyes they proffered their _aves_ and their petitions for alms
with the same exemplary patience and fervor--"Per l'amor di Dio,
Signori!"
The body of the church, from the door to the great white marble screen
of the choir and from column to column, was filled with an assembly in
which the brilliant and scholarly elements predominated; and seen
through the marvelous fretwork of this screen of leafage and scroll and
statue and arch, intricately wrought and enhanced with gilding, the
choir presented an almost bewildering pageant. The dark wood background
of the stalls and canopies, elaborately carved and polished and enriched
with mosaics, each surmounted with its benediction of a gilded winged
cherub's head, framed a splendid figure in sacerdotal robes. Through the
small, octagonal panes of the little windows encircling the choir--row
upon row, like an antique necklace of opals set in frosted
stonework--the sunlight slanted in a rainbow mist, broken by splashes of
yellow flame from great wax candles in immense golden candlesticks,
rising from the floor and steps of the altar, as from the altar itself.
From great brass censers, swinging low by exquisite Venetian chainwork,
fragrant smoke curled upward, crossing with slender rays of blue the
gold webwork of the sunlight; and on either side golden lanterns rose
high on scarlet poles, above the heads of the friars who crowded the
church.
On the bishop's throne, surrounded by the bishops of the dioceses of
Venice, sat the Patriarch, who had been graciously permitted to honor
this occasion, as it had no political significance; and opposite him Fra
Marco Germano, the head of the order of the Frari, presided in a state
scarcely less regal.
His splendid gift, the masterpiece of Titian, had been fitted into the
polished marble framework over the great altar, and never had the master
so excelled himself as in this glorious "Assumption." The beauty, the
power, the persuasive sense of motion in the figure of the Madonna,
which seemed divinely upborne,--the loveliness of the infant cherubs,
the group of the Apostles solemnly attesting the mysterious event,--were
singularly and inimitably impressive, full of aspiration and faith,
compelling the serious recognition of the sacredness and greatness of
the Christian mystery.
The choir-screen terminated in pulpits at either side, and here again
the Apostles stood in solemn guardianship on its broad parapet--but
emblems, rather; of the stony rigidity of doctrines which have been
shaped by the minds of men from some little phase of truth, than of that
glowing, spiritualized, human sympathy which, as the soul of man grows
upward into comprehension, is the apostle of an ever widening truth. And
over the richly sculptured central arch which forms the entrance to the
choir, against the incongruous glitter of gold and jewels and
magnificent garments and lights and sumptuous, overwrought details--the
very extravagance of the Renaissance--a great black marble crucifix bore
aloft the most solemn Symbol of the Christian Faith.
The religious ceremonial with which the festival had opened was over,
and down the aisles on either side, past the family altars, with their
innumerable candles and lanterns and censers,--ceaselessly smoking in
memorial of the honored dead,--the brothers of the Frari and the Servi
marched in solemn procession to the chant of the acolytes, returning to
mass themselves in the transepts, in fuller view of the pulpits, before
the contest began. The Frari had taken their position on the right,
under the elaborate hanging tomb of Fra Pacifico--a mass of sculpture,
rococo, and gilding; the incense rising from the censer swinging below
the coffin of the saint carried the eye insensibly upward to the
grotesque canopy, where cumbrous marble clouds were compacted of dense
masses of saints' and cherubs' heads with uncompromising golden halos.
Some of the younger brothers scattered leaflets containing heads of the
theses.
There was a stir among the crowd; a few went out, having witnessed the
pageant; but there was a flutter of increased interest among those who
remained, as a venerable man, in the garb of the Frari, mounted the
pulpit on the right.
The Abbe Morelli sat in an attitude of breathless interest, and now a
look of intense anxiety crossed his face. "It is Fra Teodoro, the ablest
disputant of the Frari!" he exclaimed. "The trial is too great."
The lady with him drew closer, arranging the folds of the ample veil
which partially concealed her face, so that she might watch more
closely. But it was on Don Ambrogio Morelli that she fixed her gaze with
painful intensity, reading the success or failure of the orator in her
brother's countenance.
"Ambrogio!" she entreated, when the argument had been presented and
received with every sign of triumph that the sacredness of the place
made decorous, "thou knowest that I have no understanding of the
Latin--was it unanswerable?"
"Nay," her brother answered, uneasily; "it was fine, surely; but have no
fear, Fra Teodoro is not incontrovertible, and the Servi have better
methods."
"May one ask the name of the disputant who is to respond?" a stranger
questioned courteously of Don Ambrogio.
"It is a brother who hath but entered their order yesterday," Don
Ambrogio answered, with some hesitation, "by name Pierino--nay, Fra
Paolo. He is reputed learned; yet if the methods of the order be strange
to him, one should grant indulgence. For he is reputed learned----"
He was conscious of repeating the words for his own encouragement, with
a heart less brave than he could have wished. But the information was
pleasantly echoed about, as the ranks of the Servi parted and an old
man, with a face full of benignity, came forward, holding the hand of a
boy with blue eyes and light hair, who walked timidly with him to the
pulpit on the left, where the older man encouraged the shrinking
disputant to mount the stair.
There was a murmur of astonishment as the young face appeared in the
tribunal of that grave assembly.
"Impossible! It is only a child!"
It was, in truth, a strange picture; this child of thirteen, small and
delicate for his years, yet with a face of singular freshness and
gravity, his youthfulness heightened by cassock and cowl--a unique,
simple figure, against the bizarre magnificence of the background, the
central point of interest for that learned and brilliant assembly, as he
stood there above the beautiful kneeling angel who held the Book of the
Law, just under the pulpit.
For a moment he seemed unable to face his audience, then, with an
effort, he raised his hand, nervously pushing back the white folds of
his unaccustomed cowl, and casting a look of perplexity over the sea of
faces before him; but the expression of trouble slowly cleared away as
his eyes met those of a friar, grave and bent, who had stepped out from
the company of the Servi and fixed upon the boy a steadying gaze of
assurance, triumph, and command. It was Fra Gianmaria, who was known
throughout Venice for his great learning.
"Pierino!" broke from the mother, in a tone of quick emotion, as she saw
her boy for the first time in the dress of his order, which thrust, as
it were, the claims of her motherhood quite away; it was so soon to
surrender all the beautiful romance of mother and child, so soon to have
done with the joy of watching the development which had long outstripped
her leadership, so soon to consent to the absolute parting of the ways!
She had not willed it so, and she was weary from the struggle.
But the boy was satisfied; the presence of his stern and learned mentor
sufficed to restore his composure; he did not even see his mother's face
so near him, piteous in its appeal for a single glance to confess his
need of her.
"Nay, have no fear," Don Ambrogio counseled, his face glowing with
pride; "the boy is a wonder."
The good Fra Giulio, turning back from the pulpit stairs, saw the faces
of the two whose hearts were hanging on the words of the child; he went
directly to them and sat down beside Donna Isabella, for he had a tender
heart and he guessed her trouble. "I also," he said, leaning over her
and speaking low, "I also love the boy, and while I live will I care for
him. He shall lack for nothing."
It was a promise of great comfort; for Pierino--she could not call him
by the new name--would need such loving care; already the mother's pulse
beat more tranquilly, and she almost smiled her gratitude in the
large-hearted friar's face.
Then Fra Gianmaria, his mentor, seeing that the boy had gained courage,
came also to a seat beside Donna Isabella, with a look of radiant
congratulation; for he had been the boy's teacher ever since the little
lad had passed beyond the limits of Don Ambrogio's modest attainments.
Although she had resented the power of Fra Gianmaria over Pierino, she
was proud of the confidence of the learned friar in her child; already
she began to teach herself to accept pride in the place of the lowlier,
happier, daily love she must learn to do without. Her face grew colder
and more composed; Don Ambrogio gave her a nod of approval.
"It _is_ Pierino!" the bare-legged Beppo proclaimed, pushing his way
between dignitaries and elegant nobles and taking a position, in
wide-eyed astonishment, in front of the pulpit, where he could watch
every movement of his quondam school-fellow, whose words carried no
meaning to his unlearned ears. But his heart throbbed with sudden
loyalty in seeing his comrade the centre of such a festa; Beppo would
stay and help him to get fair play, if he should need it, since it was
well known that Pierino could not fight, for all his Latin!
But the little fellow in robe and cowl had neither eyes nor thoughts for
his vast audience when he once gathered courage to begin--no memory for
the pride of his teachers, no perception of his mother's yearning;
shrinking and timid as he was, the first voicing of his own thought, in
his childish treble voice, put him in presence of a problem and banished
all other consciousness. It was merely a question to be met and
answered, and his wonderful reasoning faculty stilled every other
emotion. His voice grew positive as his thought asserted itself; his
learning was a mystery, but argument after argument was met and
conquered with the quoted wisdom of unanswerable names.
One after another the great men left the choir and came down into the
area before the pulpits, that they might lose nothing.
One after another the Frari chose out champions to confute the
child-philosopher, but he was armed on every side; and the childish
face, the boyish manner and voice lent a wonderful charm to the words he
uttered, which were not eloquent, but absolutely dispassionate and
reasonable, and the fewest by which he might prove his claim.
Again and again his audience forgot themselves in murmurs of applause,
rising beyond decorum, and once into a storm of approbation; then his
timidity returned, he became self-conscious, fumbling with the white
cowl that hung partly over his face, forgetting that it was not a hat,
and gravely taking it off in salute.
The next day it was proclaimed on the Piazza, as a bit of news for the
people of Venice--for which, indeed, those who had not witnessed the
contest in the church of the Frari cared little and understood
nothing--that "in the Philosophical Contest which had taken place
between the Friars of the Frari and the Friars of the Servi, the victory
had been won by Fra Paolo Sarpi, of the Servi, who had honorably
triumphed through his vast understanding of the wisdom of the Fathers of
the Church."
This was also published in the black frame beside the great door of the
Frari and posted upon the entrance to the church of the Servi, while in
the refectories of the respective convents it formed a theme of
absorbing interest.
The Frari discussed the possibilities of childish mouthpieces for
learned doctors, miraculously concealed--but low, for fear of scandal.
The Servi said it out, for all to hear, "that it was a modern wonder of
a Child in the Temple!"
But Fra Gianmaria hushed them, and was afraid; for often while he taught
he came upon some new surprise, for he perceived that the boy's mind
held some hidden spring of knowledge which was to him unfathomable.
"It is most wonderful," he said one evening to Fra Giulio, as they
talked together in the cloister after vespers; "I solemnly declare that
it hath happened to me to ask him a question of which I, verily, knew
not the answer; and he, keeping in quiet thought for some moments, hath
so lucidly responded that his words have carried with them the
conviction that he had made a discovery which I knew not."
"It is some lesson which Don Ambrogio hath taught him."
"Not so--for Don Ambrogio hath little learning; but Paolo will cover us
with honor. In learning he is never weary, yet hath he an understanding
greater than mine own, and in docility he hath no equal. In his duty in
the convent and in the church he is even more punctilious."
"Is it strange--or is it well," asked Fra Giulio with hesitation, "that
in this year he hath spent with us he asks not for his mother, nor the
little maid his sister, nor seemeth to grieve for them? For the boy is
young."
"Nay," answered Fra Gianmaria, sternly; "it is no lack, but a grace that
hath been granted him."
"Knowledge is a wonderful mystery," Fra Giulio answered; but softly to
himself, as he crossed the cloister, he added, "but love is sweet, and
the boy is very young."
The boy was kneeling placidly before the crucifix in his cell when Fra
Giulio went to give him his nightly benediction; but the good friar's
heart was troubled with tenderness because of a vision, that would not
leave him, of a hungering mother's face.
II
Many years later one of the great artists of Venice, wandering about at
sunset with an elusive vision of some wonderful picture stirring
impatience within his soul, found a maiden sitting under the
vine-covered pergola of the Traghetto San Maurizio, where she was
waiting for her brother-in-law, who would presently touch at this ferry
on his homeward way to Murano. A little child lay asleep in her arms,
his blond head, which pitying Nature had kept beautiful, resting against
her breast; the meagre body was hidden beneath the folds of her mantle,
which, in the graceful fashion of those days, passed over her head and
fell below the knees; her face, very beautiful and tender, was bent over
the little sufferer, who had forgotten his pain in the weariness it had
brought him as a boon.
The delicate purple bells of the vine upon the trellis stirred in the
evening breeze, making a shimmer of perfume and color about her, like a
suggestion of an aureole; and in the arbor, as in one of those homely
shrines which everywhere make part of the Venetian life, she seemed
aloof as some ideal of an earlier Christian age from the restless,
voluble group upon the tiny quay.
There were _facchini_--those doers of nondescript smallest services,
quarreling amiably to pass the time, springing forward for custom as the
gondolas neared the steps; _gransieri_--the licensed traghetto beggars,
ragged and picturesque, pushing past with their long, crooked poles,
under pretence of drawing the gondolas to shore; one or two women from
the islands, filling the moments with swift, declamatory speech until
the gondola of Giambattista or of Jacopo should close the colloquy; an
older peasant, tranquilly kneeling to the Madonna of the traghetto, amid
the clatter, while steaming greasy odors from her housewifely basket of
Venetian dainties mount slowly, like some travesty of incense, and cloud
the humble shrine. Two or three comers swell the group from the recesses
of the dark little shop behind, for no other reason than that life is
pleasant where so much is going on; and some maiden, into whose life a
dawning romance is just creeping, confesses it with a brighter color as
she hangs, half-timidly, her bunch of tinselled flowers before the red
lamp of the good little Madonna of this _traghetto benedetto_, whose
gondoliers are the bravest in all Venice! Meanwhile the boatmen, coming,
going, or waiting, keep up a lively chatter.
And under the trellis, as if far removed, the sleeping child and Marina
of Murano bending over him a face glorified with its story of love and
compassion, are like a living Rafaello!
"The _bambino_ is beautiful," said the artist, drawing nearer, but
speaking reverently, for he knew that he had found the face he had been
seeking for his Madonna for the altar of the Servi. "What doth he like,
your little one? For I am a friend to the _bambini_, and the _poverina_
hath pain to bear."
She was more beautiful still when she smiled and the anxiety died out of
her girlish face for a moment, in gratitude for the sympathy.
"Eccellenza, thanks," she answered simply; "he has a beautiful face.
Sometimes when he has flowers in his little hand he smiles and is quite
still."
But the radiant look passed swiftly with the remembrance of the pain
that would come to the child on waking, and she kissed the tiny fingers
that lay over the edge of her mantle with a movement of irrepressible
tenderness, lapsing at once into reverie; while the artist, full of the
enthusiasm of creation, stood dreaming of his picture. This Holy Mother
should be greater, more compassionate, nearer to the people than any
Madonna he had ever painted; for never had he noted in any face before
such a passion of love and pity. In that moment of stillness the sunset
lights, intensifying, cast a glow about her; the child, half-waking,
stretched up his tiny hand and touched her cheek with a rare caress, and
the light in her face | 340.380456 |
2023-11-16 18:22:44.4294520 | 5,479 | 12 | Project Gutenberg's Mohammed Ali and His House, by Louise Muhlbach
Translated from German by Chapman Coleman.
#1 in our series by Muhlbach
Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check
the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!!
Please take a look at the important information in this header.
We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an
electronic path open for the next readers.
Please do not remove this.
This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book.
Do not change or edit it without written permission. The words
are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they
need about what they can legally do with the texts.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*
Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and
further information is included below. We need your donations.
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3)
organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541
As of 12/12/00 contributions are only being solicited from people in:
Colorado, Connecticut, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa,
Kentucky, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Montana,
Nevada, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota,
Texas, Vermont, and Wyoming.
As the requirements for other states are met,
additions to this list will be made and fund raising
will begin in the additional states. Please feel
free to ask to check the status of your state.
International donations are accepted,
but we don't know ANYTHING about how
to make them tax-deductible, or
even if they CAN be made deductible,
and don't have the staff to handle it
even if there are ways.
These donations should be made to:
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109
Title: Mohammed Ali and His House
Author: Louise Muhlbach
Author: Luise Muhlbach
Author: Luise von Muhlbach
[We have listings under all three spellings]
[And there is an umlaut [ " ] over the u in Muhlbach]
Translator: from German by Chapman Coleman
Release Date: July, 2002 [Etext #3320]
[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule]
[The actual date this file first posted = 04/02/01
Edition: 10
Language: English
Project Gutenberg's Mohammed Ali and His House, by Louise Muhlbach
*******This file should be named 3320.txt or 3320.zip*******
This etext was produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions,
all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a
copyright notice is included. Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any
of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition.
We are now trying to release all our books one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to send us error messages even years after
the official publication date.
Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.
Most people start at our sites at:
http://gutenberg.net
http://promo.net/pg
Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement
can surf to them as follows, and just download by date; this is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.
http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext02
or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext02
Or /etext01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90
Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.
Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This
projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour this year as we release fifty new Etext
files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 3000+
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end.
The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext
Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion]
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.
At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third
of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 3,333 Etexts unless we
manage to get some real funding.
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.
We need your donations more than ever!
Presently, contributions are only being solicited from people in:
Colorado, Connecticut, Idaho, Indiana, Iowa,
Kentucky, Louisiana, Massachusetts, Montana,
Nevada, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota,
Texas, Vermont, and Wyoming.
As the requirements for other states are met,
additions to this list will be made and fund raising
will begin in the additional states.
These donations should be made to:
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation,
EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541,
has been approved as a 501(c)(3) organization by the US Internal
Revenue Service (IRS). Donations are tax-deductible to the extent
permitted by law. As the requirements for other states are met,
additions to this list will be made and fund raising will begin in the
additional states.
All donations should be made to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation. Mail to:
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Avenue
Oxford, MS 38655-4109 [USA]
We need your donations more than ever!
You can get up to date donation information at:
http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html
***
If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:
Michael S. Hart <[email protected]>
[email protected] forwards to [email protected] and archive.org
if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if
it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on....
Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.
We would prefer to send you information by email.
***
Example command-line FTP session:
ftp ftp.ibiblio.org
login: anonymous
password: your@login
cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg
cd etext90 through etext99 or etext00 through etext02, etc.
dir [to see files]
get or mget [to get files...set bin for zip files]
GET GUTINDEX.?? [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99]
GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books]
**The Legal Small Print**
(Three Pages)
***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this etext if you want to.
*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS
This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts,
is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart
through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project").
Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright
on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and
distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext
under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark.
Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market
any commercial products without permission.
To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable
efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain
works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any
medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other
things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged
disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer
codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.
LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES
But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below,
[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may
receive this etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims
all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including
legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR
UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE
OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE
POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.
If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any)
you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that
time to the person you received it from. If you received it
on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and
such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement
copy. If you received it electronically, such person may
choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to
receive it electronically.
THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS
TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A
PARTICULAR PURPOSE.
Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or
the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the
above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you
may have other legal rights.
INDEMNITY
You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation,
and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated
with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including
legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the
following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this etext,
[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the etext,
or [3] any Defect.
DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm"
You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by
disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this
"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg,
or:
[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this
requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the
etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however,
if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable
binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word
processing or hypertext software, but only so long as
*EITHER*:
[*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and
does *not* contain characters other than those
intended by the author of the work, although tilde
(~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may
be used to convey punctuation intended by the
author, and additional characters may be used to
indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at
no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent
form by the program that displays the etext (as is
the case, for instance, with most word processors);
OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at
no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the
etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC
or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this
"Small Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the
gross profits you derive calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you
don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are
payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation"
the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent
periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to
let us know your plans and to work out the details.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO?
Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of
public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed
in machine readable form.
The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time,
public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses.
Money should be paid to the:
"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
[email protected]
*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.12.12.00*END*
*Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael Hart*
This etext was produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
MOHAMMED ALI AND HIS HOUSE
An Historical Romance
by L. MUHLBACH
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY CHAPMAN COLEMAN
CONTENTS
BOOK I YEARS OF YOUTH.
CHAPTER
I. The Sea
II. Mother and Son
III. Boyish Dreams
IV. Premonition of Death
V. The Story-teller
VI. The Mamelukes
VII. Dreams of the Future
VIII. The Friends
IX. A Soul in the Agonies of Death
X. Cousrouf Pacha
XI. The Revolt
BOOK II PARADISE AND HELL.
CHAPTER
I. The Flower of Praousta
II. Masa
III. The First Day of Creation
IV. Masa's Jewelry
V. The Deliverance
VI. The Flight
VII. The Messenger
VIII. Vanished
IX. Where is she?
X. The Departure
XI. The Triple Oath
XII. The Paradise under the Earth
BOOK III THE MAMELUKES.
CHAPTER
I. Revenge
II. All Things pass away
III. The Bim Bashi
IV. The Embarkation
V. The Camp at Aboukir
VI. The Massacre
VII. Restitution
VIII. The Viceroy of Egypt
IX. Sitta Nefysseh
X. L'Elfi Bey
XI. The Council of War
XII. The Abduction
BOOK IV THE VICEROY.
CHAPTER
I. Butheita
II. In the Desert
III. The Agreement
IV. The Revolt
V. A Strong Heart
VI. Persecution
VII. Money! Pay!
VIII. The Insurrection
IX. Vengeance at Last
X. The Return to Cairo
XI. Mohammed Ali and Bardissi
XII. Against the Mamelukes
XIII. Love unto Death
XIV. Courschid Pacha
XV. The Tent
XVI. Retribution
XVII. Conclusion
BOOK I
YEARS OF YOUTH
CHAPTER 1
THE SEA.
Beautiful is the sea when it lies at rest in its sublimity, its
murmuring waves gently rippling upon the beach, the sky above
reflected with a soft light upon its dark bosom.
Beautiful is the sea when it bears upon its surface the stately
ships, as though they were rose-leaves caressingly tossed by one
wave to another. Beautiful is the sea when the light barks with
their red sails are borne slowly onward by the gentle breeze, the
careless fishermen casting nets from the decks of their frail craft
into the deep, to draw thence, for the nourishment or pleasure of
man, its silent inhabitants. Beautiful it is when in the darkness of
the night, relieved only by the light of the stars, and the moon
just rising above the horizon, the pirates venture forth in their
boats from their lairs on the coast, and glide stealthily along
within the shadow of the overhanging cliffs, awaiting an opportunity
to rob the fishermen of their harvest; or, united in larger numbers,
to suddenly surround the stately merchantman, clamber like cats up
its sides, murder the sleeping, unsuspecting crew, and put
themselves in possession of the vessel.
The sea has witnessed all this for centuries, has silently buried
such secrets in its depths; and yet, after such nights of blood and
terror, the sun has again risen in splendor over its bosom, ever
presenting the same sublime spectacle.
Beautiful is the sea when it lies at rest in the azure light of the
skies-a very heaven on earth. But still more beautiful, more
glorious, is it when it surges in its mighty wrath-a wrath compared
with which the thunder of the heavens is but as the whispering of
love, the raging of a storm upon the land, a mere murmur. An
immeasurable monster, the sea rushes with its mighty waves upon the
rock-bound coast, sends clouds of spray high into the air, telling
in tones of thunder of the majesty and strength of the ocean that
refuses to be fettered or conciliated.
You may cultivate the arts and sciences on the land, you may bring
the earth into subjection, and make it yield up its treasures; the
sea has bounded in freedom since the beginning, and it will not be
conquered, will not be tamed. The mind of man has learned to command
all things on the land, knows the secrets of the depths of the
earth, and uses them; but man is weak and powerless when he dares to
command, or ventures to combat, the ocean. At its pleasure it
carries ships, barks, and boats; but at its pleasure it also
destroys and grinds them to dust, and you can only fold your hands
and let it act its will.
Today it is surging fiercely; its waves are black, and their white
heads curl over upon the rock Bucephalus, that stretches far out
into the bay of Contessa, pictured against the blue sky in the form
of a gigantic black steed. Huddled together, at the foot of this
rock, and leaning against its surface, is a group of men and boys.
They are eagerly gazing out upon the water, and are perhaps speaking
to each other; but no one hears what another says, for the waves are
roaring, and the storm howling in the rocky caves, and the waves and
storm, with their mighty chorus, drown the little human voices. The
pale faces of the boys are expressive of terror and anxiety, the
knit brows of the men indicate that they are expecting a disaster,
and the trembling lips of the old men forebode that the next hour
may bring with it some horrible event.
They stand upon the beach, waiting anxiously; but the monster--the
sea--regards them not, and hurls one black wave after the other in
upon the cliff behind which they stand, often drenching them with
spray.
But these people pay no attention to this, hardly notice it; their
whole soul is in their eyes, which are gazing fixedly out upon the
waters. Thus they stand, these poor, weak human beings, in the
presence of the grand, majestic ocean, conscious their impotence,
and waiting till the monster shall graciously allow his anger to
abate. For a moment the storm holds its breath; a strange, solemn
stillness follows upon the roaring of the elements, and affords
these people an opportunity to converse, and impart their terror and
anxiety to each other.
"He will not return," said one of them, with a shake of the head and
a sad look.
"He is lost!" sighed another.
"And you boys are to blame for it!" cries a third, turning to the
group who stood near the men, closely wrapped in their brown cloaks,
the hoods pulled down over their eyes.
"Why did you encourage him to undertake so daring a feat?" cried a
fourth, pointing threateningly toward the boys.
"It is not our fault, Sheik Emir," said one of them, defiantly; "he
would do so."
"Mohammed always was proud and haughty," exclaimed another. "We told
him that a storm was coming, and that we would go home. But he
wouldn't, sheik."
"That is to say," said the sheik, angrily--"that is to say, you have
been ridiculing the poor boy again?"
"He is always so proud, and thinks himself something better than the
rest of us," murmured the boy, "though he is something worse, and
may some day be a beggar if--"
The storm now began to rage more furiously; the waves towered
higher, and threw their spray far on to the shore and high upon the
rock, as though determined to make known its dread majesty to the
inhabitants of the city of Cavalla, which stands with its little
houses, narrow streets, and splendid mosque, on the plateau of the
rock of Bucephalus. On the summit of the rock a woman is kneeling,
her hands extended imploringly toward heaven; she has allowed the
white veil to fall from her face, and her agonized features are
exposed to view, regardless of the law that permits her to reveal
her countenance in the harem only. What are the laws to her? where
is the man to command her to veil her countenance? who says to her:
"You belong to me, and my heart glows with jealousy when others
behold you"?
No one is there who could thus address her; for she is a widow, and
calls nothing on earth her own, and loves nothing on earth but her
son, her Mohammed Ali.
She knows that he has gone out to sea in a frail skiff to cross over
to the island-rock Imbro. The boys have told her of the daring feat
which her son had undertaken with them. Filled with anxiety, they
had come up to the widow of Ibrahim to announce that her son had
refused to return with them after they had started in their fish | 340.449492 |
2023-11-16 18:22:44.6256200 | 6,965 | 12 |
Produced by Denis Pronovost, Ann Jury and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
A
RIDE ON HORSEBACK
TO
FLORENCE
THROUGH
FRANCE AND SWITZERLAND.
DESCRIBED IN A SERIES OF LETTERS
BY
A LADY.
"I will not change my horse for any that treads but on four pasterns:
he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn
of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes; he is the prince
of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his
countenance enforces homage: nay, the man hath no wit that cannot from
the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb vary deserved praise
on my palfrey."--SHAKSPEARE, _King Henry the Fifth_.
_IN TWO VOLUMES._
VOL. I.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1842.
LONDON:
Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES and SONS,
Stamford Street.
A ride on horseback to Florence
CONTENTS
OF VOL. I.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
Page 1
LANDING at Calais--Meeting of a Custom-House Officer with
Fanny--Historical remains--John's mode of Confession--The Hero malgre
lui--The Courtgain--St. Omer's--The Abbey of St. Bertin and the
Cathedral--St. Denis and the miraculous St. Hubert--The strength of
the short Pepin--Lillers, and John's precautions--St. Pol--Doullens,
the Citadel and the Corporal--The possession of Doullens by the
Huguenots--The taking of Amiens caused by love for a fair
Widow--Hernand Teillo's stratagem--His success chiefly owing to a
body of Irishmen--Henry the Fourth's emotion and resolve--Death of
Hernand Teillo--Amiens--The Sunstroke--The warlike show--A religious
Picture strangely imagined--The Beffroi and its tragedy--The
Cathedral and its Tombs--The travelling Crucifix--The Bishop who
sheltered Philip of Valois after the battle of Crecy--The Pavement
marked in fatal memorial--The Grave of Hernand Teillo--Characters and
portraits of the Canons--The contrite Ass and presentation of an
infant, Breteuil
CHAPTER II.
34
Clermont--Chateau now a penitentiary--A Stronghold of the English in
Charles the Sixth's time--Creil, where Peter the Hermit preached
the first Crusade--Charles the Sixth's place of confinement during
his Madness--Chantilly--Ecouen--Henry last Duke of
Montmorency--Presentiment of his Father--At eighteen created Lord
High Admiral--His early love in Languedoc--His prudential Marriage
at the Louvre--His Successes at Rochelle--Coldness of Louis the
Thirteenth, and jealousy of Richelieu--His gallantry at
Veillane--Restoration of Prisoners--Humanity during the plague at
Rivoli--His anxiety to become High Constable of France--Richelieu's
injustice--His retirement to Languedoc--Privileges of
Languedoc--Prince Gaston's efforts to win over Montmorency--The
Duke's arrest by Richelieu's orders, rendered impossible through
the people's affection--Renewed efforts of Gaston--Persuasions of
the Duchess--Montmorency's reluctant consent--Gaston's indecision
and high words with the Duke--Battle of Castelnaudary--His
emulation with the Comte de Moret to strike the first blow--The
ditch leaped alone as at Veillane--The troops held back by Gaston
in sight of his peril--Montmorency overpowered--Dragged from under
his dead horse and carried before Schomberg--The female portrait on
his arm discovered by a spy, and notice of his wearing it sent to
incense the King by the Cardinal--The cries of the people beneath
the Palace windows--His farewell to his wife, and legacy to
Richelieu--The emotion of his Judges--His condemnation--Religious
feeling of his last hours--His farewell to the statue of his
Godfather--His calm death, and blood sought for as that of a
martyr--His burial among the bones of the Sainted--The imprisonment
of his widow--Her sad life--Her taking the veil--Louis the
Thirteenth's visit to her mourning cell and her reply to the
Cardinal's messengers--The King's remorse--The apparition in the
Hall of Ecouen--St. Denis--Foundation of the Cathedral by Dagobert,
St. Denis having appeared to him in a dream--Miraculous
consecration of the church and the leper's new skin--Tombs--The
column to the memory of Francis, erected by Mary of
Scotland--Breaking open of the monuments in 1793--Turenne in a
glass case--A lock of Henry the Fourth's beard making a soldier's
moustache--Plunder of a nose by an Englishman--The Caveau of the
last Conde--Devotion of a Russian General to Henry the Fourth's
memory--The Cathedral preserved during the Revolution by being
converted into a Market-house--Paris
CHAPTER III.
70
Departure under an unlucky star--Essonne--Petit Bourg--The Czar
Peter--Fontainebleau--Palace--Apartments of the Emperor Charles the
Fifth--Chamber where Pius the Seventh said mass daily--Chapel founded
in the seventh century--Cypher of the Saviour and Virgin placed
beside those of Henry the Second and Diana of Poitiers--Princess Mary
of Orleans--Napoleon's apartments--Marie Antoinette's
boudoir--Carving by Louis the Sixteenth's hand--Monaldeschi,
favourite of Queen Christina--Gallery where he was murdered--Account
of his murder by the Monk who confessed him, of his burial at dusk in
the church of Avon--Window thrown open by Henry the Fourth, to
announce Louis the Thirteenth's birth--Gallery of Henry the Second,
called Galerie des Reformes--Petition in which they took the name
presented here by Coligny--Open chamber above the Donjon--Arch where
Louis the Thirteenth was publicly baptized--Biron's tower--His
treason--His denial--His last interview with Henry the
Fourth--Napoleon--The Forest--The Comte de Moret, last inhabitant of
the Hermitage of Franchard--Fanny's sagacity--Croix du Grand
Veneur--The spectre hunt--Apparition and warning to Henry the Fourth,
corroborated by Sully--Avon--Monaldeschi, Christina's fickle
lover--The old church--The fat porter--The grave beneath the
Benitier--The Englishmen's sacrilege--Monaldeschi their
relative--Precautions against travellers
CHAPTER IV.
97
Moret--The Nunnery--Louis the Fourteenth's black daughter--Two useful
Saints--Villeneuve la Guyard---Descriptions deceitful--Strange cure
for blood to the head--A River-god on terra-firma--Sens--St. Colombe,
Thomas a Becket's refuge--Villeneuve le Roy--Place where the Vine was
first cultivated--Auxerre--The Chapter's hundred years' Law-suit
concerning fur trimmings--The Canons' games at ball--The Cathedral
occupying the site of the first Christian Chapel--St. Germain--The
Saint's refusal to get out of his Grave to reform England--Tombs of
Dukes of Burgundy--Ill-treatment in a Church from a School at its
devotions--Lucy le Bois--The Face in a Hole in the Wall--Taken for a
beast--Arnay le Duc--La Rochepot--A danger avoided through Grizzle's
affection--An unamiable Carter--Chalons, Caesar's head-quarters--Cross
seen by Constantine--Punishment of past times for unskilful
Physicians--A Prince of Portugal, Monk at St. Laurents--Cathedral
CHAPTER V.
120
Tournus--Greuze's grave--Macon--The walking Wedding--Retirement of
a Count of Macon, with thirty Knights, to the Abbey of
Cluny--Dealings of his Successor with evil spirits--His exit from
Earth in the Car of a black Visitor--His son turning Monk through
fear--The County sold by his Daughter Alice to France--Bloodless
occupation of Macon by the Huguenots--Macon retaken through
bribery by the Marshal of Tavannes--Madame de Tavannes' mode of
increasing her Revenues--Sauteries de Macon--Farce of St.
Poinct--Assassination of Huguenot Prisoners--Sang froid of
Catholic Dames--A Russian noble--Villefranche--Privilege granted
to its married men--Descent into Lyons--Monastere des deux Amans,
supposed Herod and Herodias--Fortress of Pierre Encise--The
Prison of Cinq Mars--Fort commanding the Croix Rousse--Homage
paid to the wooden Statue of 1550--Hotel de l'Europe--View of
Fourvieres--Its Church escaping violation throughout the
Revolution--The Antiquaille on the site of the Palace where
Germanicus was born--Traces of fire in Nero's time--Recollections
of Princess Mary of Wuerttemberg--Her love of Art to the
last--Nourrit's Funeral--A Racer's determination to trot--Going
to races--Mistaken for a Candidate--Perrache--Horses, riders, and
accoutrements--Triumph of the King's Fete--A Boat upset--The
Tower of the fair German--Croix Rousse--Wretchedness of the
Operatives--Causes of Insurrection in 1831--The most ancient
Monastery in Gaul--Church of Aisnay
CHAPTER VI.
152
Heights of Fourvieres--Difficult descent--Trade in relics--Our Lady
of Fourvieres--Saving Lyons from Cholera--Lunatic
patients--Dungeon where the first Christian Bishop was
murdered--Roman Ruins--The Christians' early place of
assembly--St. Irenee--A coffin--Subterranean chapels--Bones of
the Nine Thousand--The Headsman's block, and the murmur from the
well--Bleeding to death--Marguerite Labarge--Her abode for nine
years--Her return to upper air cause of her death--Her family
rich residents in Lyons--Mode of saving the soul--Body dispensed
with--The Pope's Bull good for ever--A friend's arrival--Jardin
des Plantes--Riots of November, 1831--The Prefet's mistake--Capt.
de ----.--Defence of the Arsenal with unloaded cannon--The
murdered Chef de Bataillon--His assassin's death--The grief of
his opponents--Their usual cruelty and their wild justice--Their
eight days' occupation of Lyons--Capt. de ----'s defence of
Arsenal--Bearer of proclamation--Danger--Saved by a former
comrade--Interview--Threats--Empty cannon effective--Invitation
to dinner--Retreat--The Hotel de l'Europe closed against its
master by a National Guard--Three hundred killed in St.
Nizier--The Cathedral--Second Council General--Jaw of St.
John--The ivory horn of Roland--Privilege of the Seigneur of Mont
d'Or--The first Villeroy Archbishop--Refusal to accept him by the
Counts of Lyons--His text and the Dean's reply--Lyons refuge for
the Pazzi--Their monument destroyed in anger by Marie de
Medicis--The last Prince of Dauphine becoming prior of the
Jacobin Convention, Paris--Procession in St. Nizier--Chapel of
Ste. Philomene--Place des Terreaux
CHAPTER VII.
184
Place Bellecour--Louise Labe--Clemence de Bourges--Her desertion
by her lover--His death--Her own--Rue de la Belle
Cordiere--Abd-el-Kader--The fat Cantiniere captive--Presented
to the Emperor of Morocco--The Emperor's love--Her
obstinacy--Application made to the Consul--Her oaths and
blows--Her return--The Savoyard Regiment's fidelity--Marquis of
---- and dogs--Cat massacre--Indignant landlady--Pont de la
Guillotiere--Bridge at the same spot broken beneath Philip
Augustus and Richard Coeur de Lion--Leaving Lyons--Mont
Blanc--La Verpeliere--Its accommodation--La Tour du Pin--A
lovely Country--An auberge--Destructive storms--Pont du
Beauvoisin--Curious landlady--Leeches en poste--A smiling
country--A wild pass--La Chartreuse--Valley des
Echelles--Grotto--Cascade of Cours--Chambery
CHAPTER VIII.
209
Chambery--The Cathedral--The Chateau--The Chapel--The holy shroud
distilling blood--Mules' refusal to carry the relic away--Respected
by the flames--St. Charles of Borromeo's pilgrimage to its shrine at
Turin--Its authenticity denied by Calvin--Drawing made of the Saint
Suaire by desire of Philip the Fifth of Spain--Artist on his
knees--Savoy--Peter of Savoy favourite of Henry the Third of
England--Savoy Palace, his residence--The Green Count Amedee--His
tournament--The Emperor Charles the Fourth's passage--Homage done to
the Emperor--The Banquet served by Horsemen--The Carmelites'
whitewash--The Crusade--The Green Count's embarkation--The Red Count
Amedee--His Death-wound in the forest of Lornes--Poison--Physician
beheaded--Duel between Estavayer and Grandson--Its real cause--Place
of combat--Bourg en Bresse--Otho conquered--His tomb at
Lausanne--Duke Amedee's retreat to Ripaille--His authority delegated
to his Son--Six Knights his Companions in the Monastery--Astrologers'
prediction--Author of Peace of Arras--Elected Pope--His renouncement
of the Tiara--His return to Ripaille, and death--His tower and those
of four of his knights still standing--Fete Dieu--The priest
commander of the forces--Les Charmettes--The young Abbe--The old
Governor--Censure--Severe laws for small
offences--Rejoicings--Montmeillan--Abymes de Myans--The Black
Virgin's power--Chignin--Iron collars--Fortress of Montmeillan--Its
resistance--Sully's stratagem--Proof of the King's
Catholicity--Treason of the Governor--Christina of Savoy's confessor
a captive--His vain intrigues against Richelieu--Richelieu's anger
chiefly excited by a satire written by Pere Monod--Monod's
death--Bourget--Amedee the Fifth--Hautecombe--Sepulchre of Counts of
Savoy--Tomb of Amedee, who defied to single combat three English
Earls--Abbey changed to a manufactory--Spectres of the sovereigns of
Savoy--Its restoration
CHAPTER IX.
245
Well merited attentions to St. Anthony--The young Countess de
S----.--Leeches paying postilions better than the English--General
de Boigne--Lemenc and its antiquities--Droit de depouille of the
Benedictines--Their agreement with the nobles of Chambery--Ancient
vaults beneath the church--Colossal statues feared by the good
people of Chambery--Tomb of an Irish Primate--Calvary--Monument of
General de Boigne--His low birth--His struggles--His success in
India--The death of his benefactor Sindiah--His gratitude shown
towards his heir--The story of his betrayal of Tippoo Saib
unfounded--His arrival in England--His marriage with the Marquis of
Osmond's daughter an unhappy one--His return to Chambery--His
benefactions--Created Count--His death--Aix--Its antiquities--Tower
and Cascade of Gresy--The friend of Queen Hortense--Her fate--Her
monument--Rumilly--Its convent--Siege by Louis the Thirteenth--The
courage of a nun--The three privileged houses and discipline of a
French soldiery--Frangy, an impertinent innkeeper--Fanny's
wisdom--L'Eluiset--A sweet evening--A bad night--A welcome
dawning--Geneva--The fusillades of 94--The Secheron
CHAPTER X.
272
Early history of Geneva--Constitution--Duke Amedee the Eighth--Attempt
to become master of Geneva--The Bishop inclined to cede his
rights--The opposition of the citizens--Charles the
Third--Berthelier--Alliance with Fribourg--His courage--Geneva
taken--His refusal to fly--His arrest--A tooth-drawer named his
judge--His execution--The news of his death causing the impression he
had hoped for--Treaty--The Mamelukes--The Confreres de la
Cuiller--Advance of Berne and Fribourg--Charles the Third's forced
concessions--Want of generosity in the Bernese--Noble conduct of
Geneva--Protestant religion gaining strength--Bonnivard--Seized on
the Jura--Cast into the dungeons of Chillon--Disputes in Geneva--The
Grand Council decides that mass be abolished--Francis the
First--Berne declares war against Savoy--Her alliance with
Francis--The Duke of Savoy's losses--Berne's renewed
misconduct--Proud reply of the Genevese--Bonnivard
delivered--Calvin--His early life--His flight from Paris--His
reception by Marguerite of Navarre--Persecution of Francis--Calvin's
reception by Louis the Twelfth's Daughter--Geneva--His over
severity--His expulsion--His return--His iron rule--Michael
Servet--His irritating conduct towards Calvin--Calvin's vow to be
revenged--Servet's arrest--His escape--Tracked by Calvin--Taken
prisoner on his passage through Geneva--He is accused--Calvin's
valet--Burned at the stake outside the walls of Geneva
CHAPTER XI.
296
A vain Stork--A German coachmaker--Coppet--Ferney--Voltaire's
Church--His habitation--Crockery Cenotaph--Shoe-blacking in his
study--The old Gardener--The morning rehearsals in tragic
costume--The story of Gibbon--Voltaire catching his pet
mare--Gibbon's opinion of Voltaire's beauty--Their
reconciliation--The tree which shaded Franklin--The increase of his
village--The marble pyramid broken--The gardener's petites antiquites
and cross wife--Voltaire's opinions of his correspondents--His
remains the property of a maimed Englishman--Denial to a visitor--His
heart in the larder--Genevese pride--Swiss troops--Swiss
penitentiaries--Genevese smuggling--The Directeur General des
Douaness an unwilling accomplice--D'Aubigne interred in the
cathedral--The Cardinal de Brogny--A swineherd--Shoes bestowed in
charity--The boy become a cardinal--The poor shoemaker rewarded--His
compassion for John Huss--Courageous death of the latter--De Brogny's
charity--A modest genius and tolerant cardinal
CHAPTER XII.
321
Arrival of friends--Excursion to Chamouny--The Voiron mountain--Its
monastery--The Babes in the wood--Old castle of Faucigny--Its last
possessor--Her rights over Dauphiny bequeathed to Savoy--Long war
with France--Bonneville--Cluses--Wretched inhabitants--The baronial
capital in the time of the old lords--Cavern of La Balme--The village
of Arache, and Falquet--The Nant d'Arpenas--Sallenches--Mont
Blanc--The lake of Chede filled up--Pont Pelissier--Les Motets--The
Glacier des Bossons--Evening--A tranquil night--Morning cavalcade--My
guide--The Montanvert--Fontaine du Caillet--Source of the
Aveiron--The avalanche--Mer de Glace--Passage of cattle--Priory of
Chamouny founded in eleventh century--The Grands Mulets on Mont
Blanc--Character of the inhabitants of Chamouny--Return--Versoix
destined by Louis the Fourteenth for Geneva's rival--Coppet--The
monument--Old castle of Wufflens--Bertha--Morges--Lausanne--Cathedral
containing tomb of Duke Amedee and Bernard de Menthon--The
Faucon--The fat innkeeper abandoned--Vevay--Trois Couronnes
CHAPTER I.
Landing at Calais--Meeting of a Custom-House Officer with
Fanny--Historical remains--John's mode of Confession--The Hero malgre
lui--The Courtgain--St. Omer's--The Abbey of St. Bertin and the
Cathedral--St. Denis and the miraculous St. Hubert--The Strength of
the short Pepin--Lillers, and John's precautions--St. Pol--Doullens,
the Citadel and the Corporal--The possession of Doullens by the
Huguenots--The taking of Amiens caused by love for a fair
Widow--Hernand Teillo's stratagem--His success chiefly owing to a
body of Irishmen--Henry the Fourth's emotion and resolve--Death of
Hernand Teillo--Amiens--The Sunstroke--The warlike show--A religious
Picture strangely imagined--The Beffroi and its tragedy--The
Cathedral and its Tombs--The travelling Crucifix--The Bishop who
sheltered Philip of Valois after the battle of Crecy--The Pavement
marked in fatal memorial--The Grave of Hernand Teillo--Characters and
Portraits of the Canons--The contrite Ass and presentation of an
infant, Breteuil.
Wednesday, July the 5th 1838.
Hotel de Meurice, a Calais.
MY DEAR WILLIAM,
When we called on you a few weeks since, on our ride from Liverpool to
Dover, you desired a journal of that which was to follow across France
and to Florence. We embarked, then, at seven in the morning of the 4th
of July, with no wind, but a heavy swell and drizzling rain: D---- and
myself, Fanny and the patient Grizzel in their horse boxes, with John
(from Cork!) beside them, combing tails and rubbing curb-chains--his
resource against ennui. Landed at ten: Fanny profiting by her first
free moment to bite a douanier who caressed her; and from his calling
obtained no more pity from the bystanders than from John, who was
grinning derision at his "big ear-ring." Worried by the Customhouse,
though we have nothing contraband. The signalement of the horses taken
with care and gravity: it would suit any grey mare and bay pony in the
world. The officers do not quite understand the shining of their coats,
and (supposing them cleaned after the fashion of spoons) asked John
"with what powder?" he has been rather awed by the ceremony of
receiving his passport, particularly when standing up to be measured
and described. We remain here three days, as the inn is exceedingly
comfortable, but there is very little to see; on the Grande Place, near
the lighthouse tower, stood, even in 1830, the ruins of the old Halle,
where John de Vienne the governor, and Sire Walter de Mauny
communicated the hard terms of surrender to Eustache St. Pierre: there
is no trace of it now. The site of St. Pierre's house is marked by a
neat marble slab, at the corner of the street which bears his name. The
building still called "Cour de Guise," though it has been turned to
various purposes, rebuilt and altered, was the wool staple originally
built by Edward the Third of England; and afterwards bestowed on Guise
the Balafre, in reward of his services when he retook Calais from the
English in 1577. The church has little worth notice excepting its
altar. The vessel, which in Louis the Thirteenth's time bore it from
Genoa, on its way to Antwerp, was wrecked on the Calais coast. With its
bassi-relievi and crowd of statues and marble columns, it wants
simplicity, and is too large for the place it occupies; for the roof
appears to crush the glory of the Saviour. The old Suisse who shows the
church is most proud of a Last Supper carved in relief, gilded and
: he knocks on the head the little figure of Christ to prove
his assertion, "Monsieur c'est en bois!"
In the old revolution this church was unprofaned: a Club built before
it masked its entrance; and the then mayor of Calais warned Lebon that
he might enter if he would, but that he could not answer for the temper
of his townsmen.
The chief building in Calais is the Hotel de Ville with its handsome
tower, and a clock which has a sweet clear chime; before it, each on
its pedestal, are the busts of Richelieu and Guise le Balafre: that of
Eustache St. Pierre holds the place of honour on the facade. To reward
for the trouble of walking up stairs, the old woman only exhibited two
rooms, "la ou l'on marie" and "la ou l'on recoit," she called them: in
the latter, Louis Philip, whom the artist intended to smile, and who
sneers instead, occupies the wall opposite a Surrender of Calais. The
citadel is forbidden ground; we were turned back by the sentinel, as we
were proceeding to search for the ruins of the Chateau of Calais, in
which, by Richard the Second's order, the Duke of Gloucester was
imprisoned and murdered; they are built into a bastion, called that of
the "Vieux Chateau."
John has decided that eating a dinner in France is the most wonderful
thing which has happened to him yet. He describes the spreading a white
cloth over his knees preparatory to serving up soup, fish, made dishes
and dessert; he has made acquaintance with the "Garcon d'Ecurie," whose
thin tall figure is a contrast to his own, with its round head and
bowed legs. They keep up a conversation of signs and contortions; this
hot day they have passed seated in a wheelbarrow on the sunny side of
the court-yard: it was first Pierre's place of repose, but beginning by
sitting on the wheel, and encroaching by degrees, John made it so
uncomfortable to his comrade, that he gained sole possession, and is
now coiled up asleep. He told me this morning that he must go to
church, the Irish father by whom he was married a month ago not having
"quite done with him in the way of confession:" I represented that
these priests were Frenchmen; that he said was of no consequence,
"Clargy spaking all kinds of languages." He knew but one exception, and
that was the very father who married him and could not speak Irish; it
was he who (by John's account) gave him a blow when instead of the
fifteen shillings he demanded he offered him five.
The stout waiter Francois, known for four and twenty years at the
hotel, is as perfect a specimen of French nature in his class, as is
John of that of Ireland. He informed me he had lately crossed to
England; an ordinary intellect would have supposed it was to see the
country, or the coronation, but no, it was to see Lablache! and being
in London he also saw Taglioni!! and her dancing, he said, went to his
very soul. While we were at dinner, a fair girl, with a wrinkled old
woman on her arm, looked in at the window and touched a bad guitar: I
said we wanted no music, and Francois scolded her away, but as he
stooped down to arrange the fire, muttered in a low voice, "It was true
that she was troublesome, and had only one excuse, she supported her
old mother." We gave her something, and Francois, whose face had grown
radiant, told us his own story, and how he had worked from a boy with
the hope of assisting his father, and at last had purchased him an
annuity of 600 francs, which the old man had enjoyed thirteen years,
proud in the gift of a son, who, like Corporal Trim, thought that
"Honour thy father and thy mother" meant allowing them a part of his
earnings. "He had been looked on as the best son of the province;" and
his own child had promised well likewise but he died--he thought he
might have weathered the storm, but death, Francois said, was the
strongest and not to be battled with; and with a mixture of feeling and
philosophy, as he changed my soup-plate, he shook his head and added,
"que voulez-vous?"
D---- misses a Commissionaire, a civil fellow well known to all who
frequented the Hotel Meurice, his story being romantic from its
commencement; he has become a hero malgre lui; he was | 340.64566 |
2023-11-16 18:22:44.6266510 | 2,145 | 14 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: THE OLD MAJOR.]
The Works of E.P. Roe
VOLUME THIRTEEN
HIS SOMBRE RIVALS
ILLUSTRATED
1883
PREFACE
The following story has been taking form in my mind for several years,
and at last I have been able to write it out. With a regret akin to
sadness, I take my leave, this August day, of people who have become
very real to me, whose joys and sorrows I have made my own. Although a
Northern man, I think my Southern readers will feel that I have sought
to do justice to their motives. At this distance from the late Civil
War, it is time that passion and prejudice sank below the horizon, and
among the surviving soldiers who were arrayed against each other I
think they have practically disappeared. Stern and prolonged conflict
taught mutual respect. The men of the Northern armies were convinced,
beyond the shadow of a doubt, that they had fought men and
Americans--men whose patriotism and devotion to a cause sacred to them
was as pure and lofty as their own. It is time that sane men and women
should be large-minded enough to recognize that, whatever may have been
the original motives of political leaders, the people on both sides
were sincere and honest; that around the camp-fires at their hearths
and in their places of worship they looked for God's blessing on their
efforts with equal freedom from hypocrisy.
I have endeavored to portray the battle of Bull Run as it could appear
to a civilian spectator: to give a suggestive picture and not a general
description. The following war-scenes are imaginary, and by
personal reminiscence. I was in the service nearly four years, two of
which were spent with the cavalry. Nevertheless, justly distrustful of
my knowledge of military affairs, I have submitted my proofs to my
friend Colonel H. C. Hasbrouck, Commandant of Cadets at West Point, and
therefore have confidence that as mere sketches of battles and
skirmishes they are not technically defective.
The title of the story will naturally lead the reader to expect that
deep shadows rest upon many of its pages. I know it is scarcely the
fashion of the present time to portray men and women who feel very
deeply about anything, but there certainly was deep feeling at the time
of which I write, as, in truth, there is to-day. The heart of humanity
is like the ocean. There are depths to be stirred when the causes are
adequate. E. P. R.
CORNWALL-ON-THE-HUDSON, _August_ 21, 1883.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I AN EMBODIMENT OF MAY
CHAPTER II MERE FANCIES
CHAPTER III THE VERDICT OF A SAGE
CHAPTER IV WARNING OR INCENTIVE
CHAPTER V IMPRESSIONS
CHAPTER VI PHILOSOPHY AT FAULT
CHAPTER VII WARREN HILLAND
CHAPTER VIII SUPREME MOMENTS
CHAPTER IX THE REVELATION
CHAPTER X THE KINSHIP OF SUFFERING
CHAPTER XI THE ORDEAL
CHAPTER XII FLIGHT TO NATURE
CHAPTER XIII THE FRIENDS
CHAPTER XIV NOBLE DECEPTION
CHAPTER XV "I WISH HE HAD KNOWN"
CHAPTER XVI THE CLOUD IN THE SOUTH
CHAPTER XVII PREPARATION
CHAPTER XVIII THE CALL TO ARMS
CHAPTER XIX THE BLOOD-RED SKY
CHAPTER XX TWO BATTLES
CHAPTER XXI THE LOGIC OF EVENTS
CHAPTER XXII SELF-SENTENCED
CHAPTER XXIII AN EARLY DREAM FULFILLED
CHAPTER XXIV UNCHRONICLED CONFLICTS
CHAPTER XXV A PRESENTIMENT
CHAPTER XXVI AN IMPROVISED PICTURE GALLERY
CHAPTER XXVII A DREAM
CHAPTER XXVIII ITS FULFILMENT
CHAPTER XXIX A SOUTHERN GIRL
CHAPTER XXX GUERILLAS
CHAPTER XXXI JUST IN TIME
CHAPTER XXXII A WOUNDED SPIRIT
CHAPTER XXXIII THE WHITE-HAIRED NURSE
CHAPTER XXXIV RITA'S BROTHER
CHAPTER XXXV HIS SOMBRE RIVALS
CHAPTER XXXVI ALL MATERIALISTS
CHAPTER XXXVII THE EFFORT TO LIVE
CHAPTER XXXVIII GRAHAM'S LAST SACRIFICE
CHAPTER XXXIX MARRIED UNCONSCIOUSLY
CHAPTER XL RITA ANDERSON
CHAPTER XLI A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM
CHAPTER I
AN EMBODIMENT OF MAY
"Beyond that revolving light lies my home. And yet why should I use
such a term when the best I can say is that a continent is my home?
Home suggests a loved familiar nook in the great world. There is no
such niche for me, nor can I recall any place around which my memory
lingers with especial pleasure."
In a gloomy and somewhat bitter mood, Alford Graham thus soliloquized
as he paced the deck of an in-coming steamer. In explanation it may be
briefly said that he had been orphaned early in life, and that the
residences of his guardians had never been made homelike to him. While
scarcely more than a child he had been placed at boarding-schools where
the system and routine made the youth's life little better than that of
a soldier in his barrack. Many boys would have grown hardy, aggressive,
callous, and very possibly vicious from being thrown out on the world
so early. Young Graham became reticent and to superficial observers
shy. Those who cared to observe him closely, however, discovered that
it was not diffidence, but indifference toward others that
characterized his manner. In the most impressible period of his life he
had received instruction, advice and discipline in abundance, but love
and sympathy had been denied. Unconsciously his heart had become
chilled, benumbed and overshadowed by his intellect. The actual world
gave him little and seemed to promise less, and, as a result not at all
unnatural, he became something of a recluse and bookworm even before he
had left behind him the years of boyhood.
Both comrades and teachers eventually learned that the retiring and
solitary youth was not to be trifled with. He looked his instructor
steadily in the eye when he recited, and while his manner was
respectful, it was never deferential, nor could he be induced to yield
a point, when believing himself in the right, to mere arbitrary
assertion; and sometimes he brought confusion to his teacher by quoting
in support of his own view some unimpeachable authority.
At the beginning of each school term there were usually rough fellows
who thought the quiet boy could be made the subject of practical jokes
and petty annoyances without much danger of retaliation. Graham would
usually remain patient up to a certain point, and then, in dismay and
astonishment, the offender would suddenly find himself receiving a
punishment which he seemed powerless to resist. Blows would fall like
hail, or if the combatants closed in the struggle, the aggressor
appeared to find in Graham's slight form sinew and fury only. It seemed
as if the lad's spirit broke forth in such a flame of indignation that
no one could withstand him. It was also remembered that while he was
not noted for prowess on the playground, few could surpass him in the
gymnasium, and that he took long solitary rambles. Such of his
classmates, therefore, as were inclined to quarrel with him because of
his unpopular ways soon learned that he kept up his muscle with the
best of them, and that, when at last roused, his anger struck like
lightning from a cloud.
During the latter part of his college course he gradually formed a
strong friendship for a young man of a different type, an ardent
sunny-natured youth, who proved an antidote to his morbid tendencies.
They went abroad together and studied for two years at a German
university, and then Warren Hilland, Graham's friend, having inherited
large wealth, returned to his home. Graham, left to himself, delved
more and more deeply in certain phases of sceptical philosophy. It
appeared to him that in the past men had believed almost everything,
and that the heavier the drafts made on credulity the more largely had
they been honored. The two friends had long since resolved that the
actual and the proved should be the base from which they would advance
into the unknown, and they discarded with equal indifference
unsubstantiated theories of science and what they were pleased to term
the illusions of faith. "From the verge of the known explore the
unknown," was their motto, and it had been their hope to spend their
lives in extending the outposts of accurate knowledge, in some one or
two directions, a little beyond the points already reached. Since the
scalpel and microscope revealed no soul in the human mechanism they
regarded all theories and beliefs concerning a separate spiritual
existence as mere assumption. They accepted the materialistic view. To
them each generation was a link in an endless chain, and man himself
wholly the product of an evolution which had no relations to a creative
mind, for they had no belief in the existence of such a mind. They held
that one had only to live wisely and well, and thus transmit the
principle of life, not only unvitiated, but strengthened and enlarged.
Sins against body and mind were sins against the race, and it was their
creed that the stronger, fuller and more nearly complete they made
their lives the richer and fuller would be the life that succeeded
them. They scouted as utterly unproved and irrational the idea that
they could live after death, excepting as the plant lives by adding to
the material life and well-being of other plants. But at that time the
spring and vigor of youth were | 340.646691 |
2023-11-16 18:22:44.6268080 | 1,131 | 9 |
Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES.
I.
GOING WEST; or, The Perils of a Poor Boy.
II.
OUT WEST; or, Roughing it on the Great Lakes.
III.
LAKE BREEZES; or, The Cruise of the Sylvania.
IV.
GOING SOUTH; or, Yachting on the Atlantic Coast.
V.
DOWN SOUTH; or, Yacht Adventures in Florida.
VI.
UP THE RIVER; or, Yachting on the Mississippi.
(_In Press._)
_THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES_
DOWN SOUTH
OR
YACHT ADVENTURES IN FLORIDA
By
OLIVER OPTIC
AUTHOR OF YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD, THE ARMY AND NAVY SERIES,
THE WOODVILLE SERIES, THE STARRY FLAG SERIES, THE BOAT
CLUB STORIES, THE LAKE SHORE SERIES, THE UPWARD
AND ONWARD SERIES, THE YACHT CLUB SERIES,
THE RIVERDALE STORIES, ETC.
_WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS_
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM
1881
COPYRIGHT,
1880,
By WILLIAM T. ADAMS.
Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry
No. 4 Pearl Street.
TO MY YOUNG FRIEND,
WILFORD L. WRIGHT,
_OF CAIRO, ILL._,
EX-PRESIDENT OF THE NATIONAL AMATEUR PRESS ASSOCIATION,
WHO HAD THE COURAGE AND THE SELF-DENIAL TO
RESIGN HIS OFFICE IN ORDER TO PROMOTE
HIS OWN AND OTHERS' WELFARE,
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
"Down South" is the fifth and last volume but one of the "Great Western
Series." The action of the story is confined entirely to Florida; and
this fact may seem to belie the title of the Series. But the young
yachtman still maintains his hold upon the scenes of his earlier life
in Michigan, and his letters come regularly from that State. If he were
old enough to vote, he could do so only in Michigan; and therefore he
has not lost his right to claim a residence there during his temporary
sojourn in the South. Besides, half his ship's company are Western
boys, who carry with them from "The Great Western" family of States
whatever influence they possess in their wanderings through other
sections of the grand American Union.
The same characters who have figured in other volumes of the Series
are again presented, though others are introduced. The hero is as
straightforward, resolute, and self-reliant as ever. His yacht
adventures consist of various excursions on the St. Johns River, from
its mouth to a point above the head of ordinary navigation, with a run
across to Indian River, on the sea-coast, a trip up the Ocklawaha, to
the Lake Country of Florida, and shorter runs up the smaller streams.
The yachtmen and his passengers try their hand at shooting alligators
as well as more valuable game in the "sportsman's paradise" of the
South, and find excellent fishing in both fresh and salt water.
Apart from the adventures incident to the cruise of the yacht in so
interesting a region as Florida, the volume, like its predecessors in
the Series, has its own story, relating to the life-history of the
hero. But his career mingles with the events peculiar to the region in
which he journeys, and many of his associates are men of the "sunny
South." In any clime, he is the same young man of high aims and noble
purposes. The remaining volume will follow him in his cruise on the
Gulf of Mexico, and up the Mississippi.
DORCHESTER, MASS., August 25, 1880.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
MAKING A FLORIDA PORT 13
CHAPTER II.
OUR LIBERAL PASSENGERS 23
CHAPTER III.
A NATIVE FLORIDIAN 33
CHAPTER IV.
A TRIP UP THE SAN SEBASTIAN 43
CHAPTER V.
SAVED FROM THE BURNING HOUSE 53
CHAPTER VI.
MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC ON BOARD 63
CHAPTER VII.
THE ENEMY IN A NEW BUSINESS 73
CHAPTER VIII.
A DISAGREEABLE ROOM-MATE 83
CHAPTER IX.
A BATTLE WITH THE SERPENT 93
CHAPTER X.
THE FELLOW IN THE LOCK-UP 103
CHAPTER XI.
THE HON. PARDON TIFFANY'S WARNING 113
CHAPTER XII.
SUGGESTIONS OF ANOTHER CONSPIRACY 123
CHAPTER XIII.
MR. COBBINGTON AND HIS PET RATTLESNAKE 133
CHAPTER XIV.
THE EXCURSION TO FORT GEORGE ISLAND 143
CHAPTER XV.
A WAR OF WORDS | 340.646848 |
2023-11-16 18:22:45.2357650 | 1,131 | 7 |
Produced by Keith G. Richardson
WONDROUS LOVE
AND OTHER GOSPEL ADDRESSES
BY
D. L. MOODY
AUTHOR OF
"PREVAILING PRAYER" "SOVEREIGN GRACE" ETC.
DELIVERED DURING MESSRS. MOODY AND SANKEY'S
FIRST CAMPAIGN IN ENGLAND
PICKERING & INGLIS
14 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E.C. 4
229 BOTHWELL STREET, GLASGOW, C. 2
29 GEORGE IV. BRIDGE, EDINBURGH
_THE WORLD-WIDE LIBRARY_
THE SEEKING SAVIOUR
By Dr. W. P. Mackay
Author of "Grace and Truth"
HOW AND WHEN
Do we Become Children of God?
50 Answers by Well-Known Men
THE GOOD SHEPHERD
By H. Forbes Witherby
ABUNDANT GRACE
By DR. W. P. MACKAY
Author of "Grace and Truth"
FORGIVENESS, LIFE AND GLORY
By Sir S. Arthur Blackwood
WONDROUS LOVE: Original Addresses
By D. L. Moody
First issued in 1876
Made and Printed in Great Britain
CONTENTS
Christ's Boundless Compassion
The New Birth
The Blood (Two Addresses)
Christ All in All
Naaman the Syrian
One Word--"Gospel"
The Way of Salvation
Eight "I wills" of Christ
The Right Kind of Faith
The Dying Thief
WONDROUS LOVE
God loved the world of sinners lost
And ruined by the fall;
Salvation full, at highest cost,
He offers free to all.
Oh, 'twas love, 'twas wondrous love,
The love of God to me;
It brought my Saviour from above,
To die on Calvary!
E'en now by faith I claim Him mine,
The risen Son of God;
Redemption by His death I find,
And cleansing through the blood.
Love brings the glorious fulness in,
And to His saints makes known
The blessed rest from inbred sin,
Through faith in Christ alone.
Believing souls, rejoicing go;
There shall to you be given
A glorious foretaste, here below,
Of endless life in heaven.
Of victory now o'er Satan's power
Let all the ransomed sing,
And triumph in the dying hour
Through Christ, the Lord, our King.
WONDROUS LOVE
_Addresses by_ D. L. Moody
CHRIST'S BOUNDLESS COMPASSION
"And Jesus went forth, and saw a great multitude, and was moved with
compassion toward them, and He healed their sick."--Matthew xiv. 14.
It is often recorded in Scripture that Jesus was moved by compassion;
and we are told in this verse that after the disciples of John had
come to Him and told Him that their master had been beheaded, that he
had been put to a cruel death, He went out into a desert place, and
the multitude followed Him, and that when He saw the multitude He had
"compassion" on them, and healed their sick. If He were here to-night
in person, standing in my place, His heart would be moved as He looked
down into your faces, because He could also look into your hearts, and
could read the burdens and troubles and sorrows you have to bear. They
are hidden from my eye, but He knows all about them, and so when the
multitude gathered round about Him, He knew how many weary, broken,
and aching hearts there were there. But He is here to-night, although
we cannot see Him with the bodily eye, and there is not a sorrow, or
trouble, or affliction which any of you are enduring but He knows all
about it; and He is the same to-night as He was when here upon
earth--the same Jesus, the same Man of compassion.
When He saw that multitude He had compassion on it, and healed their
sick; and I hope He will heal a great many sin-sick souls here, and
will bind up a great many broken hearts. And let me say, in the
opening of this sermon, that there is no heart so bruised and broken
but the Son of God will have compassion upon you, if you will let Him.
"He will not break a bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax." He
came into the world to bring mercy, and joy, and compassion, and love.
If I were an artist I should like to draw some pictures to-night, and
put before you that great multitude on which He had compassion. And
then I would draw another painting of that man coming to Him full of
leprosy, full of it from head to foot. There he was, banished from his
home, banished from his friends, and he comes to Jesus with his sad
and miserable story. And now, my friends, let us make
THE BIBLE STORIES REAL,
for that is what they are. Think of that man. Think how much he had
suffered. I don't know how many years he had been | 341.255805 |
2023-11-16 18:22:45.3538860 | 3,231 | 26 |
Produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet
Archive/American Libraries.)
LEARNING TO FLY
[Illustration: _Photo by Topical Press Agency._
A SCHOOL MACHINE WELL ALOFT.]
LEARNING TO FLY
A PRACTICAL MANUAL FOR
BEGINNERS
BY
CLAUDE GRAHAME-WHITE
AND
HARRY HARPER
_FULLY ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN ENGLAND.
CONTENTS
I. THEORIES OF TUITION 9
II. TEMPERAMENT AND THE AIRMAN 20
III. FIRST EXPERIENCES WITH AN AEROPLANE 24
(AS DESCRIBED BY MR. GRAHAME-WHITE)
IV. THE CONTROLLING OF LATEST-TYPE CRAFT 31
V. THE STAGES OF TUITION 38
VI. THE TEST FLIGHTS 53
VII. PERILS OF THE AIR 56
VIII. FACTORS THAT MAKE FOR SAFETY 76
IX. A STUDY OF THE METHODS OF GREAT PILOTS 82
X. CROSS-COUNTRY FLYING 92
XI. AVIATION AS A PROFESSION 99
XII. THE FUTURE OF FLIGHT 104
ILLUSTRATIONS
A SCHOOL MACHINE WELL ALOFT _Frontispiece_
FACE PAGE
GRAHAME-WHITE SCHOOL BIPLANE 34
THE CONTROLS OF A SCHOOL BIPLANE 36
REAR VIEW OF A SCHOOL BIPLANE 38
POWER-PLANT OF A SCHOOL BIPLANE 40
MOTOR AND OTHER GEAR--ANOTHER VIEW 42
PUPIL AND INSTRUCTOR READY FOR A FLIGHT 44
PUPIL AND INSTRUCTOR IN FLIGHT (1) 46
PUPIL AND INSTRUCTOR IN FLIGHT (2) 48
PUPIL AND INSTRUCTOR IN FLIGHT (3) 50
Authors' Note.--The photographs to illustrate this book, as set forth
above, were taken at the Grahame-White Flying School, the London
Aerodrome, Hendon, by operators of the Topical Press Agency, 10 and 11,
Red Lion Court, Fleet Street, London, E.C.
AUTHORS' NOTE
This book is written for the novice--and for the novice who is
completely a novice. We have assumed, in writing it, that it will come
into the hands of men who, having determined to enter this great and
growing industry of aviation, and having decided wisely to learn to
fly as their preliminary step, feel they would like to gain
beforehand--before, that is to say, they take the plunge of selecting
and joining a flying school--all that can be imparted non-technically,
and in such a brief manual as this, not only as to the stages of
tuition and the tests to be undergone, but also in regard to such
general questions as, having once turned their thoughts towards flying,
they take a sudden and a very active interest.
It has been our aim, bearing in mind this first and somewhat restless
interest, to cover a wide rather than a restricted field; and this
being so, and remembering also the limitations of space, we cannot
pretend--and do not for a moment wish it to be assumed that we
pretend--to cover exhaustively the various topics we discuss. Our
endeavour, in the pages at our disposal, has not been to satisfy
completely this first curiosity of the novice, but rather to stimulate
and strengthen it, and guide it, so to say, on lines which will lead
to a fuller and more detailed research.
It is from this point of view, as a short yet comprehensive
introduction, and particularly as an aid to the beginner in his choice
of a school, and in what may be called his mental preparation for the
stages of his tuition, that we desire our book to be regarded.
C. G.-W.
H. H.
_April_, 1916.
CHAPTER I
THEORIES OF TUITION
Only eight years ago, in 1908, it was declared impossible for one man
to teach another to fly. Those few men who had risen from the ground
in aeroplanes, notably the Wright brothers, were held to be endowed by
nature in some very peculiar way; to be men who possessed some
remarkable and hitherto unexplained sense of equilibrium. That these
men would be able to take other men--ordinary members of the human
race--and teach them in their turn to navigate the air, was a
suggestion that was ridiculed. But Wilbur Wright, after a series of
brilliant flights, began actually to instruct his first pupils; doing
so with the same care and precision, and the same success, that had
characterised all his pioneer work. And these first men who were
taught to fly on strange machines--as apart from the pioneers who had
taught themselves to fly with craft of their own construction--made
progress which confounded the sceptics. They went in easy and
leisurely fashion from stage to stage, and learned to become aviators
without difficulty, and mainly without accident.
After this, increasing in numbers from two or three to a dozen, and
from a dozen to fifty and then a hundred, the army of airmen grew
until it could be totalled in thousands. Instead of being haphazard,
the teaching of men to fly became a business. Flying schools were
established; courses of tuition were arranged; certain pilots
specialised in the work of instruction. It was shown beyond doubt that,
instead of its being necessary for an aviator to be a species of
acrobat, any average man could learn to fly.
Certainly a man who intends to fly should be constitutionally sound;
this point is important. When in an aeroplane, one passes very quickly
through the air, and such rapid movement--and also the effect of
varying altitudes--entail a certain physical strain. A man with a weak
heart might find himself affected adversely by flying; while one whose
lungs were not sound might find that his breathing was impeded
seriously by a swift passage through the air. More than one fatality,
doubtful as to its exact cause, has been attributed to the collapse of
a pilot who was not organically sound, or who ascended when in poor
health. And here again is an important point. No man, even a normally
healthy man, should attempt to pilot a machine in flight when he is
feeling unwell. In such cases the strain of flying, and the effect of
the swift motion through the air, may cause a temporary collapse; and
in the air, when a man is alone in a machine, any slight attack of
faintness may be sufficient to bring about a fatality.
A fair judgment of speed, and an eye for distance, are very helpful to
the man who would learn to fly, and it is here that a man who has
motored a good deal, driving his own car, is at advantage at first
over one who has not. But otherwise, and writing generally, any man of
average quickness of movement, of average agility, can learn without
difficulty to control an aeroplane in flight. It is wrong to imagine
that exceptional men are required. An unusual facility, of course,
marks the expert pilot; but we are writing of men who would attain an
average skill.
There has been discussion as to the age at which a man should learn to
fly, or as to the introduction of age limits generally in the piloting
of aircraft. But this introduces a difficult question; one which
depends so entirely on the individual, and regarding which we need the
data that will be provided by further experience. Some men retain from
year to year, and to a remarkable extent, the faculties that are
necessary; others lose them rapidly. The late Mr. S. F. Cody was
flying constantly, and with a very conspicuous skill, at an age when
he might have been thought unfit. But then he was a man of a rare
vitality and a great enthusiasm--a man who, though he flew so often,
declared that each of his flights was an "adventure." Taking men in
the average one may say this: the younger a man is, when he learns to
fly, the better for him. Much depends, naturally, on the sort of
flying he intends to do after he has attained proficiency. If he is
going to fly in war, or under conditions that impose a heavy strain,
then he must be a young man. But if he intends to fly for his own
pleasure, and under favourable conditions, then this factor of age
loses much of its importance, and it is only necessary that a man
should retain say, an ordinary activity, and a normal quickness of
vision and of judgment.
Flying is not difficult. It is in a sense too easy, and this is just
where its hidden danger lies. If a pupil is carefully taught, and
flies at first only when the weather conditions are suitable, he will
find it surprisingly easy to pilot an aeroplane. That it is not
dangerous to learn to fly is proved daily. Though hundreds and
thousands of pupils have now passed through the schools, anything in
the nature of a serious accident is very rarely chronicled. This
immunity from accident is due largely to the care and experience of
instructors, and also to the fact that all pupils pass through a very
carefully graduated tuition, and that no hazardous flights are allowed;
while another and an important element of safety lies in the fact
that no flying is permitted at the schools unless weather conditions
are favourable. It is now a fair contention that, provided a man
exercises judgment, and ascends only in weather that is reasonably
suitable, there is no more danger in flying an aeroplane than in
driving a motor-car.
Much depends of course on the dexterity of the pupil, and particularly
on his manual dexterity--on what is known, colloquially, as "hands."
Some men, even after they have been carefully taught, are apt to
remain heavy and clumsy in their control. Others, though, seem to
acquire the right touch almost by instinct; and these are the men who
have in them the making of good pilots. Horsemen refer to "hands" when
they speak of a man who rides well; and in flying, if a man is to
handle a machine skilfully, there is need for that same instinctive
delicacy of touch.
Nowadays, when a pupil joins a well-established flying school, he
finds that everything is made easy and pleasant for him. Most men
enjoy very thoroughly the period of their tuition. A friendly regard
springs up between the pupils and their instructors, and men who have
learned to fly, and are now expert pilots, bear with them very
pleasant reminiscences of their "school" days. But there were times,
and it seems already in the dim and distant past, when learning to fly
was a strange, haphazard, and hardly pleasant experience; though it
had a sporting interest certainly, and offered such prospects of
adventure as commended it to bold spirits who were prepared for
hardship, and had a well-filled purse. The last requirement was very
necessary. In the bad old days, amusing days though they were without
doubt, no fixed charge was made to cover such breakages, or damage to
an aeroplane, as a pupil might be guilty of during his period of
instruction. These items of damage--broken propellers, planes, or
landing gear--were all entered up very carefully on special bills, and
presented from time to time to the dismayed novice; and a man who was
clumsy or impetuous found learning to fly an expensive affair. There
was a pupil who joined a school soon after Bleriot's crossing of the
Channel by air. It was a monoplane school; and the monoplane, unless a
man is careful and very patient, is not an easy machine to learn to
fly. This beginner was not patient; he was indeed more than usually
impetuous. His landings, in particular, were often abrupt. He broke
propellers, frequently, to say nothing of wings and of alighting gear.
And of all these breakages a note was made. Bills were handed to
him--long and intricate bills, with each item amounting to so many
hundreds of francs. Having a sense of humour, the pupil began to paper
his shed with these formidable bills, allowing them to hang in
festoons around the walls. What it cost him to learn to fly nobody
except himself knew. He paid away certainly, in his bills for
breakages, enough money to buy several aeroplanes.
This was in the early days, when aviators were few and all flying
schools experimental. To-day a pupil need not concern himself, even if
he does damage a machine. Before beginning his tuition he pays his fee,
one definite sum which covers all contingencies that may arise. It
includes any and all damage that he may do to the aircraft of his
instructors; it covers also any third-party claims that may be made
against him--claims that is to say from any third person who might be
injured in an accident for which he was responsible. This inclusive
fee varies, in schools of repute, from L75 to L100.
The modern aerodromes, or schools of flight, at which a pupil receives
his tuition, have been evolved rapidly from the humblest of
beginnings. The first flying grounds were, as a rule, nothing more
than open tracts of land, such as offered a fairly smooth
landing-place and an absence of dangerous wind-gusts. Then, as
aviation developed, pilots came together at these grounds, and sheds
were built to house their craft. And after this, quickly as a rule, an
organisation was built up. Beginning from rough shelters, erected
hastily on the brink of a stretch of open land, there grew row upon
row of neatly-built sheds, with workshops near them in which aircraft
could be constructed or repaired. And from this stage, not content
with the provision made for them by nature, those in control of the
aerodromes began to dig up trees, fill in ditches and hollows, and
smooth away rough contours of the land, so as to obtain a huge, smooth
expanse on which aircraft might alight and manoeuvre without accident.
And after this came the building up of fences and entrance gates, the
erection of executive offices and restaurants, the provision of
| 341.373926 |
2023-11-16 18:22:45.5365960 | 12 | 17 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, MWS | 341.556636 |
2023-11-16 18:22:45.6263220 | 2,076 | 58 |
Produced by Petra A and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
[TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES. Unusual and inconsistent spelling, grammar
and punctuation have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors
have been silently corrected and the text has been changed
according to the errata listed at the end of the published text.
_Underscores_ are used to represent italics. Small capitals have
been converted to all capitals. The table of contents was added by
the transcriber.]
A SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF
ELIZABETH T. STONE,
AND OF HER PERSECUTIONS,
WITH AN APPENDIX
OF HER
_TREATMENT AND SUFFERINGS_
WHILE IN THE
CHARLESTOWN McLEAN ASSYLUM,
WHERE SHE WAS CONFINED UNDER THE
PRETENCE OF INSANITY.
1842:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE. 3
REMARKS. 33
CLOSING REMARKS TO CHRISTIANS. 37
ERRATA. 42
PREFACE.
Feeling that the public is very much deceived concerning the treatment
and situation of a poor afflicted class of the human family, who are
placed in the McLean Assylum at Charlestown, by their relatives, and
are left in the hands of strangers, subjected to the treatment of those
whose hearts are hardened by being long accustomed to human suffering,
and who are ignorant and unqualified, I will expose this matter to the
public, in behalf of the afflicted, in connection with the _awful,
brutal outrage_ that has been committed upon me in consequence of
indisposition resulting from hard labor and persecution, so the public
may be warned against placing their friends there, especially if they
would not have them ill-treated or suffer unnecessarily.
First, I shall give a short sketch of my life down to the time when I
was carried to the Hospital; then an account of the CRIME in connection
with the treatment I received there, until I was taken out. I feel that
this should particularly interest the christian world; but whether it
is believed or not, I am determined to publish it, that the people of
God may take care of their own people in time of persecution at the
expense of one's life, whether father, mother, brother, or sister step
in between. The unconverted do not understand _spirituality_, therefore
a weak, persecuted christian should not be consigned to their hands. If
others who have suffered this cruelty before me (as Dr. Fox says that
both _male and female christians have been destroyed there before_)
had published and exposed the wicked crime to the world, I might have
been saved from suffering here and hereafter. It is covered up under
the garb of "derangement," but I am willing to let the world know it,
that others may be saved from these awful outrages of the wicked at
the present day. I know that the world in general is ignorant of this
crime--of the fact that Doctors do possess knowledge of giving medicine
to take away from a person the spirit of Christ,--but I have suffered
it.
I was born in Westford, Mass. My father was a mechanic, and poor; my
mother being often sick, with a family of 7 boys and 3 girls, we were
all sent out young upon the world, to get our own living. I being the
youngest girl, was left at home alone. The peculiar situation which
I sustained in the family, being early disowned by my father as his
lawful child, he being intemperate at the time, may be imagined. I was
often the object of his wrath, though in his sober hours I was kindly
treated by him, as he was a man of tender feelings. But my mother's
affections were always alienated from me, and I always felt the want of
a mother's love, and consequently became very unhappy. I determined to
seek my own living and share the same fate of the rest of the family by
buffeting a cold unfeeling world.
At the age of fifteen I resorted to the factories in Lowell, where I
found employment and became expert at the business. Knowing that I
had myself to take care of and no one to depend upon, I was ambitious
and often asked my overseer for the privilege of tending double work,
which was often granted; and as I had the means of providing for my
own wants and some to spare, I became restless and often wished I
had the means to go to school, as my mother often told her children
to get learning--it was what the world could not take from us; (but
O, alas! mine has been taken from me by medicine, being given to me
in an artful manner to harden my brains, and the brain is the seat
of the mind and the mind is the store-house of knowledge) and I felt
the want of it as I became advanced in years and went into society.
I soon began to make arrangments to place myself at some school. I
went home at the age of eighteen and went to the Academy in Westford
three or four months, and then, in the year 1834, the first of May,
I started for New Hampton in company with a young lady from Boston,
she being my only acquaintance. I found the school very pleasant, and
the teachers were ardently pious. It was now that I felt that God had
often called after me and I had refused to obey him for my teacher said
without the mind was enlightened by the Spirit of Christ it was not
prepared for knowledge. This increased the carnal state of my heart
against religion, for it appeared to me like foolishness, for there
was nothing but the simple religion of Jesus Christ, no disputing, no
sectarian spirit, and I was surrounded by the prayers of my teachers
and the pious scholars. But I withstood all the entreaties through
the summer term. I was determined not to get religion when there was
much said about it, for I looked upon it as excitement, as many others
foolishly call it. There were about one hundred and five scholars,
and at the end of the term all but three of us professed to have an
interest in Christ. During the vacation I could not throw off the
conviction that had seized hold of my mind, that God in his mercy had
spared my life, and permitted me to enjoy this last privilege. At the
commencement of the Fall term as usual, we all assembled on Sunday
morning--the professors in the Hall above, while the unconverted were
in the Hall below--to hear the Scriptures explained. Miss. Sleeper,
one of the teachers, that assembled with us, came directly to me after
the exercises were over and asked me if I felt as I did during the
last term. I told her no. She said she was very glad of it and hoped
I should not leave off seeking until I found the Savior. I felt that
I had committed myself, that I now could not draw back, that I must
persevere on and let the world know that I needed a Saviour to save me
from acting out the wicked state of my heart. I could not throw it
off. On Monday evening all the unconverted were invited by our much
loved teacher, Miss. Haseltine, to meet her at the Hall. Accordingly
I went in company with several other young ladies. After reading the
Scriptures and addressing us very affectionately, she asked us to kneel
down and join her in prayer. Accordingly I did so, but I thought I
was more hardened than ever; and felt ashamed that I was on my bended
knees; but wishing to act from principle and to prove whether there was
any reality in what my teacher said about religion, I was determined
to persevere on, although it was contrary to my carnal state of heart.
Accordingly I told every one that I meant to know the real religion
of Jesus Christ and live up to it, if it was what they said it was.
I attended all the meetings and was willing to do any thing that I
thought I ought to do; but I began to think that I had grieved the
Holy Spirit and was about giving up seeking any longer until I should
feel, as very often I did before in meetings and then I should have
religion. This was on Saturday, a fortnight after I was willing to own
that I felt the need of an interest in Christ. On my way home from
school, a young lady overtook me and inquired what was the state of my
feelings, I frankly told her what was my conclusion. She then told me
how she found the Saviour--how she sought three years; but all that
time she said she was seeking conviction when she ought to have sought
forgiveness and told me that I must seek for immediate forgiveness, and
asked me if I was willing to. I told her that I would, for I found that
I had been seeking conviction and was already convicted. Accordingly I
went home, and after dinner took my Bible and retired alone to a grove
not far distant, where I spent the afternoon in reading and praying,
but did not find any change in my feelings. I was summonds to tea by
the ringing of the bell. I went in and took my seat at the table, but
while sitting there I thought I was | 341.646362 |
2023-11-16 18:22:45.6461950 | 7,435 | 15 |
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/Canadian
Libraries.)
THE
PLAGUE
AT
_MARSEILLES_
CONSIDER'D:
With REMARKS upon the PLAGUE in General,
shewing its Cause and Nature of INFECTION,
with necessary Precautions to prevent the spreading
of that DIREFUL DISTEMPER. Publish'd
for the PRESERVATION of the People
of GREAT-BRITAIN.
Also some Observations taken from an Original
Manuscript of a Graduate Physician, who resided
in LONDON during the whole Time of
the late Plague, _Anno_ 1665.
By RICHARD BRADLEY, F. R. S.
The THIRD EDITION.
_LONDON_:
Printed for W. MEARS at the _Lamb_ without _Temple-Bar_. 1721.
Price 1_s._
TO
Sir ISAAC NEWTON
President of the Royal Society, _&c._
_SIR_,
To Act under Your Influence, is to do Good, and to Study the Laws of
Nature, is the Obligation I owe to the Royal Society, who have so wisely
placed Sir _Isaac Newton_ at their Head.
The following Piece, therefore, as I design it for the Publick Good,
naturally claims _Your_ Patronage, and, as it depends chiefly upon Rules
in Nature, I am doubly obliged to offer it to the President of that
Learned Assembly, whose Institution was for the Improvement of Natural
Knowledge.
_I am, Sir
With due Respect,
Your most obliged,
Humble Servant,_
R. BRADLEY.
PREFACE.
_There would be little Occasion for a Preface to this Treatise, if the
last Foreign Advices had not given us something particular relating to the
Pestilence that now rages in the South Parts of_ France; _and what may
more particularly recommend these Relations to the World, is, because they
come from Physicians, who resided at the Infected Places._
The Physician at _Aix_ gives us the following Account.
_The Contagious Distemper, which has become the Reproach of our Faculty
here for above a Month past, is more violent than that at_ Marseilles; _it
breaks out in Carbuncles, Buboes, livid Blisters, and purple Spots; the
first Symptoms are grievous Pains in the Head, Consternations, wild Looks,
a trembling Voice, a cadaverous Face, a Coldness in all the extreme Parts,
a low unequal Pulse, great Pains in the Stomach, Reachings to Vomit, and
these are follow'd by Sleepiness, Deliriums, Convulsions, or Fluxes of
Blood, the Forerunners of sudden Death. In the Bodies that are open'd,
we find gangrenous Inflammations in all the lower Parts of the Belly,
Breast and Neck. Above fifty Persons have died every Day for three Weeks
past in the Town and Hospitals. Most of them fall into a dreadful Phrenzy,
so that we are forc'd to tie them._
_The other is a Letter from a Physician at_ Marseilles, _sent to_ John
Wheake, _Esq; who was so kind to give me the Abstract._
Marseilles _Sept._ 15. 1720.
Sir,
I Arriv'd here the 8_th_, and enter'd the Gate of _Aix_ which leads to the
_Cours_, which has always been esteem'd one of the most pleasant
Prospects in the Kingdom, but that Day was a very dismal Spectacle to me;
all that great Place, both on the Right and Left, was fill'd with Dead,
Sick, and Dying Persons. The Carts were continually employ'd in going and
returning to carry away the Dead Carcasses, of which there were that Day
above four Thousand. The Town was without Bread, without Wine, without
Meat, without Medicines, and in general, without any Succours.
The Father abandon'd the Child, and the Son the Father; the Husband the
Wife, and the Wife the Husband; and those who had not a House to
themselves, lay upon Quilts in the Streets and the Pavements; all the
Streets were fill'd with Cloaths and Houshold-Goods, strew'd with Dead
Dogs and Cats, which made an insupportable Stench. Meat was Sold at 18 to
20 _Sous per_ Pound, and was only distributed to those that had Billets
from the Consuls: This, Sir, was the miserable State of this City at that
Time, but at present, Things have a better appearance; Monsieur _le
Marquis de Langeron_, who Commands here, has caused the Dead to be Buried,
the Cloaths and Goods to be burnt, and the Shops to be open'd, for the
Sustenance of the Publick.
Two Hospitals are prepar'd where they carry all the Sick of the Town, good
Orders are daily re-establish'd, and the Obligation is chiefly owing to
Monsieur _de Langeron_, who does Wonders. However, there is not any Divine
Service Celebrated, nor are there any Confessors. The People die, and are
buried without any Ceremonies of the Church; But the Bishop, with an
undaunted Courage, goes thro' the Streets, and into Publick Places,
accompanied with a Jesuit and one Ecclesiastick, to Exhort the Dying, and
to give them Absolution; and he distributes his Charity very largely. The
Religious Order have almost all perish'd, and the Fathers of the Oratory
are not exempt; it is accounted, that there have died 50000 Persons. One
thing very particular is, that Monsieur _Moustier_, one of the Consuls of
the City, who has been continually on Horseback ordering the Slaves who
carried away the Dead in Carts, or those that were Sick, to the Hospitals,
enjoys his Health as well as he did the first Day he began; the Sickness
seems at present to abate, and we have the Satisfaction to see several
whom we took under our Care at the Beginning of the Sickness, promise fair
towards a Recovery. The Sickness however, is of a very extraordinary
Nature, and the Observations we have in our Authors, have scarce any
Agreement with what we find in this: It is the Assistance of Heaven we
ought to implore, and to wait for a Blessing from thence upon our Labours.
I am, _&c._
_We may observe, that the Contagion now spreading it self in Foreign
Parts, has nearly the same Symptoms that were observ'd in the late Plague
at_ London; _so that what Medicines were then used with good Success, may
direct not only the People of_ England _in the way of Practice, if_ God
_Almighty should please to afflict us with that dreadful Distemper, but
be serviceable likewise to the Infected Places abroad. There is room
enough to hope, the approaching Cold, which we naturally expect at this
Season, may prevent its spreading amongst us for some Months, 'till the
Air begins to warm, but the Seeds of that Venom may be brought over in
Merchandizes even in the coldest Months, and according to the Nature of
Insects will not hatch, or appear to our Prejudice, 'till the hotter
Seasons. For to suppose this Malignant Distemper is occasion'd by Vapours
only arising from the Earth, is to lay aside our Reason, as I think I have
already shewn in my_ New Improvements of Planting, _&c. to which my Reader
may refer._
_I suppose there may be such Persons in the World who do not agree with
the Hypothesis I have laid down in the following Sheets, altho' many
Learned Authors have supported it; and again, I expect others to Except
against the Concise way I have taken, in writing upon a Subject, which at
this time ought to be set in the plainest Light; but as I found the Danger
of Pestilence spreading it self more and more every Day, a true Lover of
his Country could not be easie without giving the Publick some Hints to
prevent its dismal Effects, and at the same time to engage the Learned to
write upon such an Occasion._
_And it is with Pleasure I observe, that since the former Editions of
this small Tract has been made publick, our Learned Physicians are
dispos'd to consider the necessary Means to prevent (as far as in them
lies) the spreading of this Calamity, and justly deserve the favour of the
Publick._
_For my own part, I can only say, that the short time I had to put this
Work together, would not allow me to give it with that exactness, that I
would have done, if I could have had more Leisure._
THE
PLAGUE
AT
_MARSEILLES_
CONSIDER'D, _&c._
The Deplorable Condition of the _Marseillians_, and the Danger that all
the Trading Parts of _Europe_ are now in, of being Infected by the Plague
which rages in the _South_ Parts of _France_, and every Day spreads it
self more and more over the Neighbouring Countries, gives me occasion to
Publish some Papers which would never have otherwise appeared in the
World.
When I consider the melancholy Circumstances of the People at _Marseilles_
and other infected Places, how they are now divested of Relief, and
brought into that miserable State, that even every Man is terrified at the
Approach of his dearest Friend, and the very Aspect of our Neighbours
strike such Horror and Confusion in us, as if they brought our Death and
Destruction with them; it is then surely time for every one to contribute
all that in him lies to prevent the Progress of so _direful a Calamity_.
The good Counsels of our Nation, therefore, to prevent as much as possible
the Infection which might be brought among us by Merchandizes coming from
Infected Places, have wisely order'd strict Quarentine to be perform'd,
before either the Sailors or Goods can be brought ashoar.
The Neighbouring Nations of Trade, have follow'd our Example, but the
_Hollanders_ in an extraordinary manner, have even order'd the Burning the
very Ships and Goods coming from _Marseilles_, and have been so cautious,
as to suffer none of the Passengers to come on Shoar, without first being
dis-rob'd of all their Apparel, and even to be well wash'd with Sea Water,
and then likewise to perform Quarentine in a little Island, remote from
the Inhabitants. I could mention many Relations we have had, of the
Sufferings of the poor People belonging to _Marseilles_, who to avoid the
dismal Consequence of the Plague, have flown for Refuge into the Country,
and have either been starv'd to Death, or Murder'd by the Country People;
but yet we find, that notwithstanding all these Precautions, that
Pestilence continues to destroy as much as ever, and makes it Advances
every Day more towards us.
It is computed, that about 60000 are Dead of the Plague at _Marseilles_;
and that there are now (_October 20. N. S._) above 14000, Persons left
in that Town, including 10000 Sick; and at _Aubagne_, out of 10000 who
retir'd thither from _Marseilles_, above 9000 are Dead.
On this sad Occasion of the Ruin of _Marseilles_ especially since there is
talk of Burning that Town, it may not be unseasonable to give an Account
of it.
'_Marseilles_ is one of the most considerable Cities in _France_, and
the most Populous and most trading Town of all _Provance_. It is so
Antient, that it is reckon'd to have been Built upwards of Six
Hundred and Thirty Years before the Birth of our Saviour. It was once
a very flourishing Republick; and its University was in such Esteem,
as drew Students thither from all Parts of _Europe_.
'_Marseilles_ is situate at the Foot of a Hill, which rises in the
Form of an Amphitheatre in proportion to its Distance from the Sea.
The Harbour is Oval, and bounded by a Key about fourteen hundred
Paces long, upon which stand the handsomest Houses in the Town. It
affords a very delightful Walk, Part whereof is taken up in the Day
time by the working Gally-Slaves Stalls, where you may furnish your
self with Cloaths and other Necessaries; the Entrance of the Harbour
is shut up by a Chain supported at certain Distances by three
Stone-Pillars; so that only one large Ship can pass at a time, tho'
the Haven will contain about Five hundred. And hither are brought all
sorts of Commodities from all Parts of the known World.
'The Cathedral Church, call'd _Notre Dame la Majeure_, whereof S.
_Lazarus_ is Patron, is very Solemn. It was formerly a Temple
dedicated to _Venus_, or to _Diana_ of _Ephesus_. Its Form is
Irregular; but it was not thought proper to add or diminish any
thing. There remain several large Columns, on which stood the Idol.
The Treasure of this Church is very Rich. Here you see the Head of S.
_Lazarus_, that of S. _Connat_, a Foot of S. _Victor_, and many other
Relicks. Near the Cathedral, is a Chappel built upon the Spot where
(the _Marseillians_ tell you) S. _Mary Magdalen_ preached the Gospel
to the Idolaters, as they came out of the Temple.
'_Notre Dame des Acoules_ is also a fine large Church, which was
formerly a Temple sacred to the Goddess _Pallas_. In that of S.
_Martin_, which is Collegiate and Parochial, is preserv'd a Silver
Image of the blessed Virgin, five Foot and half high, the Crown and
Ornaments whereof are very rich. The Church of S. _Saviour_, now
belonging to a Nunnery, was anciently a Temple of _Apollo_. All these
Places are so many Proofs of the Antiquity of _Marseilles_, as well
as two other Temples near the Port, with two Towers, _viz._ that of
S. _John_, which is a Commandry of the Knights of _Malta_, and that
of S. _Nicolas_.
'The Abby of S. _Victor_, of the Order of S. _Benedict_, is situate
at the Foot of the Citadel. It resembles a Castle, being encompass'd
with Walls, and set off with Towers. At the Front of the Church are
these Words address'd to S. _Victor_,
_Massiliam vere Victor civesque tuere._
'In a Chappel on one side of the Epistle, you see the Head of that
Saint, in a Shrine of Silver guilt, finely wrought, which was given
by Pope _Urban_ V. whose Tomb is on one side of the Choir; there are
many other Relicks in this Church. You then descend a large
Stair-Case into the Church under Ground, where the Chappels visited
by the Curious, are full of Holy Bodies. There they shew you the Tomb
of S. _Eusebius_, and those of forty five Virgins who disfigur'd
themselves to terrifie the Vandals who put them to Death. Here also
you see St. _Andrew_'s Cross entire, the Branches whereof are seven
Foot long and eight Inches Diameter. In one of these subterraneous
Chappels is a little Grotto, wherein S. _Mary Magdalen_ (they tell
you,) upon her Landing at _Marseilles_ began to do Pennance. They
add, that she Inhabited it six or Seven Years: Her Statue likewise is
represented, lying at the entrance of this Grotto. There is also a
rich Chappel of our Lady, wherein no Women are permitted to enter.
This Order was made, upon the Vulgar Notion, of a Queen's being
struck Blind, who had the Temerity to venture into it.
'In _Marseilles_ you observe likewise the Monasteries and Churches of
the _Carthusians_, the Monks of St. _Anthony_, the _Trinitarians_,
_Jacobins_, _Augustins_, Barefooted _Augustins_, _Carmelites_,
Barefooted _Carmelites_, _Cordeliers_, _Observantins_, _Servites_,
_Minims_, _Capuchins_, _Recollects_, _de la Mercy_, _Feuillans_,
_Jesuites_, Fathers of the _Oratory_, and of the _Mission_. There are
also _Benedictine_ Nuns, _Dominicans_, Nuns of S. _Clare_,
_Capuchins_, _Carmelites_, _Bernardines_, _Urselins_, Nuns of the
Visitation of Mercy, and of the good Shepherd or Repentance; and a
Commandry of _Malta_.
'The Citadel of _Marseilles_ is near the Port, extending its
Fortifications to the Entrance of the same; and yet it commands the
Town. The Key which lines this side of the Harbour, from Fort S.
_Nicolas_ to the Arsenal, is about fifteen hundred Paces long, and is
adorned with handsome Ware-Houses and Dwelling-Houses: Here is the
great Hospital for Sick Slaves, which was formerly the Arsenal before
the New one was built. Six large Pavilions, as many main Houses, and
a great square Place big enough to build several Galleys at a time
in, form the Design of it. In this Place are two large Basons, as
long and as deep as a Galley, in each of which, when a Galley is
ready to launch, they open a small Sluice which kept up the Sea
Water.
'This great Building makes one entire Front of the Port, three
hundred Paces in Length; the Harbour of _Marseilles_, is thirteen
hundred Paces long, and the Circumference about three Thousand four
hundred and fifty Paces. The Streets of the old Town are long, but
narrow; and those of the New are spacious, and well Built. The chief,
is that they call _le Cours_, which is near forty Paces broad, in the
middle of which is a Walk, planted with four Rows of young Elms,
which, with the Keys, are the Places of publick Resort.
'The Town-House which they call _La Loge_, is situate upon the Key
over against the Galleys. Below is a large Hall, which serves the
Merchants and Sea-faring Men for an Exchange; and above Stairs the
Consuls, Town-Councellors, and others concerned in the Civil
Administration have their Meeting. The most valuable Piece in this
Building, is the City Arms in the Front, Carved by the famous
_Puget_.
'_Marseilles_ seems still to retain somewhat of the ancient
Government, of its four Courts, being divided into four Quarters,
viz. S. _John_, _Cavaillon_, _Corps de ville_ and _Blancaire_; each
of which hath its Governors and other Officers. The _Porte Royalle_
is well Adorned, having on one side the Figure of S. _Lazarus_, and
on the other, that of S. _Victor_. And in the middle is a Busto of
_Lewis_ XIV. with this Inscription over it, _Sub cujus imperio summa
libertas_.
'The Town is encompass'd by good Walls, and a Tetragon which commands
a Part of it, is the best of the two Citadels, and within Cannon Shot
of a Fort call'd _Notre Dame de la Garde_, whither the Inhabitants
frequently go to pay their private Devotion, and from whence they
discover Ships at Sea at a great Distance. This Fort is built on the
top of a Mountain, upon the Ruins of an ancient Temple of _Venus_,
called _Ephesium_.
The Country about this City is low and open for two Miles, agreeably
adorn'd with Villas, Vineyards, and Gardens of Fig-Trees, and
Orange-Trees, with plenty of Water from a good Spring, which being divided
into several Branches serves to furnish the City.
As to the Inhabitants, they are for the most part Poor and uncleanly, and
chiefly Eaters of Fruit, Herbs, and Roots with such like meagre Fare, nor
do they take any Pains to clean the Streets where the meaner Sort have
their Habitation. Their Bread is very coarse and high priz'd; and perhaps
what has principally contributed to the Progress of the Plague among them,
was the great Numbers of those which Lodged together in the same House, as
I shall explain hereafter; when I have examin'd the State of _London_,
when it suffer'd by the Plague in the Year 1665.
_London_, at the time of the Plague, 1665 was, perhaps, as much crouded
with People as I suppose _Marseilles_ to have been when the Plague begun;
the Streets of _London_ were, in the time of the Pestilence, very narrow,
and, as I am inform'd, unpaved for the most part; the Houses by continu'd
Jetts one Story above another, made them almost meet at the Garrets, so
that the Air within the Streets was pent up, and had not a due Freedom of
Passage, to purifie it self as it ought; the Food of the People was then
much less invigorating than in these Days; Foreign Drugs were but little
in Use, and even _Canary_ Wine was the highest Cordial the People would
venture upon; for Brandy, some Spices, and hot spirituous Liquors were
then not in Fashion; and at that time Sea-Coal was hardly in Use, but
their firing was of Wood; and, for the most part, Chestnut, which was then
the chief Furniture of the Woods about _London_, and in such Quantity,
that the greatest Efforts were made by the Proprietors, to prevent the
Importation of _Newcastle_-Coal, which they represented as an unwholsome
Firing, but, I suppose, principally, because it would hinder the Sale of
their Wood; for the generality of Men were (I imagine) as they are now,
more for their own Interest than for the common Good.
The Year 1665 was the last that we can say the Plague raged in _London_,
which might happen from the Destruction of the City by Fire, the following
Year 1666, and besides the Destroying the Eggs, or Seeds, of those
poisonous Animals, that were then in the stagnating Air, might likewise
purifie that Air in such a Manner, as to make it unfit for the Nurishment
of others of the same Kind, which were swimming or driving in the
Circumambient Air: And again, the Care that was taken to enlarge the
Streets at their Rebuilding, and the keeping them clean after they were
rebuilt, might greatly contribute to preserve the Town from Pestilence
ever since.
But it was not only in the Year 1665 that the Plague raged in _London_, we
have Accounts in the Bills of Mortality, of that dreadful Distemper in the
Years 1592, 1603, 1625, 1630 and 1636, in which Years we may observe how
many died Weekly of the Plague, and Remark how much more that Distemper
raged in the hot Months, than in the others, and serve at the same time as
a Memorandum to the Curious.
A _TABLE_, Shewing how many Died Weekly, as well of all Diseases, as of
the Plague, in the Years 1592, 1603, 1625, 1630, 1636; and the Year
1665.
_Buried of all Diseases in the Year 1592._
_Total_ _Pla._
March 17 230 3
March 24 351 31
March 31 219 29
April 7 307 27
April 14 203 33
April 21 290 37
April 28 310 41
May 5 350 29
May 12 339 38
May 19 300 42
May 26 450 58
June 2 410 62
June 9 441 81
June 16 399 99
June 23 401 108
June 30 850 118
July 7 1440 927
July 14 1510 893
July 21 1491 258
July 28 1507 852
August 4 1503 983
August 11 1550 797
August 18 1532 651
August 25 1508 449
Septemb. 1 1490 507
Septemb. 8 1210 563
Septem. 15 621 451
Septem. 22 629 349
Septem. 29 450 330
October 6 408 327
October 13 522 323
October 20 330 308
October 27 320 302
Novemb. 3 310 301
Novem. 10 309 209
Novem. 17 301 107
Novem. 24 321 93
Decemb. 1 349 94
Decemb. 8 331 86
Decem. 15 329 71
Decem. 22 386 39
----
_The Total of all that have been buried is,_ 25886
_Whereof of the Plague,_ 11503
_Buried of all Diseases in the Year 1603._
_Total_ _Pla._
March 17 108 3
24 60 2
31 78 6
April 7 66 4
14 79 4
21 98 8
28 109 10
May 5 90 11
12 112 18
19 122 22
26 122 32
June 2 114 30
9 131 43
15 144 59
23 182 72
30 267 158
July 7 445 263
14 612 424
_The Out Parishes this Week were joined with the City._
21 1186 917
28 1728 1396
August 4 2256 1922
11 2077 1745
18 3054 2713
25 2853 2539
Septemb. 1 3385 3035
8 3078 2724
15 3129 2818
22 2456 2195
29 1961 1732
October 6 1831 1641
13 1312 1149
20 766 642
27 625 508
Novemb. 3 737 594
10 545 442
17 384 251
24 198 105
Decemb. 1 223 102
8 163 55
15 200 96
22 168 74
----
_The Total this Year is,_ 37294
_Whereof of the Plague,_ 30561
_Buried of all Diseases in the Year 1625._
_Total_ _Pla._
March 17 262 4
24 226 8
31 243 11
April 7 239 10
14 256 24
21 230 25
28 305 26
May 5 292 30
12 232 45
19 379 71
26 401 78
June 2 395 69
9 434 91
16 510 161
23 640 239
30 942 390
July 7 1222 593
14 1781 1004
21 2850 1819
28 3583 2471
August 4 4517 3659
11 4855 4115
18 5205 4463
25 4841 4218
September 1 3897 3344
8 3157 2550
15 2148 1612
22 1994 1551
29 1236 852
October 6 833 538
13 815 511
20 651 331
27 375 134
November 3 357 89
10 319 92
17 274 48
24 231 27
December 1 190 15
8 181 15
15 168 6
22 157 1
----
_The Total this Year is,_ 51758
_Whereof of the Plague,_ 35403
_Buried of all Diseases in the Year 1630._
_Total_ _Pla._
June 24 205 19
July 1 209 25
8 217 43
15 250 50
22 229 40
29 279 77
August 5 250 56
12 246 65
19 269 54
26 270 67
September 2 230 66
9 259 63
16 264 68
23 274 57
30 269 56
October 7 236 66
14 261 73
21 248 60
28 214 34
November 4 242 29
11 215 29
18 200 18
25 226 7
December 2 221 20
9 198 19
16 212 5
Buried in the | 341.666235 |
2023-11-16 18:22:45.6480560 | 1,130 | 20 |
Produced by Ron Swanson
LITTLE CLASSICS
EDITED BY ROSSITER JOHNSON
STORIES OF FORTUNE
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
_The Riverside Press Cambridge_
1914
COPYRIGHT, 1875, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS.
THE GOLD-BUG......... _Edgar Allan Poe_
THE FAIRY-FINDER....... _Samuel Lover_
MURAD THE UNLUCKY ...... _Maria Edgeworth_
THE CHILDREN OF THE PUBLIC.. _Edward Everett Hale_
THE RIVAL DREAMERS...... _John Banim_
THE THREEFOLD DESTINY .... _Nathaniel Hawthorne_
THE GOLD-BUG.
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE.
What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.
_All in the Wrong._
Many years ago I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He
was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but a
series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To avoid the
mortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, the
city of his forefathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's
Island, near Charleston, South Carolina.
This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else than the
sea-sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth at no point
exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from the mainland by a
scarcely perceptible creek oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds
and slime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, as might
be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any magnitude
are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort Moultrie stands,
and where are some miserable frame buildings, tenanted, during summer,
by the fugitives from Charleston dust and fever, may be found, indeed,
the bristly palmetto; but the whole island, with the exception of this
western point, and a line of hard, white beach on the sea-coast, is
covered with a dense undergrowth of the sweet myrtle, so much prized by
the horticulturists of England. The shrub here often attains the height
of fifteen or twenty feet, and forms an almost impenetrable coppice,
burdening the air with its fragrance.
In the inmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern or
more remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small hut,
which he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made his
acquaintance. This soon ripened into friendship,--for there was much in
the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I found him well educated,
with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and subject
to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. He had with
him many books, but rarely employed them. His chief amusements were
gunning and fishing, or sauntering along the beach and through the
myrtles, in quest of shells or entomological specimens;--his collection
of the latter might have been envied by a Swammerdam. In these
excursions he was usually accompanied by an old <DW64>, called Jupiter,
who had been manumitted before the reverses of the family, but who
could be induced, neither by threats nor by promises, to abandon what
he considered his right of attendance upon the footsteps of his young
"Massa Will." It is not improbable that the relatives of Legrand,
conceiving him to be somewhat unsettled in intellect, had contrived to
instil this obstinacy into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision and
guardianship of the wanderer.
The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom very
severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when a
fire is considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18--, there
occurred, however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset I
scrambled my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I
had not visited for several weeks,--my residence being, at that time,
in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the island, while the
facilities of passage and re-passage were very far behind those of the
present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and
getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted,
unlocked the door, and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the
hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw
off an overcoat, took an arm-chair by the crackling logs, and awaited
patiently the arrival of my hosts.
Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial welcome.
Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear | 341.668096 |
2023-11-16 18:22:46.0931230 | 775 | 8 |
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.)
CATS: Their Points and Characteristics.
[Illustration: "SHIPMATES."]
"CATS:"
THEIR POINTS AND CHARACTERISTICS,
WITH CURIOSITIES OF CAT LIFE,
AND A CHAPTER ON FELINE AILMENTS.
BY _W. GORDON STABLES, M.D., C.M., R.N._,
AUTHOR OF
"MEDICAL LIFE IN THE NAVY," "WILD ADVENTURES IN THE FAR NORTH,"
THE "NEWFOUNDLAND AND WATCH DOG," IN WEBB'S BOOK ON DOGS,
ETC. ETC.
LONDON: DEAN & SON,
ST. DUNSTAN'S BUILDINGS, 160A, FLEET STREET, E.C.
CONTENTS.
VOL. I.
CHAPTER. PAGE
I. APOLOGETIC 1
II. PUSSY ON HER NATIVE HEARTH 3
III. PUSSY'S LOVE OF CHILDREN 26
IV. PUSSY "POLL" 36
V. SAGACITY OF CATS 44
VI. A CAT THAT KEEPS THE SABBATH 61
VII. HONEST CATS 64
VIII. THE PLOUGHMAN'S "MYSIE" 70
IX. TENACITY OF LIFE IN CATS 74
X. NOMADISM IN CATS 87
XI. "IS CATS TO BE TRUSTED?" 94
XII. PUSSY AS A MOTHER 109
XIII. HOME TIES AND AFFECTIONS 125
XIV. FISHING EXPLOITS 141
XV. THE ADVENTURES OF BLINKS 151
XVI. HUNTING EXPLOITS 190
XVII. COCK-JOCK AND THE CAT 200
XVIII. NURSING VAGARIES 209
XIX. PUSSY'S PLAYMATES 221
XX. PUSSY AND THE HARE 230
XXI. THE MILLER'S FRIEND. A TALE 235
ADDENDA. CONTAINING THE NAMES AND ADDRESSES OF THE
VOUCHERS FOR THE AUTHENTICITY OF THE
ANECDOTES 267
VOL. II.
CHAPTER. PAGE
I. ORIGIN AND ANTIQUITY OF THE DOMESTIC CAT 278
II. CLASSIFICATION AND POINTS 285
III. PUSSY'S PATIENCE AND CLEANLINESS 307
IV. TRICKS AND TRAINING 319
V. CRUELTY TO CATS 329
VI. PARLIAMENTARY PROTECTION FOR THE DOMESTIC CAT 356
VII. FELINE AILMENTS 366
VIII. ODDS AND ENDS 387
IX. THE TWO "MUFFIES." A TALE 410
X. BLACK TOM, THE SKIPPER'S IMP. A TALE 440
ADDENDA. CONTAINING THE NAMES AND ADDRESSES OF THE
VOUCHERS FOR THE AUTHENTICITY OF THE
ANECDOTES 479
SPRATT'S PATENT
CAT FOOD.
[Illustration | 342.113163 |
2023-11-16 18:22:46.5268400 | 775 | 8 |
Produced by Al Haines.
*THE GREY MAN*
BY
*S. R. Crockett*
_POPULAR EDITION_
LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN
ADELPHI TERRACE
MCMX
_To
W. R. NICOLL
are affectionately inscribed
these Chronicles of a Stormy Time--
in memory of
unforgotten Days of Peace and Quietness
spent with him and his._
[_All rights reserved_]
*CONTENTS*
I. The Oath of Swords
II. The Lass of the White Tower
III. The Second Taunting of Spurheel
IV. The Inn on the Red Moss
V. The Throwing of the Bloody Dagger
VI. The Crown of the Causeway
VII. My Lady's Favours
VIII. The Laird of Auchendrayne
IX. Cartel of Contumely
X. Sir Thomas of the Top-Knot
XI. Sword and Spit
XII. The Flitting of the Sow
XIII. The Tryst at Midnight
XIV. The Adventure of the Garden
XV. A Midnight Leaguer
XVI. Greybeards and Dimple Chins
XVII. The Corbies at the Eagle's Nest
XVIII. Bairns' Play
XIX. Fighting the Beasts
XX. The Secret of the Caird
XXI. Mine Ancient Sweetheart
XXII. A Marriage made in Hell
XXIII. A Galloway Raid
XXIV. The Slaughter in the Snow
XXV. Marjorie bids her Love Good-night
XXVI. Days of Quiet
XXVII. On the Heartsome Heather
XXVIII. Warm Backs make Braw Bairns
XXIX. The Murder among the Sandhills
XXX. I seek for Vengeance
XXXI. The Blue Blanket
XXXII. Greek meets Greek
XXXIII. The Devil is a Gentleman
XXXIV. In the Enemy's Country
XXXV. The Ogre's Castle
XXXVI. The Defence of Castle Ailsa
XXXVII. The Voice out of the Night
XXXVIII. A Rescue from the Sea
XXXIX. The Cleft in the Rock
XL. The Cave of Death
XLI. The Were-Wolf of Benerard
XLII. Ane Lochaber Aix gied Him his Paiks
XLIII. The Moot Hill of Girvan
XLIV. The Murder upon the Beach
XLV. The Man in the Wide Breeches
XLVI. The Judgment of God
XLVII. The Place of the Legion of Devils
XLVIII. The Finding of the Treasure of Kelwood
XLIX. The Great Day of Trial
L. The Last of the Grey Man
LI. Marjorie's Good-night
LII. Home-coming
*THE GREY MAN*
*CHAPTER I*
*THE OATH OF SWORDS*
Well do I mind the first time that ever I was in the heartsome town of
Ballantrae. My father seldom went thither, because it was a hold of the
Bargany folk, and it argued therefore sounder sense to give it the
go-by. But it came to pass upon a time that it was necessary for my
father to adventure | 342.54688 |
2023-11-16 18:22:46.8254280 | 15 | 9 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Bill Walker and PG Distributed Proofread | 342.845468 |
2023-11-16 18:22:46.8547540 | 3,247 | 25 |
Produced by Ken Reeder
THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA
A STORY OF THE WESTERN CRISIS
By Joseph A. Altsheler
FOREWORD
"The Rock of Chickamauga," presenting a critical phase of the great
struggle in the west, is the sixth volume in the series, dealing with
the Civil War, of which its predecessors have been "The Guns of Bull
Run," "The Guns of Shiloh," "The Scouts of Stonewall," "The Sword of
Antietam" and "The Star of Gettysburg." Dick Mason who fights on the
Northern side, is the hero of this romance, and his friends reappear
also.
THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
VOLUMES IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
THE GUNS OF BULL RUN.
THE GUNS OF SHILOH.
THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL.
THE SWORD OF ANTIETAM.
THE STAR OF GETTYSBURG.
THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA.
THE SHADES OF THE WILDERNESS.
THE TREE OF APPOMATTOX.
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
HARRY KENTON, A Lad Who Fights on the Southern Side.
DICK MASON, Cousin of Harry Kenton, Who Fights on the Northern Side.
COLONEL GEORGE KENTON, Father of Harry Kenton.
MRS. MASON, Mother of Dick Mason.
JULIANA, Mrs. Mason's Devoted <DW52> Servant.
COLONEL ARTHUR WINCHESTER, Dick Mason's Regimental Commander.
COLONEL LEONIDAS TALBOT, Commander of the Invincibles,
a Southern Regiment.
LIEUTENANT COLONEL HECTOR ST. HILAIRE, Second in Command of the
Invincibles.
ALAN HERTFORD, A Northern Cavalry Leader.
PHILIP SHERBURNE, A Southern Cavalry Leader.
WILLIAM J. SHEPARD, A Northern Spy.
DANIEL WHITLEY, A Northern Sergeant and Veteran of the Plains.
GEORGE WARNER, A Vermont Youth Who Loves Mathematics.
FRANK PENNINGTON, A Nebraska Youth, Friend of Dick Mason.
ARTHUR ST. CLAIR, A Native of Charleston, Friend of Harry Kenton.
TOM LANGDON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
GEORGE DALTON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
BILL SKELLY, Mountaineer and Guerrilla.
TOM SLADE, A Guerrilla Chief.
SAM JARVIS, The Singing Mountaineer.
IKE SIMMONS, Jarvis' Nephew.
AUNT "SUSE," A Centenarian and Prophetess.
BILL PETTY, A Mountaineer and Guide.
JULIEN DE LANGEAIS, A Musician and Soldier from Louisiana.
JOHN CARRINGTON, Famous Northern Artillery Officer.
DR. RUSSELL, Principal of the Pendleton School.
ARTHUR TRAVERS, A Lawyer.
JAMES BERTRAND, A Messenger from the South.
JOHN NEWCOMB, A Pennsylvania Colonel.
JOHN MARKHAM, A Northern Officer.
JOHN WATSON, A Northern Contractor.
WILLIAM CURTIS, A Southern Merchant and Blockade Runner.
MRS. CURTIS, Wife of William Curtis.
HENRIETTA CARDEN, A Seamstress in Richmond.
DICK JONES, A North Carolina Mountaineer.
VICTOR WOODVILLE, A Young Mississippi Officer.
JOHN WOODVILLE, Father of Victor Woodville.
CHARLES WOODVILLE, Uncle of Victor Woodville.
COLONEL BEDFORD, A Northern Officer.
CHARLES GORDON, A Southern Staff Officer.
JOHN LANHAM, An Editor.
JUDGE KENDRICK, A Lawyer.
MR. CULVER, A State Senator.
MR. BRACKEN, A Tobacco Grower.
ARTHUR WHITRIDGE, A State Senator.
HISTORICAL CHARACTERS
ABRAHAM LINCOLN, President of the United States.
JEFFERSON DAVIS, President of the Southern Confederacy.
JUDAH P. BENJAMIN, Member of the Confederate Cabinet.
U. S. GRANT, Northern Commander.
ROBERT E. LEE, Southern Commander.
STONEWALL JACKSON, Southern General.
PHILIP H. SHERIDAN, Northern General.
GEORGE H. THOMAS, "The Rock of Chickamauga."
ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON, Southern General.
A. P. HILL, Southern General.
W. S. HANCOCK, Northern General.
GEORGE B. McCLELLAN, Northern General.
AMBROSE E. BURNSIDE, Northern General.
TURNER ASHBY, Southern Cavalry Leader.
J. E. B. STUART, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOSEPH HOOKER, Northern General.
RICHARD S. EWELL, Southern General.
JUBAL EARLY, Southern General.
WILLIAM S. ROSECRANS, Northern General.
SIMON BOLIVAR BUCKNER, Southern General.
LEONIDAS POLK, Southern General and Bishop.
BRAXTON BRAGG, Southern General.
NATHAN BEDFORD FORREST, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOHN MORGAN, Southern Cavalry Leader.
GEORGE J. MEADE, Northern General.
DON CARLOS BUELL, Northern General.
W. T. SHERMAN, Northern General.
JAMES LONGSTREET, Southern General.
P. G. T. BEAUREGARD, Southern General.
WILLIAM L. YANCEY, Alabama Orator.
JAMES A. GARFIELD, Northern General, afterwards President of
the United States.
And many others
IMPORTANT BATTLES DESCRIBED IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
BULL RUN
KERNSTOWN
CROSS KEYS
WINCHESTER
PORT REPUBLIC
THE SEVEN DAYS
MILL SPRING
FORT DONELSON
SHILOH
PERRYVILLE
STONE RIVER
THE SECOND MANASSAS
ANTIETAM
FREDERICKSBURG
CHANCELLORSVILLE
GETTYSBURG
CHAMPION HILL
VICKSBURG
CHICKAMAUGA
MISSIONARY RIDGE
THE WILDERNESS
SPOTTSYLVANIA
COLD HARBOR
FISHER'S HILL
CEDAR CREEK
APPOMATTOX
CONTENTS
I. AT BELLEVUE
II. FORREST
III. GRANT MOVES
IV. DICK'S MISSION
V. HUNTED
VI. A BOLD ATTACK
VII. THE LITTLE CAPITAL
VIII. CHAMPION HILL
IX. THE OPEN DOOR
X. THE GREAT ASSAULT
XI. THE TAKING OF VICKSBURG
XII. AN AFFAIR OF THE MOUNTAINS
XIII. THE RIVER OF DEATH
XIV. THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA
XV. BESIDE THE BROOK
THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA
CHAPTER I. AT BELLEVUE
"You have the keenest eyes in the troop. Can you see anything ahead?"
asked Colonel Winchester.
"Nothing living, sir," replied Dick Mason, as he swept his powerful
glasses in a half-curve. "There are hills on the right and in the
center, covered with thick, green forest, and on the left, where the
land lies low, the forest is thick and green too, although I think I
catch a flash of water in it."
"That should be the little river of which our map tells. And you,
Warner, what do your eyes tell you?"
"The same tale they tell to Dick, sir. It looks to me like a
wilderness."
"And so it is. It's a low-lying region of vast forests and thickets,
of slow deep rivers and creeks, and of lagoons and bayous. If Northern
troops want to be ambushed they couldn't come to a finer place for it.
Forrest and five thousand of his wild riders might hide within rifle
shot of us in this endless mass of vegetation. And so, my lads, it
behooves us to be cautious with a very great caution. You will recall
how we got cut up by Forrest in the Shiloh time."
"I do, sir," said Dick and he shuddered as he recalled those terrible
moments. "This is Mississippi, isn't it?"
Colonel Winchester took a small map from his pocket, and, unfolding it,
examined it with minute care.
"If this is right, and I'm sure it is," he replied, "we're far down in
Mississippi in the sunken regions that border the sluggish tributaries
of the Father of Waters. The vegetation is magnificent, but for a home
give me higher ground, Dick."
"Me too, sir," said Warner. "The finest state in this Union is Vermont.
I like to live on firm soil, even if it isn't so fertile, and I like to
see the clear, pure water running everywhere, brooks and rivers."
"I'll admit that Vermont is a good state for two months in the year,"
said Dick.
"Why not the other ten?"
"Because then it's frozen up, solid and hard, so I've heard."
The other boys laughed and kept up their chaff, but Colonel Winchester
rode soberly ahead. Behind him trailed the Winchester regiment, now
reorganized and mounted. Fresh troops had come from Kentucky, and
fragments of old regiments practically destroyed at Perryville and Stone
River had been joined to it.
It was a splendid body of men, but of those who had gone to Shiloh only
about two hundred remained. The great conflicts of the West, and the
minor battles had accounted for the others. But it was perhaps one of
the reliefs of the Civil War that it gave the lads who fought it little
time to think of those who fell. Four years crowded with battles, great
and small, sieges and marches absorbed their whole attention.
Now two men, the dreaded Forrest and fierce little Joe Wheeler, occupied
the minds of Winchester and his officers. It was impossible to keep
track of these wild horsemen here in their own section. They had a habit
of appearing two or three hundred miles from the place at which they
were expected.
But the young lieutenants while they watched too for their redoubtable
foes had an eye also for the country. It was a new kind of region for
all of them. The feet of their horses sank deep in the soft black soil,
and there was often a sound of many splashings as the regiment rode
across a wide, muddy brook.
Dick noted with interest the magnolias and the live oaks, and the great
stalks of the sunflower. Here in this Southern state, which bathed
its feet in the warm waters of the Gulf, spring was already far along,
although snows still lingered in the North.
The vegetation was extravagant in its luxuriance and splendor. The
enormous forest was broken by openings like prairies, and in every one
of them the grass grew thick and tall, interspersed with sunflowers and
blossoming wild plants. Through the woods ran vast networks of vines,
and birds of brilliant plumage chattered in the trees. Twice, deer
sprang up before them and raced away in the forest. It was the
wilderness almost as De Soto had traversed it nearly four centuries
before, and it had a majesty which in its wildness was not without its
sinister note.
They approached a creek, deeper and wider than usual, flowing in slow,
yellow coils, and, as they descended into the marsh that enclosed its
waters, there was a sharp crackling sound, followed quickly by another
and then by many others. The reports did not cease, and, although
blood was shed freely, no man fell from his horse, nor was any wounded
mortally. But the assault was vicious and it was pushed home with the
utmost courage and tenacity, although many of the assailants fell never
to rise again. Cries of pain and anger, and imprecations arose from the
stricken regiment.
"Slap! Slap!"
"Bang! Bang!"
"Ouch! He's got his bayonet in my cheek!"
"Heavens, that struck me like a minie ball! And it came, whistling and
shrieking, too, just like one!"
"Phew, how they sting! and my neck is bleeding in three places!"
"By thunder, Bill, I hit that fellow, fair and square! He'll never
trouble an honest Yankee soldier again!"
The fierce buzzing increased all around them and Colonel Winchester
shouted to his trumpeter:
"Blow the charge at once!"
The man, full willing, put the trumpet to his lips and blew loud and
long. The whole regiment went across the creek at a gallop--the water
flying in yellow showers--and did not stop until, emerging from the
marsh, they reached the crest of a low hill a mile beyond. Here, stung,
bleeding and completely defeated by the enemy they stopped for repairs.
An occasional angry buzz showed that they were not yet safe from the
skirmishers, but their attack seemed a light matter after the full
assault of the determined foe.
"I suppose we're all wounded," said Dick as he wiped a bleeding cheek.
"At least as far as I can see they're hurt. The last fellow who got his
bayonet in my face turned his weapon around and around and sang merrily
at every revolution."
"We were afraid of being ambushed by Forrest," said Warner, speaking
from a swollen countenance. "Instead we struck something worse; we rode
straight into an ambush of ten billion high-powered mosquitoes, every
one tipped with fire. Have we got enemies like these to fight all the
way down here?"
"They sting the rebels, too," said Pennington.
"Yes, but they like newcomers best, the unacclimated. When we rode down
into that swamp I could hear them shouting, to one another: 'That fat
fellow is mine, I saw him first! I've marked the rosy-cheeked boy for
mine. Keep away the rest of you fellows!' I feel as if I'd been through
a battle. No more marshes for me."
Some of the provident produced bottles of oil of | 342.874794 |
2023-11-16 18:22:47.3149310 | 2,117 | 8 |
Produced by Clare Graham and Marc D'Hooghe at
http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made
available by the Internet Archive.)
THE VINTAGE
_A Romance of the Greek War of
Independence. By_ E. F. BENSON
_Author of "Limitations" "Dodo"
"The Judgment Books" etc._
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
"And the wine-press was trodden without the
city, and blood came out of the wine-press"
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1898
[Illustration: "'COME AND SIT DOWN'"]
THIS ROMANCE
DEALING WITH THE REGENERATION OF HER PEOPLE
IS DEDICATED BY PERMISSION
TO
HER MAJESTY
OLGA
QUEEN OF THE HELLENES
CONTENTS
PART I
THE VINEYARD
I. The House on the Road To Nauplia
II. The Coming of Nicholas Vidalis
III. The Story of a Brigand
IV. The Midnight Ordeal
V. Mitsos Picks Cherries for Maria
VI. The Song from the Darkness
VII. The Port Dues of Corinth
VIII. The Mending of the Monastery Roof
IX. The Singer from the Darkness
PART II
THE EVE OF THE GATHERING
I. Mitsos Meets His Cousins
II. Mitsos and Yanni find a Horse
III. Mitsos Has the Hysterics
IV. Yanni Pays a Visit to the Turk
V. The Vision at Bassae
VI. Three Little Men Fall Off their Horses
VII. Mitsos Disarranges a House-roof
VIII. The Message of Fire
PART III
THE TREADING OF THE GRAPES
I. Te Deum Laudamus
II. Two Silver Candlesticks
III. The Adventure of the Fire-ship
IV. The Training of the Troops
V. The Hornets' Nest at Valtetzi
VI. The Entry of Germanos
VII. The Rule of the Senate
VIII. The Song from Tripoli
IX. Private Nicholas Vidalis
X. The Fall of Tripoli
XI. Father and Daughter
XII. The Search for Suleima
XIII. Nicholas Goes Home
XIV. The House on the Road to Nauplia
ILLUSTRATIONS
"'COME AND SIT DOWN'"
"'I AM FATHER ANDREA,' HE SHOUTED"
"HALF CARELESSLY SHE THREW INTO THE BOAT THE ROSES SHE HAD PICKED"
"SHE KISSED HIM LIGHTLY ON THE FOREHEAD"
"MITSOS SURVEYED HIM WITH EASY INDIFFERENCE"
"YANNI WAS STRUGGLING IN THE GRASP OF TWO MEN, THE GREEK AND THE TURK"
"KATSI AND A FINE SELECTION OF COUSINS ACCOMPANIED THE TWO"
"AFTER SUPPER MITSOS EXPOUNDED"
"IN THE CENTRE OF THE GREAT CHAMBER STOOD ONE WHOM IT DAZZLED HIS EYES
TO LOOK UPON"
"'AH, BUT IT IS GOOD TO BE WITH YOU AGAIN'"
"MITSOS TORE UP GREAT HANDFULS OF UNDERGROWTH AND THREW THEM ON"
"MIXED WITH THE NOISE OF THE SINGING, ROSE ONE GREAT SOB OF A THANKFUL
PEOPLE BORN AGAIN"
"BOTH THE BOYS, SEIZING THEIR OARS, ROWED FOR LIFE"
"CASTING HIMSELF DOWN THERE, IN AN AGONY BITTER SWEET, HE PRAYED"
"MITSOS, FLYING AT HIM LIKE A WILD-CAT"
"BORNE IN A CHAIR ON THE SHOULDERS OF FOUR MONKS"
"HE HAD CLAMBERED UP AND DROPPED DOWN ON THE OTHER SIDE"
"UNBUCKLING HIS SWORD, HE LAID IT ON THE TABLE"
"YANNI WAS BY HIM WITH A BRILLIANT SMILE ON HIS FACE"
"'WOULD YOU SLAY ME, FATHER?' SHE CRIED AGAIN"
"BY AN EFFORT HE RAISED HIMSELF ON HIS ELBOW"
"'SULEIMA!' CRIED MITSOS"
THE VINTAGE
Part I
THE VINEYARD
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE OF THE ROAD TO NAUPLIA
Nauplia, huddled together on the edge of its glittering bay, and
grilled beneath the hot stress of the midsummer noon, stood silent as a
city of the dead. Down the middle of the main street, leading up from
the quay to the square, lay a scorching ribbon of sunshine, and the
narrow strips of shadow, sharp cut and blue, spoke of the South.
Along one side of the square ran the barracks of the Turkish garrison
of occupation, two-storied buildings of brown stone, solid but airless,
and faced with a line of arcade. These contained the three companies of
men who were stationed in the town itself, less fortunate in this oven
of heat than the main part of the garrison who held the airier fortress
of Palamede behind, overlooking the plain from a height of five
hundred feet. Down the west side stood the quarters of the officers,
and opposite, the prison, full as usual to overflowing of the native
Greeks, cast there for default of payment to the Turkish usurers of
an interest of forty or fifty per cent. on some small loan; for these
new Turkish laws of 1820 with regard to debt had made the prisons more
populous than ever. A row of shops and a couple of cafes along the
north struck a more domestic note.
A narrow street led out of the square eastwards, and passing the length
of the town, burrowed through the wall of Venetian fortification in
the manner of a tunnel. On the right the outline of the gray fortress
hill, precipitously pitched towards the town in a jagged edge like
forked lightning, rose steep and craggy, weathered by the wind in
places to a tawny red, and peppered over with sun-dried tufts of grass.
Along the base of this the road ran, cobbled unevenly in the Turkish
fashion, and after passing two or three villas which stood white and
segregate among their gardens of flowering pomegranate and serge-clad
cypress, struck out into the plain. Vineyards and rattling maize fields
bordered it on one hand; on the other, beds of rushes and clumps of
king-thistles, which peopled the little swamp between it and the bay.
The spring had been very rainless, and these early days of June saw the
country already yellow and sere. The clumps of succulent leaves round
the base of the asphodels were dried and brown; only the virile stems
with their seeding sprouts remained green and vigorous.
The blinding whiteness of the forenoon gave place before one of the day
to a veiled but unabated heat, and sirocco began to blow up from the
south. Furnace-mouthed, it raised mad little whirlwinds, which spun
across the road and over the hot, reaped fields in petulant eddies,
and powdered all they passed with fine white dust. Two or three hawks,
in despair of spying their dinner through this palpable air, and being
continually blown downwind in the attempt to poise, were following
the example of the rest of the world, and seeking their craggy homes
on the sides of Palamede till the tempest should be overpast. A few
cicalas in a line of white poplars by the wayside alone maintained
their alacrity, and clicked and whirred as if sirocco was of all airs
the most invigorating. The hills of Argolis to the north were already
getting dim and veiled, and losing themselves in an ague of heat.
By the roadside, a mile from the town, stood a small wine-shop, in
front of which projected a rough wooden portico open to the air on
three sides, and roofed with boughs of oleander, plucked leaf and
flower together. A couple of rough stools and a rickety table stood
in the shade in order to invite passers-by to rest, and so to drink,
and the owner himself was lying on a bench under the house wall in
wide-mouthed sleep. A surly-looking dog, shaggy and sturdy, guarded his
slumbers in the intervals of its own, and snapped ineffectually at the
flies.
Directly opposite the wine-shop stood a whitewashed house, built in
a rather more pretentious style than the dwellings of most Greek
peasants, and fronted by a garden, to which a row of white poplars
gave a specious and private air. A veranda ran around two sides of
it, floored with planks, and up the wooden pillars, by which it was
supported, streamed long shoots of flowering roses. A low wooden
settee, cushioned with two Greek saddle-bags, stood in the shade of the
veranda, and on it were sitting two men, one of whom was dressed in the
long black cassock of a priest--both silent.
Then for the first time a human note overscored the thundering of
the hot wind, and a small gray cat scuffled round the corner of the
veranda, pursued by a great long-limbed boy, laughing to himself | 343.334971 |
2023-11-16 18:22:47.5315820 | 7,435 | 7 |
Produced by Judy Boss
FIVE WEEKS IN A BALLOON
Or,
Journeys And Discoveries In Africa By Three Englishmen.
Compiled In French
By Jules Verne,
From The Original Notes Of Dr. Ferguson.
And Done Into English By
"William Lackland."
PUBLISHERS' NOTE.
"Five Weeks in a Balloon" is, in a measure, a satire on modern books of
African travel. So far as the geography, the inhabitants, the animals,
and the features of the countries the travellers pass over are
described, it is entirely accurate. It gives, in some particulars, a
survey of nearly the whole field of African discovery, and in this
way will often serve to refresh the memory of the reader. The mode
of locomotion is, of course, purely imaginary, and the incidents and
adventures fictitious. The latter are abundantly amusing, and, in view
of the wonderful "travellers' tales" with which we have been entertained
by African explorers, they can scarcely be considered extravagant; while
the ingenuity and invention of the author will be sure to excite the
surprise and the admiration of the reader, who will find M. VERNE
as much at home in voyaging through the air as in journeying "Twenty
Thousand Leagues under the Seas."
DETAILED CONTENTS.
CHAP. FIRST.
The End of a much-applauded Speech.--The Presentation of Dr. Samuel
Ferguson.--Excelsior.--Full-length Portrait of the Doctor.--A Fatalist
convinced.--A Dinner at the Travellers' Club.--Several Toasts for the
Occasion
CHAP. SECOND.
The Article in the Daily Telegraph.--War between the Scientific
Journals.--Mr. Petermann backs his Friend Dr. Ferguson.--Reply of the
Savant Koner.--Bets made.--Sundry Propositions offered to the Doctor
CHAP. THIRD.
The Doctor's Friend.--The Origin of their Friendship.--Dick Kennedy at
London.--An unexpected but not very consoling Proposal.--A Proverb by
no means cheering.--A few Names from the African Martyrology.--The
Advantages of a Balloon.--Dr. Ferguson's Secret
CHAP. FOURTH.
African Explorations.--Barth, Richardson, Overweg, Werne, Brun-Rollet,
Penney, Andrea, Debono, Miani, Guillaume Lejean, Brace, Krapf and
Rebmann, Maizan, Roscher, Burton and Speke
CHAP. FIFTH.
Kennedy's Dreams.--Articles and Pronouns in the Plural.--Dick's
Insinuations.--A Promenade over the Map of Africa.--What is contained
between two Points of the Compass.--Expeditions now on foot.--Speke and
Grant.--Krapf, De Decken, and De Heuglin
CHAP. SIXTH.
A Servant--match him!--He can see the Satellites of Jupiter.--Dick
and Joe hard at it.--Doubt and Faith.--The Weighing Ceremony.--Joe and
Wellington.--He gets a Half-crown
CHAP. SEVENTH.
Geometrical Details.--Calculation of the Capacity of the Balloon.--The
Double Receptacle.--The Covering.--The Car.--The Mysterious
Apparatus.--The Provisions and Stores.--The Final Summing up
CHAP. EIGHTH.
Joe's Importance.--The Commander of the Resolute.--Kennedy's
Arsenal.--Mutual Amenities.--The Farewell Dinner.--Departure on the
21st of February.--The Doctor's Scientific
Sessions.--Duveyrier.--Livingstone.--Details of the Aerial
Voyage.--Kennedy silenced
CHAP. NINTH.
They double the Cape.--The Forecastle.--A Course of Cosmography by
Professor Joe.--Concerning the Method of guiding Balloons.--How to seek
out Atmospheric Currents.--Eureka
CHAP. TENTH.
Former Experiments.--The Doctor's Five Receptacles.--The Gas
Cylinder.--The Calorifere.--The System of Manoeuvring.--Success certain
CHAP. ELEVENTH.
The Arrival at Zanzibar.--The English Consul.--Ill-will of the
Inhabitants.--The Island of Koumbeni.--The Rain-Makers.--Inflation of
the Balloon.--Departure on the 18th of April.--The last Good-by.--The
Victoria
CHAP. TWELFTH.
Crossing the Strait.--The Mrima.--Dick's Remark and Joe's
Proposition.--A Recipe for Coffee-making.--The Uzaramo.--The Unfortunate
Maizan.--Mount Duthumi.--The Doctor's Cards.--Night under a Nopal
CHAP. THIRTEENTH.
Change of Weather.--Kennedy has the Fever.--The Doctor's
Medicine.--Travels on Land.--The Basin of Imenge.--Mount Rubeho.--Six
Thousand Feet Elevation.--A Halt in the Daytime
CHAP. FOURTEENTH.
The Forest of Gum-Trees.--The Blue Antelope.--The Rallying-Signal.--An
Unexpected Attack.--The Kanyeme.--A Night in the Open Air.--The
Mabunguru.--Jihoue-la-Mkoa.--A Supply of Water.--Arrival at Kazeh
CHAP. FIFTEENTH.
Kazeh.--The Noisy Market-place.--The Appearance of the Balloon.--The
Wangaga.--The Sons of the Moon.--The Doctor's Walk.--The Population
of the Place.--The Royal Tembe.--The Sultan's Wives.--A Royal
Drunken-Bout.--Joe an Object of Worship.--How they Dance in the Moon.--A
Reaction.--Two Moons in one Sky.--The Instability of Divine Honors
CHAP. SIXTEENTH.
Symptoms of a Storm.--The Country of the Moon.--The Future of the
African Continent.--The Last Machine of all.--A View of the Country at
Sunset.--Flora and Fauna.--The Tempest.--The Zone of Fire.--The Starry
Heavens.
CHAP. SEVENTEENTH.
The Mountains of the Moon.--An Ocean of Venture.--They cast Anchor.--The
Towing Elephant.--A Running Fire.--Death of the Monster.--The Field
Oven.--A Meal on the Grass.--A Night on the Ground
CHAP. EIGHTEENTH.
The Karagwah.--Lake Ukereoue.--A Night on an Island.--The
Equator.--Crossing the Lake.--The Cascades.--A View of the Country.--The
Sources of the Nile.--The Island of Benga.--The Signature of Andrea
Debono.--The Flag with the Arms of England
CHAP. NINETEENTH.
The Nile.--The Trembling Mountain.--A Remembrance of the
Country.--The Narratives of the Arabs.--The Nyam-Nyams.--Joe's
Shrewd Cogitations.--The Balloon runs the Gantlet.--Aerostatic
Ascensions.--Madame Blanchard.
CHAP. TWENTIETH.
The Celestial Bottle.--The Fig-Palms.--The Mammoth Trees.--The Tree of
War.--The Winged Team.--Two Native Tribes in Battle.--A Massacre.--An
Intervention from above
CHAP. TWENTY-FIRST.
Strange Sounds.--A Night Attack.--Kennedy and Joe in the Tree.--Two
Shots.--"Help! help!"--Reply in French.--The Morning.--The
Missionary.--The Plan of Rescue
CHAP. TWENTY-SECOND.
The Jet of Light.--The Missionary.--The Rescue in a Ray of
Electricity.--A Lazarist Priest.--But little Hope.--The Doctor's
Care.--A Life of Self-Denial.--Passing a Volcano
CHAP. TWENTY-THIRD.
Joe in a Fit of Rage.--The Death of a Good Man.--The Night of watching
by the Body.--Barrenness and Drought.--The Burial.--The Quartz
Rocks.--Joe's Hallucinations.--A Precious Ballast.--A Survey of the
Gold-bearing Mountains.--The Beginning of Joe's Despair
CHAP. TWENTY-FOURTH.
The Wind dies away.--The Vicinity of the Desert.--The Mistake in
the Water Supply.--The Nights of the Equator.--Dr. Ferguson's
Anxieties.--The Situation flatly stated.--Energetic Replies of Kennedy
and Joe.--One Night more
CHAP. TWENTY-FIFTH.
A Little Philosophy.--A Cloud on the Horizon.--In the Midst of a
Fog.--The Strange Balloon.--An Exact View of the Victoria.--The
Palm-Trees.--Traces of a Caravan.--The Well in the Midst of the Desert
CHAP. TWENTY-SIXTH.
One Hundred and Thirteen Degrees.--The Doctor's Reflections.--A
Desperate Search.--The Cylinder goes out.--One Hundred and
Twenty-two Degrees.--Contemplation of the Desert.--A Night
Walk.--Solitude.--Debility.--Joe's Prospects.--He gives himself One Day
more
CHAP. TWENTY-SEVENTH.
Terrific Heat.--Hallucinations.--The Last Drops of Water.--Nights of
Despair.--An Attempt at Suicide.--The Simoom.--The Oasis.--The Lion and
Lioness.
CHAP. TWENTY-EIGHTH.
An Evening of Delight.--Joe's Culinary Performances.--A Dissertation
on Raw Meat.--The Narrative of James Bruce.--Camping out.--Joe's
Dreams.--The Barometer begins to fall.--The Barometer rises
again.--Preparations for Departure.--The Tempest
CHAP. TWENTY-NINTH.
Signs of Vegetation.--The Fantastic Notion of a French Author.--A
Magnificent Country.--The Kingdom of Adamova.--The Explorations of
Speke and Burton connected with those of Dr. Barth.--The Atlantika
Mountains.--The River Benoue.--The City of Yola.--The Bagele.--Mount
Mendif
CHAP. THIRTIETH.
Mosfeia.--The Sheik.--Denham, Clapperton, and Oudney.--Vogel.--The
Capital of Loggoum.--Toole.--Becalmed above Kernak.--The Governor and
his Court.--The Attack.--The Incendiary Pigeons
CHAP. THIRTY-FIRST.
Departure in the Night-time.--All Three.--Kennedy's
Instincts.--Precautions.--The Course of the Shari River.--Lake
Tchad.--The Water of the Lake.--The Hippopotamus.--One Bullet thrown
away
CHAP. THIRTY-SECOND.
The Capital of Bornou.--The Islands of the Biddiomahs.--The
Condors.--The Doctor's Anxieties.--His Precautions.--An Attack
in Mid-air.--The Balloon Covering torn.--The Fall.--Sublime
Self-Sacrifice.--The Northern Coast of the Lake
CHAP. THIRTY-THIRD.
Conjectures.--Reestablishment of the Victoria's Equilibrium.--Dr.
Ferguson's New Calculations.--Kennedy's Hunt.--A Complete Exploration of
Lake Tchad.--Tangalia.--The Return.--Lari
CHAP. THIRTY-FOURTH.
The Hurricane.--A Forced Departure.--Loss of an Anchor.--Melancholy
Reflections.--The Resolution adopted.--The Sand-Storm.--The Buried
Caravan.--A Contrary yet Favorable Wind.--The Return southward.--Kennedy
at his Post
CHAP. THIRTY-FIFTH.
What happened to Joe.--The Island of the Biddiomahs.--The Adoration
shown him.--The Island that sank.--The Shores of the Lake.--The Tree
of the Serpents.--The Foot-Tramp.--Terrible Suffering.--Mosquitoes and
Ants.--Hunger.--The Victoria seen.--She disappears.--The Swamp.--One
Last Despairing Cry
CHAP. THIRTY-SIXTH.
A Throng of People on the Horizon.--A Troop of Arabs.--The Pursuit.--It
is He.--Fall from Horseback.--The Strangled Arab.--A Ball from
Kennedy.--Adroit Manoeuvres.--Caught up flying.--Joe saved at last
CHAP. THIRTY-SEVENTH.
The Western Route.--Joe wakes up.--His Obstinacy.--End of Joe's
Narrative.--Tagelei.--Kennedy's Anxieties.--The Route to the North.--A
Night near Aghades
CHAP. THIRTY-EIGHTH.
A Rapid Passage.--Prudent Resolves.--Caravans in Sight.--Incessant
Rains.--Goa.--The Niger.--Golberry, Geoffroy, and Gray.--Mungo
Park.--Laing.--Rene Caillie.--Clapperton.--John and Richard Lander
CHAP. THIRTY-NINTH.
The Country in the Elbow of the Niger.--A Fantastic View of the Hombori
Mountains.--Kabra.--Timbuctoo.--The Chart of Dr. Barth.--A Decaying
City.--Whither Heaven wills
CHAP. FORTIETH.
Dr. Ferguson's Anxieties.--Persistent Movement southward.--A Cloud
of Grasshoppers.--A View of Jenne.--A View of Sego.--Change of the
Wind.--Joe's Regrets
CHAP. FORTY-FIRST.
The Approaches to Senegal.--The Balloon sinks lower and lower.--They
keep throwing out, throwing out.--The Marabout Al-Hadji.--Messrs.
Pascal, Vincent, and Lambert.--A Rival of Mohammed.--The Difficult
Mountains.--Kennedy's Weapons.--One of Joe's Manoeuvres.--A Halt over a
Forest
CHAP. FORTY-SECOND.
A Struggle of Generosity.--The Last Sacrifice.--The Dilating
Apparatus.--Joe's Adroitness.--Midnight.--The Doctor's Watch.--Kennedy's
Watch.--The Latter falls asleep at his Post.--The Fire.--The Howlings of
the Natives.--Out of Range
CHAP. FORTY-THIRD.
The Talabas.--The Pursuit.--A Devastated Country.--The Wind begins to
fall.--The Victoria sinks.--The last of the Provisions.--The Leaps of
the Balloon.--A Defence with Fire-arms.--The Wind freshens.--The Senegal
River.--The Cataracts of Gouina.--The Hot Air.--The Passage of the River
CHAP. FORTY-FOURTH.
Conclusion.--The Certificate.--The French Settlements.--The Post of
Medina.--The Battle.--Saint Louis.--The English Frigate.--The Return to
London.
FIVE WEEKS IN A BALLOON.
CHAPTER FIRST.
The End of a much-applauded Speech.--The Presentation of Dr. Samuel
Ferguson.--Excelsior.--Full-length Portrait of the Doctor.--A Fatalist
convinced.--A Dinner at the Travellers' Club.--Several Toasts for the
Occasion.
There was a large audience assembled on the 14th of January, 1862, at
the session of the Royal Geographical Society, No. 3 Waterloo
Place, London. The president, Sir Francis M----, made an important
communication to his colleagues, in an address that was frequently
interrupted by applause.
This rare specimen of eloquence terminated with the following sonorous
phrases bubbling over with patriotism:
"England has always marched at the head of nations" (for, the reader
will observe, the nations always march at the head of each other), "by
the intrepidity of her explorers in the line of geographical discovery."
(General assent). "Dr. Samuel Ferguson, one of her most glorious sons,
will not reflect discredit on his origin." ("No, indeed!" from all parts
of the hall.)
"This attempt, should it succeed" ("It will succeed!"), "will complete
and link together the notions, as yet disjointed, which the world
entertains of African cartology" (vehement applause); "and, should it
fail, it will, at least, remain on record as one of the most daring
conceptions of human genius!" (Tremendous cheering.)
"Huzza! huzza!" shouted the immense audience, completely electrified by
these inspiring words.
"Huzza for the intrepid Ferguson!" cried one of the most excitable of
the enthusiastic crowd.
The wildest cheering resounded on all sides; the name of Ferguson was in
every mouth, and we may safely believe that it lost nothing in passing
through English throats. Indeed, the hall fairly shook with it.
And there were present, also, those fearless travellers and explorers
whose energetic temperaments had borne them through every quarter of the
globe, many of them grown old and worn out in the service of science.
All had, in some degree, physically or morally, undergone the sorest
trials. They had escaped shipwreck; conflagration; Indian tomahawks and
war-clubs; the fagot and the stake; nay, even the cannibal maws of the
South Sea Islanders. But still their hearts beat high during Sir Francis
M----'s address, which certainly was the finest oratorical success that
the Royal Geographical Society of London had yet achieved.
But, in England, enthusiasm does not stop short with mere words. It
strikes off money faster than the dies of the Royal Mint itself. So a
subscription to encourage Dr. Ferguson was voted there and then, and
it at once attained the handsome amount of two thousand five hundred
pounds. The sum was made commensurate with the importance of the
enterprise.
A member of the Society then inquired of the president whether Dr.
Ferguson was not to be officially introduced.
"The doctor is at the disposition of the meeting," replied Sir Francis.
"Let him come in, then! Bring him in!" shouted the audience. "We'd like
to see a man of such extraordinary daring, face to face!"
"Perhaps this incredible proposition of his is only intended to mystify
us," growled an apoplectic old admiral.
"Suppose that there should turn out to be no such person as Dr.
Ferguson?" exclaimed another voice, with a malicious twang.
"Why, then, we'd have to invent one!" replied a facetious member of this
grave Society.
"Ask Dr. Ferguson to come in," was the quiet remark of Sir Francis
M----.
And come in the doctor did, and stood there, quite unmoved by the
thunders of applause that greeted his appearance.
He was a man of about forty years of age, of medium height and physique.
His sanguine temperament was disclosed in the deep color of his cheeks.
His countenance was coldly expressive, with regular features, and a
large nose--one of those noses that resemble the prow of a ship, and
stamp the faces of men predestined to accomplish great discoveries.
His eyes, which were gentle and intelligent, rather than bold, lent a
peculiar charm to his physiognomy. His arms were long, and his feet were
planted with that solidity which indicates a great pedestrian.
A calm gravity seemed to surround the doctor's entire person, and no one
would dream that he could become the agent of any mystification, however
harmless.
Hence, the applause that greeted him at the outset continued until he,
with a friendly gesture, claimed silence on his own behalf. He stepped
toward the seat that had been prepared for him on his presentation,
and then, standing erect and motionless, he, with a determined glance,
pointed his right forefinger upward, and pronounced aloud the single
word--
"Excelsior!"
Never had one of Bright's or Cobden's sudden onslaughts, never had
one of Palmerston's abrupt demands for funds to plate the rocks of the
English coast with iron, made such a sensation. Sir Francis M----'s
address was completely overshadowed. The doctor had shown himself
moderate, sublime, and self-contained, in one; he had uttered the word
of the situation--
"Excelsior!"
The gouty old admiral who had been finding fault, was completely won
over by the singular man before him, and immediately moved the insertion
of Dr. Ferguson's speech in "The Proceedings of the Royal Geographical
Society of London."
Who, then, was this person, and what was the enterprise that he
proposed?
Ferguson's father, a brave and worthy captain in the English Navy, had
associated his son with him, from the young man's earliest years, in
the perils and adventures of his profession. The fine little fellow, who
seemed to have never known the meaning of fear, early revealed a keen
and active mind, an investigating intelligence, and a remarkable
turn for scientific study; moreover, he disclosed uncommon address in
extricating himself from difficulty; he was never perplexed, not even
in handling his fork for the first time--an exercise in which children
generally have so little success.
His fancy kindled early at the recitals he read of daring enterprise and
maritime adventure, and he followed with enthusiasm the discoveries that
signalized the first part of the nineteenth century. He mused over the
glory of the Mungo Parks, the Bruces, the Caillies, the Levaillants, and
to some extent, I verily believe, of Selkirk (Robinson Crusoe), whom
he considered in no wise inferior to the rest. How many a well-employed
hour he passed with that hero on his isle of Juan Fernandez! Often he
criticised the ideas of the shipwrecked sailor, and sometimes discussed
his plans and projects. He would have done differently, in such and such
a case, or quite as well at least--of that he felt assured. But of one
thing he was satisfied, that he never should have left that pleasant
island, where he was as happy as a king without subjects--no, not if
the inducement held out had been promotion to the first lordship in the
admiralty!
It may readily be conjectured whether these tendencies were developed
during a youth of adventure, spent in every nook and corner of the
Globe. Moreover, his father, who was a man of thorough instruction,
omitted no opportunity to consolidate this keen intelligence by serious
studies in hydrography, physics, and mechanics, along with a slight
tincture of botany, medicine, and astronomy.
Upon the death of the estimable captain, Samuel Ferguson, then
twenty-two years of age, had already made his voyage around the world.
He had enlisted in the Bengalese Corps of Engineers, and distinguished
himself in several affairs; but this soldier's life had not exactly
suited him; caring but little for command, he had not been fond of
obeying. He, therefore, sent in his resignation, and half botanizing,
half playing the hunter, he made his way toward the north of the Indian
Peninsula, and crossed it from Calcutta to Surat--a mere amateur trip
for him.
From Surat we see him going over to Australia, and in 1845 participating
in Captain Sturt's expedition, which had been sent out to explore the
new Caspian Sea, supposed to exist in the centre of New Holland.
Samuel Ferguson returned to England about 1850, and, more than ever
possessed by the demon of discovery, he spent the intervening time,
until 1853, in accompanying Captain McClure on the expedition that went
around the American Continent from Behring's Straits to Cape Farewell.
Notwithstanding fatigues of every description, and in all climates,
Ferguson's constitution continued marvellously sound. He felt at ease in
the midst of the most complete privations; in fine, he was the very
type of the thoroughly accomplished explorer whose stomach expands or
contracts at will; whose limbs grow longer or shorter according to
the resting-place that each stage of a journey may bring; who can fall
asleep at any hour of the day or awake at any hour of the night.
Nothing, then, was less surprising, after that, than to find our
traveller, in the period from 1855 to 1857, visiting the whole region
west of the Thibet, in company with the brothers Schlagintweit,
and bringing back some curious ethnographic observations from that
expedition.
During these different journeys, Ferguson had been the most active and
interesting correspondent of the Daily Telegraph, the penny newspaper
whose circulation amounts to 140,000 copies, and yet scarcely suffices
for its many legions of readers. Thus, the doctor had become well known
to the public, although he could not claim membership in either of the
Royal Geographical Societies of London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, or
St. Petersburg, or yet with the Travellers' Club, or even the Royal
Polytechnic Institute, where his friend the statistician Cockburn ruled
in state.
The latter savant had, one day, gone so far as to propose to him the
following problem: Given the number of miles travelled by the doctor in
making the circuit of the Globe, how many more had his head described
than his feet, by reason of the different lengths of the radii?--or,
the number of miles traversed by the doctor's head and feet respectively
being given, required the exact height of that gentleman?
This was done with the idea of complimenting him, but the doctor had
held himself aloof from all the learned bodies--belonging, as he did, to
the church militant and not to the church polemical. He found his time
better employed in seeking than in discussing, in discovering rather
than discoursing.
There is a story told of an Englishman who came one day to Geneva,
intending to visit the lake. He was placed in one of those odd vehicles
in which the passengers sit side by side, as they do in an omnibus.
Well, it so happened that the Englishman got a seat that left him with
his back turned toward the lake. The vehicle completed its circular trip
without his thinking to turn around once, and he went back to London
delighted with the Lake of Geneva.
Doctor Ferguson, however, had turned around to look about him on his
journeyings, and turned to such good purpose that he had seen a great
deal. In doing so, he had simply obeyed the laws of his nature, and we
have good reason to believe that he was, to some extent, a fatalist,
but of an orthodox school of fatalism withal, that led him to rely
upon himself and even upon Providence. He claimed that he was impelled,
rather than drawn by his own volition, to journey as he did, and that he
traversed the world like the locomotive, which does not direct itself,
but is guided and directed by the track it runs on.
"I do not follow my route;" he often said, "it is my route that follows
me."
The reader will not be surprised, then, at the calmness with which the
doctor received the applause that welcomed him in the Royal Society. He
was above all such trifles, having no pride, and less vanity. He
looked upon the proposition addressed to him by Sir Francis M----as the
simplest thing in the world, and scarcely noticed the immense effect
that it produced.
When the session closed, the doctor was escorted to the rooms of the
Travellers' Club, in Pall Mall. A superb entertainment had been prepared
there in his honor. The dimensions of the dishes served were made to
correspond with the importance of the personage entertained, and the
boiled sturgeon that figured at this magnificent repast was not an inch
shorter than Dr. Ferguson himself.
Numerous toasts were offered and quaffed, in the wines of France, to
the celebrated travellers who had made their names illustrious by their
explorations of African territory. The guests drank to their health or
to their memory, in alphabetical order, a good old English way of doing
the thing. Among those remembered thus, were: Abbadie, Adams, Adamson,
Anderson, Arnaud, Baikie, Baldwin, Barth, Batouda, Beke, Beltram, Du
Berba, Bimbachi, Bolognesi, Bolwik, Belzoni, Bonnemain, Brisson, Browne,
Bruce, Brun-Rollet, Burchell, Burckhardt, Burton, Cailland, Caillie,
Campbell, Chapman, Clapperton, Clot-Bey, Colomieu, Courval, Cumming,
Cuny, Debono, Decken, Denham, Desavanchers, Dicksen, Dickson, Dochard,
Du Chaillu, Duncan, Durand, Duroule, Duveyrier, D'Escayrac, De Lauture,
Erhardt, Ferret, Fresnel, Galinier, Galton, Geoffroy, Golberry,
Hahn, Halm, Harnier, Hecquart, Heuglin, Hornemann, Houghton, Imbert,
Kauffmann, Knoblecher, Krapf, Kummer, Lafargue, Laing, Lafaille,
Lambert, Lamiral, Lampriere, John Lander, Richard Lander, Lefebvre,
Lejean, Levaillant, Livingstone, MacCarthy, Maggiar, Maizan, Malzac,
Moffat, Mollien, Monteiro, Morrison, Mungo Park, Neimans, Overweg,
Panet, Partarrieau, Pascal, Pearse, Peddie, Penney, Petherick, Poncet,
Prax, Raffenel, Rabh, Rebmann, Richardson, Riley, Ritchey, Rochet
d'Hericourt, Rongawi, Roscher, Ruppel, Saugnier, Speke, Steidner,
Thibaud, Thompson, Thornton, Toole, Tousny, Trotter, Tuckey, Tyrwhitt,
Vaudey, Veyssiere, Vincent, Vinco, Vogel, Wahlberg, Warrington,
Washington, Werne, Wild, and last, but not least, Dr. Ferguson, who,
by his incredible attempt, was to link together the achievements of all
these explorers, and complete the series of African discovery.
CHAPTER SECOND.
The Article in the Daily Telegraph.--War between the Scientific
Journals.--Mr. Petermann backs his Friend Dr. Ferguson.--Reply of the
Savant Koner.--Bets made.--Sundry Propositions offered to the Doctor.
On the next day, in its number of January 15th, the Daily Telegraph
published an article couched in the following terms:
"Africa is, at length, about to surrender the secret of her vast
solitudes; a modern OEdipus is to give us the key to that enigma which
the learned men of sixty centuries have not been able to decipher. In
other days, to seek the sources of the Nile--fontes Nili quoerere--was
regarded as a mad endeavor, a chimera that could not be realized.
"Dr. Barth, in following out to Soudan the track traced by Denham and
Clapperton; Dr. Livingstone, in multiplying his fearless explorations
from the Cape of Good Hope to the basin of the Zambesi; Captains Burton
and Speke, in the discovery of the great interior lakes, have opened
three highways to modern civilization. THEIR POINT OF INTERSECTION,
which no traveller has yet been able to reach, is the very heart of
Africa, and it is thither that all efforts should now be directed.
"The labors of these hardy pioneers of science are now about to be
knit together by the daring project of Dr. Samuel Ferguson, whose
fine explorations our readers have frequently had the opportunity of
appreciating.
"This intrepid discoverer proposes to traverse all Africa from east to
west IN A BALLOON. If we are well informed, the point of departure
for this surprising journey is to be the island of Zanzibar, upon
the eastern coast. As for the point of arrival, it is reserved for
Providence alone to designate.
"The proposal for this scientific undertaking was officially made,
yesterday, at the rooms of the Royal Geographical Society, and the sum
of twenty-five hundred pounds was voted to defray the expenses of the
enterprise.
"We shall keep our readers informed as to the progress of this
enterprise, which has no precedent in the annals of exploration."
As may be supposed, the foregoing article had an enormous echo among
scientific people. At first, it stirred up a storm of incredulity; Dr.
Ferguson passed for a purely chimerical personage of the Barnum stamp,
who, after having gone through the United States, proposed to "do" the
British Isles.
A humorous reply appeared in the February number of the Bulletins de la
Societe Geographique of Geneva, which very wittily showed up the Royal
Society of London and their phenomenal sturgeon.
But Herr Petermann, in his Mittheilungen, published at Gotha, reduced
the Geneva journal to the most absolute silence. Herr Petermann knew
Dr. Ferguson personally, and guaranteed the intrepidity of his dauntless
friend.
Besides, all manner of doubt was quickly put out of the question:
preparations for the trip were set on foot at London; the factories of
Lyons received a heavy order for the silk required for the body of the
balloon; and, finally, the British Government placed the transport-ship
Resolute, Captain Bennett, at the disposal of the expedition.
At once, upon word of all this, a thousand encouragements were offered,
and felicitations came pouring in from all quarters. The details of the
undertaking were published in full in the bulletins of the Geographical
Society of Paris; a remarkable article appeared in the Nouvelles Annales
des Voyages, de la Geographie, de l'Histoire, et de l'Archaeologie de
M. V. A. Malte-Brun ("New Annals of Travels, Geography, History, and
Archaeology, by M. V. | 343.551622 |
Subsets and Splits
No saved queries yet
Save your SQL queries to embed, download, and access them later. Queries will appear here once saved.