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Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
CONTEMPORARY
RUSSIAN NOVELISTS
Translated from the French of Serge Persky
By FREDERICK EISEMANN
JOHN W. LUCE AND COMPANY
BOSTON 1913
_Copyright, 1912_
BY C. DELAGRAVE
_Copyright, 1913_
BY L. E. BASSETT
To
THE MEMORY OF
F. N. S.
BY
THE TRANSLATOR
PREFACE
The principal aim of this book is to give the reader a good general
knowledge of Russian literature as it is to-day. The author, Serge
Persky, has subordinated purely critical material, because he wants
his readers to form their own judgments and criticize for
themselves. The element of literary criticism is not, however, by
any means entirely lacking.
In the original text, there is a thorough and exhaustive treatment
of the "great prophet" of Russian literature--Tolstoy--but the
translator has deemed it wise to omit this essay, because so much
has recently been written about this great man.
As the title of the book is "Contemporary Russian Novelists," the
essay on Anton Tchekoff, who is no longer living, does not rightly
belong here, but Tchekoff is such an important figure in modern
Russian literature and has attracted so little attention from
English writers that it seems advisable to retain the essay that
treats of his work.
Finally, let me express my sincerest thanks to Dr. G. H. Maynadier
of Harvard for his kind advice; to Miss Edna Wetzler for her
unfailing and valuable help, and to Miss Carrie Harper, who has gone
over this work with painstaking care.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Brief Survey of Russian Literature 1
II. Anton Tchekoff 40
III. Vladimir Korolenko 76
IV. Vikenty Veressayev 108
V. Maxim Gorky 142
VI. Leonid Andreyev 199
VII. Dmitry Merezhkovsky 246
VIII. Alexander Kuprin 274
IX. Writers in Vogue 289
CONTEMPORARY RUSSIAN NOVELISTS
I
A BRIEF SURVEY OF RUSSIAN LITERATURE
In order to get a clear idea of modern Russian literature, a
knowledge of its past is indispensable. This knowledge will help us
in understanding that which distinguishes it from other European
literatures, not only from the viewpoint of the art which it
expresses, but also as the historical and sociological mirror of the
nation's life in the course of centuries.
The dominant trait of this literature is found in its very origins.
Unlike the literatures of other European countries, which followed,
in a more or less regular way, the development of life and
civilization during historic times, Russian literature passed
through none of these stages. Instead of being a product of the
past, it is a protestation against it; instead of retracing the old
successive stages, it appears, intermittently, like a light
suddenly struck in the darkness. Its whole history is a long
continual struggle against this darkness, which has gradually melted
away beneath these rays of light, but has never entirely ceased to
veil the general trend of Russian thought.
As a result of the unfortunate circumstances which characterize her
history, Russia was for a long time deprived of any relations with
civilized Europe. The necessity of concentrating all her strength on
fighting the Mongolians laid the corner-stone of a sort of
semi-Asiatic political autocracy. Besides, the influence of the
Byzantine clergy made the nation hostile to the ideas and science of
the Occident, which were represented as heresies incompatible with
the orthodox faith. However, when she finally threw off the
Mongolian yoke, and when she found herself face to face with Europe,
Russia was led to enter into diplomatic relations with the various
Western powers. She then realized that European art and science were
indispensable to her, if only to strengthen her in warfare against
these States. For this reason a number of European ideas began to
come into Russia during the reigns of the last Muscovite sovereigns.
But they assumed a somewhat sacerdotal character in passing through
the filter of Polish society, and took on, so to speak, a dogmatic
air. In general, European influence was not accepted in Russia
except with extreme repugnance and restless circumspection, until
the accession of Peter I. This great monarch, blessed with unusual
intelligence and a will of iron, decided to use all his autocratic
power in impressing, to use the words of Pushkin, "a new direction
upon the Russian vessel;"--Europe instead of Asia.
Peter the Great had to contend against the partisans of ancient
tradition, the "obscurists" and the adversaries of profane science;
and this inevitable struggle determined the first character of
Russian literature, where the satiric element, which in essence is
an attack on the enemies of reform, predominates. In organizing
grotesque processions, clownish masquerades, in which the
long-skirted clothes and the streaming beards of the honorable
champions of times gone by were ridiculed, Peter himself appeared as
a pitiless destroyer of the ancient costumes and superannuated
ideas.
The example set by the practical irony of this man was followed,
soon after the death of the Tsar, by Kantemir, the first Russian
author who wrote satirical verses. These verses were very much
appreciated in his time. In them, he mocks with considerable fervor
the ignorant contemners of science, who taste happiness only in the
gratification of their material appetites.
At the same time that the Russian authors pursued the enemies of
learning with sarcasm, they heaped up eulogies, which bordered on
idolatry, on Peter I, and, after him, on his successors. In these
praises, which were excessively hyperbolical, there was always some
sincerity. Peter had, in fact, in his reign, paved the way for
European civilization, and it seemed merely to be waiting for the
sovereigns, Peter's successors, to go on with the work started by
their illustrious ancestor. The most powerful leaders, and the first
representatives of the new literature, strode ahead, then, hand in
hand, but their paths before long diverged. Peter the Great wanted
to use European science for practical purposes only: it was only to
help the State, to make capable generals, to win wars, to help
savants find means to develop the national wealth by industry and
commerce; he--Peter--had no time to think of other things. But
science throws her light into the most hidden corners, and when it
brings social and political iniquities to light, then the government
hastens to persecute that which, up to this time, it has encouraged.
The protective, and later hostile, tendencies of the government in
regard to authors manifested themselves with a special violence
during the reign of Catherine II. This erudite woman, an admirer of
Voltaire and of the French "encyclopedistes," was personally
interested in writing. She wrote several plays in which she
ridiculed the coarse manners and the ignorance of the society of her
time. Under the influence of this new impulse, which had come from
one in such a high station in life, a legion of satirical journals
flooded the country. The talented and spiritual von Vizin wrote
comedies, the most famous of which exposes the ignorance and cruelty
of country gentlemen; in another, he shows the ridiculousness of
people who take only the brilliant outside shell from European
civilization. Shortly, Radishchev's "Voyage from Moscow to
St. Petersburg" appeared. Here the author, with the fury | 3,072.990437 |
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Produced by Michael Roe 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 LOVE LETTERS OF ABELARD AND HELOISE
[Illustration]
THE LOVE LETTERS OF ABELARD AND HELOISE
_Translated from the original latin and now reprinted from the
edition of 1722: together with a brief account of their lives and
work_
RALPH FLETCHER SEYMOURA.CHICAGO
Copyright 1903
by
Ralph Fletcher Seymour
THE STORY OF ABELARD AND HELOISE.
It sometimes happens that Love is little esteemed by those who choose
rather to think of other affairs, and in requital He strongly
manifests His power in unthought ways. Need is to think of Abelard
and Heloise: how now his treatises and works are memories only, and
how the love of her (who in lifetime received little comfort
therefor) has been crowned with the violet crown of Grecian Sappho
and the homage of all lovers.
The world itself was learning a new love when these two met; was
beginning to heed the quiet call of the spirit of the Renaissance,
which, at its consummation, brought forth the glories of the
Quattrocento.
It was among the stone-walled, rose-covered gardens and clustered
homes of ecclesiastics, who served the ancient Roman builded pile of
Notre Dame, that Abelard found Heloise.
From his noble father's home in Brittany, Abelard, gifted and
ambitious, came to study with William of Champeaux in Paris. His
advancement was rapid, and time brought him the acknowledged
leadership of the Philosophic School of the city, a prestige which
received added lustre from his controversies with his later
instructor in theology, Anselm of Laon.
His career at this time was brilliant. Adulation and flattery, added
to the respect given his great and genuine ability, made sweet a life
which we can imagine was in most respects to his liking. Among the
students who flocked to him came the beautiful maiden, Heloise, to
learn of philosophy. Her uncle Fulbert, living in retired ease near
Notre Dame, offered in exchange for such instruction both bed and
board; and Abelard, having already seen and resolved to win her,
undertook the contract.
Many quiet hours these two spent on the green, river-watered isle,
studying old philosophies, and Time, swift and silent as the Seine,
sped on, until when days had changed to months they became aware of
the deeper knowledge of Love. Heloise responded wholly to this new
influence, and Abelard, forgetting his ambition, desired their
marriage. Yet as this would have injured his opportunities for
advancement in the Church Heloise steadfastly refused this formal
sanction of her passion. Their love becoming known in time to
Fulbert, his grief and anger were uncontrollable. In fear the two
fled to the country and there their child was born. Abelard still
urged marriage, and at last, outwearied with importunities, she
consented, only insisting that it be kept a secret. Such a course was
considered best to pacify her uncle, who, in fact, promised
reconciliation as a reward. Yet, upon its accomplishment he openly
declared the marriage. Unwilling that this be known lest the
knowledge hurt her lover, Heloise strenuously denied the truth. The
two had returned, confident of Fulbert's reaffirmed regard, and he,
now deeply troubled and revengeful, determined to inflict that
punishment and indignity on Abelard, which, in its accomplishment,
shocked even that ruder civilization to horror and to reprisal.
The shamed and mortified victim, caring only for solitude in which to
hide and rest, retired into the wilderness; returning after a time to
take the vows of monasticism. Unwilling to leave his love where by
chance she could become another's, he demanded that she become a nun.
She yielded obedience, and, although but twenty-two years of age,
entered the convent of Argenteuil.
Abelard's mind was still virile and, perhaps to his surprise, the
world again sought him out, anxious still to listen to his masterful
logic. But with his renewed influence came fierce persecution, and
the following years of life were filled with trials and sorrows.
Sixteen years passed after the lovers parted and then Heloise,
prioress of the Paraclete, found a letter of consolation, written by
Abelard to a friend, recounting his sad career. Her response is a
letter of passion and complaining, an equal to which it is hard to
find in all literature. To his cold and formal reply she wrote a
second, questioning and confused, and a third, constrained and
resigned. These three constitute the record of a soul vainly seeking
in spiritual consolation rest from love.
Abelard, with little heart for love or ambition, still stubbornly
contested with his foes. On a journey to Rome, where he had appealed
from a judgment of heresy against his teachings, he, overweary,
turned aside to rest in the monastery of Cluni, in Burgundy, and
there died. Heloise begged his body for burial in the Paraclete.
Twenty years later, and at the same age as her lover, she, too,
passed to rest.
It is said that he whose arms had one time yielded her a too sweet
comfort, raised them again to greet her as she came to rest beside
him in their narrow tomb.
Love never yet was held by arms alone, nor its mysterious ministries
constrained to forms or qualities. Like water sweet in barren land it
lies within our lives, ever by its unsolved formula awakening us to
fuller freedom.
THE LOVE LETTERS OF ABELARD AND HELOISE
_Wherein are written how the scholar Peter Abelard | 3,073.081882 |
2023-11-16 19:08:17.0639340 | 842 | 36 |
Produced by Martin Schub
THE LONG LABRADOR TRAIL
by
DILLON WALLACE
Author of "The Lure of the Labrador Wild," etc.
Illustrated
MCMXVII
TO THE
MEMORY OF MY WIFE
"A drear and desolate shore!
Where no tree unfolds its leaves,
And never the spring wind weaves
Green grass for the hunter's tread;
A land forsaken and dead,
Where the ghostly icebergs go
And come with the ebb and flow..."
Whittier's "The Rock-tomb of Bradore."
PREFACE
In the summer of 1903 when Leonidas Hubbard, Jr., went to Labrador to
explore a section of the unknown interior it was my privilege to
accompany him as his companion and friend. The world has heard of the
disastrous ending of our little expedition, and how Hubbard, fighting
bravely and heroically to the last, finally succumbed to starvation.
Before his death I gave him my promise that should I survive I would
write and publish the story of the journey. In "The Lure of The
Labrador Wild" that pledge was kept to the best of my ability.
While Hubbard and I were struggling inland over those desolate wastes,
where life was always uncertain, we entered into a compact that in case
one of us fall the other would carry to completion the exploratory work
that he had planned and begun. Providence willed that it should become
my duty to fulfil this compact, and the following pages are a record of
how it was done.
Not I, but Hubbard, planned the journey of which this book tells, and
from him I received the inspiration and with him the training and
experience that enabled me to succeed. It was his spirit that led me
on over the wearisome trails, and through the rushing rapids, and to
him and to his memory belong the credit and the honor of success.
D. W. February, 1907.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE VOICE OF THE WILDERNESS
II ON THE THRESHOLD OF THE UNKNOWN
III THE LAST OF CIVILIZATION
IV ON THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL
V WE GO ASTRAY
VI LAKE NIPISHISH IS REACHED
VII SCOUTING FOR THE TRAIL
VIII SEAL LAKE AT LAST
IX WE LOSE THE TRAIL
X "WE SEE MICHIKAMAU"
XI THE PARTING AT MICHIKAMAU
XII OVER THE NORTHERN DIVIDE
XIII DISASTER IN THE RAPIDS
XIV TIDE WATER AND THE POST
XV OFF WITH THE ESKIMOS
XVI CAUGHT BY THE ARCTIC ICE
XVII TO WHALE RIVER AND FORT CHIMO
XVIII THE INDIANS OF THE NORTH
XIX THE ESKIMOS OF LABRADOR
XX THE SLEDGE JOURNEY BEGUN
XXI CROSSING THE BARRENS
XXII ON THE ATLANTIC ICE
XXIII BACK TO NORTHWEST RIVER
XXIV THE END OF THE LONG TRAIL
APPENDIX
ILLUSTRATIONS
The Perils of the Rapids (in color, from a painting by Oliver Kemp)
Ice Encountered Off the Labrador Coast
"The Time For Action Had Come"
"Camp Was Moved to the First Small Lake"
"We Found a Long-disused Log Cache of the Indians"
Below Lake Nipishish
Through Ponds and Marshes Northward Toward Otter Lake
"We Shall Call the River Babewendigash"
"Pete, Standing by the Prostrate Caribou, Was Grinning From Ear to Ear"
"A Network of Lakes | 3,073.083974 |
2023-11-16 19:08:17.2637190 | 3,707 | 7 |
Produced by Norman M. Wolcott
THE WRITINGS OF THOMAS PAINE, VOLUME I.
COLLECTED AND EDITED BY MONCURE DANIEL CONWAY
1774 - 1779
[Redactor's Note: Reprinted from the "The Writings of Thomas Paine
Volume I" (1894 - 1896). The author's notes are preceded by a "*".]
XIX. THE AMERICAN CRISIS
Table of Contents
Editor's Preface
The Crisis No. I
The Crisis No. II - To Lord Howe
The Crisis No. III
The Crisis No. IV
The Crisis No. V - To General Sir William Howe
- To The Inhabitants Of America
The Crisis No. VI - To The Earl Of Carlisle, General Clinton, And
William Eden, ESQ., British Commissioners At New York
The Crisis No. VII - To The People Of England
The Crisis No. VIII - Addressed To The People Of England
The Crisis No. IX - The Crisis Extraordinary - On the Subject
of Taxation
The Crisis No. X - On The King Of England's Speech
- To The People Of America
The Crisis No. XI - On The Present State Of News
- A Supernumerary Crisis (To Sir Guy Carleton.)
The Crisis No. XII - To The Earl Of Shelburne
The Crisis No. XIII - On The Peace, And The Probable Advantages
Thereof
A Supernumerary Crisis - (To The People Of America)
THE AMERICAN CRISIS.
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
THOMAS PAINE, in his Will, speaks of this work as The American Crisis,
remembering perhaps that a number of political pamphlets had appeared in
London, 1775-1776, under general title of "The Crisis." By the blunder
of an early English publisher of Paine's writings, one essay in the
London "Crisis" was attributed to Paine, and the error has continued
to cause confusion. This publisher was D. I. Eaton, who printed as
the first number of Paine's "Crisis" an essay taken from the London
publication. But his prefatory note says: "Since the printing of this
book, the publisher is informed that No. 1, or first Crisis in this
publication, is not one of the thirteen which Paine wrote, but a
letter previous to them." Unfortunately this correction is sufficiently
equivocal to leave on some minds the notion that Paine did write the
letter in question, albeit not as a number of his "Crisis "; especially
as Eaton's editor unwarrantably appended the signature "C. S.,"
suggesting "Common Sense." There are, however, no such letters in the
London essay, which is signed "Casca." It was published August, 1775,
in the form of a letter to General Gage, in answer to his Proclamation
concerning the affair at Lexington. It was certainly not written by
Paine. It apologizes for the Americans for having, on April 19, at
Lexington, made "an attack upon the King's troops from behind walls and
lurking holes." The writer asks: "Have not the Americans been driven
to this frenzy? Is it not common for an enemy to take every advantage?"
Paine, who was in America when the affair occurred at Lexington, would
have promptly denounced Gage's story as a falsehood, but the facts known
to every one in America were as yet not before the London writer. The
English "Crisis" bears evidence throughout of having been written in
London. It derived nothing from Paine, and he derived nothing from it,
unless its title, and this is too obvious for its origin to require
discussion. I have no doubt, however, that the title was suggested
by the English publication, because Paine has followed its scheme in
introducing a "Crisis Extraordinary." His work consists of thirteen
numbers, and, in addition to these, a "Crisis Extraordinary" and a
"Supernumerary Crisis." In some modern collections all of these have been
serially numbered, and a brief newspaper article added, making sixteen
numbers. But Paine, in his Will, speaks of the number as thirteen,
wishing perhaps, in his characteristic way, to adhere to the number
of the American Colonies, as he did in the thirteen ribs of his iron
bridge. His enumeration is therefore followed in the present volume, and
the numbers printed successively, although other writings intervened.
The first "Crisis" was printed in the Pennsylvania Journal, December
19, 1776, and opens with the famous sentence, "These are the times that
try men's souls"; the last "Crisis" appeared April 19,1783, (eighth
anniversary of the first gun of the war, at Lexington,) and opens with
the words, "The times that tried men's souls are over." The great
effect produced by Paine's successive publications has been attested by
Washington and Franklin, by every leader of the American Revolution,
by resolutions of Congress, and by every contemporary historian of the
events amid which they were written. The first "Crisis" is of especial
historical interest. It was written during the retreat of Washington
across the Delaware, and by order of the Commander was read to groups of
his dispirited and suffering soldiers. Its opening sentence was adopted
as the watchword of the movement on Trenton, a few days after its
publication, and is believed to have inspired much of the courage which
won that victory, which, though not imposing in extent, was of great
moral effect on Washington's little army.
THE CRISIS
THE CRISIS I. (THESE ARE THE TIMES THAT TRY MEN'S SOULS)
THESE are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the
sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their
country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man
and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this
consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the
triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness
only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper
price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an
article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated. Britain, with an army to
enforce her tyranny, has declared that she has a right (not only to TAX)
but "to BIND us in ALL CASES WHATSOEVER," and if being bound in that
manner, is not slavery, then is there not such a thing as slavery upon
earth. Even the expression is impious; for so unlimited a power can
belong only to God.
Whether the independence of the continent was declared too soon, or
delayed too long, I will not now enter into as an argument; my own
simple opinion is, that had it been eight months earlier, it would have
been much better. We did not make a proper use of last winter, neither
could we, while we were in a dependent state. However, the fault, if it
were one, was all our own*; we have none to blame but ourselves. But
no great deal is lost yet. All that Howe has been doing for this month
past, is rather a ravage than a conquest, which the spirit of the
Jerseys, a year ago, would have quickly repulsed, and which time and a
little resolution will soon recover.
* The present winter is worth an age, if rightly employed; but, if
lost or neglected, the whole continent will partake of the evil; and
there is no punishment that man does not deserve, be he who, or what, or
where he will, that may be the means of sacrificing a season so precious
and useful.
I have as little superstition in me as any man living, but my secret
opinion has ever been, and still is, that God Almighty will not give up
a people to military destruction, or leave them unsupportedly to perish,
who have so earnestly and so repeatedly sought to avoid the calamities
of war, by every decent method which wisdom could invent. Neither have I
so much of the infidel in me, as to suppose that He has relinquished the
government of the world, and given us up to the care of devils; and as I
do not, I cannot see on what grounds the king of Britain can look up
to heaven for help against us: a common murderer, a highwayman, or a
house-breaker, has as good a pretence as he.
'Tis surprising to see how rapidly a panic will sometimes run through
a country. All nations and ages have been subject to them. Britain has
trembled like an ague at the report of a French fleet of flat-bottomed
boats; and in the fourteenth [fifteenth] century the whole English army,
after ravaging the kingdom of France, was driven back like men petrified
with fear; and this brave exploit was performed by a few broken forces
collected and headed by a woman, Joan of Arc. Would that heaven might
inspire some Jersey maid to spirit up her countrymen, and save her fair
fellow sufferers from ravage and ravishment! Yet panics, in some cases,
have their uses; they produce as much good as hurt. Their duration is
always short; the mind soon grows through them, and acquires a firmer
habit than before. But their peculiar advantage is, that they are the
touchstones of sincerity and hypocrisy, and bring things and men to
light, which might otherwise have lain forever undiscovered. In fact,
they have the same effect on secret traitors, which an imaginary
apparition would have upon a private murderer. They sift out the
hidden thoughts of man, and hold them up in public to the world. Many
a disguised Tory has lately shown his head, that shall penitentially
solemnize with curses the day on which Howe arrived upon the Delaware.
As I was with the troops at Fort Lee, and marched with them to the edge
of Pennsylvania, I am well acquainted with many circumstances, which
those who live at a distance know but little or nothing of. Our
situation there was exceedingly cramped, the place being a narrow
neck of land between the North River and the Hackensack. Our force
was inconsiderable, being not one-fourth so great as Howe could bring
against us. We had no army at hand to have relieved the garrison, had
we shut ourselves up and stood on our defence. Our ammunition, light
artillery, and the best part of our stores, had been removed, on the
apprehension that Howe would endeavor to penetrate the Jerseys, in
which case Fort Lee could be of no use to us; for it must occur to every
thinking man, whether in the army or not, that these kind of field forts
are only for temporary purposes, and last in use no longer than the
enemy directs his force against the particular object which such forts
are raised to defend. Such was our situation and condition at Fort Lee
on the morning of the 20th of November, when an officer arrived with
information that the enemy with 200 boats had landed about seven miles
above; Major General [Nathaniel] Green, who commanded the garrison,
immediately ordered them under arms, and sent express to General
Washington at the town of Hackensack, distant by the way of the ferry
= six miles. Our first object was to secure the bridge over the
Hackensack, which laid up the river between the enemy and us, about six
miles from us, and three from them. General Washington arrived in about
three-quarters of an hour, and marched at the head of the troops towards
the bridge, which place I expected we should have a brush for; however,
they did not choose to dispute it with us, and the greatest part of our
troops went over the bridge, the rest over the ferry, except some which
passed at a mill on a small creek, between the bridge and the ferry, and
made their way through some marshy grounds up to the town of Hackensack,
and there passed the river. We brought off as much baggage as the wagons
could contain, the rest was lost. The simple object was to bring off
the garrison, and march them on till they could be strengthened by the
Jersey or Pennsylvania militia, so as to be enabled to make a stand.
We staid four days at Newark, collected our out-posts with some of
the Jersey militia, and marched out twice to meet the enemy, on being
informed that they were advancing, though our numbers were greatly
inferior to theirs. Howe, in my little opinion, committed a great error
in generalship in not throwing a body of forces off from Staten Island
through Amboy, by which means he might have seized all our stores
at Brunswick, and intercepted our march into Pennsylvania; but if we
believe the power of hell to be limited, we must likewise believe that
their agents are under some providential control.
I shall not now attempt to give all the particulars of our retreat to
the Delaware; suffice it for the present to say, that both officers
and men, though greatly harassed and fatigued, frequently without rest,
covering, or provision, the inevitable consequences of a long retreat,
bore it with a manly and martial spirit. All their wishes centred in
one, which was, that the country would turn out and help them to drive
the enemy back. Voltaire has remarked that King William never appeared
to full advantage but in difficulties and in action; the same remark may
be made on General Washington, for the character fits him. There is a
natural firmness in some minds which cannot be unlocked by trifles, but
which, when unlocked, discovers a cabinet of fortitude; and I reckon it
among those kind of public blessings, which we do not immediately see,
that God hath blessed him with uninterrupted health, and given him a
mind that can even flourish upon care.
I shall conclude this paper with some miscellaneous remarks on the state
of our affairs; and shall begin with asking the following question, Why
is it that the enemy have left the New England provinces, and made these
middle ones the seat of war? The answer is easy: New England is not
infested with Tories, and we are. I have been tender in raising the
cry against these men, and used numberless arguments to show them their
danger, but it will not do to sacrifice a world either to their folly
or their baseness. The period is now arrived, in which either they or
we must change our sentiments, or one or both must fall. And what is a
Tory? Good God! what is he? I should not be afraid to go with a hundred
Whigs against a thousand Tories, were they to attempt to get into arms.
Every Tory is a coward; for servile, slavish, self-interested fear is
the foundation of Toryism; and a man under such influence, though he may
be cruel, never can be brave.
But, before the line of irrecoverable separation be drawn between us,
let us reason the matter together: Your conduct is an invitation to the
enemy, yet not one in a thousand of you has heart enough to join him.
Howe is as much deceived by you as the American cause is injured by you.
He expects you will all take up arms, and flock to his standard, with
muskets on your shoulders. Your opinions are of no use to him, unless
you support him personally, for 'tis soldiers, and not Tories, that he
wants.
I once felt all that kind of anger, which a man ought to feel, against
the mean principles that are held by the Tories: a noted one, who kept a
tavern at Amboy, was standing at his door, with as pretty a child in his
hand, about eight or nine years old, as I ever saw, and after speaking
his mind as freely as he thought was prudent, finished with this
unfatherly expression, "Well! give me peace in my day." Not a man lives
on the continent but fully believes that a separation must some time or
other finally take place, and a generous parent should have said, "If
there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have
peace;" and this single reflection, well applied, is sufficient to
awaken every man to duty. Not a place upon earth might be so happy as
America. Her situation is remote from all the wrangling world, and she
has nothing to do but to trade with them. A man can distinguish himself
between temper and principle, and I am as confident, as I am that God
governs the world, that America will never be happy till she gets clear
of foreign dominion. Wars, without ceasing, will break out till that
period arrives, and the continent must in the end be conqueror | 3,073.283759 |
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WITH BULLER IN NATAL
[Illustration: "CHRIS SPRANG AT HIM."]
WITH BULLER IN NATAL
OR, A BORN LEADER
BY
G. A. HENTY
PREFACE
It will be a long time before the story of the late war can be written
fully and impartially. Even among the narratives of those who witnessed
the engagements there are many differences and discrepancies, as is
necessarily the case when the men who write are in different parts of
the field. Until, then, the very meagre military despatches are
supplemented by much fuller details, anything like an accurate history
of the war would be impossible. I have, however, endeavoured to
reconcile the various narratives of the fighting in Natal, and to make
the account of the military occurrences as clear as possible.
Fortunately this is not a history, but a story, to which the war forms
the background, and, as is necessary in such a case, it is the heroes
of my tale, the little band of lads from Johannesburg, rather than the
leaders of the British troops, who are the most conspicuous characters
in the narrative. As these, although possessed of many admirable
qualities, had not the faculty of being at two places at once, I was
obliged to confine the action of the story to Natal. With the doings of
the main army I hope to deal next year.
G. A. HENTY
CONTENTS
I. THE BURSTING OF THE STORM
II. A TERRIBLE JOURNEY
III. AT THE FRONT
IV. DUNDEE
V. THE FIRST BATTLE
VI. ELANDSLAAGTE
VII. LADYSMITH BESIEGED
VIII. A DESPERATE PROJECT
IX. KOMATI-POORT
X. AN EXPLOSION
XI. BACK WITH THE ARMY
XII. THE BATTLE OF COLENSO
XIII. PRISONERS
XIV. SPION KOP
XV. SPION KOP
XVI. A COLONIST'S ADVENTURE
XVII. A RESCUE
XVIII. RAILWAY HILL
XIX. MAJUBA DAY
XX. LADYSMITH
ILLUSTRATIONS
"CHRIS SPRANG AT HIM"
CHRIS OFFERS HIS SERVICES TO SIR PENN SYMONS
CHRIS AND HIS COMPANIONS SCOUTING
"BOTH RIFLES CRACKED AT ONCE"
"THERE WAS A TREMENDOUS ROAR AND A BLINDING CRASH"
"WITH A SHOUT OF TRIUMPH THE TWO BOERS RAN DOWN"
"PRESENTLY FROM BEHIND THE FOOT OF THE HILL SIX HORSEMEN DASHED OUT"
THE NAVAL GUNS ON MOUNT ALICE
"ONE OF THE BOERS HELD UP HIS RIFLE WITH A WHITE FLAG TIED TO IT"
THE RELIEF OF LADYSMITH
[Illustration: SOUTH EASTERN AFRICA]
WITH BULLER IN NATAL
CHAPTER I
THE BURSTING OF THE STORM
A group of excited men were gathered in front of the Stock Exchange at
Johannesburg. It was evident that something altogether unusual had
happened. All wore anxious and angry expressions, but a few shook hands
with each other, as if the news that so much agitated them, although
painful, was yet welcome; and indeed this was so.
For months a war-cloud had hung over the town, but it had been thought
that it might pass over without bursting. None imagined that the blow
would come so suddenly, and when it fell it had all the force of a
complete surprise, although it had been so threatening for many weeks
that a considerable portion of the population had already fled. It was
true that great numbers of men, well armed, and with large numbers of
cannon, had been moving south, but negotiations were still going on and
might continue for some time yet; and now by the folly and arrogance of
one man the cloud had burst, and in thirty hours war would begin.
Similar though smaller groups were gathered here and there in the
streets. Parties of Boers from the country round rode up and down with
an air of insolent triumph, some of them shouting "We shall soon be rid
of you; in another month there will not be a rooinek left in South
Africa."
Those addressed paid no heed to the words. They had heard the same
thing over and over again for the past two months. There was a
tightening of the lips and a closing of the fingers | 3,073.285023 |
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A ROMANCE OF TORONTO.
(FOUNDED ON FACT.)
A NOVEL.
BY MRS. ANNIE G. SAVIGNY
_Author of "An Allegory on Gossip," "A Heart-Song of To-day," etc._
TORONTO:
WILLIAM BRIGGS, 78 & 80 KING STREET EAST.
1888.
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year
one thousand eight hundred and eighty-eight, by _Mrs. Annie Gregg
Savigny_, at the Department of Agriculture.
"I would like the Government to forbid the publication of all
novels that did not end well."--DARWIN.
"What would the world do without story-books."--DICKENS.
[Illustration: TORONTO UNIVERSITY, QUEEN'S PARK.]
NOTE.
_In the following pages are two plots, one of which was told me by an
actor therein; the other I have myself watched from its first page to
its last, being living facts in living lives of fair Toronto's
children._
_THE AUTHOR._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. Toronto a Fair Matron
CHAPTER II. Who is Who in a Medley
CHAPTER III. Instantaneous Photographs
CHAPTER IV. The Foot-ball of Circumstance
CHAPTER V. A Bona Dea
CHAPTER VI. Coffee and Chit-Chat
CHAPTER VII. Across the Sea to a Witch's Caldron
CHAPTER VIII. A Troubled Spirit
CHAPTER IX. Vultures Habited as Christian Pew-holders
CHAPTER X. A Lucifer Match
CHAPTER XI. Their "Rank is but the Guinea's Stamp"
CHAPTER XII. On the Rack
CHAPTER XIII. Lucifer's Votaries Rampant
CHAPTER XIV. Fencing Off Confidence
CHAPTER XV. The Tree of Knowledge
CHAPTER XVI. The Oath in the Tower of Toronto University
CHAPTER XVII. Birds of Prey
CHAPTER XVIII. The Islet-gemmed St. Lawrence
CHAPTER XIX. Eye-openers
CHAPTER XX. "Your Een Were Like a Spell"
CHAPTER XXI. A Happy New Year
CHAPTER XXII. "Better Lo'ed Ye Canna Be"
CHAPTER XXIII. The Three Links
CHAPTER XXIV. A Hand of Ice Lay on Her Heart
CHAPTER XXV. "Here Awa', There Awa'"
CHAPTER XXVI. Electric Tips Among the Roses
CHAPTER XXVII. A Serpent in Paradise
CHAPTER XXVIII. Squaring Accounts
CHAPTER XXIX. "Mair Sweet Than I Can Tell"
A ROMANCE OF TORONTO.
CHAPTER I.
TORONTO A FAIR MATRON.
Two gentlemen friends saunter arm in arm up and down the deck of the
palace steamer _Chicora_ as she enters our beautiful Lake Ontario from
the picturesque Niagara River, on a perfect day in delightful September,
when the blue canopy of the heavens seems so far away, one wonders that
the mirrored surface of the lake can reflect its color.
"Do you know, Buckingham, you puzzle me; you were evidently happier in
our little circle at the Hoffman House than in billiard, smoking, or
reading-rooms | 3,074.085535 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, APRIL 7, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVII.--NO. 858. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
HOW TO START IN LIFE.
RANCHING.
BY HON. THEODORE ROOSEVELT.
There are in every community young men to whom life at the desk or
behind the counter is unutterably dreary and unattractive, and who long
for some out-of-door occupation which shall, if possible, contain a
spice of excitement. These young men can be divided into two
classes--first, those who, if they get a chance to try the life for
which they long, will speedily betray their utter inability to lead it;
and, secondly, those who possess the physical capacity and the peculiar
mental make-up necessary for success in an employment far out of the
usual paths of civilized occupations. A great many of these young men
think of ranching as a business which they might possibly take up, and
what I am about to say is meant as much for a warning to one class as
for advice to the other.
Ranching is a rather indefinite term. In a good many parts of the West a
ranch simply means a farm; but I shall not use it in this sense, since
the advantages and disadvantages of a farmer's life, whether it be led
in New Jersey or Iowa, have often been dwelt upon by men infinitely more
competent than I am to pass judgment. Accordingly, when I speak of
ranching I shall mean some form of stock-raising or sheep-farming as
practised now in the wilder parts of the United States, where there is
still plenty of land which, because of the lack of rainfall, is not very
productive for agricultural purposes.
The first thing to be remembered by any boy or young man who wishes to
go West and start life on a cattle ranch, horse ranch, or sheep ranch is
that he must know the business thoroughly before he can earn any salary
to speak of, still less start out on his own accord. A great many young
fellows apparently think that a cowboy is born and not made, and that in
order to become one all they have to do is to wish very hard to be one.
Now, as a matter of fact, a young fellow trained as a bookkeeper would
take quite as long to learn the trade of a cowboy as the average cowboy
would take to learn the trade of bookkeeper. The first thing that the
beginner anywhere in the wilder parts of the West has to learn is the
capacity to stand monotony, fatigue, and hardship; the next thing is to
learn the nature of the country.
A young fellow from the East who has been brought up on a farm, or who
has done hard manual labor as a machinist, need not go through a
novitiate of manual labor in order to get accustomed to the roughness
that such labor implies; but a boy just out of a high-school, or a young
clerk, will have to go through just such a novitiate before he will be
able to command a dollar's pay. Both alike will have to learn the nature
of the country, and this can only be learned by actual experience on the
ground. Again, the beginner must remember that though there are
occasional excitement and danger in a ranchman's life, it is only
occasional, while the monotony of hard and regular toil is not often
broken. Except in the matter of fresh air and freedom from crowding, a
small ranchman often leads a life of as grinding hardness as the average
dweller in a New York tenement-house. His shelter is a small log hut, or
possibly a dug-out in the side of a bank, or in summer a shabby tent.
For food he will have to depend mainly on the bread of his own baking,
on fried fat pork, and on coffee or tea with sugar and no milk. Of
course he will occasionally have some canned stuff or potatoes. The
furniture of the hut is of the roughest description--a roll of blankets
for bedding, a bucket, a tin wash-basin, and a tin mug, with perhaps a
cracked looking-glass four inches square.
He will not have much society of any kind, and the society he does have
is not apt to be over-refined. If he is a lad of a delicate, shrinking
nature and fastidious habits, he will find much that is uncomfortable,
and will need to show no small amount of pluck and fortitude if he is to
hold his own. The work, too, is often hard and often wearisome from mere
sameness. It is generally done on horseback even on a sheep ranch, and
always on a cow ranch. The beginner must learn to ride with indifference
all kinds of rough and dangerous horses before he will be worth his
keep.
With all this before him, the beginner will speedily find out that life
on a Western ranch is very far from being a mere holiday. A young man
who desires to start in the life ought, if possible, to have with him a
little money--just enough to keep body and soul together--until he can
gain a foothold somewhere. No specific directions can be given him as to
where to start. Wyoming, most of Montana, the western edge of the
Dakotas, western Texas, and some portions of the Rocky Mountain States
still offer chances for a man to go into the ranch business. In
different seasons in the different localities business may be good or
bad, and it would be impossible to tell where was the best place to
start. Wherever the beginner goes, he ought to make up his mind at the
out | 3,074.179091 |
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(http://link.library.utoronto.ca/booksonline/).)
[Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL BROCK.
(_From miniature painting by J. Hudson._)
Copyrighted in the U. S. A. and Canada.
--From Nursey's "Story of Isaac Brock" (Briggs).]
BROCK CENTENARY
1812-1912
ACCOUNT OF THE CELEBRATION AT
QUEENSTON HEIGHTS, ONTARIO,
ON THE 12th OCTOBER, 1912
ALEXANDER FRASER, LL.D.
Editor
TORONTO
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED FOR THE COMMITTEE BY
WILLIAM BRIGGS
1913
DEDICATED
TO
THE DESCENDANTS OF THE DEFENDERS
Copyright, Canada, 1913, by
ALEXANDER FRASER
PREFATORY NOTE
The object of this publication is to preserve an account of the
Celebration, at Queenston Heights, of the Brock Centenary, in a more
convenient and permanent form than that afforded by the reports
(admirable as they are) in the local newspapers.
Celebrations were held in several places in Ontario, notably at St.
Thomas, where Dr. J. H. Coyne delivered a fervently patriotic address.
Had reports of these been available, extended reference would have been
gladly and properly accorded to them in this book. Considerable effort,
involving delay in publication, was made to secure the name of every
person who attended at Queenston Heights in a representative capacity,
and the list is probably complete.
For valuable assistance acknowledgment is due to Colonel Ryerson,
Chairman of the General and Executive Committees; to Miss Helen M.
Merrill, Honorary Secretary, and to Mr. Angus Claude Macdonell, K.C.,
M.P., Toronto. Also to Mr. Walter R. Nursey, for the use of the pictures
of General Brock, Col. Macdonell, and Brock's Monument, from his
interesting work: "The Story of Brock," in the Canadian Heroes Series;
and to the Ontario Archives, Toronto, for the use of the picture of the
first monument erected to Brock on Queenston Heights.
ALEXANDER FRASER.
[Illustration: From a Silhouette in possession of John Alexander
Macdonnell, K.C., Alexandria.
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOHN MACDONELL.
Provincial Aide-de-Camp to Major-General Sir Isaac Brock; M.P. for
Glengarry; Attorney-General of Upper Canada.
--From Nursey's "Story of Isaac Brock" (Briggs).]
CONTENTS
PAGE
Prefatory Note 3
Introduction--J. Stewart Carstairs, B.A. 9
Preliminary Steps 21
General Committee Formed 25
Programme Adopted 26
Reports of Committees 29
Celebrating the Day 32
At Queenston Heights--
Representatives Present 34
Floral Decorations 40
A Unique Scene 42
Historic Flags and Relics 43
Letters of Regret for Absence 44
The Speeches--
Colonel G. Sterling Ryerson 45
Mr. Angus Claude Macdonell, M.P. 50
Hon. Dr. R. A. Pyne, M.P.P. 55
Colonel George T. Denison 58
Mr. J. A. Macdonell, K.C. 61
Dr. James L. Hughes 67
Chief A. G. Smith 71
Warrior F. Onondeyoh Loft 74
Mr. Charles R. McCullough 75
Appendix I.--Highland Heroes in the War of 1812-14
--Dr. Alexander Fraser 77
Appendix II.--Programme of Toronto Garrison Service
in Massey Hall 82
Appendix III.--Indian Contributions to the Reconstruction
of Brock's Monument 88
Appendix IV.--Meetings of the Executive Committee
subsequent to the Celebration 91
Appendix V.--Captain Joseph Birney 93
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Major-General Brock _Frontispiece_
Lieutenant-Colonel John Macdonell, Provincial Aide-de-Camp
to Major-General Sir Isaac Brock 5
Executive Committee 28
First Monument to General Brock at Queenston Heights 33
Brock's Monument 34
Central section of a panoramic picture of the gathering at
Queenston Heights 36
Floral Tribute placed on Cenotaph, where Brock fell, by the
Guernsey Society, Toronto 38
Brock Centenary Celebration at Queenston Heights 38
Memorial Wreaths placed on the Tombs, at Queenston Heights,
of Major-General Sir Isaac Brock, Kt., and Colonel John
Macdonell, P.A.D.C., Attorney-General of Upper Canada 41
Wreath placed on Brock's Monument in St. Paul's Cathedral,
London, Eng., by the Government of Canada 42
Wreath placed on Brock's Monument, Queenston Heights, by
the Imperial Order of the Daughters of the Empire 42
Conferring Tribal Membership on Miss Helen M. Merrill 43
Six Nation Indians celebrating Brock's Centenary at Queenston
Heights 44
Colonel George Sterling Ryerson, Chairman of Committee 45
Angus Claude Macdonell, K.C., M.P., addressing the gathering 51
Hon. R. A. Pyne, M.D., M.P.P., Minister of Education of Ontario 58
James L. Hughes, LL.D., Chief Inspector of Schools, Toronto 58
Colonel George T. Denison, Toronto 58
J. A. Macdonell, K.C., Glengarry, addressing the gathering 61
Chief A. G. Smith, Six Nation Indians, Grand River Reserve 71
Captain Charles R. McCullough, Hamilton, Ont. 71
Warrior F. Onondeyoh Loft, Six Nation Indians, Toronto 71
Members of Committee at Queenston Heights 77
Group of Indians (Grand River Reserve) celebrating Brock's
Centenary at Queenston Heights 88
Captain Joseph Birnie 93
INTRODUCTION
BROCK AND QUEENSTON
By John Stewart Carstairs, B.A., Toronto
Brock's fame and Brock's name will never die in our history. The past
one hundred years have settled that. And in this glory the craggy
heights of Queenston, where in their splendid mausoleum Brock and
Macdonell sleep side by side their last sleep, will always have its
share. Strangely enough, who ever associates Brock's name with Detroit?
Yet, here was a marvellous achievement: the left wing of the enemy's
army annihilated, its eloquent and grandiose leader captured and two
thousand five hundred men and abundant military stores, with the State
of Michigan thrown in!
But Britain in those days was so busy doing things that we a hundred
years later can scarcely realize them. However, so much of our historic
perspective has been settled during the past hundred years. Perhaps in
another hundred years, when other generations come together to
commemorate the efforts of these men that with Brock and Macdonell
strove to seek and find and do and not to yield, the skirmish at
Queenston may be viewed in a different light.
Perhaps then the British Constitution will have bridged the oceans and
the "Seven Seas"; perhaps then Canada will be more British than Britain
itself--the very core, the centre, the heart of the Empire in territory
and population, in wealth and in influence, in spirit and in vital
activities. Then Queenston Heights may be regarded not merely as a
victory that encouraged Canadians to fight for their homes but as a
far-reaching world-event.
The year of Queenston, let us remember, was the year of Salamanca and of
Moscow--the most glorious year in British military annals. But what has
Salamanca to do with Canada? Britain was fighting alone, not merely for
the freedom of Britons but for the freedom of Europe. Since 1688 she had
been for more than one-half of the one hundred and twenty-four years
actively in arms against France. Since 1793 there had been peace--and
only nominal peace--_against_ France for only the two years following
the Treaty of Amiens (1801). The generation approaching maturity in 1812
had been born and had grown up "in wars and rumours of wars." In this
struggle against France and later against Napoleon, the Motherland had
increased the National Debt by L500,000,000, or nearly twenty-five
hundred millions of dollars; she had spent every cent she could gather
and taxed her posterity to this extent. That is what Britain had done
for her children--and for the world at large!
But ever since Jefferson had purchased (1803) Louisiana from Napoleon
the United States had found she was less dependent on Britain.
Accordingly, Jefferson grew more and more unfriendly. And now in 1812,
the world campaign of Napoleon had spread to America. He had hoped for
this, but on different lines. He had planned for it, but those plans had
failed.
"The War of 1812-14," as we call it, was merely a phase, a section, of
the greatest struggle in the history of mankind--the struggle of Britain
against the aggrandisement and cheap ambition of Napoleon to become the
Dictator of Europe and the civilized world. Brock, though invited to
take a share in the long drawn out contest in Spain, decided--fortunately
for us--to remain in Canada.
The year 1812 was the climax of the war with Napoleon--the most
splendid, as we have said, of all years in British military annals.
Since 1808, the British forces had been striving to drive the French
from Spain. First under Sir John Moore, later under Wellington, inch by
inch, year by year, they had beaten them back toward the Pyrenees. Then
on July 22, 1812, just as Brock was struggling with all his difficulties
here in Canada, there came Wellington's first decisive victory at
Salamanca. The news reached Brock in October and a day or two before he
died he sent the tidings forward to Proctor--Proctor then struggling
with his Forty-first Regiment to do as much damage as he could to the
enemy hundreds of miles out from Windsor and Detroit, Proctor who was to
be eternally much abused for faults he never was guilty of, and to be
blamed for Tecumseh's death next year. With the news of Salamanca went
Brock's prophetic comment: "I think the game nearly up in Spain"; and
within a year the game, Napoleon's game, was up, not only in Spain but
in all Europe. Within a year Leipsic had been fought and won and
Napoleon was a wanderer on the face of the earth, to be gathered in and
lodged on Elba.
Meanwhile other great events were shaping. Just a month before
Salamanca--in fact, four days before the United States declared
war--Napoleon had set out on his fatal expedition against Russia. Two
days later he crossed the Niemen. More than a million Frenchmen were now
in arms in Europe; and Britain was the only active enemy in the field.
What wonder then that Brock, as the civil and military head of the
Government of Upper Canada, should view with extreme anxiety the
situation in the Province? He had been in Canada for ten years. He knew
that the Motherland could not furnish any more men. There were fifteen
hundred regular troops in Upper, and two thousand in Lower Canada. Forty
years before there had not been a single settlement in what is now
Ontario from the Detroit to the Ottawa, from Lake Ontario to Sault Ste.
Marie. Now there were seventy-five thousand inhabitants; and under a
wise Militia Act they had imposed yearly military service on themselves;
every male inhabitant had to furnish his own gun and appear on parade or
be heavily fined. Thus there was a volunteer force more or less trained
amounting to about ten thousand men--a militia that under Brock rendered
splendid service.
But arms were scarce and supplies had to be brought long distances. The
men at Queenston won their victory with guns that were captured two
months before at Detroit. Throughout the war, when our mills had been
burnt by a ruthless enemy that made war on women and children and old
men, supplies were brought up the toilsome course of the St. Lawrence in
Durham boats and _bateaux_. The devoted militia of the river counties
guarded the frontier, and only once did they lose a convoy, part of
which they afterwards recovered by a raid into the enemy's territory at
Waddington, N.Y.
In front of Brock was a nation of eight or nine millions, a nation that
believed they could "take the Canadas without soldiers;" as the United
States Secretary of War said--"we have only to send officers into the
Province and the people, disaffected towards their own Government, will
rally round our standard." Yet they placed, during the three years of
the | 3,074.17935 |
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THE WORKS
OF
ALEXANDER POPE.
NEW EDITION.
INCLUDING
SEVERAL HUNDRED UNPUBLISHED LETTERS, AND OTHER NEW MATERIALS.
COLLECTED IN PART BY THE LATE
R'T. HON. JOHN WILSON CROKER.
WITH INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES.
BY REV. WHITWELL ELWIN.
VOL. I.
POETRY.--VOL. I.
WITH PORTRAITS AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1871.
[_The right of Translation is reserved._]
LONDON:
BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME OF POETRY.
PAGE
CATALOGUE OF POPE'S COLLECTED EDITIONS OF HIS WORKS vii
POPE'S MEMORIAL LIST OF RELATIONS AND FRIENDS ix
ADVERTISEMENT OF WARBURTON TO HIS EDITION OF POPE'S WORKS xi
INTRODUCTION xv
THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE 1
RECOMMENDATORY POEMS 17
TRANSLATIONS 37
THE FIRST BOOK OF STATIUS'S THEBAIS 41
SAPPHO TO PHAON FROM OVID 87
THE FABLE OF DRYOPE FROM OVID 104
VERTUMNUS AND POMONA FROM OVID 108
JANUARY AND MAY, FROM CHAUCER 113
THE WIFE OF BATH, FROM CHAUCER 155
THE TEMPLE OF FAME 185
PASTORALS 231
DISCOURSE OF PASTORAL POETRY 257
1. SPRING, TO SIR WILLIAM TRUMBULL 265
2. SUMMER TO DR. GARTH 276
3. AUTUMN TO MR. WYCHERLEY 285
4. WINTER, TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. TEMPEST 292
MESSIAH, A SACRED ECLOGUE 301
WINDSOR FOREST 319
CATALOGUE
OF POPE'S COLLECTED EDITIONS OF HIS WORKS.
The Works of Mr. ALEXANDER POPE. London: Printed by W.
BOWYER for BERNARD LINTOT, between the Temple Gates, 1717.
4to and folio.
This volume consists of all the acknowledged poems which Pope had
hitherto published, with the addition of some new pieces.
The Works of Mr. ALEXANDER POPE. Volume ii. London: Printed
by J. WRIGHT, for LAWTON GILLIVER, at Homer's Head in Fleet
Street, 1735. 4to and folio.
The volume of 1735 contains, with a few exceptions, the poems which Pope
had printed since 1717. The pages of each group of pieces--Epistles,
Satires, Epitaphs, etc.--are numbered separately, and there are other
irregularities in the numbers, arising from a change in the order of the
Moral Essays after the sheets were struck off.
Letters of Mr. ALEXANDER POPE, and Several of his friends.
London: Printed by J. WRIGHT for J. KNAPTON in Ludgate
Street, L. GILLIVER in Fleet Street, J. BRINDLEY in New Bond
Street, and R. DODSLEY in Pall-Mall, 1737. 4to and folio.
This is Pope's first avowed edition of his letters. A half-title, "The
Works of Mr. Alexander Pope in Prose," precedes the title-page.
The Works of Mr. ALEXANDER POPE, in Prose. Vol. ii. London:
Printed for J. and P. KNAPTON, C. BATHURST, and R. DODSLEY,
1741. 4to and folio.
The half-title is more precise: "The Works of Mr. Alexander Pope, in
Prose. Vol. ii. Containing the rest of his Letters, with the Memoirs of
Scriblerus, never before printed; and other Tracts written either
singly, or in conjunction with his friends. Now first collected
together." The letters are the Swift correspondence, and they are in a
different type from the rest of the book. The numbers of the pages are
very irregular, and show that the contents and arrangement of the volume
had been greatly altered from some previous impression. The folio copies
of the two volumes of poetry, and the two of prose, are merely the
quarto text portioned out into longer pages, without a single leaf being
reprinted. The trifling variations from the quartos were introduced when
the matter was put into the folio size.
The Works of ALEXANDER POPE, ESQ.; vol. i. with explanatory
Notes and Additions never before printed. London: Printed
for B. LINTOT, 1736. Small 8vo.
This is the first volume of an edition which extended to nine volumes,
and which from the want of uniformity in the title-pages, the dates, and
names of the publishers appears to consist of odd volumes. The copyright
of Pope's works belonged to different proprietors, and they at last
agreed to print their respective shares in small octavo, that the
several parts united might form a complete set. Each proprietor
commenced printing his particular section of the octavos when the
previous sizes he had on hand were sold, and thus it happened that the
second volume of the edition came out in 1735 before the first, which
was published in 1736. The series was not finished till 1742, when the
fourth book of the Dunciad was added to the Poems, and the Swift
Correspondence to the Letters. Some of the volumes were reprinted, and
the later editions occasionally differ slightly from their predecessors.
The Poems and Letters of Pope are more complete in the octavos than in
the quartos, but the octavos, on the other hand, omit all the prose
works except the Letters, and the Memoirs of Scriblerus, and octavos and
quartos combined are imperfect in comparison with the editions which
have been published since Pope's death.
A MEMORIAL LIST
OF
DEPARTED RELATIONS AND FRIENDS.
WRITTEN BY POPE IN AN ELZEVIR VIRGIL, NOW IN THE LIBRARY OF THE EARL OF
MANSFIELD.[1]
NATUS MAJI 21, 1688, HORA POST MERID. 6-3/4.
Quo desiderio veteres revocamus amores
Atque olim amissas flemus amicitias.
_Catullus._
Anno 1700, Maji primo, obit, semper venerandus, poetarum princeps,
Joannes Dryden, aet. 70.[2]
Anno 1708, mens. Aprili, obiit Gulielmus Walsh, criticus sagax, amicus
et vir bonus, aet. 49.
Anno 1710, Jan. 24, Avita mea piissimae mem., Eliz. Turner, migravit in
coelum, annum agens 74.
Anno 1710, mens. Aprili, Tho. Betterton, Roscius sui temporis, exit
omnium cum plausu bonorum, aet. 74.
Anno 1712, mens. Januario, decessit vir facetissimus, juventutis meae
deliciae, Antonius Englefleld, aet. 75.
Anno 1718, obit Tho. Parnell, poetica laude, et moribus suavissimis
insignis.
Anno 1715, mens. Martio, decessit Gul. Wycherley, poeta morum scientia
clarus, ille meos primus qui habebat amores, aet. 75.
Anno 1716, mens. Decemb. obit Gulielmus Trumbull, olim Regi Gul. a
secretis, annum agens 75. Amicus meus humanissimus a juvenilibus annis.
Pater meus, Alex. Pope, omnibus bonis moribus praeditus obit, an. 1717.
Simon Harcourt, filius, obit, mens. Junio 1720, Lutet. Parisior. Quem
sequitur Pater, olim M. Britann. Cancellar., mense Julio 1727.
Jacobus Craggs R.M.B. a secretis, natura generosus et ingenuus, amicus
animosus, charissim. memor., e vita exc. Feb. 1720/1.
Robertus Oxoniae Comes, mihi perfamiliaris et jucundus, fortiter obit,
1724.
Jo. Sheffield, Buckinghamiae Dux, mihi lenis et amicissimus, fato functus
est Feb. 1720/1 aet. 73.
Nutrix mea fidelissima M. Beech, obiit 5 Novem. 1725, aet. 77.
Robertus Digby, ex Patre antiquis praeditus moribus, e vita migravit,
Apr. 1726.
Edwardus Blunt, vir amicissimus obit, Aug. 1726.
Anno 1728/9, Jan. 20, aet. 57, mortuus est Gulielmus Congreve, poeta,
eximius, vir comis, urbanus, et mihi perquam familiaris.
Elijah Fenton, vir probus, et poeta haud mediocris, decessit men. Julio
1730, aet. 48.
Francisc. Atterbury, Roffens Episcopus, vir omni scientia clarus,
animos | 3,074.185967 |
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RICHARD CARVEL
By Winston Churchill
Volume 2.
VIII. Over the Wall
IX. Under False Colours
X. The Red in the Carvel Blood
XI. A Festival and a Parting
XII. News from a Far Country
CHAPTER VIII
OVER THE WALL
Dorothy treated me ill enough that spring. Since the minx had tasted
power at Carvel Hall, there was no accounting for her. On returning to
town Dr. Courtenay had begged her mother to allow her at the assemblies,
a request which Mrs. Manners most sensibly refused. Mr. Marmaduke had
given his consent, I believe, for he was more impatient than Dolly for
the days when she would become the toast of the province. But the doctor
contrived to see her in spite of difficulties, and Will Fotheringay was
forever at her house, and half a dozen other lads. And many gentlemen
of fashion like the doctor called ostensibly to visit Mrs. Manners, but
in reality to see Miss Dorothy. And my lady knew it. She would be
lingering in the drawing-room in her best bib and tucker, or strolling in
the garden as Dr. Courtenay passed, and I got but scant attention indeed.
I was but an awkward lad, and an old playmate, with no novelty about me.
"Why, Richard," she would say to me as I rode or walked beside her, or
sat at dinner in Prince George Street, "I know every twist and turn of
your nature. There is nothing you could do to surprise me. And so, sir,
you are very tiresome."
"You once found me useful enough to fetch and carry, and amusing when I
walked the Oriole's bowsprit," I replied ruefully.
"Why don't you make me jealous?" says she, stamping her foot. "A score
of pretty girls are languishing for a glimpse of you,--Jennie and Bess
Fotheringay, and Betty Tayloe, and Heaven knows how many others. They
are actually accusing me of keeping you trailing. 'La, girls!' said I,
'if you will but rid me of him for a day, you shall have my lasting
gratitude.'"
And she turned to the spinet and began a lively air. But the taunt
struck deeper than she had any notion of. That spring arrived out from
London on the Belle of the Wye a box of fine clothes my grandfather had
commanded for me from his own tailor; and a word from a maid of fifteen
did more to make | 3,076.180657 |
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A ROUND DOZEN.
[Illustration: TOINETTE AND THE ELVES.
Down on the ground beside her, a tiny figure became visible, so small
that Toinette had to kneel and stoop her head to see it.--PAGE 234.]
A ROUND DOZEN.
BY
SUSAN COOLIDGE,
AUTHOR OF "THE NEW YEAR'S BARGAIN," "WHAT KATY DID," "WHAT KATY
DID AT SCHOOL," "MISCHIEF'S THANKSGIVING," "NINE LITTLE
GOSLINGS," "EYEBRIGHT," "CROSS-PATCH,"
"A GUERNSEY LILY."
[Illustration: QUI LEGIT REQIT]
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1892.
_Copyright, 1883_,
BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.
UNIVERSITY PRESS:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
TO
V V V V V
_Five little buds grouped round the parent stem,
Growing in sweet airs, beneath gracious skies,
Watched tenderly from sunrise to sunrise,
Lest blight, or chill, or evil menace them._
_Five small and folded buds, just here and there
Giving a hint of what the bloom may be,
When to reward the long close ministry
The buds shall blossom into roses fair._
_Soft dews fall on you, dears, soft breezes blow,
The noons be tempered and the snows be kind,
And gentle angels watch each stormy wind,
And turn it from the garden where you grow._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE LITTLE WHITE DOOR 9
LITTLE KAREN AND HER BABY 34
HELEN'S THANKSGIVING 47
AT FIESOLE 67
QUEEN BLOSSOM 93
A SMALL BEGINNING 115
THE SECRET DOOR 135
THE TWO WISHES 156
BLUE AND PINK 183
A FORTUNATE MISFORTUNE 198
TOINETTE AND THE ELVES 232
JEAN'S MONEY, AND WHAT IT BOUGHT 259
HOW THE STORKS CAME AND WENT 277
THE LITTLE WHITE DOOR.
I SUPPOSE that most boys and girls who go to school and study geography
know, by sight at least, the little patch of pale pink which is marked
on the map as "Switzerland." I suppose, too, that if I asked, "What can
you tell me about Switzerland?" a great many of them would cry out, "It
is a mountainous country, the Alps are there, Mont Blanc is there, the
highest land in Europe." All this is true; but I wonder if all of those
who know even so much have any idea what a beautiful country Switzerland
is? Not only are the mountains very high and very grand, but the valleys
which lie between are as green as emerald, and full of all sorts of wild
flowers; there are lakes of the loveliest blue, rivers which foam and
dash as merrily as rivers do in America, and the prettiest farmhouses in
the world,--_chalets_ the Swiss call them,--with steep roofs and hanging
balconies, and mottoes and quaint ornaments carved all over their
fronts. And the most peculiar and marvellous thing of all is the strange
nearness of the grass and herbage to the snows. High, high up in the
foldings of the great mountains on whose tops winter sits all the year
long, are lovely little valleys hidden away, where goats and sheep feed
by the side of glacier-fed streams; and the air is full of the tinkle of
their bells, and of the sweet smells of the mountain flowers. The water
of these streams has an odd color which no other waters have,--a sort of
milky blue-green, like an opal. Even on the hottest days a chilly air
plays over their surface, the breath, as it were, of the great
ice-fields above, from whose melting snows the streams are fed. And the
higher you climb, still greener grow the pastures and thicker the
blossoms, while the milk in the _chalet_ pans seems half cream, it is so
rich. Delicious milk it is, ice cold, and fragrant as if the animals
which produce it had fed on flowers. Oh, Switzerland is a wonderful land
indeed!
One day as I sat in a thicket of Alp roses in one of those lovely,
lonely upper valleys, I happened to raise my eyes, and noticed, high in
the cliff above, a tall narrow rock as white as snow, which looked | 3,076.282522 |
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THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS
AND OTHER PLAYS
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS
AND OTHER PLAYS
BY
WILLIAM B. YEATS
AND
LADY GREGORY
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1908
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1904, 1908,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
New edition. Set up and electrotyped. Published April, 1908.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
PREFACE
About seven years ago I began to dictate the first of these Plays to
Lady Gregory. My eyesight had become so bad that I feared I could
henceforth write nothing with my own hands but verses, which, as
Theophile Gautier has said, can be written with a burnt match. Our
Irish Dramatic movement was just passing out of the hands of English
Actors, hired because we knew of no Irish ones, and our little troop of
Irish amateurs--as they were at the time--could not have too many
Plays, for they would come to nothing without continued playing.
Besides, it was exciting to discover, after the unpopularity of blank
verse, what one could do with three Plays written in prose and founded
on three public interests deliberately chosen,--religion, humour,
patriotism. I planned in those days to establish a dramatic movement
upon the popular passions, as the ritual of religion is established in
the emotions that surround birth and death and marriage, and it was
only the coming of the unclassifiable, uncontrollable, capricious,
uncompromising genius of J. M. Synge that altered the direction of the
movement and made it individual, critical, and combative. If his had
not, some other stone would have blocked up the old way, for the public
mind of Ireland, stupefied by prolonged intolerant organisation, can
take but brief pleasure in the caprice that is in all art, whatever its
subject, and, more commonly, can but hate unaccustomed personal
reverie.
I had dreamed the subject of "Cathleen ni Houlihan," but found when I
looked for words that I could not create peasant dialogue that would go
nearer to peasant life than the dialogue in "The Land of Heart's
Desire" or "The Countess Cathleen." Every artistic form has its own
ancestry, and the more elaborate it is, the more is the writer
constrained to symbolise rather than to represent life, until perhaps
his ladies of fashion are shepherds and shepherdesses, as when Colin
Clout came home again. I could not get away, no matter how closely I
watched the country life, from images and dreams which had all too
royal blood, for they were descended like the thought of every poet
from all the conquering dreams of Europe, and I wished to make that
high life mix into some rough contemporary life without ceasing to be
itself, as so many old books and Plays have mixed it and so few modern,
and to do this I added another knowledge to my own. Lady Gregory had
written no Plays, but had, I discovered, a greater knowledge of the
country mind and country speech than anybody I had ever met with, and
nothing but a burden of knowledge could keep "Cathleen ni Houlihan"
from the clouds. I needed less help for the "Hour-Glass," for the
speech there is far from reality, and so the Play is almost wholly
mine. When, however, I brought to her the general scheme for the "Pot
of Broth," a little farce which seems rather imitative to-day, though
it plays well enough, and of the first version of "The Unicorn," "Where
there is Nothing," a five-act Play written in a fortnight to save it
from a plagiarist, and tried to dictate them, her share grew more and
more considerable. She would not allow me to put her name to these
Plays, though I have always tried to explain her share in them, but has
signed "The Unicorn from the Stars," which but for a good deal of the | 3,076.38252 |
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POND AND STREAM
By
ARTHUR RANSOME
Author of "The Stone Lady"
NATURE BOOKS FOR CHILDREN
With illustrations by Frances Craine
LONDON
ANTHONY TREHERNE & COMPANY, LTD.
12, YORK BUILDINGS, ADELPHI, W.C.
1906
FOR MOLLY
CONTENTS.
I. About the Book
II. The Duck Pond
III, Stream and Ditch
IV. Lake and River
V. Our Own Aquarium
[Illustration]
I
ABOUT THE BOOK
This is a book about the things that are jolly and wet: streams,
and ponds, and ditches, and all the things that swim and wriggle
in them. I wonder if you like them as | 3,076.382533 |
2023-11-16 19:08:20.3626660 | 2,744 | 8 |
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ROMANTIC SPAIN:
A Record of Personal Experiences.
BY
JOHN AUGUSTUS O'SHEA,
AUTHOR OF
"LEAVES FROM THE LIFE or A SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT,"
"AN IRON-BOUND CITY," ETC.
"Oh, lovely Spain! renowned, romantic land!"
CHILDE HAROLD.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
WARD AND DOWNEY,
12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1887.
[_All Rights Reserved._]
TO
WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT, ESQ.,
IN TOKEN OF ESTEEM FOR
HIS BOLD AND TRUTHFUL CHARACTER,
AND OF
GLADNESS THAT WE HAVE SO MANY KINDRED SYMPATHIES,
This Book is Enscribed
BY THE WRITER.
PREFACE.
This simple recital of personal haps and mishaps in perturbed Spain from
the abdication of Amadeus to the entry of Don Carlos, puts forward no
claim to the didactic or dogmatic. Its chief aim is to amuse. Of course,
if I succeed in conveying knowledge and dispelling illusions--in Tasso's
words, if I administer a pill under a coating of jam--I shall be
cock-a-hoop with delight. But I warn the reader I am not an unprejudiced
witness. I am passionately fond of Spain and her people. Although years
have elapsed since the events dealt with occurred, I fancy the narrative
will not be hackneyed, for in Spain public life repeats itself with a
fidelity which is never monotonous. I do not pretend to cast the
horoscope of the poor little monarch who is in the nurse's arms, but
Heaven guard him! 'Twere better for him that he had been born in a
Highland shieling.
Should there be much individualism in these pages, it is intentional,
and to be ascribed to the instance of friends. They said, "Bother
history; give us plenty of your own experiences." It is to be hoped they
have not led me astray by their well-meant advice.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Which, being non-essential, treats partly of Spain,
but principally of the Writer 1-23
CHAPTER II.
The Old-Fashioned Invocation--"Them 'ere Spanish
Kings!"--Candidates for a Throne--_En Voyage_--Bordeaux
and the Back-ache--An Unmannerly
Alsatian--The Patriot gets a Roland for his Oliver--Small
Change for a Hot Bath--Plan for Universal
Coinage--Daughters of Israel--The Jews Diagnosed--Across
the Border--The Writer is Saluted "Caballero"--Bugaboo
Santa Cruz--Over a Brasero 24-42
CHAPTER III.
A Make-Believe Spain--The Mountain Convoy--A
Tough Road to Travel--Spanish Superiority in
Blasphemy--Short Essay on Oaths--The Basque
Peasants--Carlism under a Cloak--How Guerilla-Fighting
is Conducted--A Hyperborean Landscape--A
Mysterious Grandee--An Adventurous Frenchman--The
Shebeen on the Summit--Armed Alsasua--Base
Coin 43-60
CHAPTER IV.
Madrid--The Fonda and its Porter--The Puerta del
Sol--Postal Irregularities--Tribute to the Madrilenos--The
Barber's Pronunciamiento--Anecdotes of King
Amadeus--Checkmating the Grand Dames--Queen
Isabella--The Embarrassed Mr. Layard of Nineveh--The
Great Powers Hesitate--America Goes Ahead--General
Sickles--Mahomet and the Mountain--Republicanism
among the Troops--A Peculiar Pennsylvanian
Dentist--Castelar under Torture--The
Writer meets one of his Sept--Politicians by Trade--Honour
among Insurgents--Alonso the Reckless 61-91
CHAPTER V.
A Late Capital--The Gambling Mania--A French
Rendezvous--The Duke de Fitzpepper--The Morality
of Passing Bad Money--Spanish Compliments--Men
in Pickle--A Licentious Ballet--Federal Manners--Prim's
Artifice--Nouvilas Goes North--A Carlist
Proclamation--Don Alfonso--Midnight Oil--Castelar's
Circular 92-112
CHAPTER VI.
Warning to Ladies--The Hotel Parliament--An Anglo-Spanish
Mentor--The Evil Genii of the Monarchy--The
Curses of Spain--Government and Religion
Affairs of Climate--The Carlists, Norwegians, and
English, all Republicans!--Notions on Heredity--The
Five Spanish Parties--The Army the Lever of
Power--The Student-Caesar--Order _versus_ Republic--The
Chained Colours--Dorregaray's Appeal to the
Soldiers--Influence of the Church--Wanted: a
Benevolent Despot 113-131
CHAPTER VII.
The Carnival--About Kissing Feet--Mummers and
Masquers--The Paseo de Recoletos--The Writer is
taken for Cluseret--Incongruity in Costume--Shrove
Tuesday--Panic on the Prado--A Fancy Ball--The
"Entierro de la Sardina"--Lenten Amusements--A
Spanish Mystery--"Pasion y Muerte de Jesus"--Of
the Stage Stagey--Critical Remarks 132-160
CHAPTER VIII.
Another Chat with Mentor--A Startling Solution of
the Spanish Question--The Penalties of Popularity--The
Republic another Saturn--The New Civil
Governor--The Government Bill--Outside the Palace
of the Congress--Providential Rain--Wild Rumours--Federal
Threats--The Five Civil Guards--Inside
the Chamber--The Great Debate--The Two Reports--Compromise--Minor
Speechmakers--A Pickwickian
Contention--The Division--Victory for the
Ministry--The Five Civil Guards Trot to Stables 161-182
CHAPTER IX.
The Inventions of Don Fulano de Tal--Stopping a
Train--"A Ver Fine Blaggar"--The Legend of Santa
Cruz--Dodging a Warrant--Outlawed--Chased by
Gendarmes--A Jack Sheppard Escape--The Cura
becomes Cabecilla--Sleeping with an Eye Open--Exploits
and Atrocities--Dilettante Carlists in
London--The Combat of Monreal--Ibarreta's Relics--A
Tale for the Marines--The Carlists Looking-up 183-200
CHAPTER X.
Barbarism of Tauromachy--A Surreptitious Ticket--The
Novillos--Islington _not_ Madrid--Apology for
Cock-Fighting--Maudlin Humanity--The Espada a
Popular Idol--In the Bull-Ring--A Precious "Ster-oh"--The
Trumpets Speak--The Procession--Play of
the Quadrille--The Defiance--"Bravo, Cucharra!"--"Bravo,
Toro!"--The Blemish of the Sport--An
Indignant English Lassie 201-224
CHAPTER XI.
The Shamrock of Erin and Olive of Spain--Hispano-Hibernian
Regiments--The Spanish Soldier--An
Unpopular Hidalgo--Flaw in the Harness--The
Organization of the Army--The Guardia Civil--The
Cavalry, Engineers, and Infantry--General Cordova--The
Disorganization of the Army--Mutiny in
Pampeluna--Officers Out of Work--Turbulent Barcelona--Irresolute
Contreras--Pistolet Discharges
Himself--The Madrid Garrison 225-248
CHAPTER XII.
Luring the Reader into a Stony Desert--A Duel on the
Carpet--Disappointment of the Special Correspondents--The
People Amuses Itself--How the Ballot
Works--A Historic Sitting of the Congress--Castelar's
Great Oration--The Glory of Spain--About
<DW64> Manumission--Distrust of "Uncle Sam"--Return
of Figueras--The Permanent Committee--A
Love-Feast of Politicians--The Writer Orders
Wings 249-265
CHAPTER XIII.
The Writer Turns Churlish and Quits Madrid--Sleep
under Difficulties--A Bad Dream--Santa Cruz again--Off
St. Helena!--Dissertation on Stomach Matters--A
Hint to British Railway Directors--"Odds, Hilts
and Blades"--A Delicate Little Gentleman is Curious--The
"Tierra Deleitosa"--That Butcher again 266-281
CHAPTER XIV.
Delectable Seville--Don Juan Scapegrace--The Women
in Black--In the Triana Suburb--The City of the
Seven Sleepers--Guide-Book Boredom--Romance
and Reality--The Prosaic Manchester Man--King
Ferdinand Puzzling the Judges--Mortification by
Proxy--Some Notable Treasures--Papers and Politics--The
Porcelain Factory--"The Lazy Andalusiennes"--About
Cigars--The Gipsy Dance 282-311
ROMANTIC SPAIN.
CHAPTER I.
Which, being non-essential, treats partly of Spain, but principally
of the Writer.
The sun was shining with a Spanish lustre--a lustre as of glowing
sarcasm--seeing that on that very day a Fire-Worshipper, Dadabhai
Naoroji, was over-shadowed in his attempt to become a Member of
Parliament for Holborn. The sun, I repeat, was shining with a Spanish
lustre while the inquisition was being held. The tribunal was in the
open air, under the mid plane-tree in Camberwell Green, the trimmest
public garden in London. Conscience was the inquisitor, and the charge I
had brought against myself was that of harbouring a vagrom spirit. I
should have been born in a gipsy caravan or under a Bedaween's tent.
Nature intended me to have become a traveller, a showman, or a
knight-errant; and had Nature been properly seconded, I should have been
doing something Burnabyish, Barnumesque, or Quixotic this afternoon,
instead of sitting down on a bench between a tremulous old man in
almshouse livery and a small boy fanning himself with a cap. Yes; I fear
I must plead guilty. I am possessed by a demon of unrest; my soul chafes
at inaction, calls aloud for excitement. Had I the ordering of my own
fortune I should spread the white wings of a yacht to woo the faint wind
(but it may be blowing freshly off the Foreland), or should vault on the
back of a neighing barb with bushy mane and tail. But I am Ixion-lashed
to the wheel of duty, leg-hampered by the log of necessity.
What is a gentle-born vagabond to do?
The law will not permit him to pink with his sword-stick the first smug
fellow he meets on the side-path, self-respect debars him from
highway-robbery which can be perpetrated without fear of the law, and it
is idle to expect a revolution in this humdrum country within any
reasonable period. A General Election which is going on, with its paltry
show of strips of calico, its printed appeals to the gullible,
its occasional bits of ribbon and bursts of cheering, its egotisms, its
stupidities, its self-seekings, its shabby intrigues and simulated fire,
its dull, dreary, drivelling floods of witless substance in
ungrammatical form--that, surely, is no satisfying substitute for the
tumult of real political strife.
Motion is the sovereign remedy for the vagabond's disease, and lo!
through the leafy barrier of the pollarded limes bordering the Green,
jingle the bells of the tram-car with its trotting team of three
abreast. Three mules, which bring my thoughts to Spain, and to a | 3,076.382706 |
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The Colonial Cavalier
Or
Southern Life Before
the Revolution
By Maud Wilder Goodwin
Illustrated by
Harry Edwards
New York
Lovell, Coryell & Company
1894
COPYRIGHT, 1894,
BY
UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY.
_All Rights Reserved._
Contents
PAGE
Preface, 7
His Home, 13
Sweethearts and Wives, 43
His Dress, 73
News, Trade and Travel, 97
His Friends and Foes, 125
His Amusements, 141
His Man-Servants and His Maid-Servants, 165
His Church, 189
His Education, 221
Laws, Punishments and Politics, 243
Sickness and Death, 273
The Colonial Cavalier
Preface
Two great forces have contributed to the making of the Anglo-American
character. The types, broadly classed in England as Puritan and Cavalier,
repeated themselves in the New World. On the bleak Massachusetts coast,
the Puritan emigrants founded a race as rugged as their environment.
Driven by the force of compelling conscience from their homes, they came
to the new land, at once pilgrims and pioneers, to rear altars and found
homes in the primeval forest. It was not freedom of worship alone they
sought, but their own way. They found it and kept it. Such a race produced
a strong and hardy type of manhood, admirable if not always lovable.
But there was another force at work, moulding the national character, a
force as persistent, a type as intense as the Puritan's own, and its exact
opposite. The men who settled the Southern Colonies, Virginia, Maryland,
and the Carolinas, were Cavaliers; not necessarily in blood, or even in
loyalty to the Stuart cause, but Cavalier in sympathies, in the general
view of life, in virtues and vices. So far as the provinces could
represent the mother country, Virginia and Maryland reflected the
Cavaliers, as Massachusetts and Connecticut reflected the Puritans.
Their settlers came, impelled by no religious motives, and driven by no
persecution. They lacked, therefore, the bond of a common enthusiasm and
the still stronger tie of a common antipathy. Above all, they lacked the
town-meeting. Separated by the necessities of plantation life, they formed
a series of tiny kingdoms rather than a democratic community. To the
Puritan, the village life of Scrooby and its like was familiar and
therefore dear; but to the Southern settlers, the ideal was the great
estate of the English gentry whose descendants many of them were.
The term, | 3,076.384755 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Stephen Hutcheson,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
BIRDS AND NATURE.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.
Vol. XII. OCTOBER, 1902. No. 3.
CONTENTS.
AUTUMN WOODS. 97
THE PHILIPPINE SUN-BIRD. (_Cinnyris jugularis_.) 98
Fly, white butterflies, out to sea 98
THE ANIMALS’ FAIR. PART II—THE FAIR. 101
A DAY. 104
THE GREAT GRAY OWL. (_Scotiaptex cinerea_.) 107
MY SUMMER ACQUAINTANCES. 108
THE BIRD OF PEACE. 109
THE GREEN-CRESTED FLYCATCHER. (_Empidonax virescens_.) 110
CHARACTER IN BIRDS. 113
Frowning, the owl in the oak complained him 116
THE LOUISIANA WATER-THRUSH. (_Seiurus motacilla_.) 119
SOME DOGS. 120
PECULIAR MEXICAN BREAD. 121
NATURE’S GLORY. 121
LAPIS LAZULI, AMBER AND MALICHITE. 122
THE LEAF BUTTERFLY. (_Kallima paralekta_.) 131
IN AUTUMN. 132
BEAUTIFUL VINES TO BE FOUND IN OUR WILD WOODS. 133
SOME SNAILS OF THE OCEAN. 134
JOIN A SUNRISE CLUB. 140
THE TOMATO. (_Lycopersicum esculentum_.) 143
THE BROOK. 144
AUTUMN WOODS.
Ere, in the northern gale,
The summer tresses of the trees are gone,
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,
Have put their glory on.
The mountains that infold,
In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round,
Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold,
That guard the enchanted ground.
I roam the woods that crown
The uplands, where the mingled splendors glow,
Where the gay company of trees look down
On the green fields below.
My steps are not alone
In these bright walks; the sweet southwest, at play,
Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown
Along the winding way.
And far in heaven, the while,
The sun, that sends that gale to wander here,
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile—
The sweetest of the year.
—William Cullen Bryant.
THE PHILIPPINE SUN-BIRD.
(_Cinnyris jugularis_.)
Darlings of children and of bard,
Perfect kinds by vice unmarred,
All of worth and beauty set
Gems in Nature’s cabinet:
These the fables she esteems
Reality most like to dreams.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Nature.”
The sun-birds bear a similar relation to the oriental tropics that the
humming birds do to the warmer regions of the Western hemisphere. Both
have a remarkably brilliant plumage which is in harmony with the
gorgeous flowers that grow in the tropical fields. It is probable that
natives of Asia first gave the name sun-birds to these bright creatures
because of their splendid and shining plumage. By the Anglo-Indians they
have been called hummingbirds, but they are perching birds while the
hummingbirds are not. There are over one hundred species of these birds.
They are graceful in all their motions and very active in their habits.
Like the hummingbirds, they flit from flower to flower, feeding on the
minute insects which are attracted by the nectar, and probably to some
extent on the honey, for their tongues are fitted for gathering it.
However, their habit while gathering food is unlike that of the
hummingbird, for they do not hover over the flower, but perch upon it
while feeding. The plumage of the males nearly always differs very
strongly from that of the females. The brilliantly colored patches are
unlike those of the hummingbirds for they blend gradually and are not
sharply contrasted, though the iridescent character is just as marked.
The bills are long and slender, finely pointed and curved. The edges of
the mandibles are finely serrated.
The nests are beautiful structures suspended from the end of a bough or
even from the underside of a leaf. The entrance is near the top and
usually on the side. Over the entrance a projecting portico is often
constructed. The outside of the nest is usually covered with coarse
materials, apparently to give the effect of a pile of rubbish. Two eggs
are usually laid in these cozy homes, but in rare instances three have
been found. The Philippine Sun-bird of our illustration is a native of
the Philippines and is found on nearly all the islands from Luzon to
Mindanao. The throat of the male has a beautiful iridescence shaded with
green, while that of the female, shown on the nest, is yellow.
Fly, white butterflies, out to sea,
Frail pale wings for the winds to try;
Small white wings that we scarce can see
Here and there may a chance-caught eye
Fly.
Note, in a score of you, twain or three
Brighter or darker of tinge or dye;
Some fly light as a laugh of glee,
Some fly soft as a long, low sigh:
All to the haven where each would be—
Fly.
—Swinburne.
[Illustration: PHILIPPINE YELLOW-BREASTED SUN-BIRD.
(Cinnyris jugularis).
Life-size.
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.]
THE ANIMALS’ FAIR.
PART II—THE FAIR.
Days and weeks of busy preparation rolled around and promptly at the
appointed time the Animals’ Fair opened in splendor.
A large football field had been secured for the show, and a striking
sight met the eyes of curious men, women and children, who crowded
through the gates on the opening day.
Two immense St. Bernard dogs had been appointed gatekeepers, and the
human crowd were uncommonly respectful and subdued as they paid their
entrance fee of a handful of grain or a juicy bone and passed these
representatives of animal law.
The first thing to attract the eye as one entered the Fair was a large
band stand which was occupied by a band of monkeys in red coats and
caps, who made up in quantity what their music lacked in quality, and
went through their performance with a decorum unexcelled by more musical
organizations.
The monkeys found themselves more at home in their booth, which, was
near the grand stand, the entrance fee to which was a small sack of
peanuts. Here the delighted human audience watched an unequaled show of
daring rope and trapeze performances, of acrobatic feats which none but
“four-handed” artists were able to accomplish, and of comical antics
such as only monkeys can go through. The excited children screamed with
laughter and showered peanuts upon the performers, who, following their
instincts, forgot their scheduled program and joined in a wild rush and
squabble over the unexpected treat. Such little episodes were soon over,
however, and the entertainment and forgotten dignity were resumed
together.
Next to the monkeys’ booth was one occupied by geese, ducks and
peacocks, and was one which deserves especial mention. It was
elaborately decorated with garlands of feather flowers dyed in all the
colors of the rainbow, hung against a background of snowy white
feathers. On each side stood a peacock with gorgeous tail outspread,
showing to lovely effect against the white walls behind them. Pillows
and cushions of softest feathers, festoons of snowy down trimmings,
quills and wings and breasts for millinery purposes, feather boas,
feather brushes and dusters, quill pens and quill toothpicks were
displayed to greatest advantage and offered for sale for a small sum of
wheat or corn.
The hogs came next with a large and elaborate display, which included
strings of sausages and Dewey hams, huge glass jars of snowy lard, hams
and bacon put up in fancy ways, and piles of canned pork and deviled
ham. In another part of the booth were brushes of all kinds made from
hog bristles, soaps manufactured from otherwise unsalable parts of hog
anatomy, saddles and other leather goods made from the hides, and—in a
conspicuous position—a great pile of inflated pigskin footballs, which
caught the eye of every schoolboy who came near the booth.
“Young man,” grunted one of the boothkeepers to a boy who was examining
this pile of balls, “young man, never despise a hog nor deride him for
his slowness. There is nothing more lively than a pigskin when properly
inflated. It is a thing for the possession of which the representatives
of the largest colleges are proud to contend, and he is the hero of the
day who carries the pigskin to a winning touchdown. Why, college
students will leave their books behind them, will cast aside the
cultivation of their brains for the glory of chasing the pigskin over a
muddy field. They will sacrifice life itself in its pursuit and count
broken limbs and bloody noses as badges of honor. Take my advice. Buy a
pigskin football and enter at once upon the path of glory.”
It is hardly necessary to add that this sale, and many like it, were
made during the progress of the Fair.
The booth of the wild birds was the most beautiful one in the whole
display. It was gotten up to represent a forest glade, with shadowy
aisles and leafy retreats. Its carpet was made of grasses and moss and
ferns and flowers. A little fountain cast its waters into a tiny pool,
where birds dipped their wings or quenched their thirst. Dainty nests
were built in many curious ways, some hanging from the branches, others
hiding beneath the grasses or sheltered by the leaves. A myriad of
brilliant birds flitted through this miniature paradise, the bluebird,
the redbird, the orange and black oriole, the scarlet tanager, golden
canaries and many others, making up a flashing bouquet of color.
Then there were solos, and duets, and grand concerts, when thrush and
lark and canary and redbird and warbler joined their voices in a great
gush of melody through which ran the liquid trills and cadenzas of
mocking-bird and nightingale. The quail piped his “Bob White” from the
ferns and grasses; and the parrot—as clown of the occasion—imitated the
human voice in comically jerky efforts.
Along the front of the booth were displayed rows of bottles filled with
every imaginable kind of bug and worm which the industrious birds had
gathered from orchards and fields, and which were exhibited as proof of
the invaluable aid which the birds give to man.
The cattle display was next on the list—a notable one, and attractive to
every man and woman. There were noble representatives from every breed
of cattle, with the most beautiful, gentle-eyed calves that were ever
seen. There was a tempting display of great glass jars of rich milk and
yellow cream, huge cheeses and golden butter balls, daintily molded
curds and glasses of whey. There was a free tank of delicious iced
buttermilk, which was continually surrounded by a thirsty crowd who
drank as if they had never tasted buttermilk before.
Then there were countless varieties of fancy articles made from horn and
bone, pots of glue, cans of neatsfoot oil, and leather goods of every
possible description.
There was dressed beef, and jerked beef, and dried beef, and potted and
canned and corned and deviled and roasted. There was oxtail soup, and
blood pudding, and cakes of suet, and stacks of tallow candles. There
were hides tanned into soft carriage robes and rugs; there were bottles
of rennet tablets; there were fancy colored bladders, and bunches of
shoestrings. In short, the articles contained in this display were
beyond enumeration in a short account like this.
The dogs came next with a wonderful display of fancy breeds, of trick
dogs and trained dogs, of dogs little and big, varying from the shaggy
Eskimo to the skinny little hairless Mexican, and from the huge St.
Bernard to the tiny terrier. The Newfoundlands gave a life-saving
exhibition every day, wherein monkeys dressed as people were rescued
from the water or from buildings supposed to be on fire.
The St. Bernards dragged frozen traveler monkeys from snowbanks of
cotton and carried them on their backs to places of safety.
Cute puppies and clumsy puppies went through their antics for the
amusement of the children and rolled unconcernedly over beautiful
carriage rugs which were labeled “Japanese Wolfskin.”
The sheep and goats had a booth together, wherein was a marvelous
display of wools and woolen goods, yarns, pelts, angora furs, kid
gloves, kid shoes, rugs, carpets and blankets.
There were ropes of goats’ hair which water could not destroy, and wigs
which were destined to cover the heads of learned judges and barristers.
There was a wonderful red tally-ho coach, drawn by four snow-white goats
driven by a monkey dressed as a coachman, which made the circuit of the
Fair grounds every afternoon, while monkey passengers made the air
lively and cleared the way by the loud notes of their tin horns. This
exhibition set the children wild, and parents were daily teased to buy
the charming turnout for the use of their little human monkeys.
The cats had a display which met with the highest favor from their
little girl visitors. Here were beautiful pussies of every kind and
color, with coats as soft and shiny as silk. There were numbers of the
cunningest kittens, which rolled and tumbled and went through their most
graceful motions to the unending delight of the little spectators.
This booth was gaily festooned with strings of mice and rats, caught up
here and there by small rabbits, gophers and moles.
There was a string band that played in this booth every afternoon to
demonstrate the superiority of cat-gut strings over those made of silk
or wire, as used on violins, mandolins, guitars and all other stringed
instruments. They never failed to announce that their bows were strung
with the finest of horsehair which had been supplied by the horses whose
booth was farther down the grounds.
The horses attracted every eye and aroused much discussion among the
visitors as to whether horses would ever be entirely superseded by
automobiles and electric engines.
The children went into ecstacies over the Shetland ponies, and the
ladies declared the Arabian horses “too lovely for anything.”
Every boy who visited this booth was presented with a baseball covered
with the best of horsehide leather.
But time fails me to tell of all the wonderful things which this Fair
presented to the eyes of admiring men. On one point only was
dissatisfaction expressed by the visitors—there was no Midway. President
Monkey, when interviewed by a representative of the Associated Press in
regard to the omission, made the following remarkable statement:
“No, it was not a matter of oversight. The camel volunteered to bring
some of his Arabs to establish the Streets of Cairo, and some of the
monkeys were anxious to put in a Gay Paris display. The lions wished to
bring some trained Wild Men of Borneo for a Hagenbeck show, and the
snakes wanted to do jugglery. You can see that there was no lack of what
misguided people call ‘attractions.’
“The management discussed the Midway from every point of view, and
decided that it was entirely too low grade for a first-class
entertainment such as we desired to make. We felt that it would only
attract a rough class of visitors, whose presence we did not desire. And
so the unanimous decision was, ‘We will have a good, clean, respectable
show or we will have no show at all.’
“No, sir. Say emphatically in your dispatches that the Midway was
intentionally omitted. Such things may do for men, but beasts will have
none of them.”
The Fair was in every way a success, being carried through without
disturbance of any kind and coming out free of debt and with much legal
tender in the treasury.
Men were so much impressed by the obligations which they owed to the
animal world that there was a decided improvement in their treatment of
its various representatives. While this state of affairs cannot be
expected to last long, the animals have learned how to arouse such
respect and have decided to make the Animal Fair an annual attraction.
Mary McCrae Culter.
A DAY.
In the morning the path by the river
Sent me a messenger bird,—
“I’m all by myself and lonely,
Come,” as I waked I heard.
I walked the path by the water,
Till a daisy spoke and said,
“I am so tired of shining;
Why don’t you pat my head?”
So I kissed and fondled the daisy,
Till the clover upon the lea
Said, “It is time for eating,
Spread your luncheon on me.”
But first I went to the orchard,
And gathered the fruit that hung,
Before I answered the green-sward,
Where the clovery grasses swung.
Then the rocks on the hill-side called me,
And the flowers beside the way,
And I talked with the oaks and maples
Till Night was threatening Day.
Then I knelt at the foot of the sunset,
And laid thereon my prayer,
And the angels, star-crowned, hurried
To carry it up the stair.
And this was the plea I put there:
Make me so pure and good
That I shall be worthy the friendship
Of river, and field, and wood.
Lucia Belle Cook.
[Illustration: GREAT GRAY OWL.
(Scotiaptex cinerea).
⅓ Life-size.
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.]
THE GREAT GRAY OWL.
(_Scotiaptex cinerea_.)
Through Mossy and viny vistas
Soaked ever with deepest shade,
Dimly the dull owl stared and stared
From his bosky ambuscade.
—James Whitcomb Riley, “A Vision of Summer.”
The Great Gray or Cinereous Owl is the largest of the American owls. The
appearance of great size, however, is due to its thick and fluffy
plumage. Its body is very small being only slightly larger than those of
the barred or hoot owl. The eggs are also said to be small when compared
with the size of the bird.
The range of this handsome Owl is practically confined to the most
northern regions of North America, where it breeds from the latitude of
Hudson Bay northward as far as forests extend. In the winter it is more
or less migratory, the distance that it travels southward seeming to
depend solely on the severity of the season. It has been captured in
several of the northern United States, from the Atlantic to the Pacific
Oceans. It is related in “The Hawks and Owls of the United States,” that
“Dr. Dall considers it a stupid bird and states that sometimes it may be
caught in the hands. Its great predilection for thick woods, in which it
dwells doubtless to the very limit of trees, prevents it from being an
inhabitant of the barren grounds or other open country in the north. It
is crepuscular or slightly nocturnal in the southern parts of its range,
but in the high north it pursues its prey in the daytime. In the latter
region, where the sun never passes below the horizon in summer, it is
undoubtedly necessity and not choice that prompts it to be abroad in the
daylight.” Its yellow eyes are very small and would indicate day-hunting
proclivities.
Dr. A. K. Fisher states that its “food seems to consist principally of
hares, mice and others of the smaller mammals as well as small birds.”
Dr. W. H. Dall has taken “no less than thirteen skulls and other remains
of red-poll linnets from the crop of a single bird.” Specimens in
captivity are reported to have relished a diet of fish.
Its nest is described as a coarse structure built in the taller trees
and composed of twigs and lined with moss and feathers. The note of this
great bird is said to be “a tremulous, vibrating sound, somewhat
resembling that of the screech owl.”
The Great Gray Owl is also known as the Great Sooty Owl and the Spectral
Owl. Its generic title, Scotiaptex, is from two Greek words, one meaning
darkness and the other to frighten.
The dignified mien of this great bird may well have been the inspiration
that caused the poet to say,
Art thou, grave bird! so wondrous wise indeed?
Speak freely, without fear of jest or gibe—
What is thy moral and religious creed?
And what the metaphysics of thy tribe?
MY SUMMER ACQUAINTANCES.
I spent last summer in a quiet, old country place where my only near
neighbors were the birds, rabbits and squirrels, but I formed many
pleasant acquaintances among these, and the dearest among them was a
pair of little goldfinches that built their nest in the topmost bough of
a young pear tree that overshadowed the porch where I spent a great part
of my time.
I did not discover the nest until the little ones were already hatched.
The early June days had been cloudy and cool and had kept me shut in, so
I did not have the pleasure of watching my little neighbors build their
home. The nest was so carefully hidden among the leafy boughs that no
one would have suspected it was there. My attention was first arrested
to it one morning by the faint cries of young birds, and on looking up I
saw a little goldfinch perched on the topmost bough of the pear tree,
bending fondly over what I knew must be the nest. She lingered but a
moment and then darted away to an apple tree near by, where I discovered
her mate. He was a tiny little fellow, not much larger than she, but his
jacket seemed a brighter yellow and his head and the tips of his wings a
glossier black. They rested a moment, seemingly in earnest conversation,
then both darted away to a thicket of tall grass and weeds that grew
along the banks of a creek that ran near by.
It was but a few moments until the little mother was back again and in
her tiny yellow beak I saw the dainty morsel she was carrying to the
hungry little family.
All day long, back and forth, from the nest to the thicket she flew, but
the hungry little ones never seemed to be satisfied. The father bird did
not come very often, and I wondered if he was spending his time in
idleness or seeking pleasure for himself, while the poor, little mother
was working so arduously for the support of the family. But I hardly
think this was the case, for he always came from this same thicket and
they always seemed confidential and happy. He would rest himself
daintily on some branch overlooking the nest, and with many quips and
turns watch the mother as she fed the hungry little ones. Sometimes he
would bring food himself and then they would fly away together. I think
he was searching for the food and probably gathering it, for sometimes
Mistress Goldfinch would be gone but a moment until she would return
with the food.
Every day the same scenes were repeated, only the cries of the little
ones grew more clamorous, and I could see their gaping mouths as they
stretched their necks, each one trying to convince the mother that he
was the hungriest bird in the nest. The little mother was always patient
and loving—what a lesson to us who so often chafe and fret under the
petty trials of every day life! As the days went by the young birds grew
bolder and I could see their little yellow bodies as they fluttered and
pushed themselves near the edge of the nest, and I knew that there would
soon be an empty nest in the pear tree.
It was one afternoon, about ten days after I discovered the nest, that
the lessons in flying began. The father and mother would fly from the
nest to some twig a few feet from the nest and then back again, then
from twig to twig with many little chirps as if saying, “Don’t you see
how easy it is? All you have to do is to try.” Then the boldest little
fellow would perch himself on the edge of the nest, flutter his little
wings, sit still for a minute, and then roll back into the nest as if it
was too much for him. Then the father and mother would repeat the
lesson, but all in vain that afternoon, so they finally gave up and went
in search of food. The next morning the lessons began in earnest, and
then the bold little youngster, who had made so many pretentions the
afternoon before, grew bolder and with a nervous little flutter and a
sidewise plunge landed on a twig some few feet below the nest. He rested
a few moments and then, with a few encouraging chirps from his parents,
tried it again with better results. One by one the other timid
fledglings were induced to follow him. There were many tumbles and
falls, but the little mother was always there to encourage and help, and
by afternoon the little home was deserted. They staid a few days in the
trees near by and then flew away to seek new homes, and all that was
left to remind me of the happy family was the empty nest in the leafy
bough.
Ellen Hampton Dick.
THE BIRD OF PEACE.
The dove, bearing an olive branch, is, in Christian art, an emblem of
peace. The early churches used vessels of precious metal fashioned in
the shape of a dove in which to place the holy sacrament, no doubt
because the Holy Spirit descended upon Christ in the form of a dove.
Noah’s dove, of still older fame, was immortalized as a constellation in
the sky.
The plaintive “coo” of the dove has also added to the sentiment about
it. The poets delight to refer to it as a sorrowful bird. One of them
says:
“Oft I heard the tender dove
In fiery woodlands making moan.”
The dove, “most musical, most melancholy,” is the singer whom the
mocking bird does not attempt to imitate.
There is a Philippine legend that of all birds only the dove understands
the human tongue. The pigeon tribe is noted for its friendliness to man—
“Of all the feathered race
Alone it looks unscared on the human face.”
The word dove means “diver” and refers to the way this bird ducks its
head.
It has purposely designed “wing whistles” and often strikes the wings
together when beginning to fly.
The broken wing dodge it often practices tends to prove that its
ancestors built on the ground.
The nest of the dove has no architectural beauty and it is not a good
housekeeper, and is something of a gad-about. Indeed, doves are not so
gentle in character as they are usually portrayed. They are | 3,076.485026 |
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Produced by David Widger
DR. JONATHAN
By Winston Churchill
A Play in Three Acts
PREFACE
This play was written during the war. But owing to the fact that several
managers politely declined to produce it, it has not appeared on any
stage. Now, perhaps, its theme is more timely, more likely to receive
the attention it deserves, when the smoke of battle has somewhat
cleared. Even when the struggle with Germany and her allies was in
progress it was quite apparent to the discerning that the true issue
of the conflict was one quite familiar to American thought, of
self-determination. On returning from abroad toward the end of 1917
I ventured into print with the statement that the great war had every
aspect of a race with revolution. Subliminal desires, subliminal fears,
when they break down the censor of law, are apt to inspire fanatical
creeds, to wind about their victims the flaming flag of a false
martyrdom. Today it is on the knees of the gods whether the
insuppressible impulses for human freedom that come roaring up from the
subliminal chaos, fanned by hunger and hate, are to thrash themselves
out in anarchy and insanity, or to take an ordered, intelligent and
conscious course. Of the Twentieth Century, industrial democracy is
the watchword, even as political democracy was the watchword of the two
centuries that preceded it. Economic power is at last realized to be
political power. No man owns himself, no woman owns herself if the
individual is not economically free. Perhaps the most encouraging omen
of the day is the fact that many of our modern employers, and even our
modern financiers and bankers seem to be recognizing this truth, to
be growing aware of the danger to civilization of its continued
suppression. Educators and sociologists may supply the theories; but by
experiment, by trial and error,--yes, and by prayer,--the solution must
be found in the practical domain of industry.
DR. JONATHAN
ACT I
SCENE: The library of ASHER PINDAR'S house in Foxon Falls, a New England
village of some three thousand souls, over the destinies of which
the Pindars for three generations have presided. It is a large,
dignified room, built early in the nineteenth century, with white
doors and gloss woodwork. At the rear of the stage,--which is the
front of the house,--are three high windows with small, square panes
of glass, and embrasures into which are fitted white inside
shutters. These windows reach to within a foot or so of the floor;
a person walking on the lawn or the sidewalk just beyond it may be
seen through them. The trees bordering the Common are also seen
through these windows, and through a gap in the foliage a glimpse of
the terraced steeple of the Pindar Church, the architecture of which
is of the same period as the house. Upper right, at the end of the
wall, is a glass door looking out on the lawn. There is another
door, lower right, and a door, lower left, leading into ASHER
PINDAR'S study. A marble mantel, which holds a clock and certain
ornaments, is just beyond this door. The wall spaces on the right
and left are occupied by high bookcases filled with respectable
volumes in calf and dark cloth bindings. Over the mantel is an
oil painting of the Bierstadt school, cherished by ASHER as an
inheritance from his father, a huge landscape with a self-conscious
sky, mountains, plains, rivers and waterfalls, and two small figures
of Indians--who seem to have been talking to a missionary. In the
spaces between the windows are two steel engravings, "The Death of
Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham" and "Washington Crossing the
Delaware!" The furniture, with the exception of a few heirlooms,
such as the stiff sofa, is mostly of the Richardson period of the
'80s and '90s. On a table, middle rear, are neatly spread out
several conservative magazines and periodicals, including a
religious publication.
TIME: A bright morning in October, 1917,
GEORGE PINDAR, in the uniform of a first lieutenant of the army,
enters by the doorway, upper right. He is a well set up young man
of about twenty-seven, bronzed from his life in a training camp, of
an adventurous and social nature. He glances about the room, and
then lights a cigarette.
ASHER PINDAR, his father, enters, lower right. He is a tall,
strongly built man of about sixty, with iron grey hair and beard.
His eyes are keen, shadowed by bushy brows, and his New England
features bear the stamp of inflexible "character." He wears a black
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LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY
By Frances Hodgson Burnett
I
Cedric himself knew nothing whatever about it. It had never been even
mentioned to him. He knew that his papa had been an Englishman, because
his mamma had told him so; but then his papa had died when he was so
little a boy that he could not remember very much about him, except that
he was big, and had blue eyes and a long mustache, and that it was a
splendid thing to be carried around the room on his shoulder. Since his
papa's death, Cedric had found out that it was best not to talk to his
mamma about him. When his father was ill, Cedric had been sent away, and
when he had returned, everything was over; and his mother, who had
been very ill, too, was only just beginning to sit in her chair by the
window. She was pale and thin, and all the dimples had gone from her
pretty face, and her eyes looked large and mournful, and she was dressed
in black.
"Dearest," said Cedric (his papa had called her that always, and so the
little boy had learned to say it),--"dearest, is my papa better?"
He felt her arms tremble, and so he turned his curly head and looked in
her face. There was something in it that made him feel that he was going
to cry.
"Dearest," he said, "is he well?"
Then suddenly his loving little heart told him that he'd better put both
his arms around her neck and kiss her again and again, and keep his
soft cheek close to hers; and he did so, and she laid her face on his
shoulder and cried bitterly, holding him as if she could never let him
go again.
"Yes, he is well," she sobbed; "he is quite, quite well, but we--we have
no one left but each other. No one at all."
Then, little as he was, he understood that his big, handsome young papa
would not come back any more; that he was dead, as he had heard of other
people being, although he could not comprehend exactly what strange
thing had brought all this sadness about. It was because his mamma
always cried when he spoke of his papa that he secretly made up his mind
it was better not to speak of him very often to her, and he found out,
too, that it was better not to let her sit still and look into the fire
or out of the window without moving or talking. He and his mamma knew
very few people, and lived what might have been thought very lonely
lives, although Cedric did not know it was lonely until he grew older
and heard why it was they had no visitors. Then he was told that his
mamma was an orphan, and quite alone in the world when his papa had
married her. She was very pretty, and had been living as companion to a
rich old lady who was not kind to her, and one day Captain Cedric Errol,
who was calling at the house, saw her run up the stairs with tears on
her eyelashes; and she looked so sweet and innocent and sorrowful that
the Captain could not forget her. And after many strange things had
happened, they knew each other well and loved each other dearly, and
were married, although their marriage brought them the ill-will of
several persons. The one who was most angry of all, however, was
the Captain's father, who lived in England, and was a very rich and
important old nobleman, with a very bad temper and a very violent
dislike to America and Americans. He had two sons older than Captain
Cedric; and it was the law that the elder of these sons should inherit
the family title and estates, which were very rich and splendid; if the
eldest son died, the next one would be heir; so, though he was a member
of such a great family, there was little chance that Captain Cedric
would be very rich himself.
But it so happened that Nature had given to the youngest son gifts which
she had not bestowed upon his elder brothers. He had a beautiful face
and a fine, strong, graceful figure; he had a bright smile and a sweet,
gay voice; he was brave and generous, and had the kindest heart in the
world, and seemed to have the power to make every one love him. And it
was not so with his elder brothers; neither of them was handsome,
or very kind, or clever. When they were boys at Eton, they were not
popular; when they were at college, they cared nothing for study, and
wasted both time and money, and made few real friends. The old Earl,
their father, was constantly disappointed and humiliated by them; his
heir was no honor to his noble name, and did not promise to end in being
anything but a selfish, wasteful, insignificant man, with no manly or
noble qualities. It was very bitter, the old Earl thought, that the son
who was only third, and would have only a very small fortune, should be
the one who had all the gifts, and all the charms, and all the strength
and beauty. Sometimes he almost hated the handsome young man because he
seemed to have the good things which should have gone with the stately
title and the magnificent estates; and yet, in the depths of his proud,
stubborn old heart, he could not help caring very much for his youngest
son. It was in one of his fits of petulance that he sent him off to
travel in America; he thought he would send him away for a while, so
that he should not be made angry by constantly contrasting him with his
brothers, who were at that time giving him a great deal of trouble by
their wild ways.
But, after about six months, he began to feel lonely, and longed in
secret to see his son again, so he wrote to Captain Cedric and ordered
him home. The letter he wrote crossed on its way a letter the Captain
had just written to his father, telling of his love for the pretty
American girl, and of his intended marriage; and when the Earl received
that letter he was furiously angry. Bad as his temper was, he had
never given way to it in his life as he gave way to it when he read the
Captain's letter. His valet, who was in the room when it came, thought
his lordship would have a fit of apoplexy, he was so wild with anger.
For an hour he raged like a tiger, and then he sat down and wrote to his
son, and ordered him never to come near his old home, nor to write to
his father or brothers again. He told him he might live as he pleased,
and die where he pleased, that he should be cut off from his family
forever, and that he need never expect help from his father as long as
he lived.
The Captain was very sad when he read the letter; he was very fond of
England, and he dearly loved the beautiful home where he had been born;
he had even loved his ill-tempered old father, and had sympathized with
him in his disappointments; but he knew he need expect no kindness from
him in the future. At first he scarcely knew what to do; he had not been
brought up to work, and had no business experience, but he had courage
and plenty of determination. So he sold his commission in the English
army, and after some trouble found a situation in New York, and married.
The change from his old life in England was very great, but he was young
and happy, and he hoped that hard work would do great things for him in
the future. He had a small house on a quiet street, and his little boy
was born there, and everything was so gay and cheerful, in a simple way,
that he was never sorry for a moment that he had married the rich old
lady's pretty companion just because she was so sweet and he loved her
and she loved him. She was very sweet, indeed, and her little boy was
like both her and his father. Though he was born in so quiet and cheap a
little home, it seemed as if there never had been a more fortunate baby.
In the first place, he was always well, and so he never gave any one
trouble; in the second place, he had so sweet a temper and ways so
charming that he was a pleasure to every one; and in the third place,
he was so beautiful to look at that he was quite a picture. Instead of
being a bald-headed baby, he started in life with a quantity of soft,
fine, gold- hair, which curled up at the ends, and went into
loose rings by the time he was six months old; he had big brown eyes and
long eyelashes and a darling little face; he had so strong a back and
such splendid sturdy legs, that at nine months he learned suddenly to
walk; his manners were so good, for a baby, that it was delightful to
make his acquaintance. He seemed to feel that every one was his friend,
and when any one spoke to him, when he was in his carriage in the
street, he would give the stranger one sweet, serious look with the
brown eyes, and then follow it with a lovely, friendly smile; and the
consequence was, that there was not a person in the neighborhood of the
quiet street where he lived--even to the groceryman at the corner, who
was considered the crossest creature alive--who was not pleased to see
him and speak to him. And every month of his life he grew handsomer and
more interesting.
When he was old enough to walk out with his nurse, dragging a small
wagon and wearing a short white kilt skirt, and a big white hat set back
on his curly yellow hair, he was so handsome and strong and rosy that he
attracted every one's attention, and his nurse would come home and tell
his mamma stories of the ladies who had stopped their carriages to look
at and speak to him, and of how pleased they were when he talked to them
in his cheerful little way, as if he had known them always. His greatest
charm was this cheerful, fearless, quaint little way of making friends
with people. I think it arose from his having a very confiding nature,
and a kind little heart that sympathized with every one, and wished to
make every one as comfortable as he liked to be himself. It made him
very quick to understand the feelings of those about him. Perhaps this
had grown on him, too, because he had lived so much with his father and
mother, who were always loving and considerate and tender and well-bred.
He had never heard an unkind or uncourteous word spoken at home; he had
always been loved and caressed and treated tenderly, and so his childish
soul was full of kindness and innocent warm feeling. He had always heard
his mamma called by pretty, loving names, and so he used them himself
when he spoke to her; he had always seen that his papa watched over her
and took great care of her, and so he learned, too, to be careful of
her.
So when he knew his papa would come back no more, and saw how very
sad his mamma was, there gradually came into his kind little heart the
thought that he must do what he could to make her happy. He was not much
more than a baby, but that thought was in his mind whenever he climbed
upon her knee and kissed her and put his curly head on her neck, and
when he brought his toys and picture-books to show her, and when he
curled up quietly by her side as she used to lie on the sofa. He was not
old enough to know of anything else to do, so he did what he could, and
was more of a comfort to her than he could have understood.
"Oh, Mary!" he heard her say once to her old servant; "I am sure he
is trying to help me in his innocent way--I know he is. He looks at me
sometimes with a loving, wondering little look, as if he were sorry for
me, and then he will come and pet me or show me something. He is such a
little man, I really think he knows."
As he grew older, he had a great many quaint little ways which amused
and interested people greatly. He was so much of a companion for his
mother that she scarcely cared for any other. They used to walk together
and talk together and play together. When he was quite a little fellow,
he learned to read; and after that he used to lie on the hearth-rug, in
the evening, and read aloud--sometimes stories, and sometimes big books
such as older people read, and sometimes even the newspaper; and often
at such times Mary, in the kitchen, would hear Mrs. Errol laughing with
delight at the quaint things he said.
"And, indade," said Mary to the groceryman, "nobody cud help laughin' at
the quare little ways of him--and his ould-fashioned sayin's! Didn't
he come into my kitchen the noight the new Prisident was nominated and
shtand afore the fire, lookin' loike a pictur', wid his hands in his
shmall pockets, an' his innocent bit of a face as sayrious as a jedge?
An' sez he to me: 'Mary,' sez he, 'I'm very much int'rusted in the
'lection,' sez he. 'I'm a 'publican, an' so is Dearest. Are you a
'publican, Mary?' 'Sorra a bit,' sez I; 'I'm the bist o' dimmycrats!'
An' he looks up at me wid a look that ud go to yer heart, an' sez he:
'Mary,' sez he, 'the country will go to ruin.' An' nivver a day since
thin has he let go by widout argyin' wid me to change me polytics."
Mary was very fond of him, and very proud of him, too. She had been with
his mother ever since he was born; and, after his father's death, had
been cook and housemaid and nurse and everything else. She was proud of
his graceful, strong little body and his pretty manners, and especially
proud of the bright curly hair which waved over his forehead and fell in
charming love-locks on his shoulders. She was willing to work early and
late to help his mamma make his small suits and keep them in order.
"'Ristycratic, is it?" she would say. "Faith, an' I'd loike to see the
choild on Fifth Avey-NOO as looks loike him an' shteps out as handsome
as himself. An' ivvery man, woman, and choild lookin' afther him in his
bit of a black velvet skirt made out of the misthress's ould gownd; an'
his little head up, an' his curly hair flyin' an' shinin'. It's loike a
young lord he looks."
Cedric did not know that he looked like a young lord; he did not
know what a lord was. His greatest friend was the groceryman at the
corner--the cross groceryman, who was never cross to him. His name was
Mr. Hobbs, and Cedric admired and respected him very much. He thought
him a very rich and powerful person, he had so many things in his
store,--prunes and figs and oranges and biscuits,--and he had a
horse and wagon. Cedric was fond of the milkman and the baker and the
apple-woman, but he liked Mr. Hobbs best of all, and was on terms of
such intimacy with him that he went to see him every day, and often sat
with him quite a long time, discussing the topics of the hour. It was
quite surprising how many things they found to talk about--the Fourth
of July, for instance. When they began to talk about the Fourth of July
there really seemed no end to it. Mr. Hobbs had a very bad opinion of
"the British," and he told the whole story of the Revolution, relating
very wonderful and patriotic stories about the villainy of the enemy and
the bravery of the Revolutionary heroes, and he even generously repeated
part of the Declaration of Independence.
Cedric was so excited that his eyes shone and his cheeks were red and
his curls were all rubbed and tumbled into a yellow mop. He could hardly
wait to eat his dinner after he went home, he was so anxious to tell
his mamma. It was, perhaps, Mr. Hobbs who gave him his first interest
in politics. Mr. Hobbs was fond of reading the newspapers, and so Cedric
heard a great deal about what was going on in Washington; and Mr. Hobbs
would tell him whether the President was doing his duty or not. And
once | 3,076.985745 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A single character
following the carat is superscripted (example: X^1). Similarly an
underscore represents a subscript (_sk_4_ has a subscript 4 and is in
italics).
Page numbers enclosed by curly braces (example: {25}) have been
incorporated to facilitate the use of the Index.
* * * * *
THE
ORIGIN OF VERTEBRATES
BY
WALTER HOLBROOK GASKELL
M.A., M.D. (CANTAB.), LL.D. (EDIN. AND McGILL UNIV.); F.R.S.; FELLOW OF
TRINITY HALL AND UNIVERSITY LECTURER IN PHYSIOLOGY, CAMBRIDGE; HONORARY
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL MEDICAL AND CHIRURGICAL SOCIETY; CORRESPONDING MEMBER
OF THE IMPERIAL MILITARY ACADEMY OF MEDICINE, ST. PETERSBURG, ETC.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA
1908
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER I
THE EVIDENCE OF THE CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM
Theories of the origin of vertebrates--Importance of the central
nervous system--Evolution of tissues--Evidence of Palaeontology--
Reasons for choosing Ammocoetes rather than Amphioxus for the
investigation of this problem--Importance of larval forms--
Comparison of the vertebrate and arthropod central nervous
systems--Antagonism between cephalization and alimentation--
Life-history of lamprey, not a degenerate animal--Brain of
Ammocoetes compared with brain of arthropod--Summary 8
CHAPTER II
THE EVIDENCE OF THE ORGANS OF VISION
Different kinds of eye--Simple and compound retinas--Upright and
inverted retinas--Median eyes--Median or pineal eyes of Ammocoetes
and their optic ganglia--Comparison with other median eyes--L | 3,076.986954 |
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines.
SKY ISLAND
BEING THE FURTHER EXCITING ADVENTURES
OF TROT AND CAP'N BILL AFTER THEIR
VISIT TO THE SEA FAIRIES
BY
L. FRANK BAUM
TO
MY SISTER
MARY LOUISE BREWSTER
CONTENTS
1. A MYSTERIOUS ARRIVAL
2. THE MAGIC UMBRELLA
3. A WONDERFUL EXPERIENCE
4. THE ISLAND IN THE SKY
5. THE BOOLOOROO OF THE BLUES
6. THE SIX SNUBNOSED PRINCESSES
7. GHIP-GHISIZZLE PROVES FRIENDLY
8. THE BLUE CITY
9. THE TRIBULATION OF TROT
10. THE KING'S TREASURE CHAMBER
11. BUTTON-BRIGHT ENCOUNTERS THE BLUE WOLF
12. THROUGH THE FOG BANK
13. THE PINK COUNTRY
14. TOURMALINE THE POVERTY QUEEN
15. THE SUNRISE TRIBE AND THE SUNSET TRIBE
16. ROSALIE THE WITCH
17. THE ARRIVAL OF POLYCHROME
18. MAYRE, QUEEN OF THE PINK COUNTRY
19. THE WAR OF THE PINKS AND BLUES
20. GHIP-GHISIZZLE HAS A BAD TIME
21. THE CAPTURE OF CAP'N BILL
22. TROT'S INVISIBLE ADVENTURE
23. THE GIRL AND THE BOOLOOROO
24. THE AMAZING CONQUEST OF THE BLUES
25. THE RULER OF SKY ISLAND
26. TROT CELEBRATES THE VICTORY
27. THE FATE OF THE MAGIC UMBRELLA
28. THE ELEPHANT'S HEAD COMES TO LIFE
29. TROT REGULATES THE PINKIES
30. THE JOURNEY HOME
A LITTLE TALK TO MY READERS
WITH "The Sea Fairies," my book for 1911, I ventured into a new field
of fairy literature and to my delight the book was received with much
approval by my former readers, many of whom have written me that they
like Trot "almost as well as Dorothy." As Dorothy was an old, old
friend and Trot a new one, I think this is very high praise for Cap'n
Bill's little companion. Cap'n Bill is also a new character who seems
to have won approval, and so both Trot and the old sailor are again
introduced in the present story, which may be called the second of the
series of adventures of Trot and Cap'n Bill.
But you will recognize some other acquaintances in "Sky Island." Here,
for instance, is Button-Bright, who once had an adventure with Dorothy
in Oz, and without Button-Bright and his Magic Umbrella you will see
that the story of "Sky Island" could never have been written. As
Polychrome, the Rainbow's Daughter, lives in the sky, it is natural
that Trot and Button-Bright meet her during their adventures there.
This story of Sky Island has astonished me considerably, and I think it
will also astonish you. The sky country is certainly a remarkable fair
land, but after reading about it I am sure you will agree with me that
our old Mother Earth is a very good place to live upon and that Trot
and Button-Bright and Cap'n Bill were fortunate to get back to it again.
By the way, one of my little correspondents has suggested that I print
my address in this book, so that the children may know where letters
will reach me. I am doing this, as you see, and hope that many will
write to me and tell me how they like "Sky Island." My greatest
treasures are these letters from my readers and I am always delighted
to receive them.
L. FRANK BAUM.
"OZCOT" at HOLLYWOOD in CALIFORNIA
A MYSTERIOUS ARRIVAL
CHAPTER 1
"Hello," said the boy.
"Hello," answered Trot, looking up surprised. "Where did you come from?"
"Philadelphia," said he.
"Dear me," said Trot, "you're a long way from home, then."
"'Bout as far as I can get, in this country," the boy replied, gazing
out over the water. "Isn't this the Pacific Ocean?"
"Of course."
"Why of course?" he asked.
"Because it's the biggest lot of water in all the world."
"How do you know?"
"Cap'n Bill told me," she said.
"Who's Cap'n Bill?"
"An old sailorman who's a friend of mine. He lives at my house,
too--the white house you see over there on the bluff."
"Oh; is that your home?"
"Yes," said Trot proudly. "Isn't it pretty?"
"It's pretty small, seems to me," answered the boy.
"But it's big enough for mother and me, an' for Cap'n Bill," said Trot.
"Haven't you any father?"
"Yes, 'ndeed. Cap'n Griffith is my father, but he's gone most of the
time, sailin' on his ship. You mus' be a stranger in these parts,
little boy, not to know 'bout Cap'n Griffith," she added, looking at
her new acquaintance intently.
Trot wasn't very big herself, but the boy was not quite as big as Trot.
He was thin, with a rather pale complexion, and his blue eyes were
round and earnest. He wore a blouse waist, a short jacket, and
knickerbo | 3,077.085478 |
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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 italics and small capitals in the original work are
transcribed _between underscores_ and in ALL CAPITALS, respectively.
More Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this text.
GOOD TIMES WITH THE JUNIORS
Good Times
With The Juniors
By
LILIAN M. HEATH
[Illustration]
United Society of Christian Endeavor
Boston and Chicago
COPYRIGHT, 1904,
BY GEORGE B. GRAFF
Preface
“Good times” may be either work or play. But work and play--who shall
define them truly?
Our block houses, toy engines, and dolls once seemed intensely real and
important to us. They are not so now. In the same way, as we grow into
the still larger consciousness, into the “life more abundant,” much that
we now regard as of grave moment will take on a new aspect, and we shall
see that it was only play. But play is blessed, and necessary to the
very growth that discards it.
A dear enthusiast in certain lines of work, who is himself growing, I am
sure, once publicly expressed the belief that too close (!) an adherence
to the Christian Endeavor pledge results in a kind of “paperdolatry”
tending toward idleness and pauperism. Dear, dear! Can this be true?
A look around the social and business world of to-day ought to settle
the question. We take the look, and breathe more freely. Endeavorers
here, Endeavorers there, in places of honor and responsibility--what
could our good friend have been thinking about? We must be permitted to
smile, and think that on consideration he will smile, too. In fact, the
smile cure is the best one for this and all other kinds of pessimism.
Yet we are serious, too. In God’s great kindergarten, where we are all
scholars, learning through our play-work how to live, who shall say
which plays are most--or least--important?
One thing is certain. He who said, “Of such is the kingdom of heaven,”
was speaking of those whose only conscious motive was _play_--natural,
graceful, happy, loving life-expression. The growth resulting was
involuntary. With the growth came new impulses, new activities, and new
growth. It is the plan, in God’s kindergarten. Brother, if we would
_grow_, let us not be afraid of play!
To those whose loving ministry among the Juniors finds frequent occasion
for new plans, this little companion volume to “Eighty Pleasant
Evenings” is offered by one who has found both joy and growth in
preparing it. The proportion of the articles original with the compiler
is larger than in any of her previous collections; but ideas from other
sources have been welcomed and utilized whenever they could be made to
fit the Juniors’ needs.
Credit for specially contributed articles is due to Mr. Vincent Van
Marter Beede, Miss Imogen A. Storey, Miss Mattie Marie Gamble, Miss Ida
M. Parmelee, and Miss Alice Chadwick. The aim has been to make each
evening or afternoon as complete as possible in itself. The games
described are therefore included in the socials and parties, but in
addition to the general table of contents a separate index of games
alone is given, thus helping those who may frequently wish to try new
combinations.
With a smile and a prayer the writer sends forth this beloved piece of
her own life-expression, knowing that it will reach just the right
hands.
Yours in Christian Endeavor,
LILIAN M. HEATH.
Contents
Advertising-Carnival 118
Barrel Brigade 91
Bells of Bonnydingle, The 155
Bird Social 101
Boys’ Book Party, A 113
Card-Pasting 115
Cinderella Reception 139
Climbing the Bean-stalk 116
Evening with “Ads,” An 42
Fairy Strawberry Festival, A 104
Flower-Show, A 41
For the First of April 75
Good Giant, The 23
Good-Luck Social, A 54
Handkerchief Gymnastics 97
Holly and Mistletoe Drill 146
House Book 67
Indian Festival, An 111
Jack Frost Reception 150
Jack-Knife and Scissors Party 62
“<DW61>” Social, A 44
Letter Social 78
Making Valentines 57
Mistress Mary’s Contrary Reception 152
Mysterious Basket-Ball 121
New Kind of Dinner Party, A 60
Orange Social 39
<DW29>-Hunt, A 106
Parlor Athletic Meet, A 69
Parlor Golf Party 119
Parlor Mountain-Climb 93
Pastery Party, A 49
Pillow-Fight, A 52
“Polly Pitcher” Social 66
Puritan Thanksgiving Dinner, A 126
Rainbow Social 96
Rainy Fourth, A 108
Reception at Curlycue Castle 63
Red-Line Jubilee 16
Rope Social, A 20
Santa Claus Drill 11
Sky-Parlor Reception, No. 1 47
Sky-Parlor Reception, No. 2 48
Star Social 141
Teddy and the Goblin 130
Tropical Fair, A 71
Tuffet and the Web, The 81
Washington’s Birthday 72
Good Times With the Juniors.
Santa Claus Drill.
BY IMOGEN A. STOREY.
What would “good times” amount to in any well-regulated Junior society
if they did not begin and end with the Christmas holidays? We begin,
then, with a particularly jolly little drill for Christmas; and, as
the girls so often have these matters all their own way, we will try
for a change letting the boys be foremost this time. They will enjoy
the fun of playing Santa. The Sunday-school primary class, too, must
be drawn upon.--L. M. H.
An equal number of tiny boys and girls are to be used for the first part
of the drill. They should be dressed in their nightclothes, and each
little one should carry a pillow under his or her arm, and a stocking
hung across the shoulder.
The stage must be decorated with holly, mistletoe, and other Christmas
greens. A large fireplace should occupy the centre rear, shown in
Diagram B. A decorated motto, “A Merry Christmas” may be placed above
the mantel. The fireplace can easily be constructed of brick-
fireproof paper, which can be purchased at any hardware store for a
trifle, and with a piece of chalk from the blackboard the bricks can be
imitated.
On each side, as shown in Diagram A, should stand a small Christmas tree
trimmed up in the conventional way, with the exception of candles, which
it is better to omit unless great precaution is used to prevent an
accident. On each tree the lower limbs should be supplied with hooks
corresponding with a buttonhole in each stocking, which will enable the
little ones to hang their stockings quickly and securely on the trees.
The floor should be laid off for the first part as shown in Diagram A. A
different color used in laying off the diagrams for the two parts will
be found a great help, especially to the smaller children.
[Illustration: DIAGRAM A.]
The children enter from the rear, girls from the right and boys from the
left, or vice versa, carrying pillows under their outside arms and
stockings across the same shoulder, and follow lines R and L in A. When
they reach the dots shown on these lines, all extend their inside arms
diagonally up at the side, and grasp the partner’s hand.
When they reach the diagonal lines, they let go hands, and turn on these
lines, as shown by arrows, turning again on the front line. When the
leaders reach lines R and L, a signal from the piano is given to halt.
In halting, each should keep a distance of fifteen inches from the one
in front, the same as in marching. This distance should be kept
throughout the drill. Another signal is now given to face front, all
turning in the direction of the inside arm. They now recite with
gestures:
“We are going to hang up our stockings” (holding stockings out toward
the audience)
“On the Christmas tree” (turning the body just a little and pointing to
the trees),
“And we know old Santa will fill them,
“For we’ve been good” (girls, pointing to themselves)
“And we’ve been good” (boys, pointing to themselves)
“As good as we could be” (all together).
“Then we are going up to bed” (pointing up),
“And go fa-a-a-st asle-e-e-p” (recited very slowly, dropping heads on
the pillows).
“So, when old Santa comes” (heads raised),
“We won’t be awake to peep” (peep through fingers). The music is now
resumed, the leaders turn to the rear, and follow lines R and L, turning
on the rear line, and again on the side lines shown in A. From the side
lines they turn on the dotted lines, which circle the trees. After
circling the trees a few times, with the common skip step familiar to
all children, a signal is given to halt. The stockings are now hung up,
after which the signal is given to get back into line.
After circling the trees a few times more, they continue skipping,
following the dotted lines to the side lines, then to the front line.
When the leaders reach the front line, they turn on the diagonal lines,
resuming the march very softly and slowly, marching on their toes. When | 3,077.085514 |
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Produced by Nathan Harris, Juliet Sutherland, Charles
Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
A DAUGHTER OF FIFE
By
AMELIA E. BARR
AUTHOR OF "JAN VEDDER'S WIFE"
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.--THE BEACHED BOAT
CHAPTER II.--THE UNKNOWN GUEST
CHAPTER III.--THE CAMPBELLS OF MERITON
CHAPTER IV.--MAGGIE AND ANGUS
CHAPTER V.--PARTING
CHAPTER VI.--OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE
CHAPTER VII.--MAGGIE
CHAPTER VIII.--THE BROKEN SIXPENCE
CHAPTER IX.--SEVERED SELVES AND SHADOWS
CHAPTER X.--MAGGIE'S FLIGHT
CHAPTER XI.--DRUMLOCH
CHAPTER XII.--TO THE HEBRIDES
CHAPTER XIII.--THE BROKEN TRYST
CHAPTER XIV.--THE MEETING PLACE
CHAPTER XV.--WOO'D AN' MARRIED AND A'
CHAPTER I.
THE BEACHING OF THE BOAT.
"Thou old gray sea,
Thou broad briny water,
With thy ripple and thy plash,
And thy waves as they lash
The old gray rocks on the shore.
With thy tempests as they roar,
And thy crested billows hoar,
And thy tide evermore
Fresh and free."
--Dr. Blackie.
On the shore of a little land-locked haven, into which the gulls and
terns bring tidings of the sea, stands the fishing hamlet of Pittenloch.
It is in the "East Neuk o' Fife," that bit of old Scotland "fronted with a
girdle of little towns," of which Pittenloch is one of the smallest
and the most characteristic. Some of the cottages stand upon the sands,
others are grouped in a steep glen, and a few surmount the lofty
sea-washed rocks.
To their inhabitants the sea is every thing. Their hopes and fears, their
gains and losses, their joys and sorrows, are linked with it; and the
largeness of the ocean has moulded their feelings and their characters.
They are in a measure partakers of its immensity and its mystery. The
commonest of their men have wrestled with the powers of the air, and the
might of wind, and wave, and icy cold. The weakest of their women have
felt the hallowing touch of sudden calamity, and of long, lonely,
life-and-death, watches. They are intensely religious, they hold
tenaciously to the modes of thought and speech, to the manner of living
and dressing, and to all the household traditions which they have
cherished for centuries.
Two voices only have had the power to move them from the even spirit of
their life--the voice of Knox, and the voice of Chalmers. It was among the
fishers of Fife that Knox began his crusade against popery; and from their
very midst, in later days, sprang the champion of the Free Kirk. Otherwise
rebellions and revolutions troubled them little. Whether Scotland's king
sat in Edinburgh or London--whether Prince Charles or George of Hanover
reigned, was to them of small importance. They lived apart from the battle
of life, and only the things relating to their eternal salvation, or their
daily bread, moved them.
Forty-two years ago there was no landward road to Pittenloch, unless you
followed the goats down the steep rocks. There was not a horse or cart in
the place; probably there was not a man in it who had ever seen a
haymaking. If you went to Pittenloch, you went by the sea; if you left it,
there was the same grand highway. And the great, bearded, sinewy men,
bending to the oars, and sending the boat spinning through clouds of
spindrift, made it, after all, a right royal road.
Forty-two years ago, one wild March afternoon, a young woman was standing
on the beach of Pittenloch. There was an ominous wail in the sea, telling
of the fierce tide yet to come; and all around her whirling wraiths of
vapor sweeping across the level sands. From a little distance, she
appeared like a woman standing amid gray clouds--a sombre, solid, figure;
whose attitude was one of grave thoughtfulness. Approaching nearer, it was
evident that her gaze was fixed upon a fishing boat which had been drawn
high upon the shingle; and from which a party of heavy-footed fishermen
were slowly retreating.
She was a beautiful woman; tall, supple, erect; with a positive splendor
of health and color. Her dress was that of the Fife fisher-girl; a
blue flannel jacket, a very short white and yellow petticoat, and a
white cap drawn over her hair, and tied down with a lilac kerchief
knotted under the chin. This kerchief outlined the superb oval of her
face; and made more remarkable the large gray eyes, the red curved
mouth, and the wide white brow. She was barefooted, and she tapped
one foot restlessly upon the wet sands, to relieve, by physical motion,
her mental tension and sorrow.
It was Maggie Promoter, and the boat which had just been so solemnly
"beached" had been her father's. It was a good boat, strong in every
timber, an old world Buckie skiff, notorious for fending in foundering
seas; but it had failed Promoter in the last storm, and three days after
he and his sons had gone to the bottom had been found floating in Largo
Bay.
If it had been a conscious criminal, a boat which had wilfully and
carelessly sacrificed life, it could hardly have been touched with more
dislike; and in accordance with the ancient law of the Buchan and Fife
fishers, it was "_put from the sea_." Never again might it toss on
the salt free waves, and be trusted with fishermen's lives. Silently it
was drawn high up on the desolate shingle, and left to its long and
shameful decay.
Maggie had watched the ceremony from a little distance; but when the
fishers had disappeared in the gathering mist, she slowly approached the
boat. There it lay, upside down, black and lonely, far beyond the highest
mark of any pitying tide. She fancied that the insensate timber had a look
of shame and suffering, and she spoke to it, as if it had a soul to
comprehend her:--
"Lizzie! Lizzie! What cam' o'er you no to bide right side up? Four gude
men to your keeping, Lizzie, and you lost them a'. Think shame o' yersel',
think shame o' yersel', for the sorrow you hae brought! You'll be a heart
grief to me as long as you lie there; for I named you mysel', little
thinking o' what would come o' it."
For a few minutes she stood looking at the condemned and unfortunate boat
in silence; then she turned and began to walk rapidly toward the nearest
cluster of cottages. The sea fog was rolling in thick, with the tide, and
the air was cold and keen. A voice called her through it, and she answered
the long-drawn "Maggie" with three cheerful words, "I'm coming, Davie."
Very soon Davie loomed through the fog, and throwing a plaid about her,
said, "What for did you go near the boat, Maggie? When you ken where ill
luck is, you should keep far from it."
"A better looking or a bonnier boat I ne'er saw, Davie."
"It's wi' boats, as it is wi' men and women; some for destruction,
some for salvation. The Powers above hae the ordering o' it, and it's
a' right, Maggie."
"That's what folks say. I'm dooting it mysel'. It's our ain fault some
way. Noo there would be a false plumb in yonder boat, though we didna ken
it."
"Weel, weel, she failed in what was expected o' her, and she's got her
deserts. We must tak' care o' our ain job. But I hae news for you, and if
you'll mak' a cup o' tea, and toast a Finnin haddie, we'll talk it o'er."
The Promoter cottage was in a bend of the hills, but so near the sea that
the full tide broke almost at its door, and then drew the tinkling pebbles
down the beach after it. It was a low stone dwelling, white-washed, and
heather-roofed, and containing only three rooms. David and Maggie entered
the principal one together. Its deal furniture was spotless, its floor
cleanly sanded, and a bright turf fire was burning on the brick hearth.
Some oars and creels were hung against the wall, and on a pile of nets in
the warmest corner, a little laddie belonging to a neighbor's household
was fast asleep.
Maggie quickly threw on more turf, and drew the crane above the fire, and
hung the kettle upon it. Then with a light and active step she set about
toasting the oat cake and the haddie, and making the tea, and setting the
little round table. But her heart was heavy enough. Scarcely a week before
her father and three eldest brothers had gone out to the fishing, and
perished in a sudden storm; and the house place, so lately busy and noisy
with the stir of nearly half-a-dozen menfolk, was now strangely still and
lonely.
Maggie was a year older than her brother David, but she never thought of
assuming any authority over him. In the first place, he had the privilege
of sex; in the next, David Promoter was generally allowed to be
"extr'onar' wise-like and unwardly in a' his ways." In fact there had been
an intention of breaking through the family traditions and sending him to
the University of Aberdeen. Latterly old Promoter had smoked his pipe very
often to the ambitious hope of a minister in his family. David's brothers
and sister had also learned to look upon the lad as destined by Providence
to bring holy honors upon the household. No thought of jealousy had marred
their intended self-denial in their younger brother's behalf. Their stern
Calvinism taught them that Jacob's and Jesse's families were not likely to
be the only ones in which the younger sons should be chosen for vessels of
honor; and Will Promoter, the eldest of the brothers, spoke for all, when
he said, "Send Davie to Aberdeen, fayther; gladly we will a' of us help
wi' the fees; and may be we shall live to see a great minister come oot o'
the fishing boats."
But though the intended sacrifice had been a sincerely pure and unselfish
one, it had nevertheless been refused. Why it had been refused, was the
question filling David's heart with doubt and despair, as he sat with his
head in his hands, gazing into the fire that March afternoon. Maggie was
watching him, though he did not perceive it, and by an almost unconscious
mental act was comparing him with his dead brothers. They had been simply
strong fair fishers, with that open air look men get who continually set
their faces to the winds and waves. David was different altogether. He was
exceedingly tall, and until years filled in his huge framework of bone and
muscle, would very likely be called "gawky." But he had the face of a
mediaeval ecclesiastic; spare, and sallow, and pointed at the chin. His
hair, black and exceeding fine, hung naturally in long, straggling masses;
his mouth was straight and perhaps a little cruel; his black, deep set
eyes had the glow in them of a passionate and mystical soul. Such a man,
if he had not been reared in the straitest sect of Calvinism, would have
adopted it--for it was his soul's native air.
That he should go to the university and become a minister seemed to David
as proper as that an apple tree should bear an apple. As soon as it was
suggested, he felt himself in the moderator's chair of the general
assembly. "Why had such generous and holy hopes been destroyed?" Maggie
knew the drift of his thoughts, and she hastened her preparations for tea;
for though it is a humiliating thing to admit, the most sacred of our
griefs are not independent of mere physical comforts. David's and Maggie's
sorrow was a deep and poignant one, but the refreshing tea and cake and
fish were at least the vehicle of consolation. As they ate they talked to
one another, and David's brooding despair was for the hour dissipated.
During the days of alternating hope and disappointment following the storm
in which the Promoters perished, they had not permitted themselves to
think, much less to speak of a future which did not include those who
might yet return. But hope was over. When Promoter's mates beached his
boat, both David and Maggie understood the rite to be a funeral one. It
was not customary for women to go to fun | 3,077.991146 |
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CRITICISMS ON "THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES"
'The Natural History Review', 1864
[1]
By Thomas H. Huxley
In the course of | 3,077.99124 |
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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)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Bold text has been rendered as =bold text=.
THE TALK OF THE TOWN
VOL. I.
[Illustration: MISS MARGARET LIFTED HER EYES FROM HER PLATE WITH A
SMILE OF WELCOME.]
THE TALK OF THE TOWN
BY
JAMES PAYN
AUTHOR OF ‘BY PROXY’ ETC. ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
_SECOND EDITION_
LONDON
SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1885
[_All rights reserved_]
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.
CHAP. PAGE
I. AUNT MARGARET 1
II. OUT IN THE COLD 11
III. A RECITATION 28
IV. A REAL ENTHUSIAST 47
V. THE OLD SETTLE 66
VI. AN AUDACIOUS CRITICISM 87
VII. A COLLECTOR’S GRATITUDE 101
VIII. HOW TO GET RID OF A COMPANY 120
IX. AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 144
X. TWO POETS 158
XI. THE LOVE-LOCK 171
XII. A DELICATE TASK 183
XIII. THE PROFESSION OF FAITH 196
XIV. THE EXAMINERS 218
XV. AT VAUXHALL 230
XVI. A BOMBSHELL 246
XVII. THE MARE’S NEST 259
XVIII. ‘WHATEVER HAPPENS, I SHALL LOVE YOU, WILLIE’ 271
_ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. 1._
MISS MARGARET LIFTED HER EYES FROM HER
PLATE WITH A SMILE OF WELCOME _Frontispiece_
‘SCIENCE!’ INTERRUPTED THE ANTIQUARY,
VEHEMENTLY, ‘THAT IS THE ARGUMENT
OF THE ATHEIST AGAINST THE SCRIPTURES.’ _to face p._ 98
THE DILETTANTI ” 134
‘MAGGIE, MAGGIE, HERE IS A PRESENT FOR
YOU.’ ” 174
THE PROFESSION OF FAITH ” 206
VAUXHALL GARDENS ” 236
A VERY CHEERLESS PROCEEDING ” 262
THE TALK OF THE TOWN.
CHAPTER I.
AUNT MARGARET.
[Illustration]
WHEN I was a very young man nothing used to surprise me more than the
existence of a very old one—one of those patriarchs who, instead of
linking the generations ‘each with each,’ include two or three in their
protracted span; a habit which runs in families, as in the case of the
old gentleman of our own time whose grandsire (once or twice ‘removed,’
it is true, but not nearly so often as ‘by rights’ he should have been)
gathered the arrows upon Flodden Field. Such persons seemed to me
little inferior in interest to ghosts (whom indeed in appearance they
greatly resembled), and I was wont to listen to their experiences of
the past with the same rapt attention, (unalloyed by the alarm), that
I should have paid to a denizen of another world. There are, it seems
to me, very few old persons about now, absolutely none (there used to
be plenty) three or four times my age; and this, perhaps, renders the
memory (for she did die at last) of my great-aunt Margaret a thing so
rare and precious to me.
She was born, as we, her young relatives, were wont to say, ‘ages and
ages ago,’ but as a matter of fact just one age ago; that is to say, if
she had been alive but a few years back, she would have been exactly
one hundred years old. Think of it, my young friends who are about to
be so good, in your turn, as to give her story your attention—think of
it having been possible that you yourselves should have met this very
personage in the flesh (though the poor dear had but little of it)—you
perhaps in your goat carriage, upon the King’s Parade, Brighton, and
she in her wheeled chair—the two extremities (on wheels) of human life!
To things you have read of as history, matters as dead and gone to
you, if not quite so old, as the Peloponnesian war, she was a living
witness. She was alive, for example, though not of an age to ‘take
notice’ of the circumstances, when the independence of America was
acknowledged by the mother country, and when England was beginning to
solace herself for that disruption by the acquisition of India. If Aunt
Margaret did not know as much about Hyder Ali as became a contemporary,
with matters nearer home, such as the loss of the ‘Royal George,’ ‘with
all her crew (or nearly so) complete,’ she was very conversant. ‘I saw
it,’ she was used to say, ‘with my own eyes;’ and it was only by the
strictest cross-examination that you could get her to confess that
she was but a child in arms when that catastrophe took place. As to
politics, indeed, though we were at war with everybody in those times,
the absence of special correspondents, telegraphs, and even newspapers,
made public matters of much more limited interest than it is nowadays
easy to imagine. Aunt Margaret, at all events, cared almost nothing
about them, with the exception of the doings of the pressgang—an
institution of which she always spoke with the liveliest horror. On
some one, however, chancing to say in her hearing (and by way of
corroboration of her views) that it was marvellous how men who had been
so infamously treated should have been got to fight under the national
flag, she let fly at him like the broadside of a seventy-gun frigate,
and gave him to understand that the sailors of those days had never
had their equals. On that, as on all other subjects, she exercised the
right of criticism upon the institutions of her time to an unlimited
extent, but if they were attacked by others she became their defender.
Her chief concern, however, was with social matters, when speaking of
which she seemed entirely to forget the age in which she was living:
it was as though some ancestress, in hoop and farthingale, had stepped
down from her picture and read us a page of the diary she had written
overnight. She seemed hardly like one of ourselves at all, though
it was obvious enough that she was of the female gender, from the
prominence she gave to the topic of costumes. She confessed that she
preferred the hair ‘undressed’—a phrase which misled her more youthful
hearers, who imagined her to be praising a dissolute luxuriance of
love-locks, which was very far from her intention; on the other hand,
she lamented the disuse of black satin breeches, which she ascribed to
the general decay of limb among the male sex. There was nothing like
your top-boots and hessians, she would say, for morning wear, but in
the evening, every man that had a leg was, in her opinion, bound to
show it.
I have reason to believe that my aunt Margaret was the last person
who ever journeyed from London to Brighton in a post-chaise—a mode
of travel, she was wont to remark, justly eulogised by the wisest and
best of men and Londoners. If he had been spared to see a railway
locomotive, she expressed herself as confident that he would have
considered it the direct offspring of the devil; and that conjectural
opinion of the great lexicographer she herself shared to her dying
day. Like him, she was a Londoner, and took an immense interest, not
municipal of course, but social, in the affairs of the great city. ‘My
dear,’ she often used to say reprovingly, when speaking of some event
of which I was obliged to confess I had never so much as heard, ‘it was
the topic of every tongue.’
Although she had never been the theme of London gossip herself,
she had been very closely connected with one who had been; and to
those who were intimate with her he was the constant subject of her
discourse. Her thoughts dwelt more with him, I am sure, than with all
the other personages together with whom she had been acquainted during
her earthly pilgrimage; and yet she always thought of him in his
adolescence, as a very young man.
‘He was just your age, my dear,’ she was wont to say to me, ‘when he
became the “Talk of the Town.”’
Perhaps this circumstance gave him an additional interest in my eyes;
but certainly her account of this one famous personage was more
interesting to me than everything else which Aunt Margaret had to
tell me. It has dwelt in my mind for many a year, and when this is
the case with any story, I have generally found that I have been able
to interest others in its recital. In this particular case, however,
my way is not so plain as usual. The story is not _my_ story, nor
even Aunt Margaret’s; in its more important details it is common
property. On the other hand, not even the oldest inhabitant has any
remembrance of it. The hearts that were once wounded to the quick by
the occurrences which I am about to describe can be no more pained
by any allusion to them; they have long been dust. No relative, to
my knowledge, is now living of the unfortunate young man whose
memory—execrated by the crowd—was kept so green and fresh (watered by
her tears) by one living soul for nearly eighty years. Why should I not
tell his ‘pitiful story?’
A second question, however, presents itself at the outset concerning
him. Shall I give or conceal his name? I here frankly confess that in
its broad details the tale has no novelty to recommend it: it is not
only true, but it has been told. The bald, bare facts have been put
before the public by the youth himself nearly a hundred years since.
There is the rub. To a few ‘persons of culture,’ as the phrase goes
nowadays, the main incident of his career will be familiar; though,
however cultured, it is unlikely they will know how it affected my
great-aunt Margaret; but to tens of thousands (including, I’ll be
bound, the upper ten) it will be utterly unknown.
Now I have noticed that there is nothing your well-informed person so
much delights in as to make other people aware of his being so. Indeed,
the chief use of information in his eyes is not so much to raise
oneself above the crowd (though a sense of elevation is agreeable), as
to have the privilege of imparting it to others with a noble air of
superiority and self-importance. I will therefore call my hero by such
a name as will at once be recognised by the learned, whom I shall thus
render my intermediaries—exponents of the transparent secret to those
who are in blissful ignorance of it. I will call him William Henry Erin.
I must add in justice to myself that the story was not told me in
confidence.
How could it be so when at the very beginning of our intimacy the
narrator had already almost reached the extreme limit of human life,
while I had but just left school? It was the similarity of age on my
part with that of the person she had in her mind which no doubt, in
part at least, caused her to make me the repository of her long-buried
sorrow. She judged, and rightly judged, that for that reason I was more
likely to sympathise with it. Indeed, whenever she spoke of it I forgot
her age; as in the case of the pictured grandmamma so felicitously
described by Mr. Locker, I used to think of her at such times—
As she looked at seventeen
As a bride.
Her rounded form was lean,
And her silk was bombazine,
Well I wot.
With her needles she would sit,
And for hours would she knit,
Would she not?
Ah, perishable clay!
Her charms had dropped away,
One by one.
Yet when she spoke of the lover of her youth, there seemed nothing
incongruous in her so doing. I forgot the Long Ago in which her tale
was placed; her talk, indeed, on those occasions being of those human
feelings which are independent of any epoch, took little or no colour
from the past; it seemed to me a story of to-day, and as such I now
relate it.
CHAPTER | 3,077.992424 |
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Produced by Bryan Ness, Keith Edkins and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE VISCERA IN POSITION.]
* * * * *
A
TREATISE
ON
PHYSIOLOGY AND HYGIENE
FOR
EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS AND GENERAL READERS.
_FULLY ILLUSTRATED._
BY
JOSEPH C. HUTCHISON, M. D.,
_President of the New York Pathological Society, Vice-President of the New
York
Academy of Medicine, Surgeon to the Brooklyn City Hospital, late
President
of the Medical Society of the State of New York, etc._
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
CLARK & MAYNARD, PUBLISHERS,
5 BARCLAY STREET.
1872.
* * * * *
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870,
By CLARK & MAYNARD.
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Stereotyped by LITTLE, RENNIE & CO.
645 and 647 Broadway.
* * * * *
TO MY WIFE,
WHOSE SYMPATHY HAS, FOR MORE THAN TWENTY YEARS, LIGHTENED THE
CARES INCIDENT TO
_AN ACTIVE PROFESSIONAL LIFE_,
THIS HUMBLE VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
* * * * *
{3}
PREFACE.
------o------
This work is designed to present the leading facts and principles of human
Physiology and Hygiene in clear and concise language, so that pupils in
schools and colleges, and readers not familiar with the subjects, may
readily comprehend them. Anatomy, or a description of the structure of an
organ, is of course necessary to the understanding of its Physiology, or
its uses. Enough of the former study has, therefore, been introduced, to
enable the pupil to enter intelligently upon the latter.
Familiar language, as far as practicable, has been employed, rather than
that of a technical character. With a view, however, to supply what might
seem to some a deficiency in this regard, a Pronouncing Glossary has been
added, which will enable the inquirer to understand the meaning of many
scientific terms not in common use.
In the preparation of the work the writer has carefully examined all the
best material at his command, and freely used it; the special object being
to have it abreast of the present knowledge on the subjects treated, as far
as such is possible in a work so elementary as this. The discussion of
disputed points has been avoided, it being manifestly inappropriate in a
work of this kind.
Instruction in the rudiments of Physiology in schools does not necessitate
the general practice of dissections, or of experiments upon animals. The
most important subjects may be illustrated by {4 | 3,078.084719 |
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Produced by Adrian Mastronardi, 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)
THE INFLUENCE OF
DARWIN ON PHILOSOPHY
And Other Essays in Contemporary
Thought
BY
JOHN DEWEY
_Professor of Philosophy in Columbia University_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1910,
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
_Published April, 1910_
PREFACE
An elaborate preface to a philosophic work usually impresses one as a
last desperate effort on the part of its author to convey what he feels
he has not quite managed to say in the body of his book. Nevertheless,
a collection of essays on various topics written during a series
of years may perhaps find room for an independent word to indicate
the kind of unity they seem, to their writer, to possess. Probably
every one acquainted with present philosophic thought--found, with
some notable exceptions, in periodicals rather than in books--would
term it a philosophy of transition and reconstruction. Its various
representatives agree in what they oppose--the orthodox British
empiricism of two generations ago and the orthodox Neo-Kantian idealism
of the last generation--rather than in what they proffer.
The essays of this volume belong, I suppose, to what has come
to be known (since the earlier of them were written) as the
pragmatic phase of the newer movement. Now a recent German critic
has described pragmatism as, “Epistemologically, nominalism;
psychologically, voluntarism; cosmologically, energism; metaphysically,
agnosticism; ethically, meliorism on the basis of the Bentham-Mill
utilitarianism.”[1] It may be that pragmatism will turn out to be all
of this formidable array; but even should it, the one who thus defines
it has hardly come within earshot of it. For whatever else pragmatism
is or is not, the pragmatic spirit is primarily a revolt against that
habit of mind which disposes of anything whatever--even so humble an
affair as a new method in Philosophy--by tucking it away, after this
fashion, in the pigeon holes of a filing cabinet. There are other vital
phases of contemporary transition and revision; there are, for example,
a new realism and naturalistic idealism. When I recall that I find
myself more interested (even though their representatives might decline
to reciprocate) in such phases than in the systems marked by the labels
of our German critic, I am confirmed in a belief that after all it is
better to view pragmatism quite vaguely as part and parcel of a general
movement of intellectual reconstruction. For otherwise we seem to have
no recourse save to define pragmatism--as does our German author--in
terms of the very past systems against which it is a reaction; or, in
escaping that alternative, to regard it as a fixed rival system making
like claim to completeness and finality. And if, as I believe, one of
the marked traits of the pragmatic movement is just the surrender of
every such claim, how have we furthered our understanding of pragmatism?
Classic philosophies have to be revised because they must be squared
up with the many social and intellectual tendencies that have
revealed themselves since those philosophies matured. The conquest
of the sciences by the experimental method of inquiry; the injection
of evolutionary ideas into the study of life and society; the
application of the historic method to religions and morals as well
as to institutions; the creation of the sciences of “origins” and
of the cultural development of mankind--how can such intellectual
changes occur and leave philosophy what it was and where it was? Nor
can philosophy remain an indifferent spectator of the rise of what
may be termed the new individualism in art and letters, with its
naturalistic method applied in a religious, almost mystic spirit to
what is primitive, obscure, varied, inchoate, and growing in nature
and human character. The age of Darwin, Helmholtz, Pasteur, Ibsen,
Maeterlinck, Rodin, and Henry James must feel some uneasiness until
it has liquidated its philosophic inheritance in current intellectual
coin. And to accuse those who are concerned in this transaction of
ignorant contempt for the classic past of philosophy is to overlook
the inspiration the movement of translation draws from the fact that
the history of philosophy has become only too well understood.
Any revision of customary notions with its elimination--instead of
“solution”--of many traditionary problems cannot hope, however, for
any unity save that of tendency and operation. Elaborate and imposing
system, the regimenting and uniforming of thoughts, are, at present,
evidence that we are assisting at a stage performance in which
borrowed--or hired--figures are maneuvering. Tentatively and piecemeal
must the reconstruction of our stock notions proceed. As a contribution
to such a revision, the present collection of essays is submitted. With
one or two exceptions, their order is that of a reversed chronology,
the later essays coming first. The facts regarding the conditions of
their first appearance are given in connection with each essay. I
wish to thank the Editors of the _Philosophical Review_, of _Mind_,
of the _Hibbert Journal_, of the _Journal of Philosophy, Psychology,
and Scientific Methods_, and of the _Popular Science Monthly_, and
the Directors of the Press of Chicago and Columbia Universities,
respectively, for permission to reprint such of the essays as appeared
originally under their several auspices.
JOHN DEWEY
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY,
NEW YORK CITY, March 1, 1910.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE INFLUENCE OF DARWINISM ON PHILOSOPHY 1
NATURE AND ITS GOOD: A CONVERSATION 20
INTELLIGENCE AND MORALS 46
THE EXPERIMENTAL THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE 77
THE INTELLECTUALIST CRITERION FOR TRUTH 112
A SHORT CATECHISM CONCERNING TRUTH 154
BELIEFS AND EXISTENCES 169
EXPERIENCE AND OBJECTIVE IDEALISM 198
THE POSTULATE OF IMMEDIATE EMPIRICISM 226
“CONSCIOUSNESS” AND EXPERIENCE 242
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE PROBLEM OF KNOWLEDGE 271
THE INFLUENCE OF DARWINISM ON PHILOSOPHY[2]
I
That the publication of the “Origin of Species” marked an epoch in
the development of the natural sciences is well known to the layman.
That the combination of the very words origin and species embodied
an intellectual revolt and introduced a new intellectual temper is
easily overlooked by the expert. The conceptions that had reigned
in the philosophy of nature and knowledge for two thousand years,
the conceptions that had become the familiar furniture of the mind,
rested on the assumption of the superiority of the fixed and final;
they rested upon treating change and origin as signs of defect and
unreality. In laying hands upon the sacred ark of absolute permanency,
in treating the forms that had been regarded as types of fixity and
perfection as originating and passing away, the “Origin of Species”
introduced a mode of thinking that in the end was bound to transform
the logic of knowledge, and hence the treatment of morals, politics,
and religion.
No wonder, then, that the publication of Darwin’s book, a half century
ago, precipitated a crisis. The true nature of the controversy is
easily concealed from us, however, by the theological clamor that
attended it. The vivid and popular features of the anti-Darwinian row
tended to leave the impression that the issue was between science
on one side and theology on the other. Such was not the case--the
issue lay primarily within science itself, as Darwin himself early
recognized. The theological outcry he discounted from the start,
hardly noticing it save as it bore upon the “feelings of his
female relatives.” But for two decades before final publication he
contemplated the possibility of being put down by his scientific peers
as a fool or as crazy; and he set, as the measure of his success,
the degree in which he should affect three men of science: Lyell in
geology, Hooker in botany, and Huxley in zoology.
Religious considerations lent fervor to the controversy, but they did
not provoke it. Intellectually, religious emotions are not creative but
conservative. They attach themselves readily to the current view of
the world and consecrate it. They steep and dye intellectual fabrics
in the seething vat of emotions; they do not form their warp and woof.
There is not, I think, an instance of any large idea about the world
being independently generated by religion. Although the ideas that rose
up like armed men against Darwinism owed their intensity to religious
associations, their origin and meaning are to be sought in science and
philosophy, not in religion.
II
Few words in our language foreshorten intellectual history as much
as does the word species. The Greeks, in initiating the intellectual
life of Europe, were impressed by characteristic traits of the life of
plants and animals; so impressed indeed that they made these traits the
key to defining nature and to explaining mind and society. And truly,
life is so wonderful that a seemingly successful reading of its mystery
might well lead men to believe that the key to the secrets of heaven
and earth was in their hands. The Greek rendering of this mystery,
the Greek formulation of the aim and standard of knowledge, was in
the course of time embodied in the word species, and it controlled
philosophy for two thousand years. To understand the intellectual
face-about expressed in the phrase “Origin of Species,” we must, then,
understand the long dominant idea against which it is a protest.
Consider how men were impressed by the facts of life. Their eyes fell
upon certain things slight in bulk, and frail in structure. To every
appearance, these perceived things were inert and passive. Suddenly,
under certain circumstances, these things--henceforth known as seeds
or eggs or germs--begin to change, to change rapidly in size, form,
and qualities. Rapid and extensive changes occur, however, in many
things--as when wood is touched by fire. But the changes in the living
thing are orderly; they are cumulative; they tend constantly in one
direction; they do not, like other changes, destroy or consume, or
pass fruitless into wandering flux; they realize and fulfil. Each
successive stage, no matter how unlike its predecessor, preserves
its net effect and also prepares the way for a fuller activity on
the part of its successor. In living beings, changes do not happen
as they seem to happen elsewhere, any which way; the earlier changes
are regulated in view of later results. This progressive organization
does not cease till there is achieved a true final term, a τελὸς, a
completed, perfected end. This final | 3,078.179232 |
2023-11-16 19:08:22.1655320 | 7,436 | 7 |
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.)
PISTOL AND REVOLVER SHOOTING
Pistol and Revolver Shooting
BY A. L. A. HIMMELWRIGHT
_Illustrated_
OUTING HANDBOOKS
_Number 34_
NEW YORK
OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
MCMXVI
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY The Macmillan Co.
COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY A. L. A. Himmelwright
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
All rights reserved
Fully Revised
PREFACE
Interest in pistol and revolver shooting has increased very rapidly in
recent years and particularly since smokeless powder has been introduced.
The revolver and the magazine pistol now constitute part of the regular
equipment of army and navy officers and cavalry troops. Regulations
governing practice shooting with these arms have been issued and adopted
by both branches of the service and by the National Guard of the various
States. In the National Rifle Association and in the various State rifle
associations that have recently been organized, pistol and revolver
shooting has an important place, and the matches provided are largely
patronized. In the numerous civilian shooting clubs scattered throughout
the country pistol and revolver shooting has become extremely popular, and
in many cases the majority of the members practice more frequently with
the smaller arms than with the rifle.
Practice with the pistol and revolver affords training in sighting, steady
holding, and pulling the trigger, which are the essential features of
rifle shooting also. On account of this relation, and the fact that skill
with these arms can be instantly utilized in rifle shooting, the
development of marksmanship with the pistol and revolver assumes national
importance.
While numerous standard works have been written on the subject of rifle
shooting, there is comparatively little information available on pistol
and revolver shooting. The object of this volume is to supply practical
information on this subject. The author has attempted to treat the subject
in a clear and concise manner, keeping the size of the volume as small as
practicable and so as to be conveniently carried in the pocket. Particular
pains have been taken to give sound advice and elementary instruction to
beginners.
The author extends his grateful acknowledgments to Baron Speck von
Sternburg, Messrsr. J. B. Crabtree, John T. Humphrey, William E. Carlin,
Chas. S. Axtell, Walter Winans, Walter G. Hudson, Ed. Taylor, J. E.
Silliman, M. Hays, and the various arms and ammunition manufacturers
referred to herein, for valuable assistance, suggestions, information and
_data_ in preparing this volume.
A. L. A. HIMMELWRIGHT.
_Stockholm, N. J._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCTORY AND HISTORICAL 13
II. ARMS 17
III. AMMUNITION 37
IV. SIGHTS 62
V. SHOOTING POSITION 67
VI. TARGET-SHOOTING 70
VII. TARGETS 86
VIII. TARGET PRACTICE 94
IX. REVOLVER PRACTICE FOR THE POLICE 99
X. PISTOL SHOOTING FOR LADIES 107
XI. CLUBS AND RANGES 111
XII. HINTS TO BEGINNERS 122
XIII. RELOADING AMMUNITION 147
APPENDIX 167
ILLUSTRATIONS
Smith & Wesson.38-Caliber Revolver}
Colt Army Special Revolver } FACING PAGE 22
Smith & Wesson.44-Caliber Revolver}
Colt New Service Revolver }
Smith & Wesson Russian Model Revolver} " " 24
Colt Single Action Revolver }
Webley & Scott "W. S." Model Revolver}
Webley & Fosbury Automatic Revolver } " " 26
Colt Automatic Pistol }
Parabellum or "Luger" Automatic Pistol}
Webley & Scott Automatic Pistol } " " 28
Mauser Automatic Pistol }
Smith & Wesson Pistol }
Remington Pistol } " " 30
Stevens Pistol, Gould Model}
Adolph Weber Pistol }
Gastinne-Renette Pistol } " " 32
Colt Automatic Target Pistol }
Colt Police Positive Revolver}
Smith & Wesson Hand Ejector Revolver }
Smith & Wesson Double Action Perfected }
Revolver } " " 34
Smith & Wesson Safety Hammerless Revolver}
Smith & Wesson Pocket Revolver }
Colt Police Positive Target Revolver}
Stevens Diamond Model Pistol } " " 36
Colt Automatic Pocket Pistol }
Colt Automatic Pocket Pistol }
Savage Automatic Pocket Pistol } " " 38
Smith & Wesson Automatic Pocket Pistol}
Military Sights PAGE 62
Paine Sights } FACING PAGE 63
Patridge Sights}
Lyman Sights } " " 64
The Wespi Searchlight Sight}
Walter Winans, C. S. Axtell, Thomas
Anderton " " 68
John A. Dietz, E. E. Patridge, Sergt. W.
E. Petty " " 72
J. E. Gorman, R. H. Sayre, A. P. Lane " " 76
J. H. Snook, George Armstrong, P. J.
Dolfen " " 78
Standard American Target PAGE 87
U. S. R. A. Combination Target " 88
The International Union Target " 89
Target L. (U. S. Army) " 91
Combination Set: Revolver, Pistol, Utensils,
and Case " 109
Details of Alternating Targets, Pit, etc., for
50-yard Range " 114
Details of Booths at Firing Line, "Trolleys,"
and Butts for Gallery Ranges " 117
Shooting Gallery of the Crescent Athletic
Club, Brooklyn, N. Y. FACING PAGE 120
Correct Manner of Holding the Revolver " " 124
Correct Position of the Sights in Aiming at
the Target PAGE 128
Showing the Travel of the Line of the Sights
About the Bullseye in Aiming " 130
Moulding Bullets " 151
PISTOL AND REVOLVER SHOOTING
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY AND HISTORICAL
Pistol shooting has been practiced ever since "grained" gunpowder came
into general use. It is only recently, however, that it has developed into
a popular pastime and has been recognized as a legitimate sport.[1]
The useful and practical qualities of the pistol and revolver have been
developed almost wholly during the last half-century. Before this period
the small arms designed to be fired with one hand were crude and
inaccurate, and were intended to be used only at short range as weapons of
defense. The single-barreled muzzle-loading pistol has, nevertheless, been
part of the army and navy officer's equipment since the sixteenth century.
These pistols were of large caliber, smooth-bored, heavy, and unwieldy.
The load was a spherical bullet and a large charge of powder. Enough
accuracy was obtained to hit a man at 15 to 20 paces, which was deemed
sufficient. The usefulness of these arms in action was limited to the
firing of a single shot, and then using them as missiles or clubs.
The pistol in early days was considered a gentleman's arm--a luxury. It
was the arm generally selected for duelling when that code was in vogue,
the contestants standing 10 to 20 paces apart and firing at the word of
command.
The development of the pistol has been contemporaneous and closely
identified with that of the rifle. With the grooving or rifling of the
barrel, the accuracy was greatly improved and the arm adapted to conical
bullets. Although numerous attempts were made to devise a multishot arm
with flint, wheel, and match locks, it was not until the percussion cap
was invented that a practicable arm of this character was produced. This
was a "revolver" invented by Colonel Colt of Hartford, Conn., in 1835, and
consisted of a single barrel with a revolving cylinder at the breech
containing the charges, the mechanism being such that the cocking of the
piece after each discharge revolved the cylinder sufficiently to bring a
loaded chamber in line with the barrel.
The greatest advance in the development of firearms was the introduction
of the system of breech-loading, employing ammunition in the form of
cartridges. This principle rendered the operation of loading much simpler
and quicker, and vastly improved the efficiency and general utility of the
arms.[2]
The present popularity of pistol and revolver shooting is due, no doubt,
to recent improvements in the arms and ammunition. The arms are now
marvels of fine workmanship, easy to manipulate, durable, and extremely
accurate. With the introduction of smokeless powders, the smoke, fouling,
and noise have been reduced to a minimum. The effect of these improvements
has been, not only to increase the efficiency of the arms, but also the
pleasure of shooting them.
As a sport, pistol shooting has much to commend it. It is a healthful
exercise, being practiced out-of-doors in the open air. There are no
undesirable concomitants, such as gambling, coarseness, and rough and
dangerous play. In order to excel, regular and temperate habits of life
must be formed and maintained. It renders the senses more alert and trains
them to act in unison and in harmony. But, above all, skill in shooting is
a useful accomplishment.
Anyone possessing ordinary health and good sight may, by practice, become
a good pistol shot. Persons who are richly endowed by nature with those
physical qualities which specially fit them for expert shooting will, of
course, master the art sooner than those less favored; but it has been
conclusively shown that excellence is more a question of training and
practice than of natural gift. Some of the most brilliant shooting has
been done by persons possessing a decidedly nervous temperament; but those
of phlegmatic temperament will generally make more uniform and reliable
marksmen.
It is much more difficult to shoot well with the pistol or revolver than
with the rifle. The latter, having a stock to rest against the shoulder
and steady one end of the piece, has a decided advantage in quick aiming
and in pulling the trigger. The former, without a stock and being held in
one hand with the arm extended so as to be free from the body, is without
any anchor or support whatever, and is free to move in all directions.
Consequently the least jar, jerk in pulling the trigger, puff of wind, or
unsteadiness of the hand greatly disturbs the aim. Intelligent practice
will, however, overcome these difficulties and disadvantages to such a
degree that an expert shot with a pistol or revolver under favorable
conditions can equal a fair shot with a rifle at the target up to 200
yards. When the novice essays to shoot the pistol or revolver, the results
are generally disappointing and discouraging; but rapid progress
invariably rewards the efforts of those who persevere, and when once
thoroughly interested in this style of shooting, there comes a fascination
for it that frequently endures throughout a lifetime.
CHAPTER II
ARMS
The term "pistol" is frequently applied indiscriminately to the
single-shot pistol and the revolver. A marked distinction between these
arms has gradually been developed.
The pistol is now recognized as a single-shot arm, adapted for a light
charge and designed to secure extreme accuracy. Its use is limited almost
exclusively to target and exhibition shooting.
The modern revolver is an arm with a revolving cylinder holding five or
six cartridges, which are at the instant command of the shooter before it
is necessary to reload. It is designed for heavy charges, and is a
practical and formidable weapon. Revolvers are made in great variety, and
adapted for various purposes, such as military service, target shooting,
pocket weapons, etc. The best grades of pistols and revolvers may be had
at a reasonable price. The cheap grades with which the market is at all
times flooded should be avoided. They are incapable of doing good work,
and frequently are positively dangerous, on account of being made of
inferior materials.
The magazine or automatic pistol is the latest type of hand firearm. It is
a multishot pistol in which the mechanism is operated automatically by the
recoil. Pulling the trigger is the only manual operation necessary to fire
successive shots until the supply of cartridges in the magazine (usually
six to ten) is exhausted. The first models were introduced about 1898.
These had many defects and objections, such as failure to function
regularly, danger in manipulation due to insufficient safety devices, poor
balance, unsightly lines, etc. Nevertheless the advantages of this type of
arm over the revolver for military purposes in effective range, rapidity
of fire, accuracy, interchangeability, etc., were soon recognized and
manufacturers were encouraged to improve and perfect them.
Practically all the mechanical defects referred to have been corrected,
the balance and the lines improved, and safety devices introduced so that
these arms are now well adapted for military use and are rapidly
superseding the revolver as service weapons in the United States army and
navy. A synopsis of the severe tests leading to the adoption of a magazine
pistol by the War Department of the United States government may be found
in the Appendix.
_Military Arms._--The revolver and the magazine pistol are used for
military service. To fulfill the requirements these arms must be strong,
very durable, and withstand a great amount of hard usage without becoming
disabled. The effectiveness, or "stopping power," is of prime importance.
The caliber should be large, the bullet should have a blunt point, and the
powder charge should be sufficiently powerful to give a penetration of at
least six inches in pine. There was a tendency some years ago to reduce
the caliber of military revolvers. While this resulted in increased
velocity and penetration, and reduced the weight of the ammunition, it did
not improve the stopping power of the arms.
The ineffectiveness of the.38-caliber service revolver charge was
frequently complained of by the officers and men serving in the Philippine
Islands. This was due to the light powder charge and the conoidal shaped
point of the bullet. To remedy this weakness.45-caliber revolvers were
issued for the Philippine service, and a new.45-caliber cartridge
designed to which magazine pistol manufacturers were invited to adapt an
arm. Unfortunately this new cartridge, which is now the service
ammunition, has also a conoidal pointed bullet, is not well proportioned,
and consequently develops only a part of its stopping power possibilities.
The sights must in all cases be very substantial, and solidly fixed to the
frame or barrel. The trigger pull varies from 4 to 8 pounds, the barrel
from 4 to 7 1/2 inches in length, and the weight from 2 to 2 3/4 pounds.
Ammunition loaded with smokeless powder is now invariably used for
military service.
The service revolvers still in use in the United States army and navy are
the Smith & Wesson and Colt, both.38 caliber, and taking the same
ammunition. They have passed the prescribed series of tests as established
by the United States government,[3] and as improved and perfected
represent, without doubt, the highest development of the military
revolver.
These arms, shown in Figs. 1 and 2, have solid frames, and the actions are
almost identical, the cylinder swinging out to the left, on a hinge, when
released by a catch. The shells may then be extracted simultaneously by
pushing back the extractor rod. The Smith & Wesson has an additional
hinge-locking device in front of the cylinder. The Colt has an automatic
safety lock between the hammer and the frame, permitting discharge only
when the trigger is pulled. Apart from these features there is very little
difference between these arms.
The Smith & Wesson.44-caliber Military Revolver is the latest model of
the large caliber revolvers. Its action and general lines are the same as
the.38-caliber military, but it is a larger, heavier, and more powerful
weapon.
Other excellent military revolvers are the Colt New Service and the Smith
& Wesson Russian model, usually in.45 caliber and.44 caliber,
respectively. The ammunition for these arms was formerly loaded with black
powder; but smokeless cartridges have been adapted to them, which give
slightly increased velocity and the same accuracy. (See Fig. 4, facing p.
24.)
The Smith & Wesson Russian model has a hinge "tip-up" action, with an
automatic ejecting device. The action is operated by raising a catch in
front of the hammer. It is easy to manipulate and, on account of the
accessibility of the breech, the barrel can be readily inspected and
cleaned. This arm is single action. (See Fig. 5, facing p. 24.)
[Illustration: Fig. 1.--SMITH & WESSON 38 cal. MILITARY REVOLVER Six
shots; 6 1/2 inch barrel; weight, 1 lb., 15 oz.]
[Illustration: Fig. 2.--COLT ARMY SPECIAL REVOLVER Six shots; 6 inch
barrel; weight, 2 lbs. 3 oz.,.38 cal.]
[Illustration: Fig 3.--SMITH & WESSON.44 cal. MILITARY REVOLVER. Six
shots; 6 1/2 inch barrel; weight 2 lbs. 6 1/2 oz.]
The action of the Colt New Service is similar to that of the.38-caliber
revolver shown in Fig. 2, with a solid frame. It is double action.
The Colt Officer's Model is identical in every respect with the Army
Special except that it is fitted with adjustable target sights and may be
had with lengths of barrel up to 7 1/2 inches.
The foregoing arms, with good ammunition, are capable of making groups of
ten shots on a 3-inch circle at 50 yards.
The Colt single action Army is the most popular belt or holster weapon
among ranchmen, cowboys, prospectors, and others. It has a solid frame,
simple mechanism, and is exceedingly durable and reliable. The arm is
operated by opening a gate on the right-hand side, back of the cylinder.
The cartridges are inserted in the cylinder through the gate, the cylinder
being revolved by hand until the respective chambers come opposite the
gate. In the same manner the shells are ejected by pushing the extractor
rod back into each of the chambers. (See Fig. 6, facing p. 24.)
The Smith & Wesson Schofield Model,.45 caliber, was formerly a United
States service weapon. The ammunition for this arm, while less powerful
than the.45 Colt, was admirably adapted for military service, and had
much less recoil.
The Webley & Scott W. S. Model revolver is an English arm of much merit.
The caliber is.455. It has a hinge "tip-up" action, with an automatic
extractor very similar to the Smith & Wesson. (See Fig. 7, facing p. 26.)
The service weapon adopted by the Joint War Office and Admiralty Committee
for the British army and navy is the Webley & Scott "Mark IV," or "Service
Model," revolver. This model is almost identical with the W. S. Model,
except that the barrel is 4 inches long and the weight is 2 lbs. 3 oz. On
account of the short barrel, the accuracy of this weapon does not equal
that of the W. S. Model.
Another English arm is the "Webley-Fosbury" automatic revolver. The recoil
revolving the cylinder and cocking the hammer, it can be fired as rapidly
as the automatic pistols. It is chambered for the.455 service cartridge
loaded with 5 1/2 grains of cordite. This arm has been introduced since
1900. (See Fig. 8, facing p. 26.)
Among the leading magazine or automatic pistols used for military service
are the Colt, Luger, Webley & Scott, Savage, Mauser, Knoble, Bergmann,
White-Merrill, Steyr, Mannlicher, Mors and Bayard. Most of these arms were
tested by the United States government[4] previous to the adoption of the
Colt as the service weapon of the U. S. Army and Navy. (See Fig. 9, facing
p. 26.)
The Luger has been adopted as the service weapon by Germany, Switzerland,
Portugal, Bulgaria, Holland, and Brazil. (See Fig. 10, facing p. 28.)
The Webley-Scott (.455 caliber) was adopted as the service arm by the
British navy in 1911, and the.32-caliber (weight 1 lb. 2 oz.) is now the
adopted arm of the London City and Metropolitan police forces. (See Fig.
11, facing p. 28.)
In most of these weapons, including the Colt, Webley & Scott, Luger, and
Steyr pistols, the cartridges are inserted in magazines which feed them
into the breech through the handle. In the Mauser pistol the cartridges
are supplied through clips from the top and forced into a magazine located
in front of the trigger. (See Fig. 12, facing p. 28.)
The magazine pistols can be fired at the rate of about five shots per
second. These arms equal the best military revolvers in accuracy.
Many persons believe that the magazine pistol will soon supersede the
revolver for general use. While this may be the case eventually, it is not
likely to occur within the next few years. The magazine pistol is more
complicated, and consequently more difficult to learn to shoot with and
care for, than the revolver. On account of the special problems to be
solved in the mechanism, many of them balance poorly and the trigger pull
is almost invariably long and creeping. The novice will also find it
difficult to avoid flinching in shooting these arms, on account of the
recoil mechanism, louder report, etc. The line of sight being considerably
higher than the grip, if they are not held perfectly plumb, or in the same
position at each shot, the shooting is liable to be irregular. The cost is
more than that of a good revolver. Until these undesirable features can be
remedied or eliminated, the revolver will probably remain a popular arm.
_Target Arms._--For target purposes the greatest possible accuracy is
desirable. To obtain this, many features essential in a military arm are
sacrificed. Delicate adjustable sights are employed, the trigger pull is
reduced, the length of the barrel is increased, the charge reduced, etc.
[Illustration: Fig. 4.--COLT NEW SERVICE REVOLVER Six shots; 5 1/2 inch
barrel; weight, 2 lbs., 8 oz.;.45 cal.]
[Illustration: Fig. 5.--SMITH & WESSON RUSSIAN MODEL REVOLVER Six shots;
6 1/2 inch barrel; weight, 39 1/4 oz.;.44 cal.]
[Illustration: Fig. 6.--COLT SINGLE ACTION REVOLVER Six shots; 5 1/2 inch
barrel; weight, 2 lbs. 6 oz.;.45 cal.]
[Illustration: Fig. 7.--WEBLEY & SCOTT "W. S." MODEL REVOLVER Six shots;
7 1/2 inch barrel; weight, 2 lbs., 7 oz.;.455 cal.]
[Illustration: Fig. 8.--WEBLEY & FOSBURY AUTOMATIC REVOLVER. Six shots; 6
inch barrel; weight, 2 lbs., 10 oz.;.455 cal.]
[Illustration: Fig. 9.--COLT AUTOMATIC PISTOL. Seven shots; 5 inch barrel;
weight, 2 lbs. 7 oz.;.45 cal.]
The most accurate arms available at the present time are the single-shot
pistols manufactured by Smith & Wesson, Springfield, Mass., The J. Stevens
Arms & Tool Co., Chicopee Falls, Mass.; Fred Adolph, Genoa, N. Y. These
pistols are furnished in calibers from.22 rim-fire to.38 central-fire.
The barrels are generally 10 inches in length and the trigger pull 2
pounds. In the latest approved form these pistols are of.22 caliber
specially bored and chambered for the rim-fire,.22 caliber long rifle
cartridge. This is a light, clean, pleasant shooting charge, and may be
fired many times with very little fatigue. Pistol shooting with arms of
this caliber is rapidly becoming a popular pastime for ladies as well as
gentlemen.
The Smith & Wesson pistol has a tip-up action and an automatic extractor.
It is made of the best materials and with the greatest care. The fitting
and workmanship are superior to that of any other machine-made pistol. The
action is similar to that of the Russian Model revolver. (See Fig. 13,
facing p. 30.)
The Stevens pistols were formerly furnished in three models and for many
years they have enjoyed merited popularity for target shooting among the
leading marksmen. This pistol is now supplied only in the No. 35 or
"Offhand Target Model," which like the earlier models has a tip-up action
and an automatic extractor. A small knob on the left side is pressed to
release the barrel and operate the action. (See Fig. 14, facing p. 30.)
The Remington pistol has an exceedingly strong action, and is the only
machine-made pistol with an action adapted for regulation.44,.45, and
.50 caliber cartridges. It has a large handle and a heavy barrel. The
action is operated when the hammer is at full-cock by throwing back the
breech-block with the thumb, simultaneously ejecting the empty shell.
Unfortunately the manufacture of these weapons has recently been
discontinued. (See Fig. 15, facing p. 30.)
The Adolph-Weber pistol designed by M. Casimir Weber, of Zurich,
Switzerland, is a high grade hand-made arm that can be supplied by Mr.
Fred Adolph in accordance with any specifications that the marksman may
desire. Fig. 16 illustrates it conforming to the rules and regulations of
the U. S. Revolver Association. It has a strong, durable, tip-up action
resembling in principle that of the Stevens, and when closed the barrel is
securely locked in position by a cross bolt, actuated by a button on the
left side. (See Fig. 16, facing p. 32.)
[Illustration: Fig. 10.--THE PARABELLUM OR "LUGER" AUTOMATIC PISTOL Eight
shots; 4-5/8 inch barrel; weight, 1 lb., 13.4 oz.;.30 cal.]
[Illustration: Fig. 11.--WEBLEY & SCOTT AUTOMATIC PISTOL Eight shots; 5
inch barrel; weight, 2 lbs., 7 1/2 oz.;.455 cal.]
[Illustration: Fig. 12.--MAUSER AUTOMATIC PISTOL Ten shots; 5 1/2 inch
barrel; weight, 2 lbs., 7 1/2 oz.;.30 cal.]
The Adolph-Martini is a weapon _de luxe_ that has been produced in the
same manner as the Adolph-Weber, in which the action of the Martini rifle
has been employed. It has double set triggers and is highly ornate.
The Adolph "H. V." is a.22 caliber pistol adapted for a special high
velocity cartridge developing a muzzle velocity of 2,000 ft. per second
and an energy of 623 foot-pounds.
With good ammunition all these pistols are capable of placing ten shots
within a 2-inch circle at 50 yards.
A very accurate pistol for gallery and short-range shooting is made by M.
Gastinne-Renette of Paris and used in his gallery in that city. These are
muzzle-loading and are very tedious and inconvenient to manipulate. For
this reason they have not become popular. A few of these arms have been
made up as breech-loaders, with a tip-up action similar to the Stevens,
but operated by a side lever under the hammer and chambered for the.44
Russian cartridge. In this form with gallery charges the pistol has given
very good results. (See Fig. 17, facing p. 32.)
The revolver is not quite as accurate as the pistol, on account of the
necessity of having the cylinder detached from the barrel. If the pin on
which the cylinder revolves is not at right angles with the end of the
cylinder, there will be more space between the cylinder and the breech
end of the barrel in some positions of the cylinder than in others. The
result will be varying amounts of gas escaping from the different chambers
of the cylinder, and consequently irregular shooting. The accuracy of the
revolver depends largely, too, upon the degree of perfection in which all
the chambers of the cylinder align with the bore of the barrel at the
instant of discharge. When the chambers do not align perfectly, the bullet
enters the barrel eccentrically and a portion of it is shaved off. This is
fatal to accuracy, especially when smokeless powder is used. Imperfect
alignment of chamber and barrel is also a frequent cause of the "leading"
of the barrel. Some very ingenious mechanical expedients are used in the
best revolvers to reduce to a minimum the wear of those parts which
operate and hold the cylinder in position.
The revolvers generally used for target shooting are the military arms
already described, with longer barrels, chambered for special cartridges,
fitted with target sights, special handles, and other modifications to
suit the whims and tastes of individuals.
Some of these modifications are distinctly advantageous. One of the most
recent fads is to skeletonize the hammer by boring away as much metal
as possible and to increase the tension of the main spring. The combined
effect is almost instant response to the trigger pull.
[Illustration: Fig. 13.--SMITH & WESSON PISTOL Ten-inch barrel; weight, 1
lb., 8 3/4 oz.,.22 cal.]
[Illustration: Fig. 14--STEVENS PISTOL, GOULD MODEL Ten-inch barrel;
weight, 1 lb., 10 oz.;.22 cal.]
[Illustration: Fig. 15.--REMINGTON PISTOL Ten-inch barrel, weight, 2 lbs.,
8 oz.;.44 cal.]
The best and most experienced shots are careful to keep the modifications
of all their arms within the rules and regulations of the various national
organizations,[5] in order that they may be used in the annual
competitions and other important events. These organizations control the
pistol and revolver shooting, and conduct annual competitions. "Freak"
arms which do not comply with the rules are not allowed in the
competitions, are seldom practical, and have little or no value other than
for experimental purposes. Target arms are generally used for trick and
exhibition shooting.[6]
_Pocket Arms._--The most extensive use of the revolver as a pocket weapon
is for police service. Special arms are manufactured to meet the
requirements. These weapons are generally similar to the military
revolvers, but smaller in size and adapted for lighter charges. All
projections, such as sights, hammer, etc., must be eliminated or minimized
so as not to catch in drawing the arm from the pocket or holster. The
barrels are usually from 3 to 5 inches in length, the trigger pull 4
pounds and the caliber.22 to.38. The larger calibers are much preferable
for the general purposes of an arm of this character. The difference in
weight is slight, while the power and effectiveness of the large calibers
is important and a great advantage.
The pocket arms shown in Figs. 18 and 19 are practically reduced sizes of
the military arms shown in Figs. 1 and 2. They have solid frames and
actions identical with those of the military arms. The Smith & Wesson is
made only in.32 caliber but the Colt may be had in.32 or.38. Both are
double action.
The Colt Police Special is similar in model to Fig. 18 but is slightly
larger and heavier and can be had chambered for the powerful.38 caliber
Special, or the.32 caliber Winchester cartridges.
The Smith & Wesson Double Action, Perfected, is an improved model of this
popular pocket weapon, having a double locking action. (See Fig. 20,
facing p. 34.)
[Illustration: Fig. 16--ADOLPH WEBER PISTOL Ten-inch barrel; weight, 2
lbs. 2 oz.;.22 cal.]
[Illustration: Fig. 17--GASTINNE-RENETTE PISTOL 10-3/16 inch barrel;
weight, 2 lbs. 6 oz.;.44 cal.]
[Ill | 3,078.185572 |
2023-11-16 19:08:22.1658310 | 7,420 | 19 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. III.--NO. 124. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, March 14, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "TEASING TOM."]
POLLY GARDNER AND THE DRAW-BRIDGE.
BY JULIA K. HILDRETH.
Polly Gardner had been spending her vacation with Aunt Mary in the
country. She would have been "perfectly happy" but that her father and
mother were obliged to remain in the city. It was five weeks since she
had seen them, and it seemed to Polly like five months.
One lovely afternoon Polly sat on the horse-block idly kicking one foot
backward and forward, watching Aunt Mary as she drove off on a visit to
a sick neighbor. Birds were singing, bees were humming, and the slender
branches of the great gray-green willows that shadowed the road moved
softly with every light puff of wind. Away off in the field over the
hills Polly could hear the ring of the mowers' scythes. Everything was
so pleasant and peaceful that she wished her parents were there to enjoy
it with her.
Just as Aunt Mary was hidden from sight by a bend in the road, she heard
the crunching of wheels in the opposite direction, and, on looking up,
found it was another wagon, driven by Mr. Ward, the grocer and postman
of Willow Grove. He checked his horse at the gate, and began fumbling
slowly in his coat pocket for something.
After considerable searching, he drew out a white envelope, and turned
it first one way and then another, shook his head, and began feeling in
his pockets again, brought forth his spectacles, adjusted them carefully
upon his nose, and once more began examining the letter. At last he read
in a loud voice:
"'Miss Polly Gardner, in care of Mrs. Mary West, Willow Grove. In
haste.'" Then he peeped over his glasses severely at Polly, and asked,
sharply, "Who's Miss Polly Gardner? Do you know, little girl?"
"Oh, that's _me_!" cried Polly, jumping from the horse-block, "and Mrs.
Mary West is aunty. Please give me my letter. It's from mamma. I am so
glad!"
"Can you read?" asked Mr. Ward, still holding the letter far above
Polly's reach.
"Yes, of course," cried Polly, indignantly. "I'm nine years old next
week."
"Wery well, Miss Polly Gardner, here's your letter. But if your mar
hadn't put 'In haste' on the outside of it, you would have had to come
and fetch it yourself," said Mr. Ward, as he handed the letter down to
Polly.
"Thank you ever so much," said Polly, tearing her letter open nervously.
After reading it once, she said "Oh!" in a delighted voice.
"Nothing the matter?" inquired Mr. Ward, who still sat looking at Polly.
"No; but mother and father are coming to-day, if this is the 24th of
August."
"Yes, it's the 24th. But let's see your letter, and I can tell you what
they mean."
Polly handed her letter back to Mr. Ward, who read it aloud slowly:
"'DEAREST POLLY,--Papa finds he can leave his business for a short
time, so we have concluded to spend the remainder of your vacation
with you and Aunt Mary. We shall take the train that reaches Willow
Grove at 4.30 P. M. on the 24th. Tell Aunt Mary to meet us if she
has time.
"'Love to all, and a thousand kisses from
"'MAMMA AND PAPA.'
"Well," said Mr. Ward, as he gave Polly back her letter, "they'll be
here in about a half-hour, for it's almost four now. I guess I'll be
moving; it's time I was back to the store." So he chirped to his horse,
turned the wagon, and was soon out of sight.
As Aunt Mary would not return before five o'clock, Polly determined to
walk down to the railroad station, and meet her father and mother alone.
She had often been there with Aunt Mary to watch the trains come and go.
It was a small station, and very few people stopped there.
Just before reaching the station the railroad crossed a draw-bridge.
Polly liked to watch the man open and shut the draw as the boats in the
river passed through. There was a foot-path over this bridge, and Polly
had once crossed it with Aunt Mary. They had stopped to speak to the
flagman, who was pleasant and good-natured. He told Polly where she
could find some beautiful white lilies in a pond not far away. That was
more than a week ago, and the flowers were not then open, and now as
Polly ran down the road she thought she would have time to gather some
for her parents before the train arrived.
When Polly reached the station she found no one there, and on looking at
the clock, saw that it was only ten minutes past four, so she had twenty
minutes to wait. Then she ran on quickly.
The flagman stood by the draw, and Polly saw, some distance down the
river, a small vessel coming toward the bridge. She ran along rapidly,
and as she passed the flagman he called out:
"Going for the lilies? The pond was all white with them when I went by
this morning."
"Yes, sir; I want to pick some for mamma and papa. They wrote me a
letter and said they were coming in the next train."
"You don't say so! Well, I guess you're glad. Look out for the
locomotive, and don't take too long picking your flowers, and you'll
have plenty of time to get back before the train comes in."
Polly thanked him and ran on. In about five minutes she reached the
pond. How lovely the lilies looked, with their snowy cups resting upon
the dark water! But their stems were long and tough, and most of them
grew far beyond her reach. She contrived to secure four. Polly was sorry
to leave so many behind, but was afraid if she lingered too long she
would miss the train. So, gathering up the blossoms, she pinned them
into her belt, and scampered back toward the bridge.
The boat had just sailed through the draw, and the man stood ready to
close the bridge, when Polly came up. He looked over at her from the
centre of the bridge, and called out with a smile:
"Couldn't you get any more flowers than those? If I had time to go to
the pond, you should have as many as you could carry."
Polly smiled back at him, and then began to watch him as he made ready
to turn the great bridge back into place for the train to pass over. His
hand was already on the crank, when a rope dangling over the railing of
the bridge attracted his attention. As he tried to pull it in, it seemed
to be caught underneath. Polly watched him lean over to get a better
hold, when, to her great horror, the piece of railing to which he held
gave way.
There was a sudden scream, and a great splash in the water. But before
the waves of the swiftly flowing river closed over him, Polly heard the
cry,
"The train!--the flag!"
Poor little Polly! She was so alarmed for the poor man's safety that for
some moments she could think of nothing else, and ran backward and
forward wringing her hands in despair. As he arose to the surface she
saw that he made frantic gestures to her, and pointed up the road from
which the train was to come. He seemed to be able to keep himself above
water with very little effort, and Polly saw with joy that the accident
had been observed by the occupants of the vessel. The man in the water
struck out toward the boat, and Polly could hear shouts and cheers from
the men on board.
All at once she was startled by the far-off whistle of the approaching
locomotive. In a moment she understood the meaning of the flagman's
gestures. She looked at the open space and then at the bridge. In five
minutes or less the train would come dashing into that terrible chasm.
Polly's hair almost rose on her head with horror. It was as much as she
could do to keep her senses.
There must be some way to avert the awful calamity. She ran swiftly
along toward the rapidly approaching train. Lying on the ground just by
the small wooden house where the flagman generally sat, Polly saw a red
flag. She remembered having heard that this flag was used in case of
danger, or when there was any reason for stopping the cars. She did not
know whether there was yet time, but she seized the flag and flew wildly
up the track.
"Oh, my papa! oh, my mamma!" she cried; "they will fall into the river
and be drowned! What shall I do?" and Polly waved the flag backward and
forward as she ran.
Then came the train around the curve. She could see the white steam
puffing from the pipe, and could hear the panting of the engine.
"I know they'll run over me, but if mamma and papa are killed, I don't
care to live," she said to herself, as she approached the great black
noisy engine.
When it was about three hundred feet away from her, she saw a head
thrust out of the little window by the locomotive, and then, with a
great puffing, snorting, and whistling, it began to move slower and
slower, until at last, when it was almost upon Polly, it stopped
entirely.
All the windows were alive with heads and hands. The passengers screamed
and waved her off the track. She stepped off and ran close up to the
side of the engine and gasped out, "The bridge is open, and the man has
fallen into the river. Please stop the train or you'll be drowned."
The engineer stared in amazement, as well he might, to see a small girl
with a flushed face, hair blown wildly about, and four lilies pinned in
her belt, waving the red flag as though she had been used to flagging
trains all her life.
At that moment another remarkable figure presented itself to the
astonished eyes of the passengers. A man, dripping wet, bruised and
scratched as though he had been drawn through briers, came tearing
toward the cars, stumbling and almost falling at every step. As he
reached little Polly, he snatched her up and covered her face with
kisses.
"You little darling," he cried, "do you know what you've done? You've
saved the lives of more than a hundred people."
Polly, nervous and excited, began to cry. One after another the
passengers came hurrying out of the train and crowded around her,
praising and kissing her, until she was quite ashamed, and hid her head
upon the kind flagman's shoulder, whispering, "Please take me away and
find mamma and papa."
Almost the last to alight were Polly's parents. "Why, it's our Polly!"
they both exclaimed at once.
The draw was now being closed again, and the conductor cried, "All
aboard!" The passengers scrambled back to their seats again. Polly's
father took her into the car with him, and now she looked calmly at the
people as they gathered around, and answered politely all questions put
to her, but refused the rings, chains, bracelets, and watches that the
grateful passengers pressed her to accept as tokens of their gratitude
for saving their lives.
At last Polly grew tired of so much praise, and spoke out: "Really I
don't deserve your thanks, for I never once thought of any one but papa
and mamma. So keep your presents for your own little girls. Thank you
all the same."
Those that heard her laughed, seeing they could do nothing better for
her than to let her remain unnoticed for the short distance she had to
go.
When Polly was lifted out of the car, and stood upon the steps of the
station while her father looked after the luggage, the passengers threw
kisses and waved their handkerchiefs to her until they were out of
sight.
A few days afterward Polly was astonished at receiving a beautiful ivory
box containing an exquisitely enamelled medal, with these words engraved
on it:
"Presented to Polly Gardner, whose courage and presence of mind saved a
hundred lives."
WHO ARE THEY?
BY JENNIE J. KELLY.
A blustering fellow goes prowling about;
He tosses the snow with a scuffle and shout,
And pinches the toes,
The ears, and the nose
Of each little darling, wherever he goes.
The timid birds hear him and hide their wee heads,
The mooly-cows shiver in barns and in sheds,
And sweet flowers say,
"At home we will stay
Until this noisy fellow gets out of the way."
A bright little maiden is soon on his track,
And gently, though firmly, she orders him back.
Oh, fair she appears,
In smiles and in tears;
She calls to the flowers, "Come up, pretty dears."
The birds hear her voice, and they twitter with glee,
And pink little buds peep the bright sky to see;
The grass twinkles out,
And lambs skip about,
And, oh, the glad children so merrily shout!
And who is this blustering chap, can you tell?
And who is this maiden who robes hill and dell,
Whose whisper so arch
Wakes oak-tree and larch?--
Why, she is Miss April, and he Mister March.
SOME ODD RELATIONS OF THE JELLY-FISH.
BY SARAH COOPER.
Let us now examine some odd-looking animals called hydroids, or
sea-firs, which grow in the ocean, firmly rooted upon the bottom, or
attached to shells and stones.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.--HYDROIDS GROWING ON A SHELL.]
The tall branches in Fig. 1 are hydroids growing upon the shell of a
dead mussel. A barnacle, too, has lived and died on this pretty shell,
and little sea-weeds cluster around its remains.
We can scarcely imagine animals that are more unlike jelly-fish than
these slender branches are; and yet the wonderful story I have to tell
you will show them to be so closely related that we could not study the
life of one without the other.
Long graceful sprays of hydroids are often thrown on shore by the tide,
and as they resemble plants much more than animals, they are generally
mistaken for sea-weeds. Many persons gather them for decorating brackets
and hanging baskets. We frequently see bunches of them arranged in
sea-shells, and offered for sale in our shops. The shop-keeper would
probably not know them by any other name than sea-weed. Still, they are
animals, and we can mostly recognize them by their yellow, horny
appearance, and by the numerous joints on their stems.
In looking at one of these sprays with a microscope you will find each
little point on the stem to be in reality a dainty cup, which when alive
contained a hungry animal. Should you find a piece freshly washed up
from the ocean, it would be well to place it in a glass jar filled with
sea-water, and after allowing it to remain perfectly still for a while,
it may perhaps show you, if it is yet alive, how it has been accustomed
to pass the quiet hours in its native home.
You will find each cup occupied by a soft animal, with a mouth in the
centre opening directly into the stomach. Hydroids, you see, are higher
in the scale of life than sponges, for they possess mouths and stomachs.
As we watch, the body of the animal will rise up in the cup, and from
around the mouth will gradually creep out slender thread-like feelers,
which may be extended quite a distance, or drawn up at will entirely
within the body of the animal. You will, of course, wish to use the
proper name for these feelers. They are called tentacles, and they
evidently serve to produce currents of water toward the mouth, and to
bring the required food. In this way the little animals live, day after
day and year after year, patiently waving their tentacles, and waiting
for the food that is sure to come.
Do you still ask what connection there is between these demure little
animals and the jolly jelly-fish? We shall soon see.
The hydroids have grown by budding and branching somewhat as plants do.
Occasionally pear-shaped cups much larger than those we have looked at
are formed on the stem. These large cups are called spore-sacs. They
contain the substances which, later, will grow into eggs; and at the
proper time they fall off. After resting awhile, and throwing out cilia
and tentacles, these spore-sacs swim gayly away, and, strange to relate,
they are hence-forth known by the name of jelly-fish!
[Illustration: FIG. 2.--HYDROID MAGNIFIED, SHOWING SPORE-SACS.]
In Fig. 2 you will see a spray of hydroid magnified which shows two
spore-sacs. In the species which is represented here (the Sertularia)
the spore-sacs do not fall off, but they burst and discharge the eggs
which they contain.
These jelly-fish now lead active lives, and as they dart and swim about
in the water no one would suspect that they had any relation to the
plant-like animals with which we started, yet it is supposed that most
hydroids have this wonderful history.
Forgive us, jelly-fish, forgive us, hydroids, if in our ignorance we
have ever cast an indifferent glance upon you. We did not know your
charming secret, and we should never have guessed it, for the lives we
lead are so different from yours. Now that we have learned your secret,
we shall certainly tell it to the boys and girls, that they may help us
enjoy it.
Jelly-fish produce eggs, from which are born little floating bodies.
These after a time fasten themselves to some stick or stone, and grow by
budding until they become the elegant feathery branches which we must
now call hydroids. The young of nearly all animals resemble their
parents, but the children of jelly-fish, you see, are very different
from the jelly-fish itself. In the next generation, however, we shall
find jelly-fish again.
Most of the plant-like objects which we are accustomed to see growing
near the shore are in reality hydroids. Has it ever puzzled you to know
the difference between plants and these low forms of animal life? One
very important difference is that most plants can procure their food
directly from the soil, whereas animals are obliged to feed upon living
substances, or those which have at some time been alive, as vegetables
and animals.
Hydroids grow in all parts of the ocean, in deep water as well as near
the coast. Some of them are three feet high. One branch may contain a
hundred thousand distinct animals, the only communication between them
being a circulation of fluid through the hollow stems. In this way each
branch constitutes a family which has sprung originally from the same
little egg. Some varieties never grow tall, and as they occur in patches
over rocks and shells, they resemble thick beds of moss.
[Illustration: FIG. 3.--JELLY-FISH (AURELIA AURITA), WITH YOUNG IN
VARIOUS STAGES.]
The little hydroids which we see hanging from the under side of a rock
in Fig. 3 produce jelly-fish in a different manner from the one I have
described, although it is equally remarkable. This hydroid has no buds
or branches, but the main tube of the body divides itself into a number
of rings or plates, until the whole animal looks somewhat like a pile of
tiny saucers with scalloped edges. Finally the upper plate begins to
twist and squirm until it loosens itself from the pile, and floats off
to lead the gay and independent life of a jelly-fish. It is followed by
the other plates in their turn, each making a separate animal. These new
jelly-fish eat greedily and grow fast, forming some of our largest
varieties.
We can form but little idea of the immense numbers of animals thus
leading quiet contented lives, and drawing from the surrounding water
all that is needed for their support. They can not go in search of food,
and they take only such as floats toward them. Still, they seem to have
some choice in the matter, as they reject from their mouths any food
they are not suited with. Many of these curious animals are glowing with
bright colors, and surrounded as they are with a great variety of
plants, they give to the bottom of the ocean a marvellous beauty.
Does it not seem strange that the slender, delicate sprays of which we
have been speaking are really animals; and more than that, the children
of jelly-fish? A little girl once exclaimed, on hearing of these
wonderful changes that happen in the life of hydroids, "Why, it seems
almost like a fairy tale!"
THE TALKING LEAVES.[1]
[1] Begun in No. 101, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.
An Indian Story.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Every one of the ordinary rules and regulations for the government of an
Indian village was knocked in pieces by the victory over the Lipans.
Even Mother Dolores could not reasonably have forbidden Ni-ha-be and
Rita from hurrying out of their lodge to join in the general rejoicings.
"Rita, there is Knotted Cord."
"I see him."
"If he could understand me, I would speak to him."
"Oh, Ni-ha-be! that would be a dreadful thing to do."
Ni-ha-be would not have done any such thing, and Rita knew it; but the
chief's daughter saw no reason why she should not lead her sister pretty
near the young pale-face brave as they passed him. They could see that
he was smiling at them, and it was an act of politeness to smile back.
Ni-ha-be laughed. It was that, perhaps, which led Steve into a mistake.
He wanted to say something, and in his haste he forgot to speak
Mexican-Spanish, as he ought to have done if he expected to be
understood by an Apache young lady.
"There has been a great fight. Your father has taken some prisoners."
"We know it," answered Rita; and she was almost as much startled as was
Steve himself.
[Illustration: "'WHAT! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ENGLISH?'"]
"What! do you understand English?"
Ni-ha-be turned, and looked at her in astonishment.
"Only some. Not any more talk now. Come, Ni-ha-be."
"Talk Apache, so I can hear. You shall not say any more words to him.
Tell me his words."
Ni-ha-be's jealous pride was touched to the quick at finding that Rita
possessed still another accomplishment that she had not.
Rita quickly explained all that had been said, but she did it in a way
that told both her sister and Steve Harrison that she was a good deal
excited about something.
"Come, Ni-ha-be, come."
"I will. There is Red Wolf. We must hurry."
Poor Rita! The terrible whooping and clamor and tumult all around her
confused her more than ever. She was glad there was enough of it to keep
Ni-ha-be from asking her any questions; but it seemed as if she would be
willing to give her favorite pony to hear a few words more in that
strange tongue--the tongue she had known once, and forgotten, till the
talking leaves began to speak it to her.
Pretty soon the girls were mingling with their friends and relatives,
and crowding as closely as they dared upon the line of warriors in their
eagerness to get a glimpse of the prisoners by the light of the camp
fires.
It was getting late, but Many Bears had work to do before he could think
of calling for a luncheon, or going to his lodge. He had seen his
captives safely bound and put away under guard, and he now summoned his
old men for a brief but very important "talk."
Murray had guessed right when he said he would be sent for, but he had
not waited for the arrival of any messenger. The words were hardly out
of the mouth of Many Bears before a brave in the crowd responded,
"Send Warning is here."
"Where is the Knotted Cord?"
"In lodge. Wait there."
That explanation came from Red Wolf, and the Apaches knew exactly where
their pale-face friends were at that particular moment, which was the
precise thing Murray wanted them to feel sure of, considering what he
knew was about to be found out.
All the rest of the village was full of noise, but the dignity of the
older men enforced silence upon the circle now gathering closely around
the chief.
Many Bears turned to Murray.
"Send Warning gave good counsel. His head is white. He is wise. Tell
Apaches now where all pale-face gone. No come."
"Send Warning can guess. The pale-faces don't like to be killed. Find
too many Apaches. Run away and save scalp."
"Ugh! Good. Nobody know where they go. No use follow. Apaches take Lipan
prisoners. What Send Warning say about them?"
"Keep them till to-morrow. No hurry. Something else to think of now.
More fight maybe."
The chief nodded his head, but a chorus of "ughs" expressed the dissent
of his council. They meant to decide the fate of old Two Knives without
delay. Three of the older braves still insisted upon arguing the case
one after the other, and by the time the last of them ceased speaking,
Murray felt pretty safe about To-la-go-to-de. He said to himself: "The
old fox has half an hour the start of them now. He is miles and miles
away."
Just then Many Bears turned to him with: "What say now? Any words?"
"No. Never speak twice. Apaches do what think best."
"Ugh! Good. Young braves, bring out Lipans. No wait. Kill them all right
away."
Prisoners such as these were likely to be a troublesome burden to a
party on the march, like that of Many Bears, and the only real question
before the council was, after all, in what precise manner the killing
should be done.
But while they were talking a great cry arose from the vicinity of the
lodge where the Lipans had been shut up--a cry of surprise, anger, and
disappointment. And then the word spread over the whole camp like
wild-fire, "The Lipans are gone!"
It was almost beyond belief, and there was a general rush toward the row
of lodges and beyond them, into the bushes and through the corral. It
came very near stampeding every pony there, and every trace of anything
like a "trail" left by the feet of Two Knives and his warriors was
quickly trampled out. The only "sign" found by anybody was in the shape
of more than a dozen thongs of buckskin lying on the ground in the
lodge, all clean cut through with a sharp knife. That told plainly how
the prisoners had escaped. The braves who had searched and tied them
were positive that not one of them retained a knife, or was left in a
condition to make any use of one. They must have had help from somebody,
but it was a great mystery who that somebody could be. Suspicion might
have fallen upon Murray and Steve, but it was well known that the latter
had remained in his lodge, refusing even to look at the prisoners, while
Send Warning had been in council with the chiefs. They believed they
knew where he had been all the while, and none of them imagined that Two
Knives had been set free before he had lain in that "prison lodge" three
minutes. It was a terrible mortification; but something must be done,
and again Murray was asked for advice.
"What do I think? Let me ask you a question. Did the Lipans go away on
foot?"
"Ugh! No. Take good horse."
"Did they have any arms? Gun? lance? bow?"
"Ugh! No. Think not."
"They are cunning warriors. Did they ride out among your young men? Send
Warning says they would do just what great Apache chief would do."
"Ugh! Good. Pale-face chief very wise. Lipans go all way round. Like
snake. Only one thing for us to do. Catch 'em when they come to pass."
"Better ride now," said Murray. "Send Warning and Knotted Cord will ride
with Apache braves. No time lose. Want fresh horse."
He afterward explained to Steve that a little seeming activity on their
part was needful at that moment of excitement, lest anything unpleasant
should be said about them. Besides, he had no fear of any further
collision with the Lipans. The night was too far gone for that, and he
had great confidence in the courage and skill of old Two Knives.
In less than twenty minutes after he had given his advice, he and Steve
Harrison, mounted on fresh mustangs chosen for them from the corral by
Red Wolf himself, were riding across the ford at the head of a strong
squad of Apache warriors, commanded by a chief of well-known skill and
prowess.
"They will pick up plenty more on the way, Steve, but they won't have
much to do."
"No danger of their catching old Two Knives?"
"Not a bit. I'll tell you all about it some other time."
"I've something to tell you, Murray; I can't keep it."
"Out with it, my boy."
"That white daughter of old Many Bears can speak English. She understood
what I said, and answered me."
It was dark, or Steve would have seen that the face of his friend grew
as white as his hair, and then flushed and brightened with a great and
sudden light.
For a moment he was silent, and then he said, in a deep, husky voice,
"Don't say any more about it to me, Steve. Not till I speak to you
again. I'm in an awful state of mind to-night."
Steve had somehow made up his mind to that already, but he was saved the
necessity of saying anything in reply.
Red Wolf rode closer to him at the moment, and said,
"Knotted Cord is young. Been on war-path before?"
"Say yes, Steve," muttered Murray.
"Yes, I'm young. Seen a good deal, though. Many war-paths."
"What tribe strike?"
"Lipans, Comanches, Mexicans. Followed some Pawnees once. They got
away."
Red Wolf's whole manner told of the respect he felt for a young brave
who had already been out against the fiercest warriors of the Indian
country. He would have given a good many ponies to have been able to say
as much for himself.
* * * * *
The position chosen by the Lipans was a strong one, and the scattered
shots which now and then came from the mouth of the pass told that the
beaten warriors of To-la-go-to-de were wide awake and ready to defend
themselves.
But for one thing that end of the pass would have been already vacant.
The pride of the Lipans forbade their running further without at least
an effort to learn what had become of their chief. They felt that they
could never look their squaws in the face again unless they could
explain that point.
To be sure, it was almost a hopeless case, and the Apaches would be upon
them in the morning, but they waited.
Everything seemed to be growing darker, and the outlying Lipan sentinels
were not in any fault that four men on horseback should get so near them
undiscovered. It was very near, and the new-comers must have known there
was danger in it, for one of them suddenly put his hand to his mouth and
uttered a fierce, half-triumphant war-whoop. It was the well-known
battle cry of To-la-go-to-de himself, and it was answered by a storm of
exulting shouts from the warriors among the rocks. Their chief had
escaped!
That was true, and it was a grand thing, but he had brought back with
him only three men of his "front rank."
The Apaches could hear the whooping, and the foremost of them deemed it
wise to fall back a little. Whatever their enemies might be up to, they
were men to be watched with prudence as well as courage.
The words of To-la-go-to-de when he joined his friends were few. There
was no further account to be made of Captain Skinner and his miners, he
told them. They were cunning, and they had taken care of themselves. It
had been well to plunder their camp. He himself owed his safety to their
old friend No Tongue, and the Lipans must never forget him. The Yellow
Head had probably been killed, and they would not see him again. They
must now gather all their horses and other plunder, and push their
retreat as far as possible before morning. Some other time they would
come and strike the Apaches, but it was "bad medicine" | 3,078.185871 |
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PORCELAIN
[Illustration: _PLATE I._ JAPANESE IMARI WARE]
PORCELAIN
BY
EDWARD DILLON, M.A.
[Illustration: The
Connoisseur’s
Library]
METHUEN AND CO.
36 ESSEX STREET
LONDON
_First published in 1904._
PREFACE
How extensive is the literature that has grown up of late years round
the subject of porcelain may be judged from the length of our ‘selected’
list of books dealing with this material. Apart from the not
inconsiderable number of general works on the potter’s art in French,
German, and English, there is scarcely to be found a kiln where pottery
of one kind or another has been manufactured which has not been made the
subject of a separate study. And yet, as far as I know, the very
definite subdivision of ceramics, which includes the porcelain of the
Far East and of Europe, has never been made the basis of an independent
work in England.
It has been the aim of the writer to dwell more especially on the nature
of the paste, on the glaze, and on the decoration of the various wares,
and above all to accentuate any points that throw light upon the
relations with one another--especially the historical relations--of the
different centres where porcelain has been made. Less attention has been
given to the question of marks. In the author’s opinion, the exaggerated
importance that has been given to these marks, both by collectors and by
the writers that have catered to them, has more than anything else
tended to degrade the study of the subject, and to turn off the
attention from more essential points. This has been above all the case
in England, where the technical side has been strangely neglected. In
fact, we must turn to French works for any thorough information on this
head.
In the bibliographical list it has been impossible to distinguish the
relative value of the books included. I think that _something_ of value
may be found in nearly every one of these works, but in many, whatever
there is of original information might be summed up in a few pages. In
fact, the books really essential to the student are few in number. For
Oriental china we have the Franks catalogue, M. Vogt’s little book, _La
Porcelaine_, and above all the great work of Dr. Bushell, which is
unfortunately not very accessible. For Continental porcelain there is no
‘up-to-date’ work in English, but the brief notes in the catalogue
prepared shortly before his death by Sir A. W. Franks have the advantage
of being absolutely trustworthy. The best account of German porcelain is
perhaps to be found in Dr. Brinckmann’s bulky description of the Hamburg
Museum, which deals, however, with many subjects besides porcelain,
while for Sèvres we have the works of Garnier and Vogt. For English
porcelain the literature is enormous, but there is little of importance
that will not be found in Professor Church’s little handbook, or in the
lately published works of Mr. Burton and Mr. Solon. The last edition of
the guide to the collection lately at Jermyn Street has been well edited
by Mr. Rudler, and contains much information on the technical side of
the subject. On many historical points the notes in the last edition of
Marryat are still invaluable: the quotations, however, require checking,
and the original passages are often very difficult to unearth.
In the course of this book I have touched upon several interesting
problems which it would be impossible to thoroughly discuss in a general
work of this kind. I take, however, the occasion of bringing one or two
of these points to the notice of future investigators.
Much light remains to be thrown upon the relations of the Chinese with
the people of Western Asia during the Middle Ages. We want to know at
what time and under what influences the Chinese began to decorate their
porcelain, first with blue under the glaze, and afterwards by means of
glazes of three or more colours, painted on the biscuit. The relation of
this latter method of decoration to the true enamel-painting which
succeeded it is still obscure. So again, to come to a later time, there
is much difference of opinion as to the date of the first introduction
of the _rouge d’or_, a very important point in the history and
classification of Chinese porcelain.
We are much in the dark as to the source of the porcelain exported both
from China and Japan in the seventeenth century, especially of the
roughly painted ‘blue and white,’ of which such vast quantities went to
India and Persia. So of the Japanese ‘Kakiyemon,’ which had so much
influence on our European wares, what was the origin of the curious
design, and what was the relation of this ware to the now better known
‘Old Japan’?
When we come nearer home, to the European porcelain of the eighteenth
century, many obscure points still remain to be cleared up. The
currently accepted accounts of Böttger’s great discovery present many
difficulties. At Sèvres, why was the use of the newly discovered _rose
Pompadour_ so soon abandoned? And finally, in England, what were we
doing during the long years between the time of the early experiments of
Dr. Dwight and the great outburst of energy in the middle of the
eighteenth century?
The illustrations have been chosen for the most part from specimens in
our national collections. I take this opportunity of thanking the
officials in charge of these collections for the facilities they have
given to me in the selection of the examples, and to the photographer in
the reproduction of the pieces selected. To Mr. C. H. Read of the
British Museum, and to Mr. Skinner of the Victoria and Albert Museum, my
thanks are above all due. To the latter gentleman I am much indebted for
the trouble he has taken, amid arduous official duties, in making
arrangements for photographing not only examples belonging to the
Museum, scattered as these are through various wide-lying departments,
but also several other pieces of porcelain at present deposited there by
private collectors. To these gentlemen, finally, my thanks are due for
permission to reproduce examples of their porcelain--to Mr. Pierpont
Morgan, to Mr. Fitzhenry, to Mr. David Currie, and above all to my
friend Mr. George Salting, who has interested himself in the selection
of the objects from his unrivalled collection.
The small collection of marks at the end of the book has no claim to
originality. The examples have been selected from the catalogues of the
Schreiber collection at South Kensington, and from those of the Franks
collections of Oriental and Continental china. For permission to use the
blocks my thanks are due, as far as the first two books are concerned,
to H. M.’s Stationery Office and to the Education Department; in the
case of the last work, to Mr. C. H. Read, who, I understand, himself
drew the original marks for Sir A. W. Franks’s catalogue.
In a general work of this kind much important matter has had to be
omitted. That is inevitable. I only hope that specialists in certain
definite parts of the wide field covered will not find that I have
committed myself to rash or ungrounded generalisations. Let them
remember that the carefully guarded statements and the reservations
suitable to a scientific paper would be out of place in a work intended
in the main for the general public.
E. D.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE, v
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, xii
SELECTED LIST OF WORKS ON PORCELAIN, xxvi
KEY TO THE BIBLIOGRAPHICAL LIST, xxxiii
LIST OF WORKS ON OTHER SUBJECTS REFERRED
TO IN THE TEXT, xxxv
CHAPTER I. Introductory and Scientific, 1
CHAPTER II. The Materials: Mixing, Fashioning,
and Firing, 14
CHAPTER III. Glazes, 30
CHAPTER IV. Decoration by means of Colour, 38
CHAPTER V. The Porcelain of China. Introductory--Classification--The
Sung Dynasty--The Mongol or Yuan Dynasty, 49
CHAPTER VI. The Porcelain of China (_continued_).
The Ming Dynasty, 78
CHAPTER VII. The Porcelain of China (_continued_).
The Manchu or Tsing Dynasty, 96
CHAPTER VIII. The Porcelain of China (_continued_).
Marks, 117
CHAPTER IX. The Porcelain of China (_continued_).
King-te-chen and the Père D’Entrecolles, 123
CHAPTER X. The Porcelain of China (_continued_).
Forms and uses--Descriptions of the various
Wares, 137
CHAPTER XI. The Porcelain of Korea and of
the Indo-Chinese Peninsula, 168
CHAPTER XII. The Porcelain of Japan, 177
CHAPTER XIII. From East to West, 208
CHAPTER XIV. The First Attempts at Imitation
in Europe, 233
CHAPTER XV. The Hard-Paste Porcelain of
Germany. Böttger and the Porcelain of
Meissen, 244
CHAPTER XVI. The Hard-Paste Porcelain of
Germany (_continued_).
Vienna--Berlin--Höchst--Fürstenberg--Ludwigsburg--Nymphenburg
--Frankenthal--Fulda--Strassburg. The Hard and Soft Pastes of
Switzerland, Hungary, Holland, Sweden,
Denmark, and Russia, 259
CHAPTER XVII. The Soft-Paste Porcelain of
France. Saint-Cloud--Lille--Chantilly--
Mennecy--Paris--Vincennes--Sèvres, 277
CHAPTER XVIII. The Hard-Paste Porcelain of
Sèvres and Paris, 305
CHAPTER XIX. The Soft and Hybrid Porcelains
of Italy and Spain, 316
CHAPTER XX. English Porcelain. Introduction.
The Soft-Paste Porcelain of Chelsea
and Bow, 326
CHAPTER XXI. English Porcelain (_continued_).
The Soft Paste of Derby, Worcester,
Caughley, Coalport, Swansea, Nantgarw,
Lowestoft, Liverpool, Pinxton, Rockingham,
Church Gresley, Spode, and Belleek, 350
CHAPTER XXII. English Porcelain (_continued_).
The Hard Paste of Plymouth and Bristol, 375
CHAPTER XXIII. Contemporary European Porcelain, 387
EXPLANATION OF THE MARKS ON THE PLATES, 395
MARKS ON PORCELAIN, 400
INDEX, 405
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
I. JAPANESE, Imari porcelain (‘Old Japan’). (H. c. 19 in.)
Vase, slaty-blue under glaze, iron-red of various shades
and gold over glaze. Early eighteenth century. Salting
collection......(_Frontispiece._)
II. CHINESE, Ming porcelain. (H. c. 15 in.) Jar with blue-black ground
and thin, skin-like glaze. Decoration in relief slightly counter-sunk,
pale yellow and greenish to turquoise blue. Probably fifteenth
century. Salting collection......(_To face p. 44._)
III. (1) CHINESE. (H. c. 9 in.) Figure of the Teaching Buddha. Celadon
glaze, the hair black. Uncertain date. British Museum.
(2) CHINESE, probably Ming dynasty. (H. 11¼ in.) Vase with open-work
body, enclosing plain inner vessel. Thick celadon glaze. Victoria and
Albert Museum......(_To face p. 64._)
IV. CHINESE, Sung porcelain. (H. c. 12 in.) Small jar with thick
pale-blue glaze, and some patches of copper-red; faintly crackled.
_Circa_ 1200. British Museum......(_To face p. 71._)
V. CHINESE, Ming porcelain. Three small bowls with apple-green glaze.
Fifteenth or sixteenth century. British Museum.
(1) Floral design in gold on green ground. (Diam. 4¾ in.) On base a
coin-like mark, inscribed _Chang ming fu kwei_--‘long life, riches,
and honour.’
(2) Similar decoration and identical inscription to above (diam. 4¾
in.), set in a German silver-gilt mounting of sixteenth century.
(3) Shallow bowl (diam. 5¼ in.). Inside, apple-green band with gold
pattern similar to above; in centre, cranes among clouds--blue under
glaze......(_To face p. 81._)
VI. CHINESE. Ming porcelain. (H. 7¾ ins.) Spherical vase, floral
decoration of Persian type in blue under glaze; the neck has probably
been removed for conversion into base of hookah. Probably sixteenth
century. Bought in Persia. Victoria and Albert Museum......(_To face
p. 84._)
VII. (1) CHINESE. Ming porcelain. (H. c. 18 in.) Baluster-shaped vase;
greyish crackle ground, painted over the glaze with turquoise blue
flowers (with touches of cobalt), green leaves and manganese purple
scrolls; a little yellow in places, and around neck cobalt blue band
_under glaze_. On base, mark of Cheng-hua, possibly of as early a date
(1464-87). British Museum.
(2) CHINESE. Ming porcelain. (H. c. 19 in.) Vase of square section
with four mask handles, imitating old bronze form. Enamelled with
dragons and phœnixes; copper-green and iron-red over glaze with a few
touches of yellow, combined with cobalt blue under glaze. Inscription,
under upper edge, ‘Dai Ming Wan-li nien shi.’ _Circa_ 1600. British
Museum......(_To face p. 90._)
VIII. CHINESE. Ming porcelain. Covered inkslab (L. 9¾ in.), pen-rest
(L. 9 in.), and spherical vessel (H. 8 in.). Decorated with
scroll-work in cobalt blue under the glaze. Persian inscriptions in
cartels, relating to literary pursuits. Mark of Cheng-te (1505-21).
Obtained in Pekin. British Museum......(_To face p. 94._)
IX. CHINESE, turquoise ware. Probably early eighteenth century.
Salting collection.
(1) Pear-shaped vase (H. 8½ in.), decorated with phœnix in low relief.
Six-letter mark of Cheng-hua.
(2) Plate with pierced margin (diam. 11 in.). Filfot in centre
encircled by cloud pattern, in low relief.
(3) Small spherical incense-burner (H. 5 in.). Floral design in low
relief......(_To face p. 98._)
X. CHINESE, _famille verte_. (H. 18 in.) Vase of square section,
decorated with flowers of the four seasons. Green, purple, and yellow
enamels and white, as reserve, on a black ground. Mark of Cheng-hua.
_Circa_ 1700. Salting collection......(_To face p. 100._)
XI. CHINESE, _famille verte_. (H. 26 in.) Baluster-shaped vase,
decorated with dragons with four claws and snake-like bodies amid
clouds. Poor yellow, passing into white, green of two shades, and
manganese purple upon a black ground. A very thin skin of glaze, with
dullish surface. Probably before 1700. Salting collection. (_To face
p. 102._)
XII. _Chinese_, egg-shell porcelain. _Famille rose._
(1) Plate (diam. 8¼ in.). On border, vine with grapes, in gold. In
centre, lady on horseback, accompanied by old man and boy carrying
scrolls. 1730-50. British Museum.
(2) Plate (diam. 8½ in.) In centre the arms of the Okeover family with
elaborate mantling. Initials of Luke Okeover and his wife on margin.
Early _famille rose_, the _rouge d’or_ only sparingly applied. _Circa_
1725. British Museum......(_To face p. 108._)
XIII. (1) CHINESE, _famille verte_. Long-necked, globular vase ( | 3,078.284184 |
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[Illustration: Book Cover]
HEALTH LESSONS
BOOK I
BY
ALVIN DAVISON, M.S., A.M., PH.D.
PROFESSOR OF BIOLOGY IN LAFAYETTE COLLEGE
[Illustration: Publisher Symbol]
NEW YORK. CINCINNATI. CHICAGO
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
ALVIN DAVISON.
ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL, LONDON.
HEALTH LESSONS. BK. 1.
W. P. 6
[Illustration: Exercise, clean air, and well-chewed food make a strong
and healthy body.]
PREFACE
Scarcely one half of the children of our country continue in school
much beyond the fifth grade. It is important, therefore, that so far
as possible the knowledge which has most to do with human welfare
should be presented in the early years of school life.
Fisher, Metchnikoff, Sedgwick, and others have shown that the health
of a people influences the prosperity and happiness of a nation more
than any other one thing. The highest patriotism is therefore the
conservation of health. The seven hundred thousand lives annually
destroyed by infectious diseases and the million other serious cases
of sickness from contagious maladies, with all their attendant
suffering, are largely sacrifices on the altar of ignorance. The
loving mother menaces the life of her babe by feeding it milk with a
germ content nearly half as great as that of sewage, the anemic girl
sleeps with fast-closed windows, wondering in the morning why she
feels so lifeless, and the one-time vigorous boy goes to a
consumptive's early grave, because they did not know (what every
school ought to teach) the way to health.
Doctor Price, the Secretary of the State Board of Health of Maryland,
recently said before the American Public Health Association that the
text-books of our schools show a marked disregard for the urgent
problems which enter our daily life, such as the prevention of
tuberculosis, typhoid fever, and acute infectious diseases.
Since the observing public have seen educated communities decrease
their death rate from typhoid fever, tuberculosis, and diphtheria from
one third to three fourths by heeding the health call, lawmakers are
becoming convinced that the needless waste of human life should be
stopped. Michigan has already decreed that every school child shall be
taught the cause and prevention of the communicable diseases, and
several other states are contemplating like action. This book meets
fully the demands of all such laws as are contemplated, and presents
the important truths not by dogmatic assertion, but by citing specific
facts appealing to the child mind in such a way as to make a lasting
impression.
After the eleventh year of age, the first cause of death among school
children is tuberculosis. The chief aim of the author has been to show
the child the sure way of preventing this disease and others of like
nature, and to establish an undying faith in the motto of Pasteur, "It
is within the power of man to rid himself of every parasitic disease."
Nearly all of the illustrations used are from photographs and drawings
specially prepared for this book. These, together with the large
amount of material gleaned from original sources and from the author's
experiments in the laboratory, will, it is hoped, make this little
volume worthy of the same generous welcome accorded the two earlier
books of this series.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. CARING FOR THE HEALTH 9
II. PARTS OF THE BODY 15
III. FEEDING THE BODY 21
IV. FOOD AND HEALTH 30
V. HOW PLANTS SOUR OR SPOIL FOOD 36
VI. MILK MAY BE A FOOD OR A POISON 41
VII. HOW THE BODY USES FOOD 47
VIII. THE CARE OF THE MOUTH 60
IX. ALCOHOLIC DRINKS 68
X. ALCOHOL AND HEALTH 74
XI. TOBACCO AND THE DRUGS WHICH INJURE THE
HEALTH 78
XII. THE SKIN AND BATHING 85
XIII. CLOTHING AND HOW TO USE IT 94
XIV. BREATHING 100
XV. FRESH AIR AND HEALTH 111
XVI. THE BLOOD AND HOW IT FLOWS THROUGH THE BODY 117
XVII. INSECTS AND HEALTH 127
XVIII. HOW THE BODY MOVES 135
XIX. THE MUSCLES AND HEALTH 144
XX. HOW THE BODY IS GOVERNED 149
XXI. HOW NARCOTICS AND STIMULANTS AFFECT THE
BRAIN AND NERVES 158
XXII. THE SENSES, OR DOORS OF KNOWLEDGE 165
XXIII. KEEPING AWAY SICKNESS 174
XXIV. HELPING BEFORE THE DOCTOR COMES 183
INDEX 189
HEALTH LESSONS
CHAPTER I
CARING FOR THE HEALTH
=Good Health better than Gold.=--Horses and houses, balls and dolls,
and much else that people think they want to make them happy can be
bought with money. The one thing which is worth more than all else
cannot be bought with even a houseful of gold. This thing is good
health. Over three million persons in our country are now sick, and
many of them are suffering much pain. Some of them would give all the
money they have to gain once more the good health which the poorest
may usually enjoy by right living day by day.
=How long shall you live?=--In this country most of the persons born
live to be over forty years of age, and some live more than one
hundred years. A hundred years ago most persons died before the age of
thirty-five years. In London three hundred years ago only about one
half of those born reached the age of twenty-five years. Scarcely one
half of the people in India to-day live beyond the age of twenty-five
years. In fact, people in India are dying nearly twice as fast as in
our own country. This is because they have not learned how to take
care of the body in India so well as we have.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.--By right living this woman remained in good
health for several years after she was a century old.]
The study which tells how to keep well is _Hygiene_. Whether you keep
well and live long, or suffer much from headaches, cold, and other
sickness, depends largely on how you care for your body.
=Working together for Health.=--One cannot always keep well and strong
by his own efforts. The grocer and milkman may sell to you bad food, the
town may furnish impure water, churches and schools may injure your
health by failing to supply fresh air in their buildings. More than a
hundred thousand people were made very sick last year through the use of
water poisoned by waste matter which other persons carelessly let reach
the streams and wells. Many of the sick died of the fever caused by this
water. Although it cannot be said that we are engaged in real war, yet
we are surely killing one another by our thoughtless habits in
scattering disease. We must therefore not only know how to care for our
own bodies, but teach all to help one another to keep well.
=A Lesson from War.=--The mention of war makes those who know its
terrors shudder. Disease has caused more than ten times as much
suffering and death as war with its harvest of mangled bodies,
shattered limbs, and blinded eyes. In our four months' war with Spain
in 1898 only 268 soldiers were killed in battle, while nearly 4000
brave men died from disease. We lost more than ten men by disease to
every one killed by bullets.
In the late war between Japan and Russia the Japanese soldiers cared
for their health so carefully that only one fourth as many died from
disease as perished in battle. This shows that with care for the
health the small men of Japan saved themselves from disease, and thus
won a victory told around the world.
[Illustration: FIG. 2.--The Surgeon General who, by keeping the
soldiers well, helped Japan win in the war against Russia.]
=The Battle with Disease.=--For long ages sickness has caused more
sorrow, misery, and death than famine, war, and wild beasts. Many
years ago a plague called the _black death_ swept over most of the
earth, and killed nearly one third of the inhabitants. A little more
than a hundred years ago yellow fever killed thousands of people in
Philadelphia and New York in a few weeks. When Boston was a city with
a population of 11,000, more than one half of the persons had smallpox
in one year. Within a few years one half of the sturdy red men of our
forests were slain by smallpox when it first visited our shores.
Before the year 1798 few boys or girls reached the age of twenty years
without a pit-marked face due to the dreadful disease of smallpox.
This disease was formerly more common than measles and chicken pox now
are because we had not yet learned how to prevent it as we do to-day.
=Victory over Disease.=--Cholera, yellow fever, black death, and
smallpox no longer cause people to flee into the wilderness to escape
them when they occasionally break out in a town or city. We have
learned how to prevent these ailments among people who will obey the
laws of health.
[Illustration: FIG. 3.--One of the thousands of sturdy red men which
smallpox slew before we learned how to prevent the disease.]
Until the year 1900, people fled from a city when yellow fever was
announced, but now any one can sleep with a fever patient and not
catch the disease, because we have learned how to prevent it. Nurses
and doctors no longer hesitate to sit for hours in the rooms of those
sick with smallpox because they know how to treat the body to keep
away this disease. By studying this book, boys and girls may learn not
only how to keep free from these diseases, but how to manage their
bodies to make them strong enough to escape other diseases.
=As the Twig is bent so the Tree is inclined.=--This old saying means
that a strong, straight, healthy, full-grown tree cannot come from a
weak and bent young tree. Health in manhood and womanhood depends on
how the health is cared for in childhood. The foundation for disease
is often laid during school years. The making of strong bodies that
will live joyous lives for long years must begin in boyhood and
girlhood.
In youth is the time to begin right living. Bad habits formed in early
life often cause much sorrow in later years. It is said that over one
half the drunkards began drinking liquor before they were twenty years
of age and most of the smokers began to use tobacco before they were
twenty years old.
PRACTICAL QUESTIONS
1. What is worth most in this world?
2. How many people are sick in our country?
3. How long do most people live?
4. Why do people not live long in India?
5. What is hygiene?
6. How many more deaths are caused by disease than by
war?
7. Give some facts about smallpox.
8. Why do we have no fear of yellow fever and smallpox
now?
9. Why should you be careful of your health while young?
10. When do most smokers and drinkers begin their bad
habits?
CHAPTER II
PARTS OF THE BODY
=Regions of the Body.=--In order to talk about any part of the body it
must have a name. The main portion of the body is called the _trunk_.
At the top of the trunk is the _head_. The arms and legs are known as
_limbs_ or _extremities_. The part of the arm between the elbow and
wrist is the _forearm_. The _thigh_ is the part of the leg between the
k | 3,078.284255 |
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Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger
THE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
1882
CONTENTS
Introduction
The Great Stone Face
The Ambitious Guest
The Great Carbuncle
Sketches From Memory
INTRODUCTION
THE first three numbers in this collection are tales of the White Hills
in New Hampshire. The passages from Sketches from Memory show that
Hawthorne had visited the mountains in one of his occasional rambles
from home, but there are no entries in his Note Books which give
accounts of such a visit. There is, however, among these notes
the following interesting paragraph, written in 1840 and clearly
foreshadowing The Great Stone Face:
'The semblance of a human face to be formed on the side of a mountain,
or in the fracture of a small stone, by a lusus naturae [freak of
nature]. The face is an object of curiosity for years or centuries, and
by and by a boy is born whose features gradually assume the aspect of
that portrait. At some critical juncture the resemblance is found to be
perfect. A prophecy may be connected.'
It is not impossible that this conceit occurred to Hawthorne before he
had himself seen the Old Man of the Mountain, or the Profile, in the
Franconia Notch which is generally associated in the minds of readers
with The Great Stone Face.
In The Ambitious Guest he has made use of the incident still told to
travellers through the Notch, of the destruction of the Willey family
in August, 1826. The house occupied by the family was on the <DW72> of
a mountain, and after a long drought there was a terrible tempest which
not only raised the river to a great height but loosened the surface of
the mountain so that a great landslide took place. The house was in
the track of the slide, and the family rushed out of doors. Had they
remained within they would have been safe, for a ledge above the house
parted the avalanche so that it was diverted into two paths and swept
past the house on either side. Mr. and Mrs. Willey, their five | 3,078.284262 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at Google Books)
A CHRISTIAN WOMAN
[Illustration: DOÑA EMILIA PARDO BAZÁN.]
A CHRISTIAN WOMAN
BY
EMILIA PARDO BAZÁN
TRANSLATED BY
MARY SPRINGER
NEW YORK
CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY
104 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE
COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY
CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,
RAHWAY, N. J.
INTRODUCTION.
“I have heard it told of a great-grandmother of mine, of noble family
(grandees, in fact), that she was obliged to teach herself to write,
copying the letters from a printed book, with a pointed stick for pen
and mulberry-juice for ink.” The great-granddaughter who said this is
the first woman of letters in Spain to-day; indeed, she is perhaps as
widely known as any contemporary Spanish writer, man or woman. Though
her achievements do not yet entitle her to rank, as a novelist, with
Galdós and Pereda, she has conquered a place only second to theirs, and
with long years of work before her (she is not yet forty) may even come
to rival their great fame. From the Spain that looked with suspicion
upon a woman who could more than barely read and write, to the Spain
that counts the literary renown of Emilia Pardo Bazán among its modern
glories, is a long way; and the chapters recording the struggles and
successive triumphs of Spanish women in their efforts to get within
reaching-distance of the tree of knowledge, will be, when they come to
be written, among the most striking in the history of the emancipation
of woman. Señora Bazán must always be a great figure in the record of
that educational development, and happily we are able to trace her own
progress pretty fully, taking advantage principally of the charming
autobiographical sketch which she prefixed to her novel “Los Pazos de
Ulloa.”
She was born in 1852, in Coruña, of a family which traced its descent on
both sides to the most distinguished among the ancient Galician
nobility. One of those children whose earliest memories are of
delightful hours passed in some safe retreat in company with a book, she
was fortunate in having a father with the good sense, rare in those
days, to let her follow her bent. She tells us of the happy days she had
when enjoying free swing at a library in the summer villa which the
family rented by the sea, and later when allowed to browse at her will
among her father’s books in Coruña. Plutarch and Homer (in translation,
of course,) thrilled her young fancy, and whole chapters of Cervantes
remain to this day photographed upon her memory, fixed there in those
early, sensitive days. Her first attempt to write came at the age of
eight, and was born of patriotic excitement. It was at the close of the
triumphant expedition of O’Donnell to Morocco, and the returned soldiers
were fairly apotheosized by their exuberant fellow-countrymen. The Pardo
Bazáns had two or three honest country louts among the volunteers to
entertain at their house, and to the little Emilia the good clodhoppers
embodied the idea of military glory as well as any Hector or Achilles.
The worthy fellows were up to their eyes in luck, given the best that
the mansion afforded, put to bed between lace-trimmed sheets in the best
room; but it all seemed too little to the enthusiastic child, and in a
passion of adoring homage she rushed off to her room to write a poem in
honor of the heroes! It could not have been long after this that she
addressed a sonnet to a deputy of her father’s party, and was exalted to
the seventh heaven by the great man’s extravagant praise of her
performance. However, it was not as a poet that she was to find
expression for her genius; and though she afterward published a volume
of verse for which she still professes a sneaking fondness, she admits
that she is not much more of a poet than can be met on every
street-corner in Spain.
Her education, so far as she did not get it by herself, was principally
obtained in a fashionable French boarding-school in Madrid, where
“Télémaque” was served up three times a day, and where Emilia was given
the idea that she had exhausted the possibilities of astronomical
science when she had looked at an eclipse through a bit of smoked glass.
Later she was turned over to the tender mercies of tutors. Instead of
lessons on the piano, she begged her father to allow her to study Latin;
but this was quite too wild a thing to ask, even of him, and his refusal
only gave her a lasting hatred for the piano. By the time she was
fourteen, she was allowed to read pretty much everything, though still
forbidden to look into the works of Hugo, Dumas, and the French
Romanticists generally. Instead of these, an uncle put into her hands
the novels of Fernan Caballero--a most suggestive incident, the woman
who worked out the beginnings of the modern Spanish novel, read by the
girl who was to help carry it to its highest development! However, her
unformed taste thought nothing worthy to be called a novel unless a man
was fired out of a cannon or flung over a cliff in every chapter, and
her furtive reading of Hugo--of course, she tasted the forbidden
waters--confirmed her in a liking which she was long in outgrowing.
In 1868, just after she had first put on long dresses, she was married.
To make short work with her domestic life, let it be added, that her
husband’s name is Don José Quiroga, and that three children have been
born to them. During the troublous times that came in with the
Revolution of 1868, and throughout the reign of Amadeus, her family was
in political eclipse, and with her father she traveled extensively in
France and southern Europe, learning English and Italian, and from her
industrious practice of keeping a diary acquiring the writing habit. On
her return to Spain, she found the German philosophical influence in the
ascendant, and to put herself abreast of the intellectual movement of
the time, read deeply in philosophy and history. By this time she had
come fully to perceive the defective nature of her education, and set
herself rigorously to correct it, for some years devoting herself to the
severest studies. At a literary contest in Orense, in 1876, she carried
off the first prize both in prose and verse, though for three years
after that she wrote nothing except occasional articles for a Madrid
periodical. Finally, as a relaxation from her strenuous historical
studies, she began reading novels again, beginning with contemporary
English, French, and Italian writers; for in her provincial home, and in
her absorption in philosophical and historical reading, she had never
heard of the splendid development of the novel in her own country. At
last a friend put her on the track, and then she read with deepening
delight.
To her it was the chance magic touch that finally gave her genius its
full vent. If a novel was thus a description of real life, and not a
congeries of wild adventures, why could she not write one herself? That
was the question she put to herself, and the answer came in the shape
of her first novel, “Pascual López,” published in the _Revista de
España_, and afterward separately. She began her biography of Francis de
Assisi in 1880, but a temporary failure of health sent her off to Vichy.
Of this journey was born her “Un Viaje de Novios,” the first chapters of
which she wrote in Paris, and read to such distinguished auditors as
Balzac, Flaubert, Goncourt, and Daudet. Fully conscious now of the place
and method of the realistic novel, and of the high value of its
development in Spain, her course was clear. Since then her novels have
appeared with surprising rapidity. She has all along kept her feet on
the earth, writing of what she knows, and thus it happens that most of
her scenes are laid in Galicia. As a preparation for writing “La
Tribuna,” a study of working women, she went to a tobacco factory for
two months, morning and afternoon, to listen to the conversation and
observe the manners of the women employed there. Her work has been
steadily broadening, and “A Christian Woman,” with its sequel, is the
largest canvas she has filled.
Though now definitely and mainly a novelist, her literary activity has
been highly varied. Her letters on criticism, published in _La Epoca_ in
1882, evoked the widest discussion, and her lectures on “The
Revolutionary Movement and the Novel in Russia,” delivered before the
most brilliant literary circle of Madrid, have already been given an
English dress. Articles from her pen are a frequent attraction in the
leading magazines, and her vivacious series of letters about the Paris
Exposition won much attention. As might be inferred from her unflagging
productiveness, she is possessed of as much physical as mental vigor.
She is of winning appearance and unaffected manners. Since the death of
her father, in 1888, she has been entitled as his sole heir to be called
a countess; but she does not use the title. “Who would know me as a
countess?” she asks. “I shall be simply Pardo Bazán as long as I live.”
ROLLO OGDEN.
A CHRISTIAN WOMAN.
CHAPTER I.
You will see by the following list the course of studies that the State
obliged me to master in order to enter the School of Engineering:
arithmetic and algebra as a matter of course; geometry equally so;
besides, trigonometry and analytics, and, finally, descriptive geometry
and the differential calculus. In addition to these mathematical
studies, French, only held together with pins, if the truth must be
told, and English very hurriedly basted; and as for that dreadful
German, I would not put tooth to it even in jest--the Gothic letters
inspired me with such great respect. Then there was the everlasting
drawing--linear, topographic, and landscape even, the latter being
intended, I presume, to enable an engineer, while managing his
theodolite and sights, to divert himself innocently by scratching down
some picturesque scene in his album--after the manner of English misses
on their travels.
After entrance came the “little course,” so called, in order that we
might not be afraid of it. It embraced only four studies--to wit,
integral calculus, theoretical mechanics, physics, and chemistry. During
the year of the “little course,” we had no more drawing to do; but in
the following, which is the first year of the course properly speaking,
we were obliged, besides going deep into materials of construction,
applied mechanics, geology, and cubic mensuration, to take up new kinds
of drawing--pen-drawing, shading and washing.
I was not one of the most hard-working students, nor yet one of the most
stupid--I say it as shouldn’t. I could grind away when it was necessary,
and could exercise both patience and perseverance in those branches
where, the power of intellect not being sufficient, one must have
recourse to a parrot-like memory. I failed to pass several times, but
it is impossible to avoid such mishaps in taking a professional course
in which they deliberately tighten the screws on the students, in order
that only a limited number may graduate to fill the vacant posts. I was
sure of success, sooner or later; and my mother, who paid for the cost
of my tuition, with the assistance of her only brother, was as patient
as her disposition would allow her to be with my failures. I assured her
that they were not numerous and that, when I finally emerged a
full-fledged civil engineer, I should have in my pocket the four hundred
and fifty dollar salary, besides extras.
Nor were all my failures avoidable, even if I had been as assiduous as
possible in my studies. I was all run down and sick for one year,
finally having an attack of varioloid; and this reason, with others not
necessary to enumerate, will explain why at the age of twenty-one I
found myself still in the second year of the course, although I enjoyed
the reputation of being a studious youth and quite well informed--that
is to say, I yet lacked three years.
The year before, the first year of the course strictly speaking, I was
obliged to let some studies go over to the September examinations. I
attribute that disagreeable occurrence to the bad influence I was under,
in a certain boarding-house, where the evil one tempted me to take up my
abode. The time I passed there left undying recollections in my memory,
which bring a smile to my lips and indiscreet joy to my soul whenever I
evoke them. I will give some idea of the place, so that the reader may
judge whether Archimedes himself would have been capable of studying
hard in such a den.
There are several houses in Madrid at the present date--for example, the
Corralillos, the Cuartelillos, the Tócame Roque--all very similar to the
one I am about to describe. Within that abode dwelt the population of a
small-sized village; it had three courts with balconies, on which opened
the doors of the small rooms,--or pigeon-holes one might call
them,--with their respective numbers on the lintels. There was no lack
of immodest and quarrelsome inmates; there were street musicians singing
couplets to the accompaniment of a tuneless guitar; cats in a state of
high nervous excitement scampering from garret to garret, or jumping
from balustrade to balustrade--now impelled by amorous feelings, now by
a brick thrown at them full force. Clothes and dish-cloths were hung out
to dry; ragged petticoats and patched underwear, all mixed up pell-mell.
There were pots of sweet basil and pinks in the windows; and in fact,
everything would be found there that abounds in such dens in Madrid--so
often described by novelists and shown forth by painters in their
sketches from real life.
The third suite on the right had been hired by Josefa Urrutia, a
Biscayan, the ex-maid of the marchioness of Torres-Nobles. At first her
business was pretty poor, and she sank deeper and deeper in debt. At
last she got plenty of boarders, and when I took up my abode in the
“dining-room bed-room,” the place was in its glory; she had not a single
vacant apartment. All the boarders paid their dues honestly, if they
had the money, with certain exceptions, and the reason of these I will
reveal under the seal of profound secrecy.
A certain Don Julián occupied the parlor, which was the best room on the
floor. He was a Valencian, jolly and gay; a great spendthrift, fond of
jokes and fun, and an inveterate gambler. They said that he had come to
Madrid in quest of an office, which he never succeeded in getting;
nevertheless the candidate lived like a prince, and instead of helping
with his board to keep up Pepa’s business, it was whispered about that
he lived there gratis, and even took from time to time small sums from
her, destined to go off in the dangerous coat-tails of the knave of
hearts.
However, these little private weaknesses of Pepa Urrutia’s would never
have come to light, if it had not been for the green-eyed monster. The
Biscayan was furiously jealous of a handsome neighbor, who was fond of
flirting with all the boarders opposite, as I have indubitable evidence.
In a fit of desperation Pepa would sometimes shriek at the top of her
lungs, and would call out “swindler; rogue!” adding, “If you had any
decency, you would pay me at once what you have wheedled out of me, and
what you owe me.”
On such occasions Don Julián would stick his hands in his pockets,
firmly shut his jaws, and, silent as the grave, pace up and down the
parlor. His silence would exasperate Pepa still more, and sometimes she
would go off into hysterics; and after showering injurious epithets on
the Valencian, she would rush out, slamming the door so as to shake the
whole building.
Then a stout, florid, bald-headed man, about fifty years old, with a
nice pleasant face, would appear in the passage-way, and with a strongly
marked Portuguese accent, inquire of the irate landlady:
“Pepiña, what ails you?”
“Nothing at all,” she would reply, making a stampede into the kitchen,
and muttering dreadful oaths in her Basque dialect. We would hear her
knocking the kettles and frying pans about, and after a little while the
cheerful sputtering of oil would announce to us that anyhow potatoes
and eggs were frying, and that breakfast would soon be ready.
The stout, bald-headed gentleman, who had the back parlor, was a
Portuguese physician who had come to Madrid to bring a lawsuit against
the Administration for some claim or other he had against it. He was an
ardent admirer of Spanish popular music, like most Portuguese, and he
would pass the whole blessed day in a chair, near the balcony,--dressed
as lightly as possible in jacket and linen pantaloons (it was in the
month of June, I must observe), a Scotch cap, with floating streamers
concealing his bald pate,--and strumming on a guitar, to the harsh and
discordant accompaniment of which he would sing the following words:
Love me, girl of Seville, beauteous maid, spotless flower,
For with the sound of my guitar my heart beats for thee,
Here he would break off his song to look toward the window of a young
washerwoman, ugly enough in appearance, but lively and sociable. She
would stand at the window laughing and making eyes at him. The
Portuguese would sigh, and exclaim in broken Spanish: “_Moy bunita!_”
and then, attacking his guitar with renewed zest, would finish his song:
Oh, what grief, if she is false--no, fatal doubt flee far from me.
Ah, what joy is love when one finds a heavenly soul!
When he was done, he would draw a straw cigar-case from his breast
pocket, with a package of cigarettes and some matches. Hardly would he
have finished lighting the first one, when a young man, twenty-four
years old,--one of Pepa’s boarders also, whom I looked upon for a long
time as the personification of an artist,--would burst into the room.
His surname was Botello, but I never thought to inquire his Christian
name. He was fine looking, of good height, wore his hair rumpled, not
too long, but thick and curly, and he looked something like a
mulatto--like Alexandre Dumas, with his great thick lips, mustache like
Van <DW18>’s, bright black eyes, and a fine, dark complexion. We used to
tease him, calling him Little Dumas every hour of the day.
Why had Pepa Urrutia’s boarders made up their minds that Botello was an
artist? Even now, when I think of it, I cannot understand why. Botello
had never drawn a line, nor murdered a sonata, nor scrawled an article,
nor written a poor drama, not even a simple farce in one act; yet we all
had the firm conviction that Botello was a finished artist.
I think that this conviction sprang from his careless and slovenly
attire more than from his way of living, or his striking and genial
countenance. In all sorts of weather, he would wear a close-fitting blue
cloth overcoat, which he declared belonged to the Order of the Golden
Fleece, because the collar and cuffs displayed a broad band of grease,
and the front a lamb, figured in stains. This precious article of
apparel was such an inseparable companion that he wore it in the street,
washed and shaved in it, and even threw it over his bed, as a covering,
while he slept. His trousers were frayed around the bottom, his boots
were worn down at the heels, and the cracked leather allowed his
stockings to be seen, smeared with ink so that their incautious
whiteness might not appear. With all that, Botello’s handsome head and
graceful form did not lose all their attractiveness even in such a
guise; on the contrary, his very rags, when seen upon his elegant
figure, acquired a certain mysterious grace.
Another distinctive phase of Botello’s character, which made him
resemble a Bohemian of the artistic type, was his happy-go-lucky
disposition, as well as his contempt for labor, and utter ignorance of
the realities of life. Botello was the son of a judge, and the nephew of
a nobleman’s steward. When Botello’s father died, he was left under his
uncle’s charge, who lodged and fed him, and gave him an allowance of two
hundred and fifty dollars, only demanding that Botello should be in bed
by twelve o’clock. He did not oblige him to study, nor take any pains to
give him an education; but when he discovered that his nephew passed
every evening at the Bohemian _café_ or at some low resort, and came
home at all hours of the night, letting himself in with a latch-key so
as not to be heard, he made the welkin ring. Instead of trying to
reform him, he ignominiously drove him out of his house.
Without any occupation, with only twenty-one dollars a month to keep
him, Botello wandered from boarding-house to boarding-house, each one
worse than the last, until in a gaming-saloon he made the acquaintance
of Don Julián, the lord and master of Pepa’s heart. Thus he came to our
dwelling, drawn by this new bond of friendship. From that hour, Botello
found an exemplary guardian in the Valencian. Don Julián took it upon
himself to draw the young man’s monthly allowance, and then off he would
rush to the tavern or gaming-house to try his luck. If he got a windfall
of one or two hundred dollars, he could give Botello his twenty-one, and
even, occasionally, add a few more; but if fate were unpropitious,
Botello might take leave of his money forever. As he sorely needed
funds, the ward would then engage in a lively tussle with his guardian.
“Well, now, _señor mio_, how shall I get along this month?” he would
ask. Just then a providential apparition would present itself in Pepa,
who would come to the rescue of her dear extortioner, while she screamed
loudly, threatening Botello:
“Be quiet, be quiet! I will wait.”
“What of that?” the unfortunate youth would reply; “he has not left me
even a dime to buy tobacco.”
Pepa would then put her hand in her pocket, and, drawing out a grimy
quarter, would exclaim:
“There now, buy yourself a package of cigarettes.”
But when Pepa’s quarters were scarce, or even when they were not,
Botello would have recourse to the Portuguese. He would be in the
latter’s room as soon as he heard him strike a match to light a
cigarette, and half jokingly, half in earnest, would tease for some,
until the best part of the package would find its way into the
Bohemian’s pocket. As the Portuguese was accustomed to the ways and
disposition of little Dumas,--who was a genuine artist, as he solemnly
assured everybody he met,--he never took his jokes seriously, nor did he
get offended on account of the marauding inroads into his pockets. On
the contrary, one would say that the musical physician’s heart was
wonderfully drawn to Botello by his very pranks, even though he often
carried his practical jokes too far. I will mention one as an instance.
As the Portuguese was obliged to make calls and to present his letters
of recommendation, in order to hasten the execution of his business, he
ordered a hundred very glossy visiting-cards with his name, “Miguel de
los Santos Pinto,” engraved in beautiful script. Botello happened to see
them, and showed them to everybody in the house; expressing his
amazement that a Portuguese should have so few surnames. He wanted to
add at least, “Teixeira de Vasconcellos Palmeirim Junior de Santarem do
Morgado das Ameixeiras,” so that it should be more in character. We got
that out of his head, but his next idea was even worse. He
surreptitiously laid hold of the pen and India ink, which I used for my
drawings and my plans, and wrote carefully under “Miguel de los Santos
Pinto” this appendage, “Corno de Boy” (Ox-horn). In order not to take
the trouble of adding it to all the cards, he did so to twenty-five
only, and hid the rest.
The next day the Portuguese went out to make some calls, and left ten or
twelve of the cards at different places. The following Sunday he met an
acquaintance in Arenal Street, who, half-choked with laughter, stopped
him, saying, “Why, Don Miguel, is your name really Corno de Boy? Is
there any such name in your country?”
“What do you mean?” said the embarrassed Portuguese. “Of course not; my
name is simply Santos Pinto; nothing more.”
“Well, just look at this card.”
“Let me see, let me see!” murmured the poor man. “It really does say
so!” he exclaimed in amazement, on reading the addition.
“The engraver must have made a mistake,” added his friend, jocosely.
But Don Miguel did not swallow that, and as soon as he reached the house
showed the card to Botello, and demanded an explanation of the sorry
jest. The big scamp so warmly protested that he was innocent, that he
succeeded in diverting Don Miguel’s suspicions toward me.
“Don’t you see,” he said, “Salustio has the very pen and ink with which
that was written, in his room now? Don’t trust those quiet people. Oh,
these proper fellows!”
In consequence of this Macchiavellian scheme, the good-natured
Portuguese singled me out for his jealous suspicion, although I had
never meddled with him in my life. But I firmly believe that his
blindness was voluntary, because he could not have had the slightest
doubt in regard to some other malicious pranks that Botello perpetrated.
One day when he was playing dominoes with his victim, Botello managed to
put a paper crown, with donkey’s ears, on the latter’s head, so that the
nymph of the ironing-table might be convulsed with laughter, for she was
watching the whole performance. Then, one day, he pinned long strips of
paper upon his coat-tails, so that when he went out in the street all
the street Arabs hooted at him. Nevertheless, the fondness of the
Portuguese for Botello never failed. When Botello lacked money to pay
for a ball ticket, he would go to Don Miguel and ask for half a dollar,
and exhaust all his eloquence in trying to persuade him that he ought to
go on a frolic also. When the Portuguese would refuse, making the excuse
that he did not want to displease the washerwoman, Botello would retort,
calling him a booby. As the Portuguese did not understand that word, and
appeared somewhat offended, Botello would make a movement as if to
return the half-dollar. “Take it, take it, if you are angry with me,”
the sly youth would exclaim. “My personal dignity will not allow me to
accept favors from any one who looks at me in that way. You are angry,
aren’t you now?”
“I can never be angry with you,” the Portuguese would reply, putting the
money into his hand by main force; then turning toward the rest of us
who were witnessing this scene, he would say with the most kindly smile
I have ever seen on any human countenance: “This rapacious rogue! But he
is a great artist.”
Then he would go back to his place at the window, and strum on his
guitar.
The reader must acknowledge that there was no opportunity for applying
one’s mind to methodical, engrossing, and difficult study in a house
where such scenes occurred every moment of the day. The bursts of
laughter, alternating with frequent squabbles; the racing up and down
the halls; the continual going in and out of lazy fellows who, not
knowing how to kill time, endeavor to make the studious ones lose it;
the irregularity of our meals; the confidential way we had of living in
each other’s rooms; the being up all night, and getting out of bed at
midday, did not greatly help a student to win distinction in the School
of Engineering. On the other hand, the contagion of joking and mirth
could not possibly be withstood at my age.
Other students boarded there; some attending the University, others the
School of Mountain Engineering, and others the School of Architecture;
but none of them was a prodigy of learning. Perhaps I was ahead of them
all in diligent application to my studies; but as my subjects were very
difficult, it turned out that I found myself put over to the September
examinations that year. Consequently I was obliged to spend my vacation
in Madrid, and was unable to enjoy the cool breezes of my home in the
province.
That summer would have been wearisome indeed, and unbearable, if I had
not been surrounded by such jolly and frolicsome people, and if the
good-natured Portuguese had not afforded us such fun by submitting to
the endless pranks of Botello.
When there was no other way of killing an afternoon, little Dumas would
snap his fingers and say, throwing back his perspiring head so as to
brush away the thick black mane, which was suffocating him:
“Let us play a trick on Corno de Boy. Who will help me catch some bugs?”
“Catch bugs?”
“Yes, just make a cornucopia and fill it with bugs to the top. The small
ones will not do; they must be big ones.”
Then every one would go to his room to engage in the strange hunt.
Unfortunately, it was not difficult. As soon as we searched under our
beds, or our pillows, we would quickly collect a dozen or more fearful
fellows. We would carry our tributes to the inventor of the practical
joke, and he would put them all together. As soon as we knew that the
Portuguese was in bed, we would take off our shoes, and, repressing our
desire to laugh, would station ourselves at his door. As soon as Don
Miguel began to snore, Botello would softly raise the latch, and, as the
headboard was next the door, all that the imp of an artist had to do was
to open the cornucopia and scatter the contents over the head and face
of the sleeping man. After this was accomplished, Botello would close
the door very quietly, while we, convulsed with laughter, and pinching
one another in sheer excitement, would wait for the pitched battle to
begin. Hardly two minutes would elapse before we would hear the
Portuguese turn over in bed. Then we would hear broken and
unintelligible phrases; then strong ejaculations; then the scratching of
a match, and his astonished exclamation, “By Jove!”
We would come forward with great hypocrisy, inquiring whether he was
sick or whether anything had happened. “By Jove!” the good man would
exclaim; “pests here, and pests everywhere. By Jove! Ugh!”
The next day we would advise him to change his room; and he would do so,
hoping to find some relief; but we would repeat the same performance.
So we managed to kill time during the dog-days, with these stupid
practical jokes. What most surprised me was that the Portuguese, who was
always the butt of them, never thought of changing his boarding-house
nor even gave his persecutor a drubbing.
When I passed in my deficient subjects in September, I was obliged to
exert all my energy and resolution in order to do what I thought the
Portuguese should have done--that is, to change my boarding-house. The
attraction of a gay and idle life, my pleasant intercourse with Botello,
for whom it was impossible not to feel a compassionate regard, similar
to tenderness; the very defects and inconveniences of that abode, made
me much fonder of it than was expedient. But reason finally triumphed.
“Life is a treasure too precious to be squandered in boyish pranks and
stupid practical jokes,” I reflected, as I was packing up my effects
preparatory to taking myself off somewhere else. “ | 3,078.286079 |
2023-11-16 19:08:22.3648420 | 222 | 15 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE BRIDE OF THE SUN
By Gaston Leroux
1915, McBride, Nabt & Co.
BOOK I--THE GOLDEN SUN BRACELET
I
As the liner steamed into Callao Roads, and long before it had
anchored, it was surrounded by a flotilla of small boats. A moment
later, deck, saloons and cabins were invaded by a host of gesticulating
and strong-minded boatmen, whose badges attested that they were duly
licensed to carry off what passengers and luggage they could. They raged
impotently, however, round Francis Montgomery, F.R.S., who sat enthroned
on a pile of securely locked boxes in which were stored his cherished
manuscripts and books.
It was in vain that they told him it would be two full hours before the
ship came alongside the Darsena dock. Nothing would part him from his
treasures, nothing induce him to allow these half-c | 3,078.384882 |
2023-11-16 19:08:22.3667930 | 1,303 | 19 |
Produced by Julio Reis and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
This work has no errata. The following typos were corrected:
* p. 82: chesnuts -> chestnuts
In this text-only version, italic was marked with _, and text in
small capitals was converted to uppercase.
[Illustration: Cover]
Olive Leaves
[Illustration: The Indian Chief.--_P._ 229.]
OLIVE LEAVES.
OR,
SKETCHES OF CHARACTER.
BY
MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
GALL & INGLIS.
London:
25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
Edinburgh:
20 BERNARD TERRACE.
PREFACE.
An Olive Leaf was the first gift of the Earth after the Flood, to the
sole survivors of a buried race. It was borne by the Dove, spreading a
timid wing over the surging waters, so lately without a shore.
The plant thus honoured, as the love-token of a World, rising in
freshness from the wrecks of the Deluge, has long been a consecrated
emblem of peace. It then brought the joyful tidings to the voyagers in
the lonely Ark, of a home once more upon the green earth; and has since
cheered many a Christian heart, with the assurance that the bitter
waters of strife had abated.
These, my simple "Olive Leaves," would fain be love-tokens to you, sweet
young friends, who may chance to take them in your hand. Buds of the
olive and of the rose, are ye: pour forth the spirit of peace and love,
as ye unfold and ripen on the pilgrimage of life, that you may be
gathered at its close, where their bloom is eternal.
L. H. S.
_Hartford, Connecticut._
CONTENTS.
Page
PREFACE, 3
THE LOST AND FOUND, 9
CHILDHOOD'S PIETY, 18
FRANK LUDLOW, 19
VICTORY, 35
SILENT PEOPLE, 37
LAURA BRIDGMAN, 53
HUMBLE FRIENDS, 55
BUTTERFLY IN A SCHOOL-ROOM, 61
A BRAVE BOY, 63
MAY MORNING, 66
THE HUGUENOT GRANDFATHER'S TALE, 67
THE OLD WATCH, 86
ENTERTAINING BOOKS, 88
THE NEW YEAR, 91
CYRUS, 93
ROME AND ITS RULERS, 97
THE PLOUGHING OF THE SWORD, 105
THE GOOD AND BAD EMPEROR, 108
BONAPARTE AT ST. HELENA, 120
POLYCARP, 124
CHRISTMAS HYMN, 127
THE FRIVOLOUS KING, 128
TO A PUPIL LEAVING SCHOOL, 131
PIOUS PRINCES, 132
EVILS OF WAR, 138
THE LIBERATED FLY, 143
THE GOOD BROTHER AND SISTER, 146
THE WAITING CHILD, 155
THE ADOPTED NIECE, 156
THE ORPHAN, 160
THE ONLY SON, 163
LIFE, 175
A REMARKABLE CHILD, 177
THE DYING SUNDAY SCHOOL BOY, 187
THE PRECOCIOUS INFANT, 189
THE LAST ROSE BUD, 195
THE CHERUB'S WELCOME, 197
THE BABE, AND THE FORGET-ME-NOT, 199
TREATMENT OF ANIMALS, 201
THE TREMBLING EYELID, 207
PEACEFUL DISPOSITIONS, 213
JOHN AND JAMES WILLIAMS, 220
THE INDIAN KING, 227
THE DOVES, 232
THE WAR-SPIRIT, 236
EARLY RECOLLECTIONS, 238
HUGUENOT FORT, 243
I HAVE SEEN AN END OF ALL PERFECTION, 252
OLIVE LEAVES.
The Lost and Found.
I have something to say to the young, about the advantage, as well as
duty of obeying their parents. My story will be of an interesting boy,
by the name of Charles Morton. He had a pleasant temper, and almost
always wore a smile. He ardently loved his sister Caroline, who was
several years younger than himself; and whenever he came from school,
would ask for her, and take her in his arms, or guide her tottering
footsteps.
But Charles, with all his kindness of heart, had a sad fault. He would
sometimes disobey his parents, when he was out of their sight. He did
not remember that the Eye of God always saw him, both in darkness and in
light, and would take note of the sin that he committed, though his
parents knew it not. At a short distance from his home, was a beautiful
river, broad and deep. His parents had strictly charged him never to
venture in, and had explained to him the danger which a boy of eight
years old would incur, in a tide so strong. Notwithstanding this, he
would sometimes seek a spot where the banks, or the trees upon the
shore, concealed him, and take off his shoes, and step into the water.
He grew fond of wading, and would | 3,078.386833 |
2023-11-16 19:08:22.5650750 | 1,066 | 38 |
Transcribed from the 1864 Chapman and Hall “Tales of All Countries”
edition by David Price, email [email protected]
RETURNING HOME.
IT is generally supposed that people who live at home,—good domestic
people, who love tea and their arm-chairs, and who keep the parlour
hearth-rug ever warm,—it is generally supposed that these are the people
who value home the most, and best appreciate all the comforts of that
cherished institution. I am inclined to doubt this. It is, I think, to
those who live farthest away from home, to those who find the greatest
difficulty in visiting home, that the word conveys the sweetest idea. In
some distant parts of the world it may be that an Englishman acknowledges
his permanent resting place; but there are many others in which he will
not call his daily house, his home. He would, in his own idea, desecrate
the word by doing so. His home is across the blue waters, in the little
northern island, which perhaps he may visit no more; which he has left,
at any rate, for half his life; from which circumstances, and the
necessity of living, have banished him. His home is still in England,
and when he speaks of home his thoughts are there.
No one can understand the intensity of this feeling who has not seen or
felt the absence of interest in life which falls to the lot of many who
have to eat their bread on distant soils. We are all apt to think that a
life in strange countries will be a life of excitement, of stirring
enterprise, and varied scenes;—that in abandoning the comforts of home,
we shall receive in exchange more of movement and of adventure than would
come in our way in our own tame country; and this feeling has, I am sure,
sent many a young man roaming. Take any spirited fellow of twenty, and
ask him whether he would like to go to Mexico for the next ten years!
Prudence and his father may ultimately save him from such banishment, but
he will not refuse without a pang of regret.
Alas! it is a mistake. Bread may be earned, and fortunes, perhaps, made
in such countries; and as it is the destiny of our race to spread itself
over the wide face of the globe, it is well that there should be
something to gild and paint the outward face of that lot which so many
are called upon to choose. But for a life of daily excitement, there is
no life like life in England; and the farther that one goes from England
the more stagnant, I think, do the waters of existence become.
But if it be so for men, it is ten times more so for women. An
Englishman, if he be at Guatemala or Belize, must work for his bread, and
that work will find him in thought and excitement. But what of his wife?
Where will she find excitement? By what pursuit will she repay herself
for all that she has left behind her at her mother’s fireside? She will
love her husband. Yes; that at least! If there be not that, there will
be a hell, indeed. Then she will nurse her children, and talk of
her—home. When the time shall come that her promised return thither is
within a year or two of its accomplishment, her thoughts will all be
fixed on that coming pleasure, as are the thoughts of a young girl on her
first ball for the fortnight before that event comes off.
On the central plain of that portion of Central America which is called
Costa Rica stands the city of San José. It is the capital of the
Republic,—for Costa Rica is a Republic,—and, for Central America, is a
town of some importance. It is in the middle of the coffee district,
surrounded by rich soil on which the sugar-cane is produced, is blessed
with a climate only moderately hot, and the native inhabitants are
neither cut-throats nor cannibals. It may be said, therefore, that by
comparison with some other spots to which Englishmen and others are
congregated for the gathering together of money, San José may be
considered as a happy region; but, nevertheless, a life there is not in
every way desirable. It is a dull place, with little to interest either
the eye or the ear. Although the heat of the tropics is but little felt
there on account of its altitude, men and women become too lifeless for
much enterprise. There is no society. There are a few Germans and a few
Englishmen in the place, who see each other on matters of business during
the day; but, sombre as life generally is, they seem to care little for
each other’s company on any other footing. I know not to what point the
aspirations of the Germans may | 3,078.585115 |
2023-11-16 19:08:22.7598340 | 1,435 | 64 |
Produced by David Garcia, Jennie Gottschalk and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
Transcriber's Note: Small spelling and punctuation errors have been
silently corrected. Spelling errors are listed at the end of the file.
Bold text is marked as =text=, and italics are _text_.
Complete in one Number. Price, 5 Cents.
[Illustration: NICKEL LIBRARY]
Entered according to Act of Congress by PICTORIAL PRINTING CO. In
the office of the Librarian at Washington. D. C., in the year 1877
SERIES ONE. CHICAGO. NUMBER 17
LITTLE OSKALOO,[A]
OR,
THE WHITE WHIRLWIND.
BY T. C. HARBAUGH.
[A] Changed from LITTLE MOCCASIN.
[Illustration: =THE TRAILERS OF THE FOREST.--See page 4.=]
CHAPTER I.
HISTORY AND A MYSTERY.
If, in the month of July, 1794, an observing white man could have
traveled unmolested from the banks of the Ohio river due north to the
famous Maumee rapids, he would have been struck with the wonderful
activity manifested in the various Indian villages on his route.
No signs of idleness would have greeted his eye; the young warrior did
not recline in the shadow of his birchen lodge enjoying the comforts of
summer life in mid forest. If his image was reflected in the clear
streams, it was but for a moment, as his lithe canoe shot from bank to
bank. Everything between the two rivers portended war.
Indian runners were constantly departing and arriving at the several
native villages, and excited groups of Shawnees, Delawares and Wyandots
discussed--not the latest deer trails nor the next moon-feast, but the
approaching contest for the mastery of power.
A few years had passed away since they had met and conquered Harmar and
St. Clair. Those bloody victories had rendered the Indian bold and
aggressive. He believed himself invincible, and pointed with pride to
the scalps taken on the ill-fated 4th of November, '91.
But a new foe had advanced from the south--treading in the tracks of St.
Clair's butchered troops, but with his stern eye fixed on victory. The
Indians were beginning to exhibit signs of alarm--signs first exhibited
at the British posts in the "Northwestern Territory," where the powers
and generalship of Wayne were known and acknowledged.
It was the impetuous, Mad Anthony who led the advancing columns through
the Ohio forests. He had entered the blood-drenched territory with the
victory of Stony Point to urge him on to nobler deeds, and with the firm
determination of punishing the tribes, as well as of avenging the defeat
of his predecessors.
Tidings of his advance spread like wildfire from village to village, and
councils became the order of day and night alike.
The Indians knew the Blacksnake, as they called Wayne, and some, in
their fear, counseled peace. But that was not to be thought of by the
chiefs and the young Hotspurs whose first scalps had been torn from the
heads of Butler's men.
Such sachems as Little Turtle, Blue Jacket, and Bockhougahelas stirred
the Indian heart, and not a few words of encouragement came from the
British forts on the Maumee.
Simon Girty and kindred spirits moved from tribe to tribe underrating
Wayne before the august councils, until a united cry of "war to the
knife!" ascended to the skies.
The chase suddenly lost its charms to the scarlet hunter; the dandy
turned from his mirror to the rifle; the very air seemed heavy with war.
The older warriors were eager to lay their plans before any one who
would listen; they said that Wayne would march with St. Clair's
carelessness, and affirmed that the order of Indian battle, so
successful on _that_ occasion, would drive the Blacksnake from the
territory.
Under the Indian banner--if the plume of Little Turtle can be thus
designated--the warriors of seven tribes were marshalling. There were
the Miamis, the Pottawatamies, Delawares, Shawnees, Chippewas, Ottawas,
and Senecas; and in the ranks of each nation stood not a few white
renegades.
It was a formidable force to oppose the victor of Stony Point, and the
reader of our forest romance will learn with what success the cabal met.
We have thought best to prelude our story with the glimpses at history
just given, as it enables the reader to obtain an idea of the situation
of affairs in the locality throughout which the incidents that follow
take place.
* * * * *
It was near the close of a sultry day in July, 1794, that two men
reached the right bank of the Maumee about ten miles below Fort
Defiance, which Wayne had erected and garrisoned.
They looked like Wyandot warriors, painted for the warpath. They were
athletic men, and one, as could be seen despite the profusion of paint
which his face wore, was at least twenty years the other's senior.
Long-barreled rifles were trailed at their sides, and their belts
carried the Indian's inseparable companions--the tomahawk and scalping
knife.
"There goes the sun," said the youngest of the pair in unmistakable and
melodious English. "Look at the old planet, Wolf Cap, if you want to see
him before he goes to bed. These are dangerous times, and one does not
know when the sun sets if he will be permitted to greet it in the
morning."
"That is so, Harvey," was the reply, in the brusque tone of the rough
frontiersman, and the speaker looked at the magnificent god of day whose
last streaks of light were crimsoning the water. "There was a time when
I didn't care if I never beheld the sun again. It was that night when I
came home and found no house to shelter me; but a dead family among a
heap of smoking ruins, and in a tree hard by a tomahawk buried to the
handle."
"You have told me," the younger said, as if to spare his companion the
pain of narrating the story of the Indian | 3,078.779874 |
2023-11-16 19:08:22.7609340 | 51 | 55 |
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Carol Brown, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
THE SOUL OF SUSAN YELLAM
by
HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL | 3,078.780974 |
2023-11-16 19:08:22.7610610 | 2,750 | 70 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Jonathan Ingram and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Library of Early Journals.)
[Transcriber's note: Characters with macrons have been marked in
brackets with an equal sign, as [=e] for a letter e with a macron on
top. Underscores have been used to indicate _italic_ fonts; equal signs
indicate =bold= fonts. Original spelling variations have not been
standardized. A list of volumes and pages in "Notes and Queries" has
been added at the end.]
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION
FOR
LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES, GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
VOL. IV.--NO. 112--SATURDAY, DECEMBER 20. 1851.
Price Threepence. Stamped Edition 4_d._
CONTENTS.
Page
NOTES:--
Wady Mokatteb identified with Kibroth Hattavah, by
the Rev. Moses Margoliouth 481
On a Passage in Goldsmith, by Henry H. Breen 482
Minor Notes:--Biographical Dictionary--The Word
Premises--Play of George Barnwell--Traditions from
Remote Periods through few Links 483
QUERIES:--
Deodands and their Application, by Jonathan Peel 484
Minor Queries:--Hell paved with the Skulls of
Priests--Charib--Thumb Bible--Tripos--Louis Philippe
and his Bag of Nails--Brass Statues at Windsor--Edmund
Bohun--Bishop Trelawney 484
MINOR QUERIES ANSWERED:--Companion Ladder--Macaulay's
Ballad of the Battle of Naseby 485
REPLIES:--
The Crucifix as used by the Early Christians, by
J. Emerson Tennent 485
The Word "[Greek: Adelphos]." by T. R. Brown 486
The Roman Index Expurgatorius of 1607 487
Replies to Minor Queries:--Hobbes's "Leviathan"--Age
of Trees--Treatise against Equivocation--Lycian
Inscriptions--Alterius Orbis Papa--Carmagnoles--General
James Wolfe--Johannes Trithemius--Sir William
Herschel--Dr. Wm. Wall--Parish Registers--Compositions
during the Protectorate--General Moyle--Descendants
of John of Gaunt--Church of St. Bene't Fink--Coins
of Vabalathus--Engraved Portrait--"Cleanliness is next
to godliness"--Cozens the Painter--Whig and Tory--Prince
Rupert's Drops--Deep Well near Bansted Downs--Mrs. Mary
Anne Clarke--Upton Court 487
MISCELLANEOUS:--
Notes on Books, Sales, Catalogues, &c. 493
Books and Odd Volumes wanted 494
Notices to Correspondents 494
Advertisements 494
Notes.
WADY MOKATTEB IDENTIFIED WITH KIBROTH HATTAVAH.
The difficulty of deciding the antiquity of the famous inscriptions in
the deserts of Arabia, would be considerably diminished if we could
ascertain the earliest mention of the valley now known as Wady Mokatteb.
What I am about to submit to the readers of the "NOTES AND QUERIES," is
not a presumptuous or rash suggestion, but an idea diffidently
entertained, and cautiously and maturely considered.
It is not at all improbable that that valley, with its surrounding rocky
chronicles, was first mentioned by Moses, the first delineator of the
"great wilderness." The mention I allude to is to be found in Numbers,
xi. 26. The passage, as it occurs in the English version, runs thus:
"But there remained two of the men in the camp, the name of the one
was Eldad, and the name of the other was Medad; and the Spirit rested
upon them, and they were of them that were written."
The original words of the last clause are but the two following:--
[Hebrew: vhemah bakkthuwbiym]
which literally signify, "and they were amongst the inscriptions."
A personal and literary examination of the locality of the Sinaitic
inscriptions convinces me that Eldad and Medad were then in that famous
region. By a reference to the chapter alluded to, it will be found that
the children of Israel were then at that awfully memorable place called
_Kibroth Hattavah_ (ver. 34.), and no one, who has but a slight
knowledge of scripture topography, will be at a loss to observe that it
is the very spot where the mysterious inscriptions are found.
Dr. Robinson, in his _Biblical Researches_, vol. i. p. 138., thus
notices the subject in question:
"The Sinaite inscriptions are found on all the routes which lead from
the West towards Sinai, above the convent El-Arbain, but are found
neither on Gebel Musa, nor on the present Horeb, nor on St. Catherine,
nor in the valley of the convent; while on Serbal they are seen on its
very summit."
Lord Lindsay, in his first letter from _Edom and the Holy Land_,
introduces the same district in the following words:
"We now entered Wady Mokatteb, a spacious valley, bounded on the east
by a most picturesque range of black mountains, but chiefly famous for
the inscriptions on the rocks that line it, and from which it derives
its name. There are thousands of them, inscriptions too, and here is
the mystery, in a character which no one has yet deciphered."
Now, let the ancient and modern maps be compared, and it will be
discovered that the same place which is called, in Num. xi. 26.,
[Hebrew: kthuwbiym], probably on account of its inscriptions, is also
called by the Arabians [Arabic: wadi el mokatteb] _Wady el Mokatteb_.
Should the identity between Wady Mokatteb and Kibroth Hattavah be
considered conclusive, then the antiquity of the Sinaitic inscriptions
is far more remote than the date fixed by certain archaeologists and
palaeographists; the records may prove to be, in truth and in deed, the
handy-work of the Israelites during their encampment there.
The readers of the "NOTES AND QUERIES" need scarcely be told that the
inscriptions were first noticed in the sixth century by Cosmas, a
Graeco-Indian merchant, who was hence surnamed Indicopleustes. But it is
necessary to impress the fact that Cosmas, though a man of intelligence
and of letters, considered that the alphabet in which the inscriptions
were made, was unknown; but having visited the Wady in company with
certain well-informed Jews, his Hebrew companions read and deciphered
several of the records, and decided that the Israelites of the Egyptian
Exodus were the performers of the inscriptions. All this Cosmas stated
in his _Christian Topography_ (a work published for the first time in
1707 by the learned Montfaucon), and concurs in the opinion that the
ancient Hebrews were the scribes. This circumstance borne in mind, will
be proof against the theory conceived by Professor Beer, brought forth
by Dr. Lepsius, adopted and fostered by Dr. Wilson, viz. that an Utopian
Nabathaean Christian tribe executed those inscriptions during their
pilgrimages to the sacred localities on Mount Sinai. Is it not strange
that Cosmas should not have heard that there was such a tribe of scribes
in the valley? Is it not unaccountable that the knowledge of the
alphabet should so soon have been forgotten? Cosmas flourished
comparatively but a short time after the supposed Nabathaeans.
But the advocates of the Nabathaean theory argue that the Sinaitic
inscriptions must be of a comparatively modern date, since there are
found amongst them some Greek and Latin ones; and, moreover, the cross
does sometimes occur in various shapes. I venture to submit that the
inscriptions bear self-evidence that they have been executed at various
dates. It is true that by far the greatest number of them display
indubitable marks of remote antiquity; but there are some which must be
pronounced juvenile when compared with the _great majority_. The latter
bear marks of an execution resembling the inscriptions on the ancient
Egyptian obelisks, whilst the former are rude and superficially cut, and
already almost effaced. I take, therefore, the Greek and Latin, and
indeed some of the yet unknown inscriptions, to have been cut at a
comparatively modern date. Who knows whether Cosmas and his companions
did not try their hands at a few?
Why should it be thought improbable that the different monks on Mount
Sinai, who occupied the convent there at various ages, should have done
their quota to puzzle the modern palaeographist and traveller? Is it
absolutely impossible that the prefect of the Franciscan missionaries of
Egypt, who visited the Wady in 1722, and his companions, who were well
instructed in the Arabic, Greek, Hebrew, Syriac, Coptic, Latin,
Armenian, Turkish, English, Illyrian, German, and Bohemian languages,
should have chiselled a few in the characters they were most expert? In
the same manner might the occurrence of the cross be accounted for, if
it were necessary, without precipitating oneself to the conclusion that
"the occurrence, in connection with the inscriptions of the cross in
various forms, indicates that their _origin_ should be attributed to the
early Christians." But is it possible that such antiquaries as Drs.
Beer, Lepsius, and Wilson, should be ignorant, or affect to be ignorant,
that the cross was an ancient hieroglyphic, of a date long before the
Christian era, well known by the name of _Crux Ansata_, and of the
_Divina Taw_, and signified among the Egyptians "Life to come"? That the
form of the cross was used among the Hebrews is conclusive from the fact
that it was the ancient Hebrew mint letter for the [Hebrew: tav]. What,
then, is the value of the arguments in behalf of the Nabathaean theory?
All the specimens that have been given hitherto of the inscriptions, are
no more in comparison with the vast numbers which literally cover the
highest mountains, than a drop out of a bucket, including even those
given in the _Philosophical Transactions_ of 1766, in the _Transactions
of the Royal Society of Literature_ of 1832, and by the Rev. Charles
Forster of this year[1], and even adding the 1200 taken by M. Lottin de
Laval. (See "NOTES AND QUERIES", Vol. iv., p. 332.)
[Footnote 1: _The One Primeval Language, &c._, by the Rev. Charles
Forster. The above is a compendium of two letters which the writer
addressed on the subject to his Grace the Archbishop of Dublin,
and the late Bishop of Norwich,--to the former from Paris, to the
latter from Alexandria. See _A Pilgrimage to the Land of my
Fathers_, vol. i. pp. 6-15. Mr. Forster's work did not appear
until about a year after the publication of part of the writer's
travels.]
MOSES MARGOLIOUTH.
ON A PASSAGE IN GOLDSMITH.
Goldsmith, in _The Deserted Village_, has the lines:
"Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay:
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade,
_A breath can make them, | 3,078.781101 |
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THE ALTERNATIVE:
A SEPARATE NATIONALITY,
OR THE
Africanization of the South.
By WM. H. HOLCOMBE, M. D.
NEW ORLEANS:
PRINTED AT THE DELTA MAMMOTH JOB OFFICE,
1860.
THE ALTERNATIVE:
A Separate Nationality, or the Africanization of the South.
A sectional party, inimical to our institutions, and odious to our
people, is about taking possession of the Federal Government. The seed
sown by the early Abolitionists has yielded a luxurious harvest. When
Lincoln is in place, Garrison will be in power. The Constitution, either
openly violated or emasculated of its true meaning and spirit by the
subtleties of New England logic, is powerless for protection. We are no
longer partners to a federal compact, but the victims of a consolidated
despotism. Opposition to slavery, to its existence, its extension and
its perpetuation, is the sole cohesive element of the triumphant
faction. It did not receive the countenance of a single vote in any one
of the ten great cotton States of the South! The question is at length
plainly presented: submission or secession. The only alternative left us
is this: _a separate nationality or the Africanization of the South_.
He has not analyzed this subject aright nor probed it to the bottom, who
supposes that the real quarrel between the North and the South is about
the Territories, or the decision of the Supreme Court, or even the
Constitution itself; and that, consequently, the issues may be stayed
and the dangers arrested by the drawing of new lines and the signing of
new compacts. The division is broader and deeper and more incurable than
this. The antagonism is fundamental and ineradicable. The true secret of
it lies in the total reversion of public opinion which has occured in
both sections of the country in the last quarter of a century on the
subject of slavery.
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FIVE LITTLE STARRS SERIES
_ILLUSTRATED_
Price per volume 35 cents
FIVE LITTLE STARRS
FIVE LITTLE STARRS ON A CANAL-BOAT
FIVE LITTLE STARRS ON A RANCH
FIVE LITTLE STARRS IN AN ISLAND CABIN
FIVE LITTLE STARRS IN THE CANADIAN FOREST
(In Preparation)
FIVE LITTLE STARRS ON A MOTOR TOUR
[Illustration: Mike Sat Down on a Log to Watch Over the Children.]
FIVE LITTLE STARRS IN THE CANADIAN FOREST
BY
LILLIAN ELIZABETH ROY
AUTHOR OF THE "BLUE BIRD SERIES"
[Illustration]
New York
THE PLATT & NOURSE CO.
Copyright, 1915, by
THE PLATT & PECK CO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A LUMBER CAMP IN PROSPECT 7
II A LUMBER CAMP IN WINTER 30
III THE INDIAN TRAPPER 53
IV THE ENGINEER'S ASSISTANTS 76
V JUMPIN' JANE'S ANTICS 100
VI OUTDOOR FUN IN A LUMBER CAMP 126
VII CHRISTMAS AT THE LUMBER CAMP 147
VIII MIKE'S BEAR TRAP 170
IX FATHER BEAR VISITS THE CAMP 190
X AFLOAT ON THE RIVER RAFT 212
FIVE LITTLE STARRS IN A CANADIAN FOREST
CHAPTER I
A LUMBER CAMP IN PROSPECT
"DADDUM, are we'most there?" asked Dorothy Starr, impatiently, as the
uncomfortable local train creaked over its uneven tracks through dense
forests in Western Ontario.
"Almost, Dot--have a little more patience and soon you will be able to
exercise those active little legs," returned Mr. Starr, as he consulted
his watch.
"Guess we'll all be glad to exercise after this awful smoky, crampy
ride," grumbled Donald, Dot's twin brother.
"Our winter in the lumber camp will have to be mighty fine to make us
forget this outlandish trip ever since we left Grand Forks," declared
Meredith Starr, the oldest boy.
"We have one consolation, Mete, and that is, we don't have to travel
home in the Spring by the same route," laughed his sister Lavinia.
"Well, children, you all have had some remark to make about the
discomforts of this car and the dreadful condition of the tracks, but it
is far better than riding in a springless lumber wagon for the same
distance," commented Mrs. Starr, shifting the baby's sleepy head from
her shoulder to her knees.
"We'd never have come if Daddum knew we had to travel _that_ way!"
exclaimed Don.
"No, but Daddum had to travel that way, and on horseback, years ago,
before this track was laid," replied Mrs. Starr.
"Did you, Daddum? Oh, do tell us about it!" cried the restless children,
as they crowded into the seat beside their father.
"It isn't an exciting tale, but it is very appropriate at this time,"
replied Mr. Starr, smiling at the eager faces. "I was a very young man
then. I didn't find out until I returned to New York after that trip
what a prize your mother was."
"Oh, how does Mumzie know about the trip, then?" asked Dot.
"Because I have often told her how that trip decided for me my future
business life," replied Mr. Starr.
"Dot, please don't interrupt Daddum with silly questions again," said
Lavinia to her little sister.
"When I got off the train at Grand Forks, on that trip, I expected to
meet an old friend at the station, but he was not there. I stopped at
the best hotel in the town, which would have been about sixth-rate
anywhere else, and the next morning my friend Dean came in. He had had
to ride about forty miles out of his way on account of a flooded river
and that was why he was not on time to meet me.
"Well, after he had made a few purchases in town he was ready to start
back. I had a good horse waiting for me at the hotel shed, and soon we
were on the return trip.
"The further north we went the more beautiful and wilder the scenery
became until I thought we would be lost in the dense primeval forests.
How Dean managed to find his way I could not make out, but he seemed to
know every stump, every mound, and every blaze on the trees along the
trail.
"We stopped at noon to rest the horses and have a bite to eat. While we
lay under the trees smoking our pipes and waiting for the horses to
finish their oats, an old hunter passed by.
"We invited him to join us but he was anxious to meet an Indian trapper
some miles further on, so we were compelled to decline Dean's
invitation.
"After finishing our pipes, we started on the last half of our journey.
"We hadn't gone more than four miles before we saw in the trail the deep
cut of a wagon-track that struck in from a side-trail that led to an
eastern lumber-town.
"'Huh! Must be pretty heavy pulling for the horses,' said Dean, knowing
that it would take a heavy load to make the wheels sink down so far in
the soft soil.
"'Were they here yesterday, when you came by?' I asked.
"'No, and I should say the outfit wasn't very far ahead, either,'
replied Dean.
"And so it was. In a short time we caught up with a kind of
'prairie-schooner' wagon, and found that a pioneer with his family had
dared the wilderness of the Canadian forest to wrest a living from the
earth.
"Dean rode alongside for a time, giving the man some valuable points
about the country, and advising him as to the best trails. The man
thanked us profusely as we rode on.
"While Dean talked with the man I rode by the side of the wagon and
spoke with the wife who was a very sweet woman of about thirty. She held
a child about two years old in her lap while a boy of five slept upon a
bundle of clothing on the rough wagon-floor.
"Now, this family had come from a town eighty miles east of the trail
where we met them, and they were bound for a distant, fertile valley
about a hundred miles further to the west where they intended to stop
and look about for a permanent home. The woman and children were stiff
and sore from the jolts of the springless wagon as it bumped over huge
rocks, or suddenly slid into wide ruts made by washouts. But they never
complained about aching bones, for they knew the father couldn't help
them, and they were trying to keep up his spirits.
"Dean and I continued along the trail until we came to the flooded
region that made him miss my coming the day before. The river seemed
higher than ever, Dean said, and we had to try the roundabout way again.
We traveled along the banks for at least thirty miles, but not a spot
could be found where we could ford, or even swim our horses.
"Finally, we pulled rein to discuss the problem, when Dean saw a thin
wreath of smoke rising among the trees near at hand. As no forester ever
permits the sight of smoke to go uninvestigated for fear of forest
fires, he jumped off of his horse and rushed into the woods. After a
short time he returned with our friend the hunter and an Indian.
"'The men say we can't get over to-day--we'll have to wait about until
the water recedes somewhat,' Dean explained.
"'Can't we cross where you did last night?' I asked.
"'Not to-day--the water has risen much higher since then and it would be
taking too much of a chance to risk it. We'll stay here until it is
safe,' said Dean, as he led his horse into the woods toward the
Indian's temporary camp.
"I followed the three men and wondered how the Indian ever got the name
of Mike. Later I heard that his own name was so hard to pronounce that
everyone who knew him abbreviated it to 'Mike'.
"Well, we camped and hunted and fished there with the two elderly men
for a week before we could go on, but it was a week of rare sport, for
the hunter and trapper were experts, and they had many exciting stories
to tell of narrow escapes from wild animals and other adventures.
"Dean and I finally arrived at the lumber camp where the men had
decided to send out a scout to trail Dean, who they feared was lost, or
injured somewhere on the way. So, they were greatly relieved to see us
ride along the river-road that led into the camp which consisted of a
small group of huts."
"Daddum, that story wasn't as good as most of yours are," criticised
Don.
"Perhaps not, my son," laughed Mr. Starr, "for I see we are nearing our
destination and I only planned to keep up the tale long enough to keep
you from thinking of your tired selves."
"Get there in about seven minutes, sir," announced the old conductor as
he shuffled through the car.
"Hurrah!" cried Don, jumping upon the seat to get his baggage.
"Why, I can't see any town!" exclaimed Dot, looking out of the car
window.
"Don't bother about the town, Dot, but take your hat and jacket out of
the rack," advised Lavinia, who was busy trying to gather together the
various belongings of the family.
"Babs! Wake up, little sister," called Mrs. Starr as she gently shook
the sleepy little girl.
"Is 't mornin'?" yawned the baby.
Everybody laughed so that Babs soon sat up and looked about in
surprise.
"Oh, see out there--the funny place!" exclaimed Dot.
"That's the city where we shall stay over night," said Mr. Starr,
carrying suit-cases and grips toward the door.
A surprise awaited the Starr family as they descended from the train,
for Mr. and Mrs. Latimer were there to greet them.
"Well, when did you get here?" asked Mr. Starr, after greetings were
over.
"Day before yesterday, so we thought we would wait and start for the
camp together," returned Mr. Latimer.
As there were no porters or cabs in the isolated town, they had to
carry their own luggage. Mr. Latimer undertook to find a boy with a
wheelbarrow to take the trunks to the hotel. "Hotel! Is there such a
thing here, Mr. Latimer?" laughed Meredith.
"Wait until you see! You will be very proud to send home picture
post-cards of the place!" replied Mrs. Latimer.
"Where's Paul and Marjory?" suddenly asked Meredith, who had missed
Jinks, his chum, on the trip from Oakdale.
"Why, Marjory is reading to an old invalid this afternoon and Paul went
fishing with some boys," explained Mrs. Latimer.
While the Starrs are following their friends, the Latimers, from the
station to the hotel, let us see how they all came to be in this faraway
place in Canada.
When the Starrs left the island in Casco Bay in the early part of
September, Mr. Latimer, who lived in Portland, Maine, mentioned a trip
to the lumber regions of Canada. As Mr. Starr was interested in a large
lumber deal with Mr. Latimer, and had spent his summer in Maine on that
account, he decided to associate himself with Mr. Latimer in the
Canadian Pine Investment Co.
Consequently, the Starr family packed up their belongings and returned
to Oakwood from Maine several weeks sooner than they had expected, for
it was necessary that the children be completely fitted out with warm
clothing, and other necessities, if they were to spend the winter in a
lumber camp with the Latimers.
Of course, Mrs. Starr worried about keeping the children from school all
winter, but Mrs. Latimer said that the governess, who had been with her
children for several years, could so arrange her hours that all the
children could study under her direction. This arrangement satisfied
Mrs. Starr, and | 3,078.884184 |
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THE LITTLE REGIMENT
AND OTHER EPISODES OF THE
AMERICAN CIVIL WAR
By
STEPHEN CRANE
CONTENTS
THE LITTLE REGIMENT
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS
A MYSTERY OF HEROISM
AN INDIANA CAMPAIGN
A GREY SLEEVE
THE VETERAN
THE LITTLE REGIMENT
I
The fog made the clothes of the men of the column in the roadway seem
of a luminous quality. It imparted to the heavy infantry overcoats a
new colour, a kind of blue which was so pale that a regiment might have
been merely a long, low shadow in the mist. However, a muttering, one
part grumble, three parts joke, hovered in the air above the thick
ranks, and blended in an undertoned roar, which was the voice of the
column.
The town on the southern shore of the little river loomed spectrally, a
faint etching upon the grey cloud-masses which were shifting with oily
languor. A long row of guns upon the northern bank had been pitiless in
their hatred, but a little battered belfry could be dimly seen still
pointing with invincible resolution toward the heavens.
The enclouded air vibrated with noises made by hidden colossal things.
The infantry tramplings, the heavy rumbling of the artillery, made the
earth speak of gigantic preparation. Guns on distant heights thundered
from time to time with sudden, nervous roar, as if unable to endure in
silence a knowledge of hostile troops massing, other guns going to
position. These sounds, near and remote, defined an immense
battle-ground, described the tremendous width of the stage of the
prospective drama. The voices of the guns, slightly casual, unexcited
in their challenges and warnings, could not destroy the unutterable
eloquence of the word in the air, a meaning of impending struggle which
made the breath halt at the lips.
The column in the roadway was ankle-deep in mud. The men swore piously
at the rain which drizzled upon them, compelling them to stand always
very erect in fear of the drops that would sweep in under their
coat-collars. The fog was as cold as wet cloths. The men stuffed their
hands deep in their pockets, and huddled their muskets in their arms.
The machinery of orders had rooted these soldiers deeply into the mud,
precisely as almighty nature roots mullein stalks.
They listened and speculated when a tumult of fighting came from the
dim town across the river. When the noise lulled for a time they
resumed their descriptions of the mud and graphically exaggerated the
number of hours they had been kept waiting. The general commanding
their division rode along the ranks, and they cheered admiringly,
affectionately, crying out to him gleeful prophecies of the coming
battle. Each man scanned him with a peculiarly keen personal interest,
and afterward spoke of him with unquestioning devotion and confidence,
narrating anecdotes which were mainly untrue.
When the jokers lifted the shrill voices which invariably belonged to
them, flinging witticisms at their comrades, a loud laugh would sweep
from rank to rank, and soldiers who had not heard would lean forward
and demand repetition. When were borne past them some wounded men with
grey and blood-smeared faces, and eyes that rolled in that helpless
beseeching for assistance from the sky which comes with supreme pain,
the soldiers in the mud watched intently, and from time to time asked
of the bearers an account of the affair. Frequently they bragged of
their corps, their division, their brigade, their regiment. Anon they
referred to the mud and the cold drizzle. Upon this threshold of a wild
scene of death they, in short, defied the proportion of events with
that splendour of heedlessness which belongs only to veterans.
"Like a lot of wooden soldiers," swore Billie Dempster, moving his feet
in the thick mass, and casting a vindictive glance indefinitely:
"standing in the mud for a hundred years."
"Oh, shut up!" murmured his brother Dan. The manner of his words
implied that this fraternal voice near him was an indescribable bore.
"Why should I shut up?" demanded Billie.
"Because you're a fool," cried Dan, taking no time to debate it; "the
biggest fool in the regiment."
There was but one man between them, and he was habituated. These
insults from brother to brother had swept across his chest, flown past
his face, many times during two long campaigns. Upon this occasion he
simply grinned first at one, then at the other.
The way of these brothers was not an unknown topic in regimental
gossip. They had enlisted simultaneously, with each sneering loudly at
the other for doing it. They left their little town, and went forward
with the flag, exchanging protestations of undying suspicion. In the
camp life they so openly despised each other that, when entertaining
quarrels were lacking, their companions often contrived situations
calculated to bring forth display of this fraternal dislike.
Both were large-limbed, strong young men, and often fought with friends
in camp unless one was near to interfere with the other. This latter
happened rather frequently, because Dan, preposterously willing for any
manner of combat, had a very great horror of seeing Billie in a fight;
and Billie, almost odiously ready himself, simply refused to see Dan
stripped to his shirt and with his fists aloft. This sat queerly upon
them, and made them the objects of plots.
When Dan jumped through a ring of eager soldiers and dragged forth his
raving brother by the arm, a thing often predicted would almost come to
pass. When Billie performed the same office for Dan, the prediction
would again miss fulfilment by an inch. But indeed they never fought
together, although they were perpetually upon the verge.
They expressed longing for such conflict. As a matter of truth, they
had at one time made full arrangement for it, but even with the
encouragement and interest of half of the regiment they somehow failed
to achieve collision.
If Dan became a victim of police duty, no jeering was so destructive to
the feelings as Billie's comment. If Billie got a call to appear at the
headquarters, none would so genially prophesy his complete undoing as
Dan. Small misfortunes to one were, in truth, invariably greeted with
hilarity by the other, who seemed to see in them great re-enforcement
of his opinion.
As soldiers, they expressed each for each a scorn intense and blasting.
After a certain battle, Billie was promoted to corporal. When Dan was
told of it, he seemed smitten dumb with astonishment and patriotic
indignation. He stared in silence, while the dark blood rushed to
Billie's forehead, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Dan at
last found his tongue, and said: "Well, I'm durned!" If he had heard
that an army mule had been appointed to the post of corps commander,
his tone could not have had more derision in it. Afterward, he adopted
a fervid insubordination, an almost religious reluctance to obey the
new corporal's orders, which came near to developing the desired strife.
It is here finally to be recorded also that Dan, most ferociously
profane in speech, very rarely swore in the presence of his brother;
and that Billie, whose oaths came from his lips with the grace of
falling pebbles, was seldom known to express himself in this manner
when near his brother Dan.
At last the afternoon contained a suggestion of evening. Metallic cries
rang suddenly from end to end of the column. They inspired at once a
quick, business-like adjustment. The long thing stirred in the mud. The
men had hushed, and were looking across the river. A moment later the
shadowy mass of pale blue figures was moving steadily toward the
stream. There could be heard from the town a clash of swift fighting
and cheering. The noise of the shooting coming through the heavy air
had its sharpness taken from it, and sounded in thuds.
There was a halt upon the bank above the pontoons. When the column went
winding down the incline, and streamed out upon the bridge, the fog had
faded to a great degree, and in the clearer dusk the guns on a distant
ridge were enabled to perceive the crossing. The long whirling outcries
of the shells came into the air above the men. An occasional solid shot
struck the surface of the river, and dashed into view a sudden vertical
jet. The distance was subtly illuminated by the lightning from the
deep-booming guns. One by one the batteries on the northern shore
aroused, the innumerable guns bellowing in angry oration at the distant
ridge. The rolling thunder crashed and reverberated as a wild surf
sounds on a still night, and to this music the column marched across
the pontoons.
The waters of the grim river curled away in a smile from the ends of
the great boats, and slid swiftly beneath the planking. The dark,
riddled walls of the town upreared before the troops, and from a region
hidden by these hammered and tumbled houses came incessantly the yells
and firings of a prolonged and close skirmish.
When Dan had called his brother a fool, his voice had been so decisive,
so brightly assured, that many men had laughed, considering it to be
great humour under the circumstances. The incident happened to rankle
deep in Billie. It was not any strange thing that his brother had
called him a fool. In fact, he often called him a fool with exactly the
same amount of cheerful and prompt conviction, and before large
audiences, too. Billie wondered in his own mind why he took such
profound offence in this case; but, at any rate, as he slid down the
bank and on to the bridge with his regiment, he was searching his
knowledge for something that would pierce Dan's blithesome spirit. But
he could contrive nothing at this time, and his impotency made the
glance which he was once able to give his brother still more malignant.
The guns far and near were roaring a fearful and grand introduction for
this column which was marching upon the stage of death. Billie felt it,
but only in a numb way. His heart was cased in that curious dissonant
metal which covers a man's emotions at such times. The terrible voices
from the hills told him that in this | 3,078.885294 |
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[Illustration: GASSENDI.
Nov. 7. 1867 10 P.M.]
THE MOON:
CONSIDERED AS
A PLANET, A WORLD, and A SATELLITE.
BY
JAMES NASMYTH, C.E.
AND
JAMES CARPENTER, F.R.A.S.
LATE OF THE ROYAL OBSERVATORY, GREENWICH.
WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIVE PLATES OF LUNAR OBJECTS, PHENOMENA, AND
SCENERY; NUMEROUS WOODCUTS, &c.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1874.
L | 3,078.988606 |
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Internet Archive)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Volume II is available as Project Gutenberg ebook
number 49845.
WILLIAM COBBETT.
A BIOGRAPHY.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.
[Illustration: _J. R. Smith pinxit._
_F. Bartolozzi R.A. sculpsit._
MR. WILLIAM COBBETT.]
WILLIAM COBBETT:
_A BIOGRAPHY_.
BY EDWARD SMITH.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
London:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1878.
[_All rights reserved._]
“It is not by his faults, but by his excellences, that we
measure a great man.”
G. H. LEWES (_On Actors, &c._).
“Fear never but you shall be consistent in whatever variety of
actions, so that they be each honest and natural in their hour.
For of one will, the actions will be harmonious, however unlike
they seem.”
R. W. EMERSON (_Essay on Self-reliance_).
“My good blade carves the casques of men,
My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure!”
TENNYSON (_Sir Galahad_).
NOTE.
The following pages need no Preface, with regard to their subject.
I am unwilling, however, to let the work go forth to the public without
a renewed word of thanks, to those who have given me any sort of
encouragement or assistance. My acknowledgments are especially due to
the venerable daughter of Mr. James Swann, for the use of some letters;
to the author of the “Handbook of Fictitious Names,” without whose apt
teaching in | 3,079.180304 |
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AN
ARCHITECT'S NOTE-BOOK
IN
SPAIN
_PRINCIPALLY ILLUSTRATING THE_
DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE OF THAT COUNTRY.
BY
M. DIGBY WYATT, M.A.
SLADE PROFESSOR OF FINE ART IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE, &C.
WITH ONE HUNDRED OF THE AUTHOR'S SKETCHES,
REPRODUCED BY THE AUTOTYPE MECHANICAL PROCESS.
LONDON:
AUTOTYPE FINE ART COMPANY (LIMITED),
_36, RATHBONE PLACE._
TO
OWEN JONES, ESQ.
KNIGHT OF THE ORDERS OF SAINTS MAURICE AND LAZARUS OF ITALY, AND OF
LEOPOLD OF BELGIUM, MEMBER OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF SAINT FERDINAND OF
SPAIN, &C., &C., &C.
_My dear Owen,
_The last book I wrote I dedicated to my brother by blood; the
present I dedicate to you--my brother in Art. Let it be a record of
the value I set upon all you have taught me, and upon your true
friendship._
_Ever yours,_
M. DIGBY WYATT.
37, Tavistock Place, W.C.
October, 1872.
PREFACE.
Before quitting England for a first visit to Spain in the Autumn of
1869, I made up my mind both to see and draw as much of the
Architectural remains of that country as the time and means at my
disposal would permit; and further determined so to draw as to admit of
the publication of my sketches and portions of my notes on the objects
represented, in the precise form in which they might be made. I was
influenced in that determination by the consciousness that almost from
day to day the glorious past was being trampled out in Spain; and that
whatever issue, prosperous or otherwise, the fortunes of that much
distracted country might take in the future, the minor monuments of Art
at least which adorned its soil, would rapidly disappear. Their
disappearance would result naturally from what is called "progress" if
Spain should revive; while their perishing through neglect and wilful
damage, or peculation, would inevitably follow, if the ever smouldering
embers of domestic revolution should burst afresh into flame. Such has
been the invariable action of those fires which in all history have
melted away the most refined evidences of man's intelligence, leaving
behind only scanty, and often all but shapeless, relics of the richest
and ripest genius.
It is difficult to realise the rapidity with which, almost under one's
eyes, the Spain of history and romance "is casting its skin." Travelling
even with so recent and so excellent a handbook as O'Shea's of 1869, I
noted the following wanton acts of Vandalism and destruction, committed
upon monuments of the greatest archaeological and artistic interest since
he wrote. At Seville, the Church of San Miguel, one of the oldest and
finest in the city, was senselessly demolished by the populace as a sort
of auto-da-fe, and by way of commemoration of the revolution of
September, 1867. In exactly the same way the fine Byzantine churches of
San Juan at Lerida, and of San Miguel at Barcelona, have been "improved
off the face of the earth." Church plate, Custodias and Virils of the
D'Arfes, Becerrias, and other Art workmen, have vanished from the
treasuries of all the great ecclesiastical structures; whether sold,
melted down, or only hidden, "quien sabe?" The beautiful Moorish
decorations of the Alcazar at Segovia had been all but entirely
destroyed by fire, attributed to the careless cigar-lighting of the
Cadets to whom the structure had been abandoned. The finest old mansion
in Barcelona, the Casa de Gralla, probably the masterpiece of Damian
Forment, and dating from the commencement of the fourteenth century, has
been pulled down by the Duke of Medina Celi to form a new street. The
beautiful wooden ceiling of the Casa del Infantado at Guadalaxara, the
finest of its kind in Spain, in the absence of its owner, who I was told
lives in Russia, is coming down in large pieces, and once fallen, I
scarcely think it will be in the power of living workmen to make it good
again. The exquisite Moorish Palace of the Generalife at Granada, second
only to the Alhambra and the Alcazar at Seville, is never visited by its
proprietor, and is now one mass of white-wash, a victim of the zeal for
cleanliness of a Sanitary "Administrador." In short to visit a Spanish
city now, by the light shed upon its ancient glories by the industrious
Ponz, is simply to have forced upon one's attention the most striking
evidence of the "vanity of human things," and man's inherent tendency to
destroy.
One of the most painful sensations the lover of the Art of the Past
cannot but experience in Spain, is the feeling of its dissonance from,
and irreconcileability with, the wants and economical necessities of
to-day. The truth is that at the present moment, amongst the many
difficult problems which surround and beset the ruling powers, one of
the most puzzling is to find fitting uses for the many vast structures
which have fallen into the hands of the Government. Churches in number
and size out of all proportion to the wants of the population,
monasteries entirely without monks, convents with scarcely any nuns,
Jesuit seminaries without Jesuits, exchanges without merchants, colleges
without students, tribunals of the Holy Inquisition with, thank God! no
Inquisitors, and palaces without princes, are really "drugs in the
market;" too beautiful to destroy, too costly to properly maintain, and
for the original purposes for which they were planned and constructed at
incredible outlay they stand now almost useless. For the most part, the
grand architectural monuments of the country are now like Dickens'
"used-up giants" kept only "to wait upon the dwarfs." Among a few
instances of such, may be noticed the magnificent foundation of the
noblest Spanish ecclesiastic, Ximenez. His College at Alcala de Henares
(see etext transcriber note) is turned into a young ladies'
boarding-school; the splendid Convent of the Knights of Santiago at
Leon, the masterpiece of Juan de Badajoz, dedicated to Saint Mark, and
one of the finest buildings in Spain, is now in charge of a solitary
policeman and his wife, awaiting its possible conversion into an
agricultural college; the grand Palace of the Dukes of Alva at Seville
is let out in numerous small tenements and enriched with unlimited
whitewash; the Colegiata of San Gregorio at Valladolid, another of the
magnificent foundations of Cardinal Ximenez, and the old cathedral at
Lerida, the richest Byzantine monument in Spain, are now both
barracks;--the vast exchanges of Seville and Saragossa are tenantless
and generally shut up; the beautiful "Casa de los Abades" at Seville is
converted into a boy's school and lodging-house for numerous poor
tenants, the Casa del Infante at Saragossa, containing the most richly
sculptured Renaissance Patio in Spain, is chiefly occupied as a livery
stable-keeper's establishment; Cardinal Mendoza's famous Hospital of the
Holy Cross at Toledo is now an Infantry College; the great monastery of
the Cartuja near Seville, with one of the finest Mudejar wooden ceilings
in the country, is turned into Pickman's china factory; the "Taller del
Moro" a model Moorish house with its beautiful decorations, at Toledo,
is now only a carpenter's workshop and storehouse; the celebrated
establishment of El Cristo de la Victoria at Malaga, with all its
glorious associations with the "Reyes Cattolicos," is occupied as a
military hospital; and so on '_ad infinitum_.'
Every record the pen and pencil of any accurate observer can preserve at
this juncture of the fading glories of the past in Spain is, as it were,
snatching a brand from the inevitable fire which has already consumed
inestimable treasures upon its soil. It was to give a stamp of truth and
authenticity to the few such records I might be enabled to make, that I
determined to complete them in the actual presence as it were of the
object illustrated, and to admit of no intervention between my own hand,
and the eye of any student willing to honour my work with his
attention. My sketches might no doubt have gained in beauty by being
transcribed on stone or wood by some artist more skilful than I am, but
as any such alteration would detract from their simple veracity, I
preferred to make them at once upon the spot with anastatic ink, in
order that they might be printed just as they were executed. Working
with such ink in the open air is difficult, and the result capricious, I
have therefore to ask for some indulgence, and to express a hope that
any shortcomings in the drawings may be overlooked in the obvious
interest of the subjects pourtrayed. Could I but have known, on leaving
England, that my sketches could have been so successfully transferred to
collodion, and printed therefrom by the beautiful Autotype mechanical
process, as they have been since my return, I might have spared myself
much extra trouble and anxiety, and have probably attained a much better
result with less effort. In order to retain as much "local colour" as
possible, I have preferred, even in the binding of this volume, to take
its ornament in fac-simile from a beautiful little Mudejar casket of
which I am the fortunate possessor, rather than to trust to my own
powers to design something specially characteristic.
I have further to ask corresponding indulgence for any literary
insufficiencies my text may present. Although for some years a not
inattentive student of Spanish art and literature, I could not, and
cannot but feel that my acquaintance with the country was, and is
insufficient for writing worthy notes even upon its architectural
monuments, after the excellent works which have been already written by
such of my countrymen as Ford, Street, Stirling, and O'Shea. At the same
time, considering that to publish my sketches altogether without
explanatory letter-press would greatly detract from their interest and
consequent usefulness, I have brought into their present shape the
scanty notes made upon the spot, more or less directly illustrative of
the subjects upon which my pencil found occupation.
It will be obvious, it is hoped, that in the selection of subjects for
illustration, an endeavour has been made to avoid in any wise trenching
upon or clashing with those already fully treated in the admirable work
on Spanish Ecclesiastical Architecture by Mr. G. E. Street. Whilst he
has turned from, I have turned towards, the Plateresque and later styles
of Spain, and whilst he has sought specially for what might be useful to
church-builders, my aim has been rather to collect hints for
house-builders. Thanks to him, and others like him, we have now been
left with more to learn in the latter direction than in the former.
The following was my line of tour, and as it comprises most of what is,
I believe, best worth seeing in Spain in the way of Art, with the
notable exceptions of Santiago, Oviedo, Murcia, Cuenca, Placencia,
Alicante and Valencia, which want of time did not permit me to include,
I do not hesitate to commend it to those, desirous, as I was, of seeing
as much as possible of what was excellent or curious within a short
space of time. It was as follows, from London via Paris, Bordeaux, and
Bayonne to Spain, beginning with Burgos, then successively visiting
Valladolid (rail), Venta de Banos (rail), Leon (rail), Zamora and
Salamanca, (by "diligence" from Leon) Avila (by "diligence" from
Salamanca) Escorial (rail), Madrid (rail), Segovia (by "diligence" from
Madrid and back), Alcala de Henares (by rail from Madrid and back),
Toledo (by rail from Madrid and back), Cordoba (rail), Sevilla (rail),
Cadiz (by the Guadalquivir steamer), Gibraltar (by steamer), Malaga (by
steamer), Granada (rail and "diligence,") Andujar ("diligence,") Madrid
(rail), a second time, Guadalajara (rail), Saragossa (rail), Lerida
(rail), Barcelona (rail), and Gerona (rail), thence to the frontier by
"diligence," and home by rail, via Perpignan, Carcassonne, Toulouse and
Paris.
To preserve some sort of order, I have arranged my sketches as they were
executed in point of time, and thrown my notes into a corresponding
sequence.
To assert that Spain can teach the lessons to the architect which may be
gained from Italy, or even from France would, I think, be to claim too
much for her, but on the other hand, it should be remembered, that it is
a mine which has been very much less exhausted. To the interest and
grandeur of its Northern Gothic buildings, Mr. Street has done a justice
long denied to them; while Girault de Prangey, and above all Owen Jones,
have helped us to a right appreciation of the works of those masterly
artificers, the Moors, who seem to have possessed an intuitive love for
the beautiful in structure.
It is with no small pleasure that I have laboured to direct attention to
other monuments, than those they have so satisfactorily illustrated, of
a land from travelling in which I have derived great delight, and much
instruction.
If asked what predominant sensation Spanish Architecture had produced in
my mind, I think I should be inclined to say, that of the manifestation
of an entire indifference to expense. No one appears to have counted the
cost of the work upon which he engaged. Whether it was a mediaeval
architect entering upon the vast construction of Cathedrals, such as
Seville, Toledo or Leon, a Renaissance architect dashing upon the
immense laying out of buildings such as the Cathedrals of Salamanca or
Granada, or an Herrera plunging into such stone quarries as the Escorial
or the Cathedral at Valladolid, not a shadow of doubt ever seems to
have crossed the mind of the beginners, that some one would complete
what they began.
Such peculiarities of national character are apt to beget proverbs, and
we accordingly find the grave ponderosity, and at the same time power,
of the Spaniard in the undertakings of his palmy days, thus
characterised in comparison with those of the other peoples of Europe.
"In their undertakings," says "Der curieuse Antiquarius durch
Europam,"[1] the natives of different European countries are assumed by
old legends to proceed thus:--
"Der Frantzose wie ein Adler,
Der Deutsche wie ein Baer,
Der Italianer wie ein Fuchs,
Der Spanier wie ein Elephant,
Der Engellaender wie ein Loew."[2]
To some, and but few, Spanish architects was it given to see ended what
they commenced, and even such favourites of fortune generally suffered
from a curtailment of their too ambitious designs.
I could not but feel, in looking at the works of Herrera, and indeed at
those of several other men, such as Diego de Siloe, Gil de Ontanon,
Henrique de Egas, Alonso Covarrubbias, and Juan de Badajoz, that there
exists for architecture a just mean between their frequent extravagance,
and the sordid and shabby spirit in which we from time to time approach
the question of expenditure upon "public works." The economy which
consists in sobriety and simplicity of parts, especially in structures
destined to subserve ordinary uses, is as much to be admired, as the
economy which aims at the combination of magnificence with
"cheese-paring" is to be deprecated and despised.
CONTENTS
PLATE I. BURGOS.
The Arco de Santa Maria
PLATE II. BURGOS.
Casa de Miranda
PLATE III. VALLADOLID | 3,079.279986 |
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friend Emmy, who "fell off the planet" far too soon.
The Boy Scouts
of
Woodcraft Camp
By
Thornton W. Burgess
Author of
The Boy Scouts on Swift River
The Boy Scouts on Lost Trail
The Boy Scouts in a Trapper's Camp
[Illustration]
Illustrated by C. S. Corson
The Penn Publishing
Company Philadelphia
1922
COPYRIGHT
1912 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE CHIEF GREETED HIM PLEASANTLY]
_To my Wife_
_whose faith and encouragement
have placed me in her debt
beyond my power to pay_
Introduction
The Boy Scout movement has appealed to me from the very first as a
long step in the right direction. It stands for an organized boyhood
on a world-wide plan. It has in it the essentials for a stronger and
better manhood, based on character building and physical development.
Clear and clean thinking and self-reliance are its fundamental
principles. Its weakness has been and is the difficulty in securing
leaders, men with an understanding of and sympathy with boys, who can
give the necessary time to active work in the field with the patrols,
and who are themselves sufficiently versed in the lore of the woods
and fields.
For years, before ever the Boy Scouts were organized, I had dreamed of
a woodcraft camp for boys, a camp which in its appointments and
surroundings should make constant appeal to the imagination of
red-blooded, adventure-loving boys, and which should at the same time
be a true "school of the woods" wherein woodcraft and the ways of
nature should be taught along much the same lines as those on which
the Boy Scout movement is founded.
In this and succeeding volumes, "The Boy Scouts on Swift River," "The
Boy Scouts on Lost Trail," "The Boy Scouts in a Trapper's Camp," I
have sought to portray the life of such a school camp under Boy Scout
rules. "The Boy Scouts of Woodcraft Camp" has been written with a
twofold purpose: To stimulate on the part of every one of my boy
readers a desire to master for himself the mysteries of nature's great
out-of-doors, the secrets of field and wood and stream, and to show by
example what the Boy Scout's oath means in the development of
character. Many of the incidents in the succeeding pages are drawn
from my own experiences. And if, because of reading this story, one
more boy is led to the Shrine of the Hemlock, there to inhale the
pungent incense from a camp-fire and to master the art of tossing a
flapjack, I shall feel that I have not written in vain.
THE AUTHOR.
Contents
I. THE TENDERFOOT 11
II. WOODCRAFT CAMP 26
III. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 39
IV. THE INITIATION 56
V. THE RECALL 71
VI. THE SPECTER IN CAMP 86
VII. FIRST LESSONS 100
VIII. LONESOME POND 116
IX. A SHOT IN THE DUSK 136
X. A BATTLE FOR HONOR 161
XI. BUXBY'S BUNCOMBE 184
XII. LOST 199
XIII. THE HONEY SEEKERS 220
XIV. THE SUPREME TEST 237
XV. CRAFTY MIKE 254
XVI. THE POACHER OF LONESOME POND 273
XVII. THE HAUNTED CABIN 288
XVIII. ON GUARD 304
XIX. FOR THE HONOR OF THE TRIBE 319
XX. THE HOME TRAIL 337
Illustrations
THE CHIEF GREETED HIM PLEASANTLY _Frontispiece_
DIAGRAM OF WOODCRAFT CAMP 41
"TELL HIM YOU ARE TO BE A DELAWARE" 51
HE HAD BUILT A FIRE 118
BILLY'S APPARATUS FOR MAKING FIRE 207
"RUN!" HE YELLED 233
THE BOYS WERE DRILLED IN WIG-WAG SIGNALING 308
The Boy Scouts of Woodcraft Camp
CHAPTER I
THE TENDERFOOT
In the semi-darkness of daybreak a boy of fourteen jumped from a
Pullman sleeper and slipped a quarter into the hand of the dusky
porter who handed down his luggage.
"You are sure this is Upper Chain?" he inquired.
"'Spects it is, boss, but I ain't no ways sho'. Ain't never been up
this way afore," replied the porter, yawning sleepily.
The boy vainly strove to pierce the night mist which shrouded
everything in ghostly gray, hoping to see the conductor or a brakeman,
but he could see barely half the length of the next Pullman. A warning
rumble at the head of the long train admonished him that he must act
at once; he must make up his mind to stay or he must climb aboard
again, and that quickly.
The long night ride had been a momentous event to him. He had slept
little, partly from the novelty of his first experience in a sleeping
car, and partly from the excitement of actually being on his way into
the big north woods, the Mecca of all his desires and daydreams.
Consequently he had kept a fairly close record of the train's running
time, dozing off between stations but waking instantly whenever the
train came to a stop. According to his reckoning he should now be at
Upper Chain. He had given the porter strict orders to call him twenty
minutes before reaching his destination, but to his supreme disgust he
had had to perform that service for the darkey. That worthy had then
been sent forward to find the conductor and make sure of their
whereabouts. Unsuccessful, he had returned just in time to hand down
the lad's duffle.
Now, as the preliminary jerk ran down the heavy train, the boy once
more looked at his watch, and made up his mind. If the train was on
time, and he felt sure that it was, this was Upper Chain, the
junction | 3,079.285952 |
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LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET
By Mary Elizabeth Braddon
CHAPTER I.
LUCY.
It lay down in a hollow, rich with fine old timber and luxuriant pastures; and you came upon it through an avenue of limes, bordered on either side by meadows, over the high hedges of which the cattle looked inquisitively at you as you passed, wondering, perhaps, what you wanted; for there was no thorough-fare, and unless you were going to the Court you had no business there at all.
At the end of this avenue there was an old arch and a clock tower, with a stupid, bewildering clock, which had only one handand which jumped straight from one hour to the nextand was therefore always in extremes. Through this arch you walked straight into the gardens of Audley Court.
A smooth lawn lay before you, dotted with groups of rhododendrons, which grew in more perfection here than anywhere else in the county. To the right | 3,079.288159 |
2023-11-16 19:08:23.3643000 | 1,303 | 19 | PLAYS, VOL. VIII (4TH EDITION)***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
A SELECT COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. VIII
Fourth Edition
Originally published by Robert Dodsley in the Year 1744.
Now first chronologically arranged, revised and enlarged with the Notes
of all the Commentators, and new Notes
By
W. CAREW HAZLITT
1874-1876.
CONTENTS:
Summer's Last Will and Testament
The Downfall of Robert Earl of Huntington
The Death of Robert Earl of Huntington
Contention between Liberality and Prodigality
Grim the Collier of Croydon.
SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.
EDITION.
_A pleasant Comedie, called Summer's last will and Testament. Written
by Thomas Nash. Imprinted at London by Simon Stafford, for Water Burre_.
1600. 4to.
[COLLIER'S PREFACE.]
[Thomas Nash, son of William Nash, minister, and Margaret his wife, was
baptized at Lowestoft, in Suffolk, in November 1567.[1] He was admitted
a scholar at St John's College, Cambridge, on the Lady Margaret's
foundation, in 1584, and proceeded B.A. in 1585:] the following is a
copy of the Register:--
"Tho. Nashe Coll. Joh. Cantab. A.B. ib. 1585." The place, though not
the time, of his birth[2] we have under his own authority, for in his
"Lenten Stuff," printed in 1599, he informs us that he was born at
Lowestoft; and he leads us to conclude that his family was of some note,
by adding that his "father sprang from the Nashes of Herefordshire."[3]
It does not appear that Nash ever proceeded Master of Arts at Cambridge,
and most of his biographers agree that he left his college about 1587.
It is evident, however, that he had got into disgrace, and probably was
expelled; for the author of "England to her three Daughters" in
"Polimanteia," 1595, speaking of Harvey and Nash, and the pending
quarrel between them, uses these terms: "Cambridge make thy two children
friends: _thou hast been unkind to the one to wean him before his time_,
and too fond upon the other to keep him so long without preferment: the
one is ancient and of much reading; the other is young, but full of
wit."[4] The cause of his disgrace is reported to have been the share he
took in a piece called "Terminus et non Terminus," not now extant; and
it is not denied that his partner in this offence was expelled. Most
likely, therefore, Nash suffered the same punishment.
If Nash be the author of "An Almond for a Parrot," of which there is
little doubt, although his name is not affixed to it, he travelled in
Italy;[5] and we find from another of his pieces that he had been in
Ireland. Perhaps he went abroad soon after he abandoned Cambridge, and
before he settled in London and became an author. His first appearance
in this character seems to have been in 1589, and we believe the
earliest date of any tract attributed to him relating to Martin
Marprelate is also 1589.[6] He was the first, as has been frequently
remarked, to attack this enemy of the Church with the keen missiles of
wit and satire, throwing aside the lumbering and unserviceable weapons
of scholastic controversy. Having set the example in this respect, he
had many followers and imitators, and among them John Lily, the dramatic
poet, the author of "Pap with a Hatchet."
In London Nash became acquainted with Robert Greene, and their
friendship drew him into a long literary contest with Gabriel Harvey, to
which Nash owes much of his reputation. It arose out of the posthumous
attack of Harvey upon Robert Greene, of which sufficient mention has
been made elsewhere. Nash replied on behalf of his dead companion, and
reiterated the charge which had given the original offence to Harvey,
viz., that his brother was the son of a ropemaker.[7] One piece was
humorously dedicated to Richard Litchfield, a barber of Cambridge, and
Harvey answered it under the assumed character of the same barber, in a
tract called "The Trimmino of Thomas Nash,"[8] which also contained a
woodcut of a man in fetters. This representation referred to the
imprisonment of Nash for an offence he gave by writing a play (not now
extant) called "The Isle of Dogs," and to this event Francis Meres
alludes in his "Palladia Tamia," 1598, in these terms: "As Actaeon was
worried of his own hounds, so is Tom Nash of his 'Isle of Dogs.' Dogs
were the death of Euripides; but be not disconsolate, gallant young
Juvenal; Linus, the son of Apollo, died the same death. Yet God forbid,
that so brave a wit should so basely perish!--Thine are but paper dogs;
neither is thy banishment like Ovid's eternally to converse with the
barbarous _Getes_. Therefore comfort thyself, sweet Tom, with Cicero's
glorious return to Rome, and with the council Aeneas gives to his
sea-beaten soldiers." Lib. I. Aeneid.
"Pluck up thine heart, and drive from thence both fear and care away:
To think on this may pleasure be, perhaps, another day."
--_Durato, et temet rebus servato secundis_. (fol. 286.)
This was in part verified in the next year, for when Nash published his
"Lenten Stuff," he referred with | 3,079.38434 |
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DODO
A DETAIL OF THE DAY
BY
E.F. BENSON
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I
FOURTH EDITION
METHUEN & CO
LONDON
1893
And far out, drifting helplessly on that grey, angry sea, I
saw a small boat at the mercy of the winds and waves. And my
guide said to me, 'Some call the sea "Falsehood," and that
boat "Truth," and others call the sea "Truth," and the boat
"Falsehood;" and, for my part, I think that one is right as the
other.'--The Professor of Ignorance.
CHAPTER ONE
Poets of all ages and of all denominations are unanimous in assuring
us that there was once a period on this grey earth known as the Golden
Age. These irresponsible hards describe it in terms of the vaguest,
most poetic splendour, and, apart from the fact, upon which they are
all agreed, that the weather was always perfectly charming, we have to
reconstruct its characteristics in the main for ourselves. Perhaps if
the weather was uniformly delightful, even in this nineteenth century,
the golden age might return again. We all know how perceptibly our
physical, mental and spiritual level is raised by a few days of really
charming weather; but until the weather determines to be always golden,
we can hardly expect it of the age. Yet even now, even in England, and
even in London, we have every year a few days which must surely be
waifs and strays from the golden age, days which have fluttered down
from under the hands of the recording angel, as he tied up his reports,
and, after floating about for years in dim, interplanetary space,
sometimes drop down upon us. They may last a week, they have been known
to last a fortnight; again, they may curtail themselves into a few
hours, but they are never wholly absent.
At the time at which this story opens, London was having its annual
golden days; days to be associated with cool, early rides in the
crumbly Row, with sitting on small, green chairs beneath the trees
at the corner of the Park; with a general disinclination to exert
oneself, or to stop smoking cigarettes; with a temper distinctly above
its normal level, and a corresponding absence of moods. The crudeness
of spring had disappeared, but not its freshness; the warmth of the
summer had come, but not its sultriness; the winter was definitely
over and past, and even in Hyde Park the voice of the singing bird was
heard, and an old gentleman, who shall be nameless, had committed his
annual perjury by asserting in the _Morning Post_ that he had heard a
nightingale in the elm-trees by the Ladies' Mile, which was manifestly
impossible.
The sky was blue; the trees, strange to say, were green, for the leaves
were out, and even the powers of soot which hover round London had not
yet had time to shed their blackening dew upon them. The season was in
full swing, but nobody was tired of it yet, and "all London" evinced
a tendency to modified rural habits, which expressed themselves in
the way of driving down to Hurlingham, and giving water parties at
Richmond.
To state this more shortly, it was a balmy, breezy day towards the
middle of June. The shady walks that line the side of the Row were full
of the usual crowds of leisurely, well-dressed people who constitute
what is known as London. Anyone acquainted with that august and
splendid body would have seen at once that something had happened; not
a famine in China, nor a railway accident, nor a revolution, nor a
war, but emphatically "something." Conversation was a thing that made
time pass, not a way of passing the time. Obviously the larger half
of London was asking questions, and the smaller half was enjoying its
superiority, in being able to give answers. These indications are as
clear to the practised eye as the signs of the weather appear to be to
the prophet Zadkiel. To the amateur one cloud looks much like another
cloud: the prophet, on the other hand, lays a professional finger on
one and says "Thunder," while the lurid bastion, which seems fraught
with fire and tempest to the amateur, is dismissed with the wave of a
contemptuous hand.
A tall, young man was slowly making his way across the road from the
arch. He was a fair specimen of "the exhausted seedlings of our effete
aristocracy"--long-limbed, clean-shaven, about six feet two high,
and altogether very pleasant to look upon. He wore an air of extreme
leisure and freedom from the smallest touch of care or anxiety, and it
was quite clear that such was his normal atmosphere. He waited with
serene patience for a large number of well-appointed carriages to
go past, and then found himself blocked by another stream going in
the opposite direction. However, all things come to an end, even the
impossibility of crossing from the arch at the entrance of the Park to
the trees on a fine morning in June, and on this particular morning I
have to record no exception to the rule. A horse bolting on to the Row
narrowly missed knocking him down, and he looked up with mild reproach
at its rider, as he disappeared in a shower of dust and soft earth.
This young gentleman, who has been making his slow and somewhat
graceful entrance on to our stage, was emphatically "London," and he
too saw at once that something had happened. He looked about for an
acquaintance, and then dropped in a leisurely manner into a chair by
his side.
"Morning, Bertie," he remarked; "what's up?"
Bertie was not going to be hurried. He finished lighting a cigarette,
and adjusted the tip neatly with his fingers.
"She's going to be married," he remarked.
Jack Broxton turned half round to him with a quicker movement than he
had hitherto shown.
"Not Dodo?" he said.
"Yes."
Jack gave a low whistle.
"It isn't to you, I suppose?"
Bertie Arbuthnot leaned back in his chair with extreme languor. His
enemies, who, to do him justice, were very few, said that if he hadn't
been the tallest man in London, he would never have been there at all.
"No, it isn't to me."
"Is she here?" said Jack, looking round.
"No I think not; at least I haven't seen her."
"Well, I'm----" Jack did not finish the sentence.
Then as an after-thought he inquired: "Whom to?"
"Chesterford," returned the other.
Jack made a neat little hole with the ferrule of his stick in the
gravel in front of him, and performed a small burial service for the
end of his cigarette. The action was slightly allegorical.
"He's my first cousin," he said. "However, I may be excused for
not feeling distinctly sympathetic with my first cousin. Must I
congratulate him?"
"That's as you like," said the other. "I really don't see why you
shouldn't. But it is rather overwhelming, isn't it? You know Dodo is
awfully charming, but she hasn't got any of the domestic virtues.
Besides, she ought to be an empress," he added loyally.
"I suppose a marchioness is something," said Jack. "But I didn't expect
it one little bit. Of course he is hopelessly in love. And so Dodo has
decided to make him happy."
"It seems so," said Bertie, with a fine determination not to draw
inferences.
"Ah, but don't you see----" said Jack.
"Oh, it's all right," said Bertie. "He is devoted to her, and she is
clever and stimulating. Personally I shouldn't like a stimulating wife.
I don't like stimulating people, I don't think they wear well. It would
be like sipping brandy all day. Fancy having brandy at five o'clock
tea. What a prospect, you know! Dodo's too smart for my taste."
"She never bores one," said Jack.
"No, but she makes me feel as if I was sitting under a flaming
gas-burner, which was beating on to what Nature designed to be my
brain-cover."
"Nonsense," said Jack. "You don't know her. There she is. Ah!"
A dog-cart had stopped close by them, and a girl got out, leaving a
particularly diminutive groom at the pony's head. If anything she was a
shade more perfectly dressed than the rest of the crowd, and she seemed
to know it. Behind her walked another girl, who was obviously intended
to walk behind, while Dodo was equally obviously made to walk in front.
Just then Dodo turned round and said over her shoulder to her,--
"Maud, tell the boy he needn't wait. You needn't either unless you
like."
Maud turned round and went dutifully back to the dog-cart, where she
stood irresolutely a few moments after giving her message.
Dodo caught sight of the two young men on the chairs, and advanced to
them. The radiant vision was evidently not gifted with that dubious
quality, shyness.
"Why, Jack," she exclaimed in a loudish voice, "here I am, you see, and
I have come to be congratulated! What are you and Bertie sitting here
for like two Patiences on monuments? Really, Jack, you would make a
good Patience on a monument.
"Was Patience a man? I never saw him yet. I would come and sketch you
if you stood still enough. What are you so glum about? You look as if
you were going to be executed. I ought to look like that much more than
you. Jack, I'm going to be a married woman, and stop at home, and mend
the socks, and look after the baby, and warm Chesterford's slippers
for him. Where's Chesterford? Have you seen him? Oh, I told Maud to go
away. Maud," she called, "come back and take Bertie for a stroll: I
want to talk to Jack. Go on, Bertie; you can come back in half an hour,
and if I haven't finished talking then, you can go away again--or go
for a drive, if you like, with Maud round the Park. Take care of that
pony, though; he's got the devil of a temper."
"I suppose I may congratulate you first?" asked Bertie.
"That's so dear of you," said Dodo graciously, as if she was used to
saying it. "Good-bye; Maud's waiting, and the pony will kick himself
to bits if he stands much longer. Thanks for your congratulations.
Good-bye."
Bertie moved off, and Dodo sat down next Jack.
"Now, Jack, we're going to have a talk. In the first place you haven't
congratulated me. Never mind, we'll take that as done. Now tell me
what you think of it. I don't quite know why I ask you, but we are old
friends."
"I'm surprised," said he candidly; "I think it's very odd."
Dodo frowned.
"John Broxton," she said solemnly, "don't be nasty. Don't you think I'm
a very charming girl, and don't you think he's a very charming boy?"
Jack was silent for a minute or two, then he said,--
"What is the use of this, Dodo? What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say what you think. Jack, old boy, I'm very fond of you,
though I couldn't marry you. Oh, you must see that. We shouldn't have
suited. We neither of us will consent to play second fiddle, you know.
Then, of course, there's the question of money. I must have lots of
money. Yes, a big must _and_ a big lot. It's not your fault that you
haven't got any, and it wouldn't have been your fault if you'd been
born with no nose; but I couldn't marry a man who was without either."
"After all, Dodo," said he, "you only say what every one else thinks
about that. I don't blame you for it. About the other, you're wrong. I
am sure I should not have been an exacting husband. You could have had
your own way pretty well."
"Oh, Jack, indeed no," said she;--"we are wandering from the point,
but I'll come back to it presently. My husband must be so devoted to
me that anything I do will seem good and charming. You don't answer
that requirement, as I've told you before. If I can't get that--I have
got it, by the way--I must have a man who doesn't care what I do. You
would have cared, you know it. You told me once I was in dreadfully bad
form. Of course that clinched the matter. To my husband I must never
be in bad form. If others did what I do, it might be bad form, but
with me, no. Bad form is one of those qualities which my husband must
think impossible for me, simply because I am I. Oh, Jack, you must see
that--don't be stupid! And then you aren't rich enough. It's all very
well to call it a worldly view, but it is a perfectly true one for me.
Don't you see I must have everything I want. It is what I live on, all
this," she said, spreading her hands out. "All these people must know
who I am, and that they should do that, I must have everything at my
command. Oh, it's all very well to talk of love in a cottage, but just
wait till the chimney begins to smoke."
Dodo nodded her head with an air of profound wisdom.
"It isn't for you that I'm anxious," said Jack, "it's for Chesterford.
He's an awfully good fellow. It is a trifle original to sing the
husband's praise to the wife, but I do want you to know that. And he
isn't one of those people who don't feel things because they don't show
it--it is just the other way. The feeling is so deep that he can't. You
know you like to turn yourself inside out for your friend's benefit,
but he doesn't do that. And he is in love with you."
"Yes, I know," she said, "but you do me an injustice. I shall be very
good to him. I can't pretend that I am what is known as being in love
with him--in fact I don't think I know what that means, except that
people get in a very ridiculous state, and write sonnets to their
mistress's front teeth, which reminds me that I am going to the dentist
to-morrow. Come and hold my hand--yes, and keep withered flowers and
that sort of thing. Ah, Jack, I wish that I really knew what it did
mean. It can't be all nonsense, because Chesterford's like that, and
he is an honest man if you like. And I do respect and admire him
very much, and I hope I shall make him happy, and I hear he's got a
delightful new yacht; and, oh! do look at that Arbuthnot girl opposite
with a magenta hat. It seems to me inconceivably stupid to have a
magenta hat. Really she is a fool. She wants to attract attention, but
she attracts the wrong sort. Now _she_ is in bad form. Bertie doesn't
look after his relations enough."
"Oh, bother the Arbuthnot girl," said Jack angrily. "I want to have
this out with you. Don't you see that that sort of thing won't do with
Chesterford? He is not a fool by any means, and he knows the difference
between the two things."
"Indeed he doesn't," said Dodo. "The other day he was talking to me,
and I simply kept on smiling when I was thinking of something quite
different, and he thought I was adorably sympathetic. And, besides, I
am not a fool either. He is far too happy for me to believe that he is
not satisfied."
"Well, but you'll have to keep it up," said Jack. "Don't you see I'm
not objecting to your theory of marriage in itself--though I think it's
disgusting--but it strikes me that you have got the wrong sort of man
to experiment upon. It might do very well if he was like you."
"Jack, you sha'n't lecture me," said Dodo; "I shall do precisely as
I like. Have you ever known me make a fool of myself? Of course you
haven't. Well, if I was going to make a mess of this, it would be
contrary to all you or anyone else knows of me. I'm sorry I asked your
opinion at all. I didn't think you would be so stupid."
"You told me to tell you what I thought," said Jack in self-defence.
"I offered to say what you wanted, or to congratulate or condole or
anything else; it's your own fault, and I wish I'd said it was charming
and delightful, and just what I had always hoped."
Dodo laughed.
"I like to see you cross, Jack," she remarked, "and now we'll be
friends again. Remember what you have said to-day--we shall see in time
who is right, you or I. If you like to bet about it you may--only you
would lose. I promise to tell you if you turn out to be right, even if
you don't see it, which you must if it happens, which it won't, so you
won't," she added with a fine disregard of grammar.
Jack was silent.
"Jack, you are horrible," said Dodo impatiently, "you don't believe in
me one bit. I believe you are jealous of Chesterford; you needn't be."
Then he interrupted her quickly.
"Ah, Dodo, take care what you say. When you say I needn't be, it
implies that you are not going to do your share. I want to be jealous
of Chesterford, and I am sorry I am not. If I thought you loved him,
or would ever get to love him, I should be jealous. I wish to goodness
I was. Really, if you come to think of it, I am very generous. I want
this to be entirely a success. If there is one man in the world who
deserves to be happy it is Chesterford. He is not brilliant, he does
not even think he is, which is the best substitute. It doesn't much
matter how hard you are hit if you are well protected. Try to make him
conceited--it is the best you can do for him."
He said these words in a low tone, as if he hardly wished Dodo to hear.
But Dodo did hear.
"You don't believe in me a bit," she said. "Never mind, I will force
you to. That's always the way--as long as I amuse you, you like me well
enough, but you distrust me at bottom. A woman's a bore when she is
serious. Isn't it so? Because I talk nonsense you think I am entirely
untrustworthy about things that matter."
Dodo struck the ground angrily with the point of her parasol.
"I have thought about it. I know I am right," she went on. "I shall
be immensely happy as his wife, and he will be immensely happy as my
husband."
"I don't think it's much use discussing it," said he. "But don't be
vexed with me, Dodo. You reminded me that we were old friends at the
beginning of this extremely candid conversation. I have told you that
I think it is a mistake. If he didn't love you it wouldn't matter.
Unfortunately he does."
"Well, Jack," she said, "I can't prove it, but you ought to know me
well enough by this time not to misjudge me so badly. It is not only
unjust but stupid, and you are not usually stupid. However, I am not
angry with you, which is the result of my beautiful nature. Come, Jack,
shake hands and wish me happiness."
She stood up, holding out both her hands to him. Jack was rather moved.
"Dodo, of course I do. I wish all the best wishes that my nature can
desire and my brain conceive, both to you and him, him too; and I hope
I shall be outrageously jealous before many months are over."
He shook her hands, and then dropped them. She stood for a moment with
her eyes on the ground, looking still grave. Then she retreated a step
or two, leaned against the rail, and broke into a laugh.
"That's right, Jack, begone, dull care. I suppose you'll be
Chesterford's best man. I shall tell him you must be. Really he is an
excellent lover; he doesn't say too much or too little, and he lets me
do exactly as I like. Jack, come and see us this evening; we're having
a sort of Barnum's Show, and I'm to be the white elephant. Come and be
a white elephant too. Oh, no, you can't; Chesterford's the other. The
elephant is an amiable beast, and I am going to be remarkably amiable.
Come to dinner first, the Show begins afterwards. No, on the whole,
don't come to dinner, because I want to talk to Chesterford all the
time, and do my duty in that state of life in which it has pleased
Chesterford to ask me to play my part. That's profane, but it's only
out of the Catechism. Who wrote the Catechism? I always regard the
Catechism as only a half-sacred work, and so profanity doesn't count,
at least you may make two profane remarks out of the Catechism, which
will only count as one. I shall sing, too. Evelyn has taught me two
little <DW65> minstrel songs. Shall I black my face? I'm not at all
sure that I shouldn't look rather well with my face blacked, though I
suppose it would frighten Chesterford. Here are Maud and Bertie back
again. I must go. I'm lunching somewhere, I can't remember where, only
Maud will know. Maud, where are we lunching, and have you had a nice
drive, and has Bertie been making love to you? Good-bye, Jack. Remember
to come this evening. You can come, too, Bertie, if you like. I have
had a very nice talk with Jack, and he has been remarkably rude, but I
forgive him."
Jack went with her to her dog-cart, and helped her in.
"This pony's name is Beelzebub," she remarked, as she took the reins,
"because he is the prince of the other things. Good-bye."
Then he went back and rejoined Bertie.
"There was a scene last night," said Bertie. "Maud told me about it.
She came home with Dodo and Chesterford, and stopped to open a letter
in the hall, and when she went upstairs into the drawing-room, she
found Dodo sobbing among the sofa cushions, and Chesterford standing
by, not quite knowing what to do. It appeared that he had just given
her the engagement ring. She was awfully-pleased with it, and said it
was charming, then suddenly she threw it down on the floor, and buried
her face in the cushions. After that she rushed out of the room, and
didn't appear again for a quarter of an hour, and then went to the
Foreign Office party, and to two balls."
Jack laughed hopelessly for a few minutes. Then he said,--
"It is too ridiculous. I don't believe it can be all real. That was
drama, pure spontaneous drama. But it's drama for all that. I'm sure I
don't know why I laughed, now I come to think of it. It really is no
laughing matter. All the same I wonder why she didn't tell me that. But
her sister has got no business to repeat those kind of things. Don't
tell anyone else, Bertie."
Then after a minute he repeated to himself, "I wonder why she didn't
tell me that."
"Jack," said Bertie after another pause, "I don't wish you to think
that I want to meddle in your concerns, and so don't tell me unless you
like, but was anything ever up between you and Dodo? Lie freely if you
would rather not tell me, please."
"Yes," he said simply. "I asked her to marry me last April, and she
said 'No.' I haven't told anyone till this minute, because I don't
like it to be known when I fail. I am like Dodo in that. You know
how she detests not being able to do anything she wants. It doesn't
often happen, but when it does, Dodo becomes damnable. She has more
perseverance than I have, though. When she can't get anything, she
makes such a fuss that she usually does succeed eventually. But I do
just the other thing. I go away, and don't say anything about it. That
was a bad failure. I remember being very much vexed at the time."
Jack spoke dreamily, as if he was thinking of something else. It was
his way not to blaze abroad anything that affected him deeply. Like
Dodo he would often dissect himself in a superficial manner, and act as
a kind of showman to his emotions; but he did not care to turn himself
inside out with her thoroughness. And above all, as he had just said,
he hated the knowledge of a failure; he tried to conceal it even from
himself. He loved to show his brighter side to the world. When he was
in society he always put on his best mental and moral clothes, those
that were newest and fitted him most becomingly; the rags and tatters
were thrown deep into the darkest cupboard, and the key sternly turned
on them. Now and then, however, as on this occasion, a friend brought
him the key with somewhat embarrassing openness, and manners prevented
him from putting his back to the door. But when it was unlocked he
adopted the tone of, "Yes, there are some old things in there, I
believe. May you see? Oh, certainly; but please shut it after you, and
don't let anyone else in. I quite forget what is in there myself, it's
so long since I looked."
Bertie was silent. He was on those terms of intimacy with the other
that do not need ordinary words of condolence or congratulation.
Besides, from his own point of view, he inwardly congratulated Jack,
and this was not the sort of occasion on which to tell him that
congratulation rather than sympathy was what the event demanded. Then
Jack went on, still with the air of a spectator than of a principal
character,--
"Dodo talked to me a good deal about her marriage. I am sorry about it,
for I think that Chesterford will be terribly disillusioned. You know
he doesn't take things lightly, and he is much too hopelessly fond of
Dodo ever to be content with what she will grant him as a wife. But we
cannot do anything. I told her what I thought, not because I hoped to
make any change in the matter, but because I wished her to know that
for once in her life she has made a failure--a bad, hopeless mistake.
That has been my revenge. Come, it's after one, I must go home. I shall
go there this evening; shall I see you?"
CHAPTER TWO
Jack went home meditating rather bitterly on things in general. He
had a sense that Fate was not behaving very prettily to him. She
had dealt him rather a severe blow in April last, which had knocked
him down, and, having knocked him down, she now proceeded in a most
unsportsmanlike way to kick him. Jack had a great idea of fair play,
and Fate certainly was not playing fair. He would have liked to have
a few words with her on the subject. The world had been very kind on
the whole to him. He had always been popular, and his life, though
perhaps rather aimless, was at least enjoyable. And since the world had
been kind to him, he was generous to the world in general, and to his
friends in particular. It had always held a high opinion of him, as a
thoroughly healthy-minded and pleasant companion, and he was disposed
to hold a similar opinion of it. Consequently, when Dodo had refused
him that spring, he had not thought badly of her. He did not blame
her, or get bitter about it; but though he had flattered himself that
he was used to Dodo's ways, and had always recognised her capabilities
in the way of surprising her friends, he had not been quite prepared
for the news of her engagement. In fact, he was surprised, and also
rather resentful, chiefly against the general management of mundane
affairs, but partly also against Dodo herself. Dodo had not told him
of her engagement; he had been left to find it out for himself. Then,
again, she was engaged to a man who was hopelessly and entirely in
love with her, and for whom, apart from a quiet, unemotional liking,
she did not care two straws, except in so far as he was immensely rich
and had a title, two golden keys which unlocked the most secret doors
of that well-furnished apartment known as Society, which constituted
Dodo's world. Hitherto her position had been precarious: she had felt
that she was on trial. Her personality, her great attractiveness
and talents, had secured for herself a certain footing on the very
dais of that room; but she had always known that unless she married
brilliantly she would not be sure of her position. If she married a
man who would not be always certain of commanding whatever money and
position--for she would never have married a wealthy brewer--could
command, or, worst of all, if in her unwillingness to accept anything
but the best she could get, she did not marry at all, Dodo knew that
she never would have that unquestioned position that she felt was
indispensable to her. Jack knew all this perfectly well--in fact Dodo
had referred to it that morning--and he accepted it philosophically as
being inevitable. But what he did not like was being told that he would
not have done on general grounds, that he was too fond of his own way,
that he would not have given Dodo rein enough. He had known Dodo too
long and too well, when he proposed to her, to have any of a lover's
traditional blindness to the faults of his love. He knew that she was,
above all things, strongly dramatic, that she moved with a view to
effect, that she was unscrupulous in what she did, that her behaviour
was sometimes in questionable taste; but this he swallowed whole, so to
speak. He was genuinely attached to her, and felt that she possessed
the qualities that he would most like to have in his wife. Bertie had
said to him that morning that she was stimulating, and would not wear
well. Stimulating she certainly was--what lovable woman is not?--and
personally he had known her long, and she did wear well. The hidden
depths and unsuspected shallows were exactly what he loved her for;
no one ever fell in love with a canal; and though the shallows were
commoner than the depths, and their presence was sometimes indicated
by a rather harsh jarring of the keel, yet he believed, fully and
sincerely, in the dark, mysterious depths for love to lose itself
in. Besides, a wife, whose actions and thoughts were as perfectly
calculable and as accurately calculated as the trains in a Bradshaw,
was possessed of sterling qualities which, however estimable, were more
suited to a housekeeper than a mistress.
These reflections were the outcome of an intimate knowledge of Dodo in
the mind of a man who was in the habit of being honest with himself
and the object of his love, a quality rare enough whether the lover is
rejected or accepted.
He had had time to think over the matter quietly to himself. He knew,
and had known for many weeks, that Dodo was out of his reach, and he
sat down and thought about the inaccessible fruit, not with the keen
feelings of one who still hoped to get it, but with a resignation which
recognised that the fruit was desirable, but that it must be regarded
from a purely speculative point of view.
And to do him justice, though he was very sorry for himself, he was
much more sorry for Chesterford. Chesterford was his cousin, they had
been brought up together at Eton and Oxford, and he knew him with that
intimacy which is the result of years alone.
Chesterford's old friends had all a great respect and liking for
him. As Dodo had said, "He was an honest man if you like." Slight
acquaintances called him slow and rather stupid, which was true
on purely intellectual grounds. He was very loyal, and very much
devoted to what he considered his duty, which consisted in being an
excellent landlord | 3,079.388539 |
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Transcriber’s Note
In this plain text version of Royal Winchester:
words in italics are marked with _underscores_
words printed in a bold Gothic font are marked with =equals signs=
words in small capitals are shown in UPPER CASE.
Illustrations have been moved near to the text they illustrate. The
page numbers in the List of Illustrations refer to the original
positions.
Footnotes have been moved to the end of chapters.
Sidenotes were originally page headings, they have been moved to the
start of paragraphs. These were all printed in italics.
Inconsistent hyphenation and variant spelling are retained. Quotations
and transcriptions have been left as printed. Minor changes have been
made to punctuation, the other changes that have been made are listed
at the end of the book.
[Illustration: The Cathedral: West Front.
WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL.]
ROYAL
WINCHESTER
WANDERINGS IN AND ABOUT
THE ANCIENT CAPITAL OF ENGLAND
BY THE
REV. A. G. L’ESTRANGE, M.A.
AUTHOR OF
“THE VILLAGE OF PALACES,”
“THE FRIENDSHIPS OF M. R. MITFORD,” ETC., ETC.
WITH NUMEROUS TEXT AND FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS FROM
ORIGINAL SKETCHES BY C. G. HARPER
_SECOND EDITION._
LONDON:
SPENCER BLACKETT
35, ST. BRIDE STREET, LUDGATE CIRCUS, E.C.
(_All rights reserved._)
Among those who have kindly afforded me information during the progress
of this work are the Very Rev. Dr. Kitchin, Dean of Winchester, the
Rev. Dr. Sewell, Warden of New College, Oxford, the Rev. J. G. Young,
Mr. F. Baigent, Mr. J. H. Round, Mr. T. Stopher, and Mr. C. G. Harper.
I have consulted, among recent works, those of the Misses Bramston and
Leroy, the Rev. H. C. Adams, and Mr. Woodward.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
FIRST DAY.
PAGE
Introduction--The High Street--The Castle--King Arthur
--Historical Reminiscences--Executions--The Civil
War--Charles II.’s Palace--The Westgate--Wyke--
Littleton--Crawley--Lainston--Sparsholt 1
SECOND DAY.
“God Begot” House--The High Street--Old Guildhall--
Butter Cross--King Alfred--The Penthouse--St.
Maurice’s Church--The Bell and Crown--New Guildhall
--Museum--Archives--St. Mary’s Nunnery--St.
John’s Hospital--Soke Prison--St. Giles’ Hill--The
Fair 49
THIRD DAY.
The City Walls--Danemead--Eastgate--Northgate--
Westgate--Southgate--Kingsgate--The College--
Wykeham--Wolvesey--Raleigh 85
FOURTH DAY.
Jewry Street and the Jews--Hyde Abbey--St. Grimbald
--Destruction of Tombs--Headbourne Worthy--
King’s Worthy--The Nuns’ Walk 123
FIFTH DAY.
The Cathedral--Early History--Dagon--St. Swithun
--Æthelwold--The Vocal Cross--Ordeal of Fire--
Walkelin--Renovation of the Cathedral--Civil War
--Architecture--Nave--Isaak Walton--Relics and
Monuments--De la Roche--Frescoes--Ethelmar--
Crypt 148
SIXTH DAY.
The Grenadier--Cathedral Library and Museum--The
Deanery--Pilgrim’s Hall--Precincts--Cheyney Court
--Regulations of the Monastery--North side of the
Cathedral--Early decay of the City--St. Peter’s Street
--Middle Brooks--Old Houses 209
SEVENTH DAY.
Southgate Street--St. Cross--Dr. Lewis--Regulations--
St. Catherine’s Hill 243
EIGHTH AND FOLLOWING DAYS.
Ancient Britons--St. John’s Church--Magdalen Hospital
--Punchbowl--Chilcombe--St. Peter’s Cheesehill--
Twyford--Monoliths--Brambridge Avenue--Otterbourne
--Compton--“Oliver’s Battery”--Hursley--Tomb
of Keble--Merdon Castle--Farley Mount--The Hampage
Oak--Tichborne 262
INDEX 297
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
THE CATHEDRAL: WEST FRONT, WINCHESTER _Frontispiece_
WESTGATE 7
CASTLE HALL 29
THE EPITAPH OF DR HARPESFELDE 40
SPARSHOLT CHURCH 45
THE BUTTER CROSS AND PENTHOUSE 49
ROYAL OAK PASSAGE 51
THE OLD GUILDHALL 55
THE GUILDHALL 67
SOKE BRIDGE 77
TOWERS AND SPIRES OF WINCHESTER 79
KINGSGATE 90
THE PORTER’S LODGE AND CHEYNEY COURT 92
CHAMBER COURT 99
THE CLOISTERS 103
THE COLLEGE CHAPEL 111
CORNER OF A COLLEGE STUDY 115
THE TOWER OF THE COLLEGE CHAPEL FROM THE ITCHEN 121
CNUT AND EMMA (ÆLFGYFU) PLACING THE CROSS AT HYDE 133
WYKEHAM’S TOMB 167
A FRAGMENT OF THE CHAPTER HOUSE 169
IN THE NORTH TRANSEPT 177
KING JAMES 181
THE CHOIR FROM THE NAVE 187
THE DEANERY 219
THE PENTHOUSE 233
MIDDLE BROOK 237
THE CHURCH OF SAINT CROSS FROM THE WATER MEADOWS 245
BEAUFORT TOWER, ST. CROSS 249
ST. CATHERINE’S HILL FROM ST. CROSS 259
ST. JOHN’S FROM A COTTAGE GARDEN 265
CHILCOMBE CHURCH 270
A CHILCOMBE TOMBSTONE 271
ST. PETER’S CHEESEHILL FROM ABOVE THE STATION 273
TWYFORD 278
HURSLEY 285
FARLEY MOUNT 288
ROYAL WINCHESTER
_WANDERINGS IN AND ABOUT THE ANCIENT CAPITAL OF ENGLAND._
FIRST DAY.
Introduction--The High Street--The Castle--King Arthur--Historical
Reminiscences--Executions--The Civil War--Charles II.’s Palace--The
Westgate--Wyke--Littleton--Crawley--Lainston--Sparsholt.
“Would that the George Hotel had an old gable, or even an Elizabethan
window,” I said to myself as I unshouldered my knapsack; “but perhaps
the ordinary visitor thinks more of creature comforts than of artistic
effects.”
“Is there anything of antiquity about the house?” I inquired, turning
to the waiter.
“Not that I know of,” was the reply; “but it is a very ancient
establishment. There is a fresco two hundred years old in one of the
rooms,” he added, with a little pride.
I took out my notebook and pencil, and was shown into a ground-floor
room in the western and earlier part of the hotel to see this
curiosity. Alas! it proved to be nothing but an old paperhanging.
“Not very remarkable,” I said, carelessly.
“Indeed, sir!”
“I am expecting some friends by the next train,” I continued. “We shall
require dinner for three. What can we have?”
The waiter was pretty well acquainted with the productions of the
culinary department, which had not much charm of novelty, and after
settling that important business, I sallied forth to purchase a
guide-book. This was not the first time I had been at Winchester, and
much of the information it contained was not new to me; but I wished to
refresh my memory on some points, as the friends I was expecting looked
to me to be their _cicerone_ during the few days we were to spend here
together.
Reading some and skipping more, and glancing at the well-known
illustrations, I thought myself fairly acquainted with the subject,
especially as I had rummaged up something from old books and
manuscripts in London. I wished to stand well with the old gentleman
and his daughter for certain reasons which I shall not mention--because
I may be unsuccessful. Well--we shall see.
[Sidenote: Arrival.]
Here they are!--warm greetings--the luggage is lifted down, and by
degrees the small articles which accompany a lady’s travels were
brought in, counted, and arranged. Do the number and variety of them
cause me to hesitate or to reflect that in single blessedness--
“When a man’s hat is on his head
His house is thatched and furnishèd”?
No, not for one moment.
Conversation soon becomes more connected, and, in due course, allusion
is made to the object of our visit.
“Now, mind you tell us _everything_ about Winchester,” said Miss
Hertford, with a smiling emphasis, which showed that she intended to be
obeyed.
“Everything, and some other things,” I replied, submissively; “but
perhaps you under-estimate the extent of the mine which is here beneath
our feet. You are an enchantress, and if you wish to become the idol of
antiquaries, turn Winchester upside down for a few hours.”
The present “George” is not inspiring architecturally, but still
possesses a fragrance beyond that of mere soups and joints. Here
successive generations have been accommodated and regaled,
“Have found the warmest welcome at an inn,”
ever since the days of Edward IV. Had a Visitors Book been kept, what a
rare collection of autographs would it have contained! In the twentieth
year of Henry VIII. we read of the “In of the George” being leased by
the Mayor to one Stephen Boddam, on condition that he pays the rent
fixed and forty shillings towards the new making of the chimney.[1]
The name of the house was taken from the patron saint of England,
pork-dealer, bishop, and dragon-slayer; to whom we find a chapel in
Winchester dedicated in Henry IV.’s time.[2]
[Sidenote: Sufferings of a Royalist.]
The stable at the back is the oldest part. It has a dingy aspect, and
an unpleasant association. When Waller was here making demands upon
the citizens in 1643, one Master Say, a son of a Prebendary of the
Cathedral, directed his servant to conceal his horses. Betrayed and
brought before Waller, he was questioned, and his answers being deemed
unsatisfactory, was handed over to the Provost Marshal to extract a
confession. He was forthwith taken into the “eighteen-stall stable,” a
halter was placed round his neck, and, as he still refused information,
he was pulled up and down to the rack until nearly strangled. All the
spectators retired in disgust--they could not stand the sight.
“How dreadful!” exclaimed Miss Hertford. “Did the poor man die?”
“It very nearly finished him,” I returned; “but people were pretty
strong in those days. However, he had, as a result, a dangerous
illness.”
There is no better starting-point than the “George,” in the centre of
the High Street, for exploring Winchester. This was the chief street
in Roman times, and perhaps terminated in such a round arch as we see
at Lincoln. In the palmy days of the city good houses probably adorned
the street. There seems to have been a fashionable tailor here in the
days of John and Henry III. His cut was evidently appreciated, for
he was not only employed by the King, but given wood to repair his
house, Limafelda, the rent of which was a grey pelise for the King.
We may conclude there was also a grand harness maker: for John ordered
the Mayor to give the constable of Corfe Castle a handsome (pulchra)
saddle, with a scarlet saddle-cloth and gilt bridle.[3]
The scene had greatly changed by Henry VIII.’s time. The houses, mostly
wooden and thatched, had gardens in front of them, of a somewhat Irish
character, for the walls were dilapidated,[4] and they contained
few flowers, but many sweet--pigs. A civic order was now made that
householders should no longer keep “hog-sties” within the boundaries
of the “hie” street. Those were times of darkness--there were no
town-lights, and some apprehension was felt that even the supply of
candles might run short. And so, in the fifteenth year of Henry VIII.,
it was ordered by the Winchester “assemble” that the chandlers “should
make” good and well-burning candles, and “should see there was no lack
of them.”[5] In Charles II.’s time the citizens were bidden to hang out
lights while the King was in residence.
[Sidenote: Westgate.]
Now let us come to a nearer date, and imagine this street a
hundred years ago. An open drain ran down it, and lines of gables
and overhanging storeys nodded across at each other in grotesque
infirmity. A pretty picture they made, and there was one night in the
year on which they seemed to me to be sadly missing--the fifth of
November--when tar barrels were lit at the Westgate and kicked down the
street by an exulting mob. A grand scene it was of riot and wildfire,
and only wanted the quaint, irregular buildings to complete the effect.
“When Keats was here in 1819,” said Mr. Hertford, “he found the
place much modernized and ‘improved.’ He says the side streets were
excessively maiden-lady-like; the doorsteps were always fresh from the
flannel, and the knockers had a staid, serious, almost awful quietness
about them. Never did he see such a quiet collection of lions’ and
rams’ heads.”[6]
[Illustration: West Gate, Winchester.]
The first object that attracted our attention on our walks was the
Westgate, which crowns the High Street, and is beautiful with its
ivy, arches, and two Decorated windows. There is a warm semi-domestic
character in the fortifications of a town--a charm distinct from that
of the colder grandeur of the Castle and Cathedral. As we approach the
gate, we pass the Star Inn.
“That unpretentious building,” I said, “stands on holy ground.[7]
“Graves of unknown age, Roman coins and vases were found there when
digging for the foundations in 1885. It is thought that a palace of
Queen Emma stood on or near its site. There was a hostel named ‘La
Starre’ in Winchester in the reign of Henry IV.”
[Sidenote: Prisoners.]
We now approach and stand before the gate. Had we been here in the
fourteenth century--on a Sunday morning--during the fair, we should
have found ourselves surrounded by a chattering crowd, buying bread at
the stalls here erected; while close to us on the left (south), would
have risen a grim tower in haughty grandeur. It stood just in front
of where are now the stairs of the office of the Hampshire Friendly
Society--a slight inequality in the road can be observed over the
foundations. This was a part of the ancient castle, which some say
was built by FitzOsborne at the Conqueror’s command, while others[8]
observe that we have no allusion to it till the days of Henry I. In
Henry II.’s reign it is often mentioned. Some say that previously the
Saxon palace stood here. This palace has been well jolted about by
topographers, most of whom place it in the Square behind the Butter
Cross. The result is that we have here a couple of prisoners, and
do not know where to put them. One of these is Stigand, Bishop of
Winchester, and afterwards archbishop. His treasures were not entirely
in the other world, but he kindly kept a correct account of them,
and wore his key on a chain round his neck, so that on his death in
1070, William had no difficulty in turning his store into the royal
coffers. The other sufferer was a young Saxon of the name of Meaw. It
appears that the Conqueror’s wife, Matilda, was not so busy with her
Bayeux tapestry and _Abbaye aux Dames_ as to forget all about this
aggravating person. He would care nothing for her, and she determined
to be revenged. So she had him shut up somewhere in Winchester, that he
might have leisure to reflect on the advantages of being “willing and
free.” Prisons were not then as they are now--some of the best warmed
and ventilated places--there were no good food and attentive doctors,
and after a short time poor Meaw was beyond the reach both of love and
hatred.
[Sidenote: The Domesday Book.]
In this Castle was the “exchequer,” that is, the depository of records
and treasure. Among the valuables it contained for a considerable time
was the celebrated Domesday Book, or a copy of it, which is first
mentioned as the “Liber de Thesauro,” appealed to in a case argued
before Queen Matilda “in the treasury of the Castle of Winchester,”[9]
about the year 1108. The original rolls disappeared at an early date,
perhaps in some conflagration, but the Winton book, that describing
this locality, is a more full copy from them than is the larger
Domesday Book for the whole of England. Authorities differ as to when
this book was removed from Winchester. In the seventh year of Henry
II., there appears a charge in the Pipe Rolls for conveying the “arca”
from Winchester to London, and in the London Record Office there is a
curious chest in which this book was kept at Westminster. It is about
five feet square, formed of iron nearly an inch thick, and strengthened
with heavy girders and studs. This may have been the very ark above
mentioned.
“In order to see this castle we must ante-date our existence three
hundred years.”
“I wish we could,” said Mr. Hertford, “then we should have no trouble
about Home Rule or County Councils.”
“Suppose then,” I proceeded, “we are standing in front of the old tower
I have mentioned, and admiring its handsome mouldings of cut stone.
If we are allowed to enter and explore we shall find beneath it three
subterranean passages radiating in different directions--one to the
east, passing into the town, with a view probably of taking sanctuary
in churches; another to the south, leading towards the hall; and a
third to the west, ending in a sally port outside the town. Passing
through this entrance tower we have on our left an embattled wall
(where the paved walk now runs) meeting the end of the hall,[10] and
on our right another wall (along the course of the iron railing of the
Friendly Society), extending to the State apartments--the site of the
present County Offices. The original Norman Castle--a tower fifty-two
feet square and fourteen thick, which stood where the Jubilee Queen
now sits in front of the hall--was demolished at an early date. The
succeeding castle had round towers, between thirty and forty feet wide,
and from eight to ten thick.[11] Beyond the hall was an inner court,
or ‘pleasaunce,’ with four towers, one at each corner; one is still
visible, and one stood where the officers’ quarters are; one probably
belonging to the Castle, but somewhat distant, and perhaps detached,
was found in the railway cutting.
[Sidenote: The Castle.]
“A remarkable, if not fabulous event, took place ‘in the hall of
Winchester Castle’ (or palace) in Edward the Confessor’s time. The
story goes that one of the serving-men in bringing in a dish slipped
one foot, but saved himself with the other. Earl Godwin being in good
spirits, perhaps, at the termination of the almost endless grace,
attempted a joke--a somewhat hazardous venture before the Confessor.
‘So should one brother support the other,’ quoth he. Edward was down
upon him in a moment. ‘So might I have been now assisted by my brother
Alfred, if Earl Godwin had not prevented it.’ The Earl protested that
he had no connection with that murder; ‘might the next morsel be his
last if he had.’ He ate and tried to swallow, but the food and the lie
stuck in his throat, and he fell dead under the table.”
“I have read, somewhere,” observed Mr. Hertford, “that there is no
truth in that story beyond the fact that the Earl died suddenly at a
banquet here, and was buried in the Cathedral. It has a Norman flavour.”
We find that Henry II. bought a place in Winchester for his mews, which
remained in the hands of John and Henry III.[12] John in his fifth year
gave to Matthew Wallop “the custody of our house and castle gates and
gaol in Winchester for the service of his keeping at his cost our birds
put in the Castle to be mewed, finding one servant to mew them, and
keep throughout the mewing time. And he shall find three hare hounds
for each season.”[13] John also ordered a Columbarium to be made in the
Castle.[14]
[Illustration: Castle Hall.]
While we were admiring the exterior of the hall I thought of the grim
ornaments with which the Castle was once adorned. Here was placed by
Edward I. a quarter of the last native Prince of Wales. Here Queen
Isabella exhibited the head of Earl Despencer. As I was musing, a
labourer came out, and we were enabled to enter the building.
“Magnificent!” exclaimed Mr. Hertford. “What a length and height; and
look at those tall, blue shafts of Purbeck marble!”
“Those pillars and aisles,” I replied, “have led some to mistake it for
a church. But although we read of four chapels in the Castle--the chief
of which was to St. Josse--this was not among them. The length is 110
feet. The old entrance to the hall, the mouldings of which are still
visible, was used towards the end of the last century, and corresponded
with that still existing on the south side.”[15]
[Sidenote: Arthur’s Table.]
At the west end are the remains of a daïs, and a curious orifice,
supposed to be for communicating by word of mouth with the State
apartments. Over this, like a large target, hangs the famous “round
table” of King Arthur--a mystery for centuries. In the reign of
Henry III., who was much here, and had his birth-room in the Castle
with fresh green, when there were statues in the porch,
marble pillars, and a painted chamber, there were also here a “Mappa
Mundi” and a “Wheel of Fortune.” The latter seems suggestive, and the
Round Tower, built by Wykeham, at Windsor, and called the Round Table,
may have been taken from this; but we hear nothing of it till Henry
VI.’s reign,[16] and the present painting dates from Henry VIII., who
specially showed the work of art to the Emperor Charles V. Round it
are inscribed the names of Arthur’s knights, and in the centre is a
picture of a king in voluminous robes, much more like a Tudor monarch
than a British warrior.[17] Tradition says that Arthur founded this
Castle. He and his companions, when divested of their French motley,
represent the conflict which raged between the Christian Britons and
the pagan Saxons. It is said that he gained a great victory in this
neighbourhood, and so fondly did the conquered and oppressed natives
recall the memory of their beloved champion, that they fancied he would
come again--
“Thence to Britain shall return,
If right prophetic rolls I learn,
Borne on Victory’s spreading plume,
His ancient sceptre to resume,
His knightly table to restore,
And brave the tournaments of yore.”
Henry VII. was not above superstitious or worldly considerations, and
the legendary foundation of the Castle induced him to bring Elizabeth
to this city to be delivered, and to call his first son Arthur.[18]
[Sidenote: The Castle.]
Great improvements were made in the Castle by Henry III., for which
the forest of Bere was mainly contributory. The order is extant in
which the verderers are commanded to sell the underwood and give the
money for the construction of a great hall at the Castle,[19] and oaks
were to be cut for forming the roof.[20] This forest, extending from
Winchester to Southampton, would be able to furnish ample money and
material. The stone for building and repairing the Castle was to be
brought from “Kerebroc,” in the Isle of Wight.[21]
Twenty-five thousand slates were placed upon the roof, and the queen’s
chamber was panelled with Irish oak. By the time Elizabeth came to the
throne, the Castle was in a somewhat dilapidated state. From a letter
of the Commissioners in 1570, we find that the ditch and rampart on
the west part of the Castle was overgrown with moss and small bushes;
it contained three acres. The Castle green was let, together with the
“old walls and ruinous void romes” there--the lessee to keep it clean
for Sessions and Assizes. The Mayor had lately repaired the roof of the
hall; the Queen had spent much money on its south aisle, but the north
aisle was so greatly decayed that the whole edifice was in danger of
falling. After this report,[22] some repairs were probably undertaken.
“Do not we see,” I continued, “as we stand and gaze at this splendid
structure, the pomp of history sweep slowly past? Here advance Henry
I. and his bride Matilda of Scotland,[23] and Cœur de Lion returned
from captivity. Henry the Third and the three Edwards were more
frequent in their visits and banquets.[24] Here is the studious young
William of Wykeham, secretary to Sir John de Scures, Constable of the
Castle. What is all this bridal array?--Henry IV. and Joan of Brittany.
Here the warlike Henry V., who may be claimed as a Winchester boy, is
receiving the French ambassadors[25] who came with three hundred men;
and here his gentle son obtains less perishable honours as he lays down
the plan of Eton College on the lines of Wykeham’s foundation. Here
is the bluff and jovial Henry VIII., holding high festival for the
handsome young Emperor Charles V.; and here is melancholy Mary, doating
on her faithless Philip.
[Sidenote: The Hall.]
“James I. gave the Castle to Benjamin Tichborne--a name recalling
a recent contest; and Charles II. demolished most of it for the
construction of his more luxurious palace.
“In Edward the First’s reign the Bishop of St. Andrews though only a
prisoner of war who had opposed the King in Scotland, was confined
here in irons. It was then the rule rather than the exception for such
prisoners to be chained. A Parliament was held here by Isabella and
Mortimer, and a cruel scene then followed the incarceration of Edmund
of Woodstock. He was brought out in front of the main entrance to
the Castle (through the city wall) to be executed. There he was kept
“from morn till dewy eve” in a state of painful suspense, for, to the
credit of all, no one would be induced to do the cruel deed. At last a
prisoner, to save his own life, decapitated him.”
“I have often wondered,” observed Mr. Hertford, “how any one could be
induced to perform this odious office against the lives of celebrated
men. We know the difficulty there was in the case of Charles I., how
disguises were used and what suspicions there were as to who were the
two executioners.”
“We have another sensational scene here,” | 3,079.479803 |
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
| 3,079.479988 |
2023-11-16 19:08:24.9637640 | 1,147 | 6 | A TREATISE ON PHYSIOLOGY AND HYGIENE ***
Produced by Bryan Ness, Keith Edkins and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE VISCERA IN POSITION.]
* * * * *
A
TREATISE
ON
PHYSIOLOGY AND HYGIENE
FOR
EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS AND GENERAL READERS.
_FULLY ILLUSTRATED._
BY
JOSEPH C. HUTCHISON, M. D.,
_President of the New York Pathological Society, Vice-President of the New
York
Academy of Medicine, Surgeon to the Brooklyn City Hospital, late
President
of the Medical Society of the State of New York, etc._
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
CLARK & MAYNARD, PUBLISHERS,
5 BARCLAY STREET.
1872.
* * * * *
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870,
By CLARK & MAYNARD.
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Stereotyped by LITTLE, RENNIE & CO.
645 and 647 Broadway.
* * * * *
TO MY WIFE,
WHOSE SYMPATHY HAS, FOR MORE THAN TWENTY YEARS, LIGHTENED THE
CARES INCIDENT TO
_AN ACTIVE PROFESSIONAL LIFE_,
THIS HUMBLE VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
* * * * *
{3}
PREFACE.
------o------
This work is designed to present the leading facts and principles of human
Physiology and Hygiene in clear and concise language, so that pupils in
schools and colleges, and readers not familiar with the subjects, may
readily comprehend them. Anatomy, or a description of the structure of an
organ, is of course necessary to the understanding of its Physiology, or
its uses. Enough of the former study has, therefore, been introduced, to
enable the pupil to enter intelligently upon the latter.
Familiar language, as far as practicable, has been employed, rather than
that of a technical character. With a view, however, to supply what might
seem to some a deficiency in this regard, a Pronouncing Glossary has been
added, which will enable the inquirer to understand the meaning of many
scientific terms not in common use.
In the preparation of the work the writer has carefully examined all the
best material at his command, and freely used it; the special object being
to have it abreast of the present knowledge on the subjects treated, as far
as such is possible in a work so elementary as this. The discussion of
disputed points has been avoided, it being manifestly inappropriate in a
work of this kind.
Instruction in the rudiments of Physiology in schools does not necessitate
the general practice of dissections, or of experiments upon animals. The
most important subjects may be illustrated by {4} drawings, such as are
contained in this work. Models, especially those constructed by AUZOUX of
Paris, dried preparations of the human body, and the organs of the lower
animals, may also be used with advantage.
The writer desires to acknowledge his indebtedness to R. M. WYCKOFF, M.D.,
for valuable aid in the preparation of the manuscript for the press; and to
R. CRESSON STILES, M.D., a skilful microscopist and physician, for the
chapter "On the Use of the Microscope in the Study of Physiology." Mr. AVON
C. BURNHAM, the well-known teacher of gymnastics, furnished the drawing of
the parlor gymnasium and the directions for its use.
_Brooklyn, N. Y., 1870._
* * * * *
{5}
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE FRAMEWORK OF THE BODY 15
_The Bones--Their form and composition--The Properties of Bone--The
Skeleton--The Joints--The Spinal Column--The Growth of Bone--The
Repair of Bone._
CHAPTER II.
THE MUSCLES 25
_The Muscles--Flexion and Extension--The Tendons--Contraction--Physical
Strength--Necessity for Exercise--Its Effects--Forms of
Exercise--Walking--Riding--Gymnastics--Open-air Exercise--Sleep--
Recreation._
CHAPTER III.
THE INTEGUMENT, OR SKIN 41
_The Integument--Its Structure--The Nails and Hair--The Complexion--The
Sebaceous Glands--The Perspiratory Glands--Perspiration
and its uses--Importance of Bathing--Different kinds of Baths--Manner
of Bathing--The Benefits of the Sun--Importance of
Warm Clothing--Poisonous Cosmetics._
CHAPTER IV.
THE CHEMISTRY OF FOOD | 3,080.983804 |
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Hutchinson, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
BLINDFOLDED
By Earle Ashley Walcott
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I A DANGEROUS ERRAND
II A CRY FOR HELP
III A QUESTION IN THE NIGHT
IV A CHANGE OF NAME
V DODDRIDGE KNAPP
VI A NIGHT AT BORTON'S
VII MOTHER BORTON
VIII IN WHICH I MEET A FEW SURPRISES
IX A DAY IN THE MARKET
X A TANGLE OF SCHEMES
XI THE DEN OF THE WOLF
XII LUELLA KNAPP
XIII A DAY OF GRACE
XIV MOTHER BORTON'S ADVICE
XV I AM IN THE TOILS
XVI AN ECHO OF WARNING
XVII IN A FOREIGN LAND
XVIII THE BATTLE IN THE MAZE
XIX A DEAL IN STOCKS
XX MAKING PROGRESS
XXI AT THE BIDDING OF THE UNKNOWN
XXII TRAILED
XXIII A PIECE OF STRATEGY
XXIV ON THE ROAD
XXV A FLUTTER IN THE MARKET
XXVI A VISION OF THE NIGHT
XXVII A LINK IN THE CHAIN
XXVIII THE CHASE IN THE STORM
XXIX THE HEART OF THE MYSTERY
XXX THE END OF THE JOURNEY
XXXI THE REWARD
BLINDFOLDED
CHAPTER I
A DANGEROUS ERRAND
A city of hills with a fringe of houses crowning the lower heights;
half-mountains rising bare in the background and becoming real mountains
as they stretched away in the distance to right and left; a confused
mass of buildings coming to the water's edge on the flat; a forest
of masts, ships swinging in the stream, and the streaked, yellow,
gray-green water of the bay taking a cold light from the setting sun as
it struggled through the wisps of fog that fluttered above the serrated
sky-line of the city--these were my first impressions of San Francisco.
The wind blew fresh and chill from the west with the damp and salt of
the Pacific heavy upon it, as I breasted it from the forward deck of the
ferry steamer, _El Capitan_. As I drank in the air and was silent with
admiration of the beautiful panorama that was spread before me, my
companion touched me on the arm.
"Come into the cabin," he said. "You'll be one of those fellows who
can't come to San Francisco without catching his death of cold, and then
lays it on to the climate instead of his own lack of common sense. Come,
I can't spare you, now I've got you here at last. I wouldn't lose you
for a million dollars."
"I'll come for half the money," I returned, as he took me by the arm and
led me into the close cabin.
My companion, I should explain, was Henry Wilton, the son of my
father's cousin, who had the advantages of a few years of residence in
California, and sported all the airs of a pioneer. We had been close
friends through boyhood and youth, and it was on his offer of employment
that I had come to the city by the Golden Gate.
"What a resemblance!" I heard a woman exclaim, as we entered the cabin.
"They must be twins."
"There, Henry," I whispered, with a laugh; "you see we are discovered."
Though our relationship was not close we had been cast in the mold of
some common ancestor. We were so nearly alike in form and feature as
to perplex all but our intimate acquaintances, and we had made the
resemblance the occasion of many tricks in our boyhood days.
Henry had heard the exclamation as well as I. To my surprise, it
appeared to bring him annoyance or apprehension rather than amusement.
"I had forgotten that it would make us conspicuous," he said, more
to himself than to me, I thought; and he glanced through the cabin as
though he looked for some peril.
"We were used to that long ago," I said, as we found a seat. "Is the
business ready for me? You wrote that you thought it would be in hand by
the time I got here."
"We can't talk about it here," he said in a low tone. "There is plenty
of work to be done. It's not hard, but, as I wrote you, it needs a man
of pluck and discretion. It's delicate business, you understand, and
dangerous if you can't keep your head. But the danger won't be yours.
I've got that end of it."
"Of course you're not trying to do anything against the law?" I said.
"Oh, it has nothing to do with the law," he replied with an odd
smile. "In fact, it's a little matter in which we are--well, you might
say--outside the law."
I gave a gasp at this disturbing suggestion, and Henry chuckled as he
saw the consternation written on my face. Then he rose and said:
"Come, the boat is getting in."
"But I want to know--" I began.
"Oh, bother your 'want-to-knows.' It's not against the law--just outside
it, you understand. I'll tell you more of it when we get to my room.
Give me that valise. Come along now." And as the boat entered the slip
we found ourselves at the front of the pressing crowd that is always
surging in and out of San Francisco by the gateway of the Market-Street
ferry.
As we pushed our way through the clamoring hack-drivers and
hotel-runners who blocked the entrance to the city, I was roused by a
sudden thrill of the instinct of danger that warns one when he meets
the eye of a snake. It was gone in an instant, but I had time to trace
effect to cause. The warning came this time from the eyes of a man, a
lithe, keen-faced man who flashed a look of triumphant malice on us as
he disappeared in the waiting-room of the ferry-shed. But the keen
face, and the basilisk glance were burned into my mind in that moment as
deeply as though I had known then what evil was behind them.
My companion swore softly to himself.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"Don't look around," he said. "We are watched."
"The snake-eyed man?"
"Did you see him, too?" His manner was careless, but his tone was
troubled. "I thought I had given him the slip," he continued. "Well,
there's no help for it now."
"Are we to hunt for a hiding-place?" I asked doubtfully.
"Oh, no; not now. I was going to take you direct to my room. Now we are
going to a hotel with all the publicity we can get. Here we are."
"Internaytional! Internaytional!" shouted a runner by our side. "Yes,
sir; here you are, sir. Free 'bus, sir." And in another moment we were
in the lumbering coach, and as soon as the last lingering passenger had
come from the boat we were whirling over the rough pavement, through a
confusing maze of streets, past long rows of dingy, ugly buildings, to
the hotel.
Though the sun had but just set, the lights were glimmering in the
windows along Kearny Street as we stepped from the 'bus, and the
twilight was rapidly fading into darkness.
"A room for the night," ordered Henry, as we entered the hotel office
and saluted the clerk.
"Your brother will sleep with you?" inquired the clerk.
"Yes."
"That's right--if you are sure you can tell which is which in the
morning," said the clerk, with a smile at his poor joke.
Henry smiled in return, paid the bill, took the key, and we were shown
to our room. After removing the travel-stains, I declared myself quite
ready to dine.
"We won't need this again," said Henry, tossing the key on the bureau as
we left. "Or no, on second thought," he continued, "it's just as well to
leave the door locked. There might be some inquisitive callers." And we
betook ourselves to a hasty meal that was not of a nature to raise my
opinion of San Francisco.
"Are you through?" asked my companion, as I shook my head over a
melancholy piece of pie, and laid down my fork. "Well, take your bag.
This door--look pleasant and say nothing."
He led the way to the bar and then through a back room or two, until
with a turn we were in a blind alley. With a few more steps we found
ourselves in a back hall which led into another building. I became
confused after a little, and lost all idea of the direction in which
we were going. We mounted one flight of stairs, I remember, and after
passing through two or three winding hallways and down another flight,
came out on a side street.
After a pause to observe the street before we ventured forth, Henry
said:
"I guess we're all right now. We must chance it, anyhow." So we dodged
along in the shadow till we came to Montgomery Street, and after a brief
walk, turned into a gloomy doorway and mounted a worn pair of stairs.
The house was three stories in height. It stood on the corner of an
alley, and the lower floor was intended for a store or saloon; but a
renting agent's sign and a collection of old show-bills ornamenting the
dirty windows testified that it was vacant. The liquor business appeared
to be overdone in that quarter, for across the alley, hardly twenty feet
away, was a saloon; across Montgomery Street was another; and two more
held out their friendly lights on the corner of the street above.
In the saloons the disreputability was cheerful, and cheerfully
acknowledged with lights and noise, here of a broken piano, there of a
wheezy accordion, and, beyond, of a half-drunken man singing or shouting
a ribald song. Elsewhere it was sullen and dark,--the lights, where
there were lights, glittering through chinks, or showing the outlines of
drawn curtains.
"This isn't just the place I'd choose for entertaining friends," said
Henry, with a visible relief from his uneasiness, as we climbed the worn
and dirty stair.
"Oh, that's all right," I said, magnanimously accepting his apology.
"It doesn't have all the modern conveniences," admitted Henry as we
st | 3,082.992643 |
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See 42140-h.htm or 42140-h.zip:
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http://archive.org/details/greuzeocad00mackuoft
Masterpieces in Colour
Edited by--T. Leman Hare
GREUZE
1725-1805
* * * * * *
"MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR" SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
BOUCHER. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
CONSTABLE. C. LEWIS HIND.
COROT. SIDNEY ALLNUTT.
DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
DELACROIX. PAUL G. KONODY.
DUERER. H. E. A. FURST.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
FRA FILIPPO LIPPI. PAUL G. KONODY.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
HOGARTH. C. LEWIS HIND.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
INGRES. A. J. FINBERG.
LAWRENCE. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LE BRUN, VIGEE. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
MANTEGNA. MRS. ARTHUR BELL.
MEMLINC. W. H. J. & J. C. WEALE.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
MILLET. PERCY M. TURNER.
MURILLO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
PERUGINO. SELWYN BRINTON.
RAEBURN. JAMES L. CAW.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
SARGENT. T. MARTIN WOOD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TITIAN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
VAN EYCK. J. CYRIL M. WEALE.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WATTEAU. C. LEWIS HIND.
WATTS. W. LOFTUS HARE.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
_Others in Preparation._
* * * * * *
[Illustration: PLATE I.--L'ACCORDEE DU VILLAGE. (Frontispiece)
This picture, at first entitled "A Father handing over the
Marriage-portion of his Daughter," then "The Village Bride," is
the best of Greuze's subject pictures. The scene is more or less
naturally arranged, and informed with the tender homely sentiment
inspired by the subject; and the bride, with her fresh young face
and modest attitude, is a delicious figure. It was exhibited in the
Salon of 1761, and now hangs in the Louvre.]
GREUZE
by
ALYS EYRE MACKLIN
Illustrated with Eight Reproductions in Colour
[Illustration: IN SEMPITERNUM.]
London: T. C. & E. C. Jack
New York: Frederick A. Stokes Co.
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
I. Early Days and First Success 11
II. The Times in which Greuze Lived 20
III. Greuze's Moral Pictures 27
IV. The Pictures by which we know Greuze 35
V. The Vanity of Greuze 44
VI. "The Broken Pitcher" and other well-known Pictures 52
VII. Ruin and Death 62
VIII. The Art of Greuze 71
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Plate
I. L'Accordee du Village Frontispiece
In the Louvre
Page
II. L'Innocence tenant deux Pigeons 14
In the Wallace Collection
III. La Malediction paternelle 24
In the Louvre
IV. Portrait d'Homme 34
In the Louvre
V. L'Oiseau Mort 40
In the Louvre
VI. Les Deux Soeurs 50
In the Louvre
VII. La Cruche Cassee 60
In the Louvre
VIII. | 3,083.179388 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE]
LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "I'm looking at the great big globe that Uncle Joe said I
might touch," said Lucy.
_Frontispiece; see page 14._]
LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE
PICTURED BY
L. FROLICH,
AND NARRATED BY
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
AUTHOR OF "THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE."
_"Young fingers idly roll_
_The mimic earth, or trace,_
_In picture bright of blue and gold,_
_The orbs that round the sky's deep fold_
_Each other circling chase."_--KEBLE.
NEW EDITION
=New York=
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd.
1906
New edition September, 1906.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
MOTHER BUNCH 1
CHAPTER II.
VISITORS FROM THE SOUTH SEAS. 14
CHAPTER III.
ITALY 36
CHAPTER IV.
GREENLAND 43
CHAPTER V.
TYROL 50
CHAPTER VI.
AFRICA 57
CHAPTER VII.
LAPLANDERS 63
CHAPTER VIII.
CHINA 70
CHAPTER IX.
KAMSCHATKA 79
CHAPTER X.
THE TURK 83
CHAPTER XI.
SWITZERLAND 96
CHAPTER XII.
THE COSSACK 102
CHAPTER XIII.
SPAIN 108
CHAPTER XIV.
GERMANY 114
CHAPTER XV.
PARIS IN THE SIEGE 120
CHAPTER XVI.
THE AMERICAN GUEST 126
CHAPTER XVII.
THE DREAM OF ALL NATIONS 137
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
"I'M LOOKING AT THE GREAT BIG GLOBE THAT UNCLE JOE
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Internet Archive)
_American Dramatists Series_
SIX
ONE-ACT PLAYS
_The Hand of the Prophet_--_Children
of Granada_--_The Turtle Dove_--_This
Youth-Gentlemen_--_The Striker_--_Murdering
Selina_
MARGARET SCOTT OLIVER
BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER
TORONTO: THE COPP CLARK CO., LIMITED
Copyright, 1916, by Margaret Scott Oliver
All Rights Reserved
These plays in their printed form are intended for the reading public
only. All dramatic rights are fully protected by copyright, and any
performance--professional or otherwise--may be given only with the
written permission of the author.
MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
THE GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON, U. S. A.
To
L. S. O.
CONTENTS
PAGE
The Hand of the Prophet 11
Children of Granada 27
The Turtle Dove 53
This Youth-Gentlemen! 73
The Striker 81
Murdering Selina 103
Notes pertaining to the plays 127
Music used in plays 128
THE HAND OF THE PROPHET
AN ARABIAN EPISODE
CAST
KODAMA, _A Merchant of Riad_.
HALIMA, _His Bride_.
SINDIBAD, _A Young Sheykh, Cousin to Kodama_.
SLAVE, _To Kodama_.
SLAVE, _To Sindibad_.
A SINGER.
A DANCING GIRL.
WEDDING GUESTS, SLAVES AND DESERT MEN.
_Scene--A room in the home of Halima._
The Hand of the Prophet
_From between the parted curtains two desert men in white costumes, with
red sashes and turbans appear. They wear scimiters in their sashes, and
are smoking very long cigarettes. They bow to one another, and walk to
the two sides of the stage, where they remain until first curtain, then
go behind. This is repeated before and after each part of the play._
_Scene--A room in the home of Halima. Music and laughter are heard, and
as the curtain is drawn, a slave girl is seen finishing a wild dance. As
she sinks exhausted to the floor there are applause and sounds of
approval, in which the merchant Kodama leads. He is seated beside his
bride, Halima, on a dais. In the room are slaves, attendants and members
of the two families. The wedding celebration is in progress, and all are
in festal mood and dress. Rose petals are strewn on the floor, platters
heaped with fruits are at the front and side of the stage, and incense
is burning in two braziers._
KODAMA--Thy slave dances with the grace of a startled gazelle. Command
her again before night comes. I am pleased with her!
HALIMA--I am glad she is fair in thine eyes, my husband. She knows many
magic dances that will delight thee.... But the wedding feast has
continued four days, my lord, and thy kinsman from the desert not
appeared.
KODAMA--Four days more shall the feasting last. There is yet time.
HALIMA--I am eager for the jewels, and cloths of gold he was to bring.
Thou didst promise my father--
KODAMA--Enough, enough! Art thou a child that patience is not in thee?
Before the feast has ended he will come. I weary of these murmurings.
HALIMA--(_Claps hands._) Music for my lord.
(_Slave sings. As the song ends a slave appears before Kodama._)
SLAVE TO KODAMA--The young Sheykh Sindibad is here.
(_Sindibad appears L. with some men from his caravan, and a young slave,
who is carrying three bundles tied in silken cloths. He walks airily to
the dais._)
KODAMA--Sindibad!
(_Sindibad and Kodama embrace. Halima, with a coquettish gesture, puts
her veil before her face._)
SINDIBAD--Let forgiveness for my tardiness be granted, cousin, when thou
seest what I have brought. Many treasures have I found thy lady, before
whom I prostrate myself.
(_Sindibad kneels and kisses Halima's hand and then his own. His slave
boy quickly opens the bundles, and the contents are eagerly examined._)
KODAMA--I had thought to see thee sooner; the wedding is four days old.
SINDIBAD--I had thought to come sooner, but there was a maiden.... Never
have I seen such stars as were her eyes, and her lips, the blood of
pomegranate.
KODAMA--Thou wast ever led easily by starry eyes.
HALIMA--(_Holding out scarf._) See, it is a wondrous cloth, with threads
of gold and silver.
SINDIBAD--Thy loveliness will enhance its beauties a thousand times.
HALIMA--My loveliness did not tempt thee to hasten.
SINDIBAD--I have never seen thy face, and there was a maiden....
KODAMA--There was a maiden. Have done with thy raving! (_To Halima._)
Let thy slave dance!
HALIMA--Dance!
(_As the slave dances, all watch eagerly save Sindibad, who gazes at
Halima._)
SINDIBAD--Thy voice is soothing as the sound of water in the heart of
the desert. Let me see thy face.
HALIMA--Look at these fabrics rather.
SINDIBAD--Nay, but an instant, while they watch the dancer, unveil, and
let me see thy face.
HALIMA--I may not.
SINDIBAD--It is not forbidden. I am thy husband's kinsman. Let me see
thy face!
(_Halima drops veil. Sindibad prostrates himself._)
SINDIBAD--I am thy slave forever, oh fairer than the day at dawn.
HALIMA--Arise! they will see thee!
SINDIBAD--And thou hast married the merchant Kodama! Awah! Awah!
HALIMA--Arise! Arise!
KODAMA--Why cryest thou awah? This is not a time for wailing. Dost
lament for the maiden of the desert?
SINDIBAD--Her image has changed... as sand upon the desert's face.
(_CURTAIN_)
_Scene--The same. Kodama and Halima are seated on the dais as before.
Two slave girls are in the room. Kodama's slave enters C. and stands
before Kodama._
SLAVE TO KODAMA--The merchant from Baghdad awaits. Shall I bring him to
have audience here?
KODAMA--I will speak with him in the myrtle court. Keep watch over my
wife and the women. (_Exit C._)
(_Sindibad enters L. as a slave comes from R. The slave is carrying
coffee, and reaches Halima as Sindibad approaches._)
SINDIBAD--I drink to thine amber eyes.
HALIMA--Thou must not.
SINDIBAD--Send thy women away.
HALIMA--I dare not.
SINDIBAD--Send thy women away! I have words they must not hear.
HALIMA--(_To attendants._) Go!
(_Kodama's slave stands motionless._)
SINDIBAD--(_To Slave._) I am cousin to thy master. Go with the women.
(_Slave goes slowly C. from the room. Halima has risen from the dais,
and seated herself on a rug in the centre of the room. She is humming
coquettishly and is admiring herself in a mirror. Sindibad watches her
eagerly for an instant._)
SINDIBAD--My blood has changed to leaping flame.
HALIMA--If thou comest nearer I shall call my women back.
SINDIBAD--Unbind thy wondrous hair. It is a fountain of living gold.
HALIMA--Thou must not sit so close.
SINDIBAD--I love thee, and shall stay until thou sayest, "I love thee."
HALIMA--(_Stopping her song._) I am thy kinsman's wife.
SINDIBAD--By Allah! Thou art no man's wife but mine!
HALIMA--I am but a dream. Awake, lest the Prophet smite thee!
SINDIBAD--Oh, beautiful dream, I am mad for thee. To-night thou shalt
fly with me into the desert.
(_Kodama enters C. unnoticed, and listens._)
HALIMA--I am thy kinsman's wife. My father gave me to him.
SINDIBAD--The fire of youth has gone from his blood. He is old. Thou
canst not love him.
KODAMA--Allah!
HALIMA--(_Slowly._) I am his wife. (_Exit R._)
(_Sindibad starts to follow her, but is arrested by the sound of
Kodama's entrance._)
KODAMA--Alone?
SINDIBAD--With a dream.
KODAMA--The beautiful maiden who delayed thy progress hither?
SINDIBAD--I tell thee I have forgotten her.
KODAMA--Thy heart is fickle surely.
SINDIBAD--I have seen one more beautiful.
KODAMA--The dancing slave?
SINDIBAD--Yea... even the dancing slave.
KODAMA--Thou shalt have her. She is like the little moon when it first
peeps above the date palms. Thou shalt have her.
SINDIBAD--Thy wife is young.... I will not have the dancing slave.
KODAMA--How now!
SINDIBAD--Thy wife is young. Her skin is of pearl, her eyes twin amber
pools where men may--oh fool, oh blind, thy wife is young and beautiful.
Canst thou not see?
KODAMA--It is written: The blind man avoids the ditch into which the
clear-sighted falls.
SINDIBAD--Thy heart is a dried grape. Thy wife is--
KODAMA--My wife! Art thou an honest Arab that she should so dwell in thy
thoughts? Take the dancing slave, and begone.
SINDIBAD--Thy words are crystal dewdrops quivering on a leaf.
KODAMA--Thou art young--tempt me not too far.
(_Slave enters immediately C. with a tray on which is wine._)
SINDIBAD--By the beard of the Prophet, wine! The Koran forbids it.
KODAMA--It shall turn to milk in the throat of the true believer.
SINDIBAD--Thou hast said it.
(_Kodama and Sindibad drink, and look at one another searchingly._)
KODAMA--Thy black angel is ever at thy left side in the city. It will
persuade thee into mighty wrong. Young cousin, it is wise that thou
shouldst return to thy people. Go quickly, lest evil come. I will give
thee rich presents for thy father. As for thee, choose one of the slave
girls--
SINDIBAD--I will take with me nothing--but a dream. (_Exit L._)
KODAMA--Allah send him swift away.... There shall be no returning.
(_CURTAIN_)
_Scene--The same. A slave is singing. Kodama is seated on the dais,
while Halima comes in slowly and gazes anxiously at him. It is the next
day._
HALIMA--Thy brows are still lowered. In what have I offended thee, my
husband?
KODAMA--Amber pools where men may--what do men find in thine eyes?
HALIMA--I know not, unless thou sayest.
KODAMA--And thy skin is of pearl, is it not so?
HALIMA--Shall I send away the women, oh my lord?
KODAMA--I am not loving thee. Let the women and the lights remain.
HALIMA--I had hoped--
KODAMA--Thou hadst hoped! Am I a fledgling to faint under thy beauty?
HALIMA--Thou didst marry me.
KODAMA--It was a wise bargain with thy father, whose hands will help
carry my trade into the desert, and beyond.
HALIMA--I thought thy kinsman Sindibad would do that. He is a son of the
desert.
KODAMA--I like not my kinsman. He is a fool and a magpie.
HALIMA--He is young and handsome, full of fire and poetry.
KODAMA--Full of deceit and treachery, with honeyed words that mean
nothing. But yesterday he raved of a maiden whom he | 3,083.183002 |
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THE NATURALIST IN LA PLATA
BY
W. H. HUDSON, C.M.Z.S.
JOINT AUTHOR OF "ARGENTINE ORNITHOLOGY"
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. SMIT
THIRD EDITION.
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1895
PREFACE.
The plan I have followed in this work has been to sift and arrange the
facts I have gathered concerning the habits of the animals best known to
me, preserving those only, which, in my judgment, appeared worth
recording. In some instances a variety of subjects have linked
themselves together in my mind, and have been grouped under one heading;
consequently the scope of the book is not indicated by the list of
contents: this want is, however, made good by an index at the end.
It is seldom an easy matter to give a suitable name to a book of this
description. I am conscious that the one I have made choice of displays
a lack of originality; also, that this kind of title has been used
hitherto for works constructed more or less on the plan of the famous
_Naturalist on the Amazons._ After I have made this apology the reader,
on his part, will readily admit that, in treating of the Natural History
of a district so well known, and often described as the southern portion
of La Plata, which has a temperate climate, and where nature is neither
exuberant nor grand, a personal narrative would have seemed superfluous.
The greater portion of the matter contained in this volume has already
seen the light in the form of papers contributed to the _Field,_ with
other journals that treat of Natural History; and to the monthly
magazines:--_Longmans', The Nineteenth Century, The Gentleman's
Magazine,_ and others: I am indebted to the Editors and Proprietors of
these periodicals for kindly allowing me to make use of this material.
Of all animals, birds have perhaps afforded me most pleasure; but most
of the fresh knowledge I have collected in this department is contained
in a larger work _(Argentine Ornithology),_ of which Dr. P. L. Sclater
is part author. As I have not gone over any of the subjects dealt with
in that work, bird-life has not received more than a fair share of
attention in the present volume.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. THE DESERT PAMPAS
CHAPTER II. CUB PUMA, OR LION OF AMERICA
CHAPTER III. WAVE OF LIFE
CHAPTER IV. SOME CURIOUS ANIMAL WEAPONS
CHAPTER V. FEAR IN BIRDS
CHAPTER VI. PARENTAL AND EARLY INSTINCTS
CHAPTER VII. THE MEPHITIC SKUNK
CHAPTER VIII. MIMICRY AND WARNING COLOURS IN GRASSHOPPERS
CHAPTER IX. DRAGON-FLY STORMS
CHAPTER X. MOSQUITOES AND PARASITE PROBLEMS
CHAPTER XI. HUMBLE-BEES AND OTHER MATTERS
CHAPTER XII. A NOBLE WASP
CHAPTER XIII. NATURE'S NIGHT-LIGHTS
CHAPTER XIV. FACTS AND THOUGHTS ABOUT SPIDERS
CHAPTER XV. THE DEATH-FEIGNING INSTINCT
CHAPTER XVI. HUMMING-BIRDS
CHAPTER XVII. THE CRESTED SCREAMER
CHAPTER XVIII. THE WOODHEWER FAMILY
CHAPTER XIX. MUSIC AND DANCING IN NATURE
CHAPTER XX. BIOGRAPHY OF THE VIZCACHA
CHAPTER XXI. THE DYING HUANACO
CHAPTER XXII. THE STRANGE INSTINCTS OF CATTLE
CHAPTER XXIII. HORSE AND MAN
CHAPTER XXIV. SEEN AND LOST
APPENDIX
INDEX
THE NATURALIST IN LA PLATA,
CHAPTER I.
THE DESERT PAMPAS.
During recent years we have heard much about the great and rapid changes
now going on in the plants and animals of all the temperate regions of
the globe colonized by Europeans. These changes, if taken merely as
evidence of material progress, must be a matter of rejoicing to those
who are satisfied, and more than satisfied, with our system of
civilization, or method of outwitting Nature by the removal of all
checks on the undue increase of our own species. To one who finds a
charm in things as they exist in the unconquered provinces of Nature's
dominions, and who, not being over-anxious to reach the end of his
journey, is content to perform it on horseback, or in a waggon drawn by
bullocks, it is permissible to lament the altered aspect of the earth's
surface, together with the disappearance of numberless noble and
beautiful forms, both of the animal and vegetable kingdoms. For he
cannot find it in his heart to love the forms by which they are
replaced; these are cultivated and domesticated, and have only become
useful to man at the cost of that grace and spirit which freedom and
wildness give. In numbers they are many--twenty-five millions of sheep
in this district, fifty millions in that, a hundred millions in a
third--but how few are the species in place of those destroyed? and when
the owner of many sheep and much wheat desires variety--for he possesses
this instinctive desire, albeit in conflict with and overborne by the
perverted instinct of destruction--what is there left to him, beyond his
very own, except the weeds that spring up in his fields under all skies,
ringing him round with old-world monotonous forms, as tenacious of their
undesired union with him as the rats and cockroaches that inhabit his
house?
We hear most frequently of North America, New Zealand, and Australia in
this connection; but nowhere on the globe has civilization "written
strange defeatures" more markedly than on that great area of level
country called by English writers _the pampas_, but by the Spanish more
appropriately _La Pampa_--from the Quichua word signifying open space or
country--since it forms in most part one continuous plain, extending on
its eastern border from the river Parana, in latitude 32 degrees, to the
Patagonian formation on the river Colorado, and comprising about two
hundred thousand square miles of humid, grassy country.
This district has been colonized by Europeans since the middle of the
sixteenth century; but down to within a very few years ago immigration
was on too limited a scale to make any very great change; and, speaking
only of the pampean country, the conquered | 3,083.282742 |
2023-11-16 19:08:27.2627250 | 6,441 | 7 |
E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau and Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
Transcriber's note:
In 1834, at age 19, Anthony Trollope became a junior clerk
in the British postal service. He did not get on well with
his superiors, and his career looked like a dead end. In
1841 he accepted an assignment in Ireland as an inspector,
remaining there for ten years. It was there that his civil
service career began to flourish. It was there, also, that
he began writing novels.
Several of Trollope's early novels were set in Ireland,
including _The Macdermots of Ballycloran_, his first
published novel, and _Castle Richmond_. Readers of those
early Irish novels can easily perceive Trollope's great
affection for and sympathy with the Irish people,
especially the poor.
In 1882 Ireland was in the midst of great troubles,
including boycotts and the near breakdown of law and
order. In May of that year Lord Frederick Cavendish, the
newly-appointed Chief Secretary for Ireland, and Thomas
Burke, a prominent civil servant, were assassinated in
Dublin. The news stirred Trollope, despite his poor
health, to travel to Ireland to see for himself the state
of things. Upon his return to England he began writing
_The Landleaguers_. He made a second journey to Ireland
in August, 1882, to seek more material for his book. He
returned to England exhausted, but he continued writing.
He had almost completed the book when he suffered a stroke
on November 3, 1882. He never recovered, and he died on
December 6.
Trollope's second son, Henry, arranged for publication of
the almost finished novel. The reader should note Henry
Trollope's preface to Volume I and Postscript at the end
of the book.
Readers familiar with Trollope's early Irish novels
will be struck, as they read _The Landleaguers_, by his
bitterness at what was happening in Ireland in 1881 and
1882.
THE LANDLEAGUERS
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
In Three Volumes--VOL. I.
London
Chatto & Windus, Piccadilly
1883
[All rights reserved]
Charles Dickens and Evans,
Crystal Palace Press.
CONTENTS
Chapter
I. MR. JONES OF CASTLE MORONY.
II. THE MAN IN THE MASK.
III. FATHER BROSNAN.
IV. MR. BLAKE OF CARNLOUGH.
V. MR. O'MAHONY AND HIS DAUGHTER.
VI. RACHEL AND HER LOVERS.
VII. BROWN'S.
VIII. CHRISTMAS-DAY, 1880.
IX. BLACK DALY.
X. BALLYTOWNGAL.
XI. MOYTUBBER.
XII. "DON'T HATE HIM, ADA."
XIII. EDITH'S ELOQUENCE.
XIV. RACHEL'S CORRESPONDENCE.
XV. CAPTAIN YORKE CLAYTON.
XVI. CAPTAIN CLAYTON COMES TO THE CASTLE.
NOTE.
This novel was to have contained sixty chapters. My father had
written as much as is now published before his last illness. It will
be seen that he had not finished the forty-ninth chapter; and the
fragmentary portion of that chapter stands now just as he left it.
He left no materials from which the tale could be completed, and no
attempt at completion will be made. At the end of the third volume I
have stated what were his intentions with regard to certain people in
the story; but beyond what is there said I know nothing.
HENRY M. TROLLOPE.
THE LANDLEAGUERS.
CHAPTER I.
MR. JONES OF CASTLE MORONY.
In the year 1850 the two estates of Ballintubber and Morony were sold
to Mr. Philip Jones, under the Estates Court, which had then been
established. They had been the property of two different owners, but
lay conveniently so as to make one possession for one proprietor.
They were in the County Galway, and lay to the right and left of
the road which runs down from the little town of Headford to Lough
Corrib. At the time when the purchase was made there was no quieter
spot in all Ireland, or one in which the lawful requirements of
a landlord were more readily performed by a poor and obedient
tenantry. The people were all Roman Catholics, were for the most part
uneducated, and it may be said of them that not only were their souls
not their own, but that they were not ambitious even of possessing
their own bodies. Circumstances have changed much with them since
that date. Not only have they in part repudiated the power of the
priest as to their souls, but, in compliance with teaching which has
come to them from America, they claim to be masters also of their
bodies. Never were a people less fitted to exercise such dominion
without control. Generous, kindly, impulsive, and docile, they have
been willing to follow any recognised leader. When Philip Jones
bought the property that had belonged to the widow O'Dwyer--for
Ballintubber had for the last hundred years been the property of the
O'Dwyers--and Morony, which, had been an outlying town-land belonging
to the Hacketts for the last two centuries, he had at first been
looked down upon as a new comer. But all that had passed by, and Mr.
Jones was as much respected as though he had been an O'Jones from the
time of Queen Elizabeth. But now the American teaching had come up,
and things were different.
Mr. Jones had expended over L30,000 in purchasing the property, and
was congratulated by all men on having done well with his money.
There were some among his friends in England--and his friends were
all English--who had told him that he was incurring a great risk in
going into so distant and wild a country. But it was acknowledged
that he could not in England have obtained so good a return in
the way of rent. And it was soon found that the opportunities for
improving the property were many and close at hand. At the end of
ten years all men who knew Mr. Jones personally, or had seen the
increasing comforts of Morony Castle, declared that, as he liked the
kind of life, he had done uncommonly well for himself.
Nor had he done badly for his three married sisters, each of whom had
left L4,000 in his hands. All the circumstances of the Miss Jones's
as they had been, it will be here unnecessary to explain. Since
Philip had become owner of Morony Castle, each of them had married,
and the three brothers-in-law were equally well satisfied with the
investment of their money. It will, however, thus be understood that
the property did not belong entirely to Mr. Jones, and that the
brothers-in-law and their wives were part owners. Mr. Jones, however,
had been in possession of some other means, and had been able to use
capital in improving the estate. But he was an aspiring man, and
in addition to his money had borrowed something beyond. The sum
borrowed, however, had been so small and so well expended, as to have
created no sense of embarrassment in his mind.
When our story commences he was the father of four children. The
elder and the younger were boys, and two girls came between them.
In 1880, Frank, the elder, was two-and-twenty. The two girls who
followed close after were twenty and nineteen, and the youngest boy,
who was born after an interval of nearly ten years, was but ten years
old. Some years after the mother had died, and Mr. Jones had since
lived as a widower. It may be as well to state here that in 1880 he
was fifty-five years old.
When his wife had died, the nature of the man had apparently been
changed. Of all men he had been the most cheerful, the most eager,
and the most easily pleased. He had worked hard at his property, and
had loved his work. He knew every man and woman about the place, and
always had a word to say to them. He had had a sailing boat on the
lake, in which he had spent much of his time, but his wife had always
been with him. Since her death he had hardly put his foot within the
boat. He had lately become quick and short-tempered, but always with
a visible attempt to be kind to those around him. But people said
of him that since his wife had died he had shown an indifference to
the affairs of the world. He was anxious--so it was said--to leave
matters as much as possible to his son; but, as has been already
stated, his son was only twenty-two. He had formerly taken a great
pleasure in attending the assizes at Galway. He had been named as a
grand juror for the county, which he had indeed regarded as a great
compliment; but since his wife's death he had not once attended.
People said of him that he had become indifferent to the work of
his life, but in this they hardly spoke the truth. He had become
indifferent rather to what had been its pleasures. To that which his
conscience told him was its work, he applied himself with assiduity
enough. There were two cares which sat near his heart: first, that no
one should rob him; and secondly, that he should rob no one. It will
often be the case that the first will look after itself, whereas the
second will require careful watching. It was certainly the case with
Philip Jones that he was most anxious to rob no one. He was, perhaps,
a little too anxious that no one should rob him.
A few words must be said of his children. Frank, the eldest, was
a good-looking, clever boy, who had been educated at the Queen's
College, at Galway, and would have been better trained to meet the
world had circumstances enabled him to be sent to a public school
in England. As it was he thought himself, as heir to Morony Castle,
to be a little god upon earth; and he thought also that it behoved
his sisters and his brother, and the various dependents about the
place, to treat him as though he were a god. To his father he was
respectful, and fairly obedient in all matters, save one. As to that
one matter, from which arose some trouble, much will have to be said
as the story goes on.
The two girls were named Ada and Edith, and were, in form and figure,
very unlike each other. Ada, the eldest, was tall, fair-haired, and
very lovely. It was admitted in County Galway that among the Galway
lasses no girl exceeded Ada Jones in brightness of beauty. She was
sweet-tempered also, and gracious as she was lovely. But Edith did
not share the gifts, which the fairy had bestowed upon her sister, in
equal parts. She was, however, clever, and kind, and affectionate. In
all matters, within the house, she was ready to accept a situation
below her sister's; but this was not by her sister's doing. The
demigod of the family seemed to assume this position, but on Ada's
part there was no assumption. Edith, however, felt her infirmity.
Among girls this is made to depend more on physical beauty than on
other gifts, and there was no doubt that in this respect Edith was
the inferior. She was dark, and small of stature, not ungraceful in
her movements, or awkward in her person. She was black-haired, as had
been her mother's, and almost swarthy in her complexion, and there
was a squareness about her chin which robbed her face of much of its
feminine softness. But her eyes were very bright, and when she would
laugh, or say something intended to make another laugh, her face
would be brightened up with fun, good-humour, or wit, in a manner
which enabled no one to call her plain.
Of the younger boy, Florian, much will be said as the story goes
on; but what can be said of a boy who is only ten which shall be
descriptive and also interesting? He was small of his age, but clever
and sharp, and, since his mother's death, had been his father's
darling. He was beautiful to look at, as were all the children,
except poor Edith, but the neighbours declared that his education
had been much neglected. His father intended to send him to college
at Galway. A bright vision had for a short time flitted before the
father's eyes, and he had thought that he would have the boy prepared
for Winchester; but lately things had not gone quite so well at
Morony Castle, and that idea had passed by. So that it was now
understood that Florian Jones would follow his brother to Galway
College. Those who used to watch his ways would declare that the
professors of Galway College would have some trouble with him.
While the mother had lived no family had been more easily ruled than
that of the Jones's, but since her death some irregularities had gone
on. The father had made a favourite of the younger boy, and thereby
had done mischief. The eldest son, too, had become proud of his
position, and an attempt had been made to check him with a hard hand;
and yet much in the absolute working of the farm had been left to
him. Then troubles had come, in which Mr. Jones would be sometimes
too severe, and sometimes too lenient. Of the girls it must be
acknowledged that they were to be blamed for no fault after the first
blow had come. Everyone at Morony had felt that the great blow had
been the death of the mistress. But it must be confessed that other
things had happened shortly afterwards which had tended to create
disturbance. One of the family had declared that he intended to
become a Roman Catholic. The Jones's had been Protestants, the father
and mother having both come from England as Protestants. They were
not, therefore, Ultra-Protestants, as those will know who best
know Ireland. There had been no horror of a Catholic. According to
Mrs. Jones the way to heaven had been open to both Catholic and
Protestant, only it had suited her to say her prayers after the
Protestant fashion. The girls had been filled with no pious fury;
and as to Mr. Jones himself, some of the Protestant devotees in the
neighbourhood of Tuam had declared that he was only half-hearted in
the matter. An old clergyman, attached to the cathedral, and who had
been chaplain to Bishop Plunket, had been heard to declare that he
would rather have to deal with an avowed <DW7>.
But the one who had now declared himself as a convert,--I will say
pervert if my readers wish it,--was no other than our young friend
Florian. He came in one day and assured his sisters that he meant
to be a Roman Catholic. They only laughed at him, and told him that
he did not know what he was talking about. "Don't I though?" said
Florian. "I've had no end of an argument with Father Malachi, and
he's got the best o' me. I'm not going to church any more." When his
brother Frank was told, he threatened to "lick the young sinner."
"That's about the best can be said for you Protestants," said the
young imp. "You lick us when you're strong enough." But the father,
when he heard the tidings, declared that he would not have his son
molested. No doubt he would live to see his mistake. It was to be
hoped that he would do so. But there should be no compulsion. So
Master Florian remained for the present attached to his Catholic
propensities, and duly went to mass at Ballintubber. This had taken
place in the autumn of the year.
There had occurred a circumstance which may be called the beginning
of our story. It must first be told that Mr. Jones kept about four
hundred acres of the estate in his own hands, and had been held to
have done very well with it. A tract of this land lay down on Lough
Corrib, and had in former days produced almost nothing but rushes.
By means of drains and sluices, which had not been brought into use
without the expenditure of much capital, he had thoroughly fertilised
some eighty acres, where he grew large crops of hay, which he sent
across the lake to Galway, and fed his sheep on the after-grass with
great profit. But the care of the sluices had been a great labour,
and, latterly, a great trouble to Mr. Jones. He had looked for no
evil at the hands of his workmen, or tenants, or neighbours. But he
had been taught by experience to expect great carelessness. It was
when the rain had fallen in heavy quantities, and when the Lough was
full that the evil was chiefly expected. Late in the autumn there
came news up to the Castle, that the flood gates on the Ballintubber
marshes had now been opened, and that the entire eighty acres were
under water. Mr. Jones and his eldest son rushed down, and found
that it was impossible to do anything. They could only wait till the
waters had retreated, which would not take place for six months. The
entire crop for the next year had been destroyed. Then Mr. Jones
returned to the Castle stricken by a great blow, and was speechless
for the rest of the day.
When the news had been brought, the family had been together at the
breakfast table. The father and son had gone out together with the
teller of the story. But Ada and Edith and Florian were left at the
table. They all sat looking at each other till Edith was the first to
speak.
"Flory, what do you know of all this?"
"What should I know?" said Flory. The two sisters looked at him, and
each was aware that he did know something. Ada was not so quick as
Edith, but even she was aroused. And from this moment Edith began to
take the lead in managing her brother.
"You do," said Ada. "How was it done? Who did it--and why?"
"Sorrow a know, I know," said the boy.
"Flory, that is a lie," said Edith very solemnly, looking at him with
all her eyes.
"You've no right to say that," said Florian. "It's just because I've
turned Catholic, and it's all your spite." But the boy blushed ruby
red, and the colour told its own story.
As soon as the news had been announced, Edith had seen the boy's
countenance and had instantly watched him. His colour had not risen
at once; but his lower jaw had fallen, and his eyes had glanced
furtively round, and his whole frame had quivered. Then the rush of
blood had flown to his face, and the story had been told so that
Edith could read it. His first emotion had made it plain even to Ada.
"Flory, you know all about it," said Ada.
Edith got up and went across the room and knelt down at the boy's
side, leaning against his chair and looking up into his face. "Flory,
you may lie with your voice, but you cannot stifle your heart within
you. You have confessed the truth."
"I have not," said Flory; "I wasn't in it at all."
"Who says that you were in it? But you know."
"'Deed and I know nothin'." Now the boy began to cry. "You have no
right to say I did it. Why should I do the likes of that?"
"Where were you at four o'clock yesterday afternoon?" asked Edith.
"I was just out, up at the lodge yonder."
"Flory, I know that you have seen this thing done. I am as certain of
it as though I had been there myself."
"I haven't seen anything done--and I won't stay here to be questioned
this way," said the boy, feeling that his blushes would betray him,
and his incapacity to "lie square," as the Americans say.
Then the two sisters were left to talk over the matter together. "Did
you not see it in his face?" said Edith.
"Yes, I saw something. But you don't mean to say that he knew it was
to be done? That would make him a fiend."
"No; I don't think he knew it was to be done. But when Frank was
teasing him the other day about his Catholic nonsense, and saying
that he would not trust a <DW7>, Florian took the part of Pat
Carroll. If there be a man about the place who would do a base turn
to father, it's Pat Carroll. Now I know that Flory was down near the
lough yesterday afternoon. Biddy Ryan saw him. If he went on he must
have seen the water coming in."
"What shall we do?" asked Ada.
"Ah!--that's just it. What shall we do? If he could be made to tell
the truth, that would be best. But as he denies it, father will
believe him. Florian will say that we are spiting him because of his
religion."
"But, Edith, we must tell father." At last it was decided that Edith
should take the boy and talk to him. He was more prone to listen to
Edith than to Ada. Edith did find her brother, and talked to him for
an hour,--but in vain. He had managed to collect himself after his
past breakdown, and was better able to bear the examination to which
his sister put him, than at the first moment. He still blushed when
he was questioned; till he became dogged and surly. The interview
ended with repeated asseverations on Flory's part, that he knew
nothing of the meadows.
Mr. Jones and his eldest son returned to the house, having been
absent the entire day. "As sure as I am a living man, Pat Carroll has
been at the doing of it," said Frank.
"He cannot have done it alone," said Ada.
"There have been others in it."
"That has been the worst of it," said the father. "Of course I have
known since the beginning of the year, that that man would do any
devil's turn of work against me. But one man cannot do much."
"Too much! too much!" said Edith.
"One man can murder me, of course. But we haven't yet come to such a
state of things as that. Twelve months ago I thought there was not a
man about the place who would raise his hand to do me an ill turn. I
have done them many good turns in my time."
"You have, father," said Ada.
"Then this man came to me and said that because the tenants away in
County Mayo were not paying their rents, he could not pay his. And he
can sell his interest on his holding now for L150. When I endeavoured
to explain this to him, and that it was at my cost his interest in
the farm has been created, he became my enemy. I don't mind that; one
has to look for that. But that others should be joined in it, and
that there should be no one to say that they had seen it! There must
have been five pairs of hands at work, and twenty pairs of eyes must
have seen what the others were doing."
The two sisters looked at each other, but they said nothing. "I
suppose we shall work it out of them some day," said Frank.
"I suppose nothing of the kind," said the father. "There are eighty
acres of meadow lying under Lough Corrib this moment which will not
give a ton of hay next summer, or food for a sheep next autumn. The
pastures will be saturated, and sheep would perish with foot-rot
and fluke. Then money must be laid out again upon it, just that Mr.
Carroll may again wreak his vengeance." After that there was silence,
for the children felt that not a word could be spoken which would
comfort their father.
When they sat down to dinner, Mr. Jones asked after Florian. "He's
not well," said Edith.
"Florian not well! So there's another misfortune."
"His ill-health is rather ill-humour. Biddy will take care of him,
father."
"I do not choose that he should be looked after by Biddy in solitude.
I suppose that somebody has been teasing him."
"No, father," said Edith, positively.
"Has anyone been speaking to him about his religion?"
"Not a word," said Edith. Then she told herself that to hold her
tongue at the present moment would be cowardly. "Florian, father, has
misbehaved himself, and has gone away cross. I would leave him, if I
were you, till to-morrow."
"I know there is ill-will against him," said the father. All this was
ill-judged on behalf of Mr. Jones. Peter, the old butler, who had
lived in the family, was in the room. Peter, of course, was a Roman
Catholic, and, though he was as true as steel, it could not but be
felt that in this absurd contest he was on the side of the "young
masther."
Down in the kitchen the conversion of the "young masther" to the true
religion was a great affair, and Mr. Frank and the young ladies were
looked upon as hard-hearted and cruel, because they stood in the way
of this act of grace. Nothing more was said about Florian that night.
CHAPTER II.
THE MAN IN THE MASK.
Edith, before she went to bed that night, crept up to her brother's
bedroom and seated herself on the bedside. It was a little room which
Florian occupied alone, and lay at the back of the house, next to
that in which Peter slept. Here, as she sat on the bed, she could see
by a glance that young Florian feigned to be asleep.
"Flory, you are pretending to be asleep." Flory uttered a short
snore,--or rather snort, for he was not a good actor. "You may as
well wake up, because otherwise I shall shake you."
"Why am I to be shaked up in bed?"
"Because I want to speak to you."
"Why am I to be made to speak when I want to sleep?"
"Papa has been talking about you downstairs. He has come home from
Ballintubber, very tired and very unhappy, and he thinks you have
been made to go to bed without your supper because we have been
attacking you about religion. I have told him that nobody has said
a word to you."
"But you did."
"Not a word."
"You didn't tell him all that you told me--about letting in the
water?" This was asked in a tone of great anxiety.
"Not a word,--not as yet."
"And you won't? Mind, I tell you it's all untrue. What do I know
about letting in the water?"
"Who did it?"
"I'm not going to tell."
"You know, then?"
"No, I don't. But I'm not going to tell as though I knew it. You
don't care about it in your religion, but we Catholics don't like
telling lies."
"You saw nothing?"
"Whatever I saw I'm not to tell a lie about it."
"You've promised not, you mean?"
"Now, Edy, you're not going to trap me. You've got your own religion
and I've got mine. It's a great thing in our religion to be able to
hold your tongue. Father Malachi says it's one of the greatest trials
which a man has to go through."
"Then, Flory, am I to gather that you will say nothing further to
me?" Here the boy shook his head. "Because in that case I must tell
father. At any rate, he must be told, and if you do not tell him, I
shall."
"What is there to be told?"
"I shall tell him exactly what I saw,--and Ada. I saw,--we saw,--that
when the news came about the flood, you were conscious of it all.
If you will go to father and tell him the truth he will be but
very little angry with you. I don't suppose you had a hand in it
yourself."
"No!" shouted the boy.
"But I think you saw it, and that they made you swear an oath. Was
that not so?"
"No!" whispered the boy.
"I am sure it was so." Then the boy again plucked up his courage, and
declared with a loud voice, that it was not so.
That night before she retired to rest, Edith went to her father and
told him all that she had to say. She took Ada with her, and together
they used all their eloquence to make their father believe as they
believed.
"No," said Edith, "he has not confessed. But words drop from him
| 3,083.282765 |
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THE DUNE COUNTRY
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
THE VOICES OF THE DUNES
QUARTO BOARDS $6.00 NET
ETCHING:
A PRACTICAL TREATISE
CROWN QUARTO CLOTH $2.50 NET
[Illustration:
The Dune Country.]
THE
DUNE COUNTRY
_By_
EARL H. REED
AUTHOR OF
“THE VOICES OF THE DUNES”
“ETCHING: A PRACTICAL TREATISE”
WITH SIXTY ILLUSTRATIONS
BY THE AUTHOR
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
TORONTO: S. B. GUNDY, MCMXVI
COPYRIGHT, 1916
BY JOHN LANE COMPANY
PRESS OF
EATON & GETTINGER
NEW YORK, U.S.A.
_To_ C. C. R.
INTRODUCTION
The text and illustrations in this book are intended to depict a strange
and picturesque country, with some of its interesting wild life, and a
few of the unique human characters that inhabit it.
The big ranges of sand dunes that skirt the southern and eastern shores
of Lake Michigan, and the strip of sparsely settled broken country back
of them, contain a rich fund of material for the artist, poet, and
nature lover, as well as for those who would seek out the oddities of
human kind in by-paths remote from much travelled highways.
In the following pages are some of the results of numerous sketching
trips into this region, covering a series of years. Much material was
found that was beyond the reach of the etching needle or the lead
pencil, but many things seemed to come particularly within the province
of those mediums, and they have both been freely used.
While many interesting volumes could be filled by pencil and pen, this
story of the dunes and the “back country” has been condensed as much as
seems consistent with the portrayal of their essential characteristics.
We are lured into the wilds by a natural instinct. Contact with nature’s
forms and moods is a necessary stimulant to our spiritual and
intellectual life. The untrammelled mind may find inspiration and growth
in congenial isolation, for in it there are no competitive or
antagonistic influences to divert or destroy its fruitage.
Comparatively isolated human types are usually more interesting, for the
reason that individual development and natural ruggedness have not been
rounded and polished by social attrition.
Social attrition would have ruined “old Sipes,” a part of whose story is
in this book, and if it had ever been mentioned to him he probably would
have thought that it was something that lived up in the woods that he
had never seen.
Fictitious names have, for various reasons, been substituted for some of
the characters in the following chapters. One of the old derelicts
objected strenuously to the use of his name. “I don’t want to be in no
book,” said he. “You can draw all the pitchers o’ me you want to, an’
use ’em, but as fer names, there’s nothin’ doin’.”
“Old Sipes” suggested that if “Doc Looney’s pitcher was put in a book,
some o’ them females might see it an’ locate ’im,” but as the “Doc” has
now disappeared this danger is probably remote.
E. H. R.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE DUNE COUNTRY 15
II. THE GULLS AND TERNS 39
III. THE TURTLES 47
IV. THE CROWS 55
V. “OLD SIPES” 73
VI. “HAPPY CAL” 97
VII. “CATFISH JOHN” 115
VIII. “DOC LOONEY” 149
IX. THE MYSTERIOUS PROWLER 169
X. “J. LEDYARD SYMINGTON” 179
XI. THE BACK COUNTRY 193
XII. JUDGE CASSIUS BLOSSOM 229
XIII. THE WINDING RIVER 255
XIV. THE RED ARROW 279
THE DUNE COUNTRY
[Illustration] CHAPTER I
THE DUNE COUNTRY
While there are immense stretches of sand dunes in other parts of the
world, it is of a particular dune country, to which many journeys have
been made, and in which many days have been spent, that this story will
be told.
The dunes sweep for many miles along the Lake Michigan coasts. They are
post-glacial, and are undergoing slow continual changes, both in form
and place,--the loose sand responding lightly to the action of varying
winds.
The “fixed dunes” retain general forms, more or less stable, owing to
the scraggly and irregular vegetation that has obtained a foothold upon
them, but the “wandering dunes” move constantly. The fine sand is wafted
in shimmering veils across the smooth expanses, over the ridges to the
lee <DW72>s. It swirls in soft clouds from the wind-swept summits, and,
in the course of time, whole forests are engulfed. After years of
entombment, the dead trunks and branches occasionally reappear in the
path of the destroyer, and bend back with gnarled arms in self-defence,
seeming to challenge their flinty foe to further conflict.
The general movement is east and southeast, owing to the prevalence of
west and northwest winds in this region, which gather force in coming
over the waters of the lake. The finer grains, which are washed up on
the beach, are carried inland, the coarser particles remaining near the
shore. The off-shore winds, being broken by the topography of the
country, exercise a less but still noticeable influence. The loose
masses retreat perceptibly toward the beach when these winds prevail for
any great length of time.
To many this region simply means a distant line of sandy crests,
tree-flecked and ragged, against the sky on the horizon--a mysterious
and unknown waste, without commercial value, and therefore useless from
a utilitarian standpoint.
It is not the land, but the landscape, not the utility, but the romantic
and interesting wild life among these yellow ranges that is of value. It
is the picturesque and poetic quality that we find in this land of
enchantment that appeals to us, and it is because of this love in our
lives that we now enter this strange country.
The landscapes among the dunes are not for the realist, not for the cold
and discriminating recorder of facts, nor the materialist who would
weigh with exact scales or look with scientific eyes. It is a country
for the dreamer and the poet, who would cherish its secrets, open
enchanted locks, and explore hidden vistas, which the Spirit of the
Dunes has kept for those who understand.
The winds have here fashioned wondrous forms with the shuttles of the
air and the mutable sands. Shadowy fortresses have been reared and
bannered with the pines. Illusive distant towers are tinged by the
subtle hues of the afterglows, as the twilights softly blend them into
the glooms. In the fading light we may fancy the outlines of frowning
castles and weird battlements, with ghostly figures along their heights.
If the desert was of concrete, its mystery and spiritual power would not
exist. The deadly silences which nature leaves among her ruins are
appalling, unless brightened by her voices of enduring hope. It is then
that our spirits revive with her.
There is an unutterable gloom in the hush of the rocky immensities,
where, in dim ages past, the waters have slowly worn away the stony
barriers of the great canyons among the mountains. The countless
centuries seem to hang over them like a pall, when no living green comes
forth among the stones to nourish the soul with faith in life to come.
We walk in these profound solitudes with an irresistible sense of
spiritual depression.
On Nature’s great palette green is the color of hope. We see it in the
leaves when the miracle of the spring unfolds them, and on the ocean’s
troubled waters when the sun comes from behind the curtains of the sky.
Even the tiny mosses cover with their mantles the emblems of despair
when decay begins its subtle work on the fallen tree and broken stump.
We find in the dune country whatever we take to it. The repose of the
yellow hills, which have been sculptured by the winds and the years,
reflects the solemnity of our minds, and eternal hope is sustained by
the expectant life that creeps from every fertile crevice.
While the wandering masses are fascinating, it is among the more
permanent forms, where nature has laid her restraining hand, that we
find the most picturesque material. It is here that the reconstructive
processes have begun which impart life to the waste places. At first,
among these wastes, one is likely to have a sense of loneliness. The
long, undulating lines of ridged sand inspire thoughts of hopeless
melancholy. The sparse vegetation, which in its struggle for life
pathetically seizes and holds the partially fertile spots among these
ever-shifting masses, has the appearance of broken submission. The
wildly tangled roots--derelicts of the sands--which have been deserted
and left to bleach in the sun by the slow movement of the great hills,
emphasize the feeling of isolation. The changing winds may again give
them a winding sheet, but as a part of nature’s refuse, they are slowly
and steadily being resolved back into her crucible.
[Illustration:
“DERELICTS OF THE SANDS”]
To the colorist the dunes present ever-changing panoramas of hue and
tone. Every cloud that trails its purple, phantom-like shadow across
them can call forth the resources of his palette, and he can find
inspiration in the high nooks where the pines cling to their perilous
anchorage.
The etcher may revel in their wealth of line. The harmonic undulations
of the long, serrated crests, with sharp accents of gnarled roots and
stunted trees, offer infinite possibilities in composition. To the
imaginative enthusiast, seeking poetic forms of line expression, these
dwarfed, neglected, crippled, and wasted things become subtle units in
artistic arrangement.
As in all landscape, we find much material in these subjects that is
entirely useless from an artistic standpoint. The thoughtful translator
must be rigidly selective, and his work must go to other minds, to which
he appeals, stripped of dross and unencumbered with superfluities. An
ugly and ill-arranged mass of light and shade, that may disfigure the
foreground, may be eliminated from the composition, but the graceful and
slender weed growing near it may be used. A low, dark cloud in the
distance may be carried a little farther away, if necessary, or it may
be blown entirely away, if another cloud--floating only in the realm of
imagination--will furnish the desired note of harmony. Truth need not
necessarily be fact, but we must not include in our composition that
which is not possible or natural to our subject. Representation of fact
is not art, in its pure sense, but effective expression of thought,
which fact may inspire, is art--and there is but one art, although there
are many mediums.
[Illustration:
IN THE WILD PLACES]
One must feel the spirit and poetry of the dunes, if he deals with them
as an artist who would send their story into the world. The magic of
successful artistic translation changes the sense of desolation into an
impression of wild, weird beauty and romantic charm. It is the wildness,
the mystery, the deep solemnity, and the infinite grandeur of this
region which furnish themes of appealing picturesqueness.
Man has changed or destroyed natural scenery wherever he has come into
practical contact with it. The fact that these wonderful hills are left
to us is simply because he has not yet been able to carry away and use
the sand of which they are composed. He has dragged the pines from their
storm-scarred tops, and is utilizing their sands for the elevation of
city railway tracks. Shrieking, rasping wheels now pass over them,
instead of the crow’s shadow, the cry of the tern, or the echo of waves
from glistening and untrampled shores.
The turmoil and bustle of the outside world is not heard on the placid
stretches of these quiet undulations. Here the weary spirit finds repose
among elemental forms which the ravages of civilization have left
unspoiled. If we take beautiful minds and beautiful hearts into the dune
country, we will find only beauty in it; and if we have not the love of
beauty, we walk in darkness.
Filmy veils of white mist gather in the hollows during the still, cool
hours of the night, and begin to move like curling smoke wreaths with
the first faint breaths of dawn. The early hours of the morning are full
of strange enchantment, and dawn on the dunes brings many wonders. When
the first gray tones of light appear, the night-prowlers seek seclusion,
and the stillness is broken by the crows. A single note is heard from
among the boughs of a far-off pine, and in a few moments the air is
filled with the noisy conversation of these interesting birds--mingled
with the cries of the gulls and terns, which have come in from the lake
and are searching for the refuse of the night waves. The beams of a
great light burst through the trees--the leaves and the sands are
touched with gold--and the awakening of the hills has come.
The twilights bring forth manifold beauties which the bright glare of
the day has kept within their hiding-places. The rich purples that have
been concealed among secret recesses creep out on
[Illustration: (_From the Author’s Etching_)
DAWN IN THE HILLS]
the open spaces to meet the silvery light of the rising moon, and the
colors of the dusk come to weave a web of phantasy over the landscape.
[Illustration: (_From the Author’s Etching_)
TWILIGHT ON THE DUNES]
It is then that the movement of nocturnal life commences and the
tragedies of the night begin. A fleeting silhouette of a wing intersects
the moon’s disc, and a dark shadowy thing moves swiftly across the
sky-line of the trees. An attentive listener will hear many strange and
mysterious sounds. The Dune People are coming forth to seek their food
from God.
[Illustration:
“A FLEETING SILHOUETTE OF A WING
INTERSECTS THE MOON’S DISC”]
When the morning comes, if the air is still, we can find the stories on
the sand. Its surface is interlaced with thousands of little tracks and
trails, leading in all directions. The tracks of the toads, and the
hundreds of creeping insects on which they subsist, are all over the
open places, crossed and recrossed many times by the footmarks of crows,
herons, gulls, sandpipers, and other birds.
The movement of the four-footed life is mostly nocturnal. We find the
imprints of the fox, raccoon, mink, muskrat, skunk, white-footed mouse,
and other quadrupeds, that have been active during the night. To the
practiced eye these trails are readily distinguishable, and often traces
are found of a tragedy that has been enacted in the darkness. Some
confused marks, and a mussy-looking spot on the sand, record a brief
struggle for existence, and perhaps a few mangled remains, with some
scattered feathers or bits of fur, are left to tell the tale. A weak
life has gone out to support a stronger.
With the exception of the insects, the mice are the most frequent
victims. Their hiding-places under tufts of grass, old stumps and
decayed wood are ruthlessly sought out and the little families eagerly
devoured. The owls glide silently over the wastes, searching the deep
shadows for the small, velvet-footed creatures whose helplessness
renders them easy prey. They are subject to immutable law and must
perish.
Much of the mysterious lure of the dunes is in the magnificent sweep of
the great lake along the wild shores. Its restless waters are the
complement of the indolent sands. The distant bands of deep blue and
green, dappled with dancing white-caps, in the vistas through the
openings, impart vivid color accents to the grays and neutral tones of
the foregrounds.
No great mind has ever flowered to its fullness that was insensible to
the allurements of a large body of water. It may be likened to a human
soul. It is now tempestuous, and now placid. Beneath its surface are
unknown caverns and unsounded depths into which light never goes. If by
chance some piercing ray should ever reach them, wondrous beauty might
be revealed.
The waters of the lake are never perfectly still. In calms that seem
absolute, a careful eye will find at least a slight undulation.
On quiet days the little waves ripple and lisp along the miles of wet
sand, and the delicate streaks of oscillating foam creep away in a
feathery and uncertain line, that fades and steals around a distant
curve in the shore.
[Illustration: (_From the Author’s Etching_)
THE SONG OF THE EAST SHORE]
After the storms the long ground-swells roll in for days, beating their
rhythmic measures, and unfolding their snowy veils before them as they
come.
The echoes of the roar of the surf among the distant dunes pervade them
with solemn sound. An indefinable spirit of mute resistance and power
broods in the inert masses. They seem to be holding back mighty and
remote forces that beat upon their barriers.
The color fairies play out on the bosom of the lake in the silver
radiance of the moon and stars, and marvelous tones are spread upon it
by the sun and clouds. Invisible brushes, charged with celestial
pigments, seem to sweep over its great expanse, mingling prismatic hues
and changing them fitfully, in wayward fancy, as a master might delight
to play with a medium that he had conquered. Fugitive cloud shadows move
swiftly over areas of turquoise and amethyst. Fleeting iridescent hues
revel with the capricious breezes in loving companionship.
When the storm gods lash the lake with whistling winds, and send their
sullen dark array through the skies, and the music of the tempest blends
with song of the surges on the shore, the color tones seem to become
vocal and to mingle their cadences with the voices of the gale.
We may look from the higher dune tops upon panoramas of surpassing
splendor. There are piles on piles of sandy hills, accented with green
masses and solitary pines. These highways of the winds and storms, with
their glittering crowns and shadowy defiles, sweep into dim perspective.
Their noble curves become smaller and smaller, until they are folded
away and lost on the horizon’s hazy rim.
[Illustration: (_From the Author’s Etching_)
HIGHWAYS OF THE WINDS]
A sinuous ribbon of sunlit beach winds along the line of the breakers,
and meets the point of a misty headland far away.
The blue immensity of the lake glistens, and is flecked with foam. White
plumes are tossing and waving along the sky-line. In the foreground
little groups of sandpipers are running nimbly along the edges of the
incoming waves, racing after them as they retreat, and lightly taking
wing when they come too near. There are flocks of stately gulls,
balancing themselves with set wings, high in the wind, and a few terns
are skimming along the crests. The gray figures of two or three herons
are stalking about, with much dignity, near some driftwood that dots the
dry sand farther up the shore.
Colors rare and glorious are in the sky. The sun is riding down in a
chariot of gold and purple, attended by a retinue of clouds in
resplendent robes. The twilight comes, the picture fades, but the spell
remains.
Intrepid voyagers from the Old World journeyed along these primitive
coasts centuries ago. Their footprints were soon washed away in the surf
lines, but the romance of their trails still rests upon the sands that
they traversed.
In years of obscure legend, birch-bark canoes were drawn out on the
gleaming beach by red men who carried weapons of stone. They hunted and
fought among the yellow hills. They saw them basking under summer suns,
and swept by the furies of winter storms. From their tops they watched
the dying glories of the afterglows in the western skies. They saw the
great lake shimmer in still airs, and heard the pounding of remorseless
waters in its sterner moods. They who carried the weapons of stone are
gone, and time has hidden them in the silence of the past.
Out in the mysterious depths of the lake are pale sandy floors that no
eye has ever seen. The mobile particles are shifted and eddied into
strange shadowy forms by the inconstant and unknown currents that flow
in the gloom. There are white bones and ghostly timbers there which are
buried and again uncovered. There are dunes under the waters, as well as
on the shores. Slimy mosses creep along their shelving sides and over
their pallid tops into profound chasms beyond. Finny life moves among
the subaqueous vegetation that thrives in the fertile areas, and out
over the smooth wastes, but this is a world concealed. Our pictures are
in the air.
When winter lays its mantle of snow upon the country of the dunes the
whitened crests loom in softened lines. The contours become spectral in
their chaste robes. Along the frosty summits the intricacies of the
naked trees and branches, in their winter sleep, are woven delicately
against the moody skies, and the hills, far away, draped in their chill
raiment, stand in faint relief on the gray horizon. The black companies
of the crows wing across the snow-clad heights in desultory flight.
When the bitter blasts come out of the clouds in the north, the light
snow scurries over the hoary tops into the shelters of the hollows. Out
in the ice fields on the lake grinding masses heave with the angry
surges that seek the shore. Crystal fragments, shattered and splintered,
shine in the dim light, far out along the margins of the open, turbulent
water. Great piles of broken ice have been flung along the beach, heaped
into bewildering forms by the billows, and a few gulls skirt the ragged
frozen mounds for possible stray bits of food.
The wind and the cold have builded grim ramparts for the sunshine and
the April rains to conquer.
[Illustration: (_From the Author’s Etching_)
“HERALDS OF THE STORM”]
CHAPTER II
THE GULLS AND TERNS
The gulls are a picturesque and interesting feature of dune life. These
gray and white birds, while they do not entirely avoid human
association, have few of the home-like charms of most of our feathered
neighbors.
“Catfish John,” the old fisherman with whom I often talked about the
birds and animals in the dune country, had very little use for them. He
said that “they flopped ’round a whole lot, an’ seemed to keep a goin’.”
He “didn’t never find no eggs, an’ they didn’t seem to set anywheres.
They git away with the bait when its left out, an’ they seem mostly to
live off’n fish an’ dead things they find on the beach an’ floatin’
round in the lake. They’ll tackle a mouthful big enough to choke a horse
if they like the looks of it.”
He thought that “them that roosted out on the net stakes didn’t go to
sleep entirely, or they’d slip off in the night.”
The gull has many charms for the ornithologist and the poet. He is
valuable to the artist, as an accent in the sky, when he is on the
wing, giving a thrill of life to the most desolate landscape.
[Illustration: “THEM THAT ROOSTED OUT ON THE NET STAKES”]
He is interesting to the eye when proudly walking along the beach, or
sitting silently, with hundreds of others, in solemn conclave on the
shore. Old piles and floating objects in the lake have an added interest
with his trim figure perched upon them. The perched birds seem magnified
and ghostly when one comes suddenly upon them in the fog and they
disappear with shrill cries into the mists.
There is no gleam of human interest in the eye of a gull. It is fierce,
cold, and utterly wild. The birds we love most are those that nest in
the land in which we live. The home is the real bond among living
things, and our feathered friends creep easily into our affections when
we can hear their love songs and watch their home life.
The transient winged tribes, that come and go--like ships on the
sea--and rear their young in other lands, arouse our poetic reflections,
challenge our admiration, and excite our love of the beautiful. They
delight our eyes but not our hearts.
The graceful forms of the gulls give an ethereal note of exaltation to
the spirit of the landscape--a suggestion of the Infinite--as they soar
in long curves in the azure blue, or against the dark clouds that roll
up in portentous masses from the distant horizon and sweep across the
heavens over the great lake. They are the heralds of the storms, and a
typical expression of life in the sky.
Their matchless grace on the wing, as they wheel in the teeth of the
tempest or glide with set pinions in the currents of the angry winds,
makes them a part of nature’s dramas in the heavens--aloof and remote
from earthly things--mingling with the unseen forces and mysteries of
the Great Unknown.
These rovers of the clouds seem to love no abodes but the stormy skies
and foaming waves. Their flights are desultory when the winds are still.
When the calms brood over the face of the waters, they congregate on the
glassy surface, like little white fleets at anchor, and rest for hours,
until hunger again takes them into the air.
They often leave the lake and soar over the dune country on windy days,
searching far inland for food, but when night comes they return to the
water.
In early August they come down from the Lake Superior country and from
the more distant north, where perhaps many of them have spent the summer
near the arctic circle. They bring with them their big brown young, from
the rocky islands in those remote regions, and to these islands they
will return in the spring. The young birds do not don their silver-gray
plumage until the second year.
In the autumn the unseen paths in the sky are filled with countless
wings on their way to the tropics, but the gulls remain to haunt the
bare landscapes and the chill waters of the lake, until the return of
the great multitudes of migrant birds in April or May, when they leave
for their northern homes.
In the wake of the gulls come the terns--those graceful, gliding little
creatures in pearl-gray robes--which skim and hover over the waves, and
search them for their daily food.
There is something peculiarly elf-like and wispy in their flight. Agile
and keen eyed, with their mosquito-like bills pointed downward, they
dart furtively, like water-sprites, along the crests of the billows,
seeming to winnow the foam and spray.
With low plaintive cries the scattered flocks follow the surf lines
against the wind and the dipping wings can be seen far out over the
lake.
They often pause in the air, and drop like plummets, entirely out of
sight under water, in pursuit of unsuspecting small fish, to reappear
with the wiggling tails of the little victims protruding from their
bills. Many thousands of them patrol the shores and waters, but they
also are transients, and soon wing their ways to colder or warmer
climes.
The nature lover finds manifold charms in the bird life of the dune
country. There are many varieties to interest him. While we may endeavor
to restrict our consideration to the purely artistic side of the
subject, it would be impossible to define a point that would separate
the artistic instinct from the love of the live things, and of nature in
general, for there is no such point. One merges naturally into the
other.
It is not necessary for a lover of nature to have an exact scientific
knowledge of all the things he sees in order to derive enjoyment from
them, but a trained observer is more sensitive to the poetic influences
of nature, has a wider range of vision, a greater capacity for
appreciation, and is more deeply responsive to the subtle harmonies than
one who is only susceptible to the more obvious aspects.
The love of the Little Things which are concealed from the ordinary eye
comes only to one who has sought out their hiding-places, and learned
their ways by tender and long association. Their world and ours is
fundamentally the same, and to know them is to know ourselves.
We sometimes cannot tell whether the clear, flutelike note from the
depths of the ravine comes from the thrush or the oriole, but we know
that the little song has carried us just a little nearer to nature’s
heart than we were before. If we could see the singer and learn his
name, his silvery tones would be still more pure and sweet when he comes
again.
The spring songs in the dune country seem to exalt and sanctify the
forest aisles, and to weave a spell out over the open spaces. The still
sands seem to awaken under the vibrant melodies of the choirs among the
trees. These sanctuaries are not for those who would “shower shot into a
singing tree,” but for him who comes to listen and to worship.
The voices of the dunes are in many keys. The cries of the gulls and
crows--the melodies of the songsters--the wind tones among the
trees--the roar of the surf on the shore--the soft rustling of the loose
sands, eddying among the beach grasses--the whirr of startled wings in
the ravines--the piping of the frogs and little toads in the marshy
spots--the chorus of the katydids and locusts--the prolonged notes of
the owls at night--and many other sounds, all blend into the greater
song of the hills, and become a part of the appeal to our higher
emotions, in this land of enchantment and mystery.
[Illustration] CHAPTER III
THE TURTLES
Sometimes we find interesting little comedies mapped on the sands.
One morning the July sun had come from behind the clouds, after a heavy
rain, and quickly dried the surface, leaving the firm, wet sand
underneath. On the dunes, walks are particularly delightful when the
moist, packed sand becomes a yellow floor, but it requires much
endurance and enthusiasm to trudge through miles of soft sand on a hot
day and retain a contemplative mood.
We suddenly came upon some turtle tracks, beginning abruptly out on an
open space, indicating that the traveler had probably withdrawn into the
privacy and shelter of his mobile castle, and resumed his journey when
the sun appeared. All traces of his arrival at the point where the
tracks began had been obliterated by the rain.
We were curious to ascertain his objective, and as the trail was in
perfect condition, we followed it carefully for several hundred yards,
when we found another trail interrupting it obliquely from another
direction. Within an area of perhaps twenty feet in diameter the tracks
had left a confused network on the smooth sand. Evidently there had been
much discussion and consideration before a final decision had been
reached. Then the trails started off in the same direction, side by
side, varying from a foot to two feet or so apart.
There was much mystery in all this. Our curiosity continued, and about
half a mile farther on the smaller trail of the last comer suddenly
veered off toward the lake and disappeared in the wet sand of the
beach. The original trail finally ended several hundred yards farther on
in a clear stream, and there we saw Mr. Hardfinish resting quietly on
the shallow bottom, with the cool current flowing over him.
We may have stumbled on a turtle romance. Perhaps a tryst had been kept,
and after much argument and persuasion the two had decided to combine
their destinies. It may have been incompatibility of temperament, or
affection grown cold, which caused the later estrangement. A fickle
heart may have throbbed under the shell of the faithless amphibian who
had joined the expedition, but whatever the cause of the separation was,
the initiator of the journey had been left to finish it alone. His trail
showed no wavering at the point | 3,083.282824 |
2023-11-16 19:08:28.1667890 | 2,746 | 7 |
Produced by Al Haines
THE
BRAIN OF AN ARMY
A POPULAR ACCOUNT
OF THE
GERMAN GENERAL STAFF
BY
SPENSER WILKINSON
NEW EDITION
WITH LETTERS FROM
COUNT MOLTKE AND LORD ROBERTS
WESTMINSTER
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE
& CO 1895
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
_THE COMMAND OF THE SEA_
_THE BRAIN OF A NAVY_
_THE GREAT ALTERNATIVE_
_and in conjunction with_
SIR CHARLES W. DILKE, BART.
_IMPERIAL DEFENCE_
[Transcriber's note: the errata items below have been applied to this
text.]
ERRATA.
page 9, line 6 for _have_ read _has_
page 10, line 21, for _occasion_ read _occasions_
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
Six years ago a Royal Commission, under the presidency of Lord
Hartington, was known to be inquiring into the administration of the
national defence. There was much talk in the newspapers about the
Prussian staff, and many were the advocates of its imitation in this
country. Very few of those who took part in the discussions seemed to
know what the Prussian staff was, and I thought it might be useful to
the Royal Commission and to the public to have a true account of that
institution, written in plain English, so that any one could understand
it. The essay was published on the 11th of February, 1890, the day on
which the Report of Lord Hartington's Commission was signed.
The essential feature of the Prussian staff system consists in the
classification of duties out of which it has arisen. Every general in
the field requires a number of assistants, collectively forming his
staff, to relieve him of matters of detail, to act as his confidential
secretaries, and to represent him at places where he cannot be himself.
The duties of command are so multifarious that some consistent
distribution of functions among the officers of a large staff is
indispensable. In Prussia this distribution is based on a thoroughly
rational and practical principle. The general's work is subdivided
into classes, according as it is concerned with administration and
discipline or with the direction of the operations against the enemy.
All that belongs to administration and discipline is put upon one side
of a dividing line, and upon the other side all that directly affects
the preparation for or the management of the fighting--in technical
language, all that falls within the domain of strategy and tactics.
The officers entrusted with the personal assistance of the general in
this latter group of duties are in Prussia called his "general staff."
They are specially trained in the art of conducting operations against
an enemy, that is in the specific function of generalship, which has
thus in the Prussian army received more systematic attention than in
any other. In the British army the assistants of a general are also
grouped into classes for the performance of specific functions in his
relief. But the grouping of duties is accidental, and follows no
principle. It has arisen by chance, and been stereotyped by usage.
The officers of a staff belong to the adjutant-general's branch or to
the quartermaster-general's branch, but no rational criterion exists by
which to discover whether a particular function falls to one branch or
to the other. That this is an evil is evident, because it is manifest
that there can be no scientific training for a group of duties which
have no inherent affinity with one another. The evil has long been
felt, for the attempt has been made to remedy it by amalgamating the
two branches in order to sever them again upon a rational plane of
cleavage.
But while the essence of the Prussian general staff lies deeply
embedded in the organization of the Prussian army, the interest of the
general public has been attracted by the fact that the great strategist
to whom the victories of 1866 and 1870 are ascribed was not the
commander of the Prussian army, but merely the chief of the general
staff of a royal commander-in-chief. It may well be doubted whether
this feature of the Prussian system is suitable for imitation
elsewhere. The Germans themselves evidently regard it as accidental
rather than essential, for in organizing their navy they have, after
much experiment and deliberation, adopted a different plan. They have
appointed their chosen admiral to be, not chief of the staff to an
Emperor who in war, as he takes the field with the army, cannot
undertake the command of the navy, but to be "the commanding admiral."
I refrained in the first edition of this essay from drawing from the
German institution which it describes a moral to be applied to the
British army, and was content with a warning against overhasty
imitation. At that time the nature of the relation between Moltke and
the King was still to some extent veiled in official language, and
nothing so far as I am aware had been published which allowed the facts
to rest upon well authenticated, direct evidence as distinguished from
inference. Since then the posthumous publication of Moltke's private
correspondence,[1] and of the first instalment of his military
correspondence,[2] has thrown a flood of light upon the whole subject.
I had the good fortune to be furnished with an earlier clue. As soon
as my essay was ready for the press I ventured to send a proof to Count
Moltke, with a request that he would allow me in a dedication to couple
his name with studies of which his work had been the subject. He was
good enough to reply in a letter of which the following is a
translation:--
BERLIN, January 20, 1890.
DEAR SIR,--
I have read your essay on the German general staff with great interest.
I am glad that on p. 63 you dispose of the ever-recurring legend
according to which before every important decision a council of war is
assembled. I can assure you that in 1866 and in 1870-71 a council of
war was never called.
If the commander after consultation with his authorized adviser feels
the need of asking others what he ought to do, the command is in weak
hands.
If King William I. ever really used the expression attributed to him on
p. 58, he did himself a great injustice. The king judged the
perpetually changing military situation with an uncommonly clear eye.
He was much more than "a great strategist." It was he who took upon
himself an immeasurable responsibility, and for the conduct of an army
character weighs more than knowledge and science. I think your
excellent work would lose nothing if that passage were omitted.
You touch on p. 112[3] upon the relation between the commander and the
statesman. Neither of the two can set up for himself in advance a goal
to be certainly reached. The plan of campaign modifies itself after
the first great collision with the enemy. Success or failure in a
battle occasions operations originally not intended. On the other hand
the final claims of the statesman will be very different according as
he has to reckon with defeats or with a series of uninterrupted
victories. In the course of the campaign the balance between the
military will and the considerations of diplomacy can be held only by
the supreme authority.
It has not escaped your penetration that a general staff cannot be
improvised on the outbreak of war, that it must be prepared long
beforehand in peace, and be in practical activity and in close
intercourse with the troops. But even that is not enough. It must
know who is to be its future commander, must be in communication with
him and gain his confidence, without which its position is untenable.
Great is the advantage if the head of the State is also the leader in
war. He knows his general staff and his troops, and is known by them.
In such armies there are no pronunciamentoes.
The constitution, however, does not in every country admit of placing
the head of the State at the head of the army. If the Government will
and can select in advance the most qualified general for the post, that
officer must also be given during peace the authority to influence the
troops and their leaders and to create an understanding between himself
and his general staff. This chosen general will seldom be the minister
of war, who during the whole war is indispensable at home, where all
the threads of administration come together.
You have expressed the kind intention of dedicating your interesting
essay to me, but I suggest that you should consider whether without
such a dedication it would not still better preserve the character of
perfectly independent judgment.
With best thanks for your kind communication,
I am, dear sir, yours very truly,
COUNT MOLTKE,
Field Marshal.
It was hardly possible for Moltke, bound as he was by his own high
position, to have expressed more plainly his opinion of the kind of
reform needed in the British army, nor to have better illustrated than
by that opinion the precise nature of his own work.[4]
With Moltke's view that the peculiar position which he held was not
necessarily the model best suited for the circumstances of the British
army it is interesting to compare the judgment expressed quite
independently by Lord Roberts, who kindly allows me to publish the
following letter:--
SIMLA,
11_th September_, 1891.
DEAR MR. WILKINSON,--
I am much obliged to you for so kindly sending me _The Brain of an
Army_ and the other military works which reached me two or three mails
ago. Some of the books I had seen before, and _The Brain of an Army_ I
had often heard of, and meant to study whenever sufficient leisure was
vouchsafed to me, which, alas! is but seldom. I have now read it with
great interest.
One point that strikes me is the strong inclination evinced at present
to assume that the German system of apportioning the duties of command
and staff is deserving of universal adoption because under exceptional
circumstances, and with quite an exceptional man to act as head of the
Staff, it proved eminently successful in the wars between Prussia and
Austria and Prussia and France.
The idea of a Chief of the Staff who is to regulate the preparations
for and the operations during a campaign, and who is to possess a
predominant influence in determining the military policy of a nation,
is quite opposed to the views of some of the ablest commanders and
strategists, as summarized at pages 17 and 18 of Home's _Précis of
Modern Tactics_, Edition 1882; and I doubt whether any really competent
general or Commander-in-Chief would contentedly acquiesce in the
dissociation of command and responsibility which the German procedure
necessarily entails. That Von Moltke was the virtual
Commander-in-Chief of the German forces during the wars in question,
and that the nominal commanders had really very little to say to the
movements they were called upon to execute, seems to be clearly proved
by the third volume of the Field Marshal's writings, reviewed in _The
Times_ of the 21st August last. Von Moltke was a soldier of
extraordinary ability, he acted in the Emperor's name, the orders he
initiated were implicitly obeyed, and the military machine worked
smoothly. But had the orders not been uniformly judicious, had a check
or reverse been experienced, and had one or more of the subordinate
commanders possessed greater capacity and resolution than the Chief of
the Staff, the result might have been very different.
In military nations a Chief of the Staff of the German type may perhaps
be essential, more especially when, as in Germany, the Emperor is the
head of the Army and its titular Commander-in-Chief. The reasons for
this are that, in the first place, he may not possess the qualities
required in a Commander-in-Chief who has to lead the Army in war; and
in the second place, even if he does possess those qualities, there are
so many other matters connected with the civil administration of his
own country, and with its political relations towards other countries,
that the time of a King or Emperor may be too fully occupied to admit
of his devoting that exclusive attention to military matters which is
so necessary in a Commander-in-Chief, if he desires to | 3,084.186829 |
2023-11-16 19:08:28.2663910 | 7,436 | 7 |
Produced by David Widger
THE RIGHT OF WAY, Volume 6 (of 6)
By Gilbert Parker
CONTENTS:
L. THE PASSION PLAY AT CHAUDIERE
LI. FACE TO FACE
LII. THE COMING OF BILLY
LIII. THE SEIGNEUR AND THE CURE HAVE A SUSPICION
LIV. M. ROSSIGNOL SLIPS THE LEASH
LV. ROSALIE PLAYS A PART
LVI. MRS. FLYNN SPEAKS
LVII. A BURNING FIERY FURNACE
LVIII. WITH HIS BACK TO THE WALL
LIX. IN WHICH CHARLEY MEETS A STRANGER
LX. THE HAND AT THE DOOR
LXI. THE CURE SPEAKS
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER L. THE PASSION PLAY AT CHAUDIERE
For the first time in its history Chaudiere was becoming notable in the
eyes of the outside world.
"We'll have more girth after this," said Filion Lacasse the saddler
to the wife of the Notary, as, in front of the post-office, they stood
watching a little cavalcade of habitants going up the road towards Four
Mountains to rehearse the Passion Play.
"If Dauphin's advice had been taken long ago, we'd have had a hotel at
Four Mountains, and the city folk would be coming here for the summer,"
said Madame Dauphin, with a superior air.
"Pish!" said a voice behind them. It was the Seigneur's groom, with a
straw in his mouth. He had a gloomy mind.
"There isn't a house but has two or three boarders. I've got three,"
said Filion Lacasse. "They come tomorrow."
"We'll have ten at the Manor. But no good will come of it," said the
groom.
"No good! Look at the infidel tailor!" said Madame Dauphin. "He
translated all the writing. He drew all the dresses, and made a hundred
pictures--there they are at the Cure's house."
"He should have played Judas," said the groom malevolently. "That'd be
right for him."
"Perhaps you don't like the Passion Play," said Madame Dauphin
disdainfully.
"We ain't through with it yet," said the death's-head groom.
"It is a pious and holy mission," said Madame Dauphin. "Even that Jo
Portugais worked night and day till he went away to Montreal, and he
always goes to Mass now. He's to take Pontius Pilate when he comes
back. Then look at Virginie Morrissette, that put her brother's eyes out
quarrelling--she's to play Mary Magdalene."
"I could fit the parts better," said the groom.
"Of course. You'd have played St. John," said the saddler--"or, maybe,
Christus himself!"
"I'd have Paulette Dubois play Mary the sinner."
"Magdalene repented, and knelt at the foot of the cross. She was sorry
and sinned no more," said the Notary's wife in querulous reprimand.
"Well, Paulette does all that," said the stolid, dark-visaged groom.
Filion Lacasse's ears pricked up. "How do you know--she hasn't come
back?"
"Hasn't she, though! And with her child too--last night."
"Her child!" Madame Dauphin was scandalised and amazed.
The groom nodded. "And doesn't care who knows it. Seven years old, and
as fine a child as ever was!"
"Narcisse--Narcisse!" called Madame Dauphin to her husband, who was
coming up the street. She hastily repeated the groom's news to him.
The Notary stuck his hand between the buttons of his waistcoat. "Well,
well, my dear Madame," he said consequentially, "it is quite true."
"What do you know about it--whose child is it?" she asked, with curdling
scorn.
"'Sh-'sh!" said the Notary. Then, with an oratorical wave of his free
hand: "The Church opens her arms to all--even to her who sinned much
because she loved much, who, through woful years, searched the world for
her child and found it not--hidden away, as it was, by the duplicity
of sinful man"--and so on through tangled sentences, setting forth in
broken terms Paulette Dubois's life.
"How do you know all about it?" asked the saddler. "I've known it for
years," said the Notary grandly--stoutly too, for he would freely risk
his wife's anger that the vain-glory of the moment might be enlarged.
"And you keep it even from madame!" said the saddler, with a smile too
broad to be sarcastic. "Tiens! if I did that, my wife'd pick my eyes out
with a bradawl."
"It was a professional secret," said the Notary, with a desperate
resolve to hold his position.
"I'm going home, Dauphin--are you coming?" questioned his wife, with an
air.
"You will remain, and hear what I've got to say. This Paulette
Dubois--she should play Mary Magdalene, for--"
"Look--look, what's that?" said the saddler. He pointed to a wagon
coming slowly up the road. In front of it a team of dogs drew a cart.
It carried some thing covered with black. "It's a funeral! There's the
coffin. It's on Jo Portugais' little cart," added Filion Lacasse.
"Ah, God be merciful, it's Rosalie Evanturel and Mrs. Flynn! And M'sieu'
Evanturel in the coffin!" said Madame Dauphin, running to the door of
the postoffice to call the Cure's sister.
"There'll be use enough for the baker's Dead March now," remarked M.
Dauphin sadly, buttoning up his coat, taking off his hat, and going
forward to greet Rosalie. As he did so, Charley appeared in the doorway
of his shop.
"Look, Monsieur," said the Notary. "This is the way Rosalie Evanturel
comes home with her father."
"I will go for the Cure" Charley answered, turning white. He leaned
against the doorway for a moment to steady himself, then hurried up the
street. He did not dare meet Rosalie, or go near her yet. For her sake
it was better not.
"That tailor infidel has a heart. His eyes were leaking," said the
Notary to Filion Lacasse, and went on to meet the mournful cavalcade.
CHAPTER LI. FACE TO FACE
"If I could only understand!"--this was Rosalie's constant cry in these
weeks wherein she lay ill and prostrate after her father's burial. Once
and once only had she met Charley alone, though she knew that he was
keeping watch over her. She had first seen him the day her father was
buried, standing apart from the people, his face sorrowful, his eyes
heavy, his figure bowed.
The occasion of their meeting alone was the first night of her return,
when the Notary and Charley had kept watch beside her father's body.
She had gone into the little hallway, and had looked into the room of
death. The Notary was sound asleep in his arm-chair, but Charley sat
silent and moveless, his eyes gazing straight before him. She murmured
his name, and though it was only to herself, not even a whisper, he got
up quickly and came to the hall, where she stood grief-stricken, yet
with a smile of welcome, of forgiveness, of confidence. As she put out
her hand to him, and his swallowed it, she could not but say to him--so
contrary is the heart of woman, so does she demand a Yes by asserting a
No, and hunger for the eternal assurance--she could not but say:
"You do not love me--now."
It was but a whisper, so faint and breathless that only the heart of
love could hear it. There was no answer in words, for some one was
stirring beyond Rosalie in the dark, and a great figure heaved through
the kitchen doorway, but his hand crushed hers in his own; his heart
said to her, "My love is an undying light; it will not change for time
or tears"--the words they had read together in a little snuff-coloured
book on the counter in the shop one summer day a year ago. The words
flashed into his mind, and they were carried to hers. Her fingers
pressed his, and then Charley said, over her shoulder, to the
approaching Mrs. Flynn: "Do not let her come again, Madame. She should
get some sleep," and he put her hand in Mrs. Flynn's. "Be good to her,
as you know how, Mrs. Flynn," he added gently.
He had won the heart of Mrs. Flynn that moment, and it may be she had a
conviction or an inspiration, for she said, in a softer voice than she
was wont to use to any one save Rosalie:
"I'll do by her as you'd do by your own, sir," and tenderly drew Rosalie
to her own room.
Such had been their first meeting after her return. Afterwards she was
taken ill, and the torture of his heart drove him out into the night,
to walk the road and creep round her house like a sentinel, Mrs. Flynn's
words ringing in his ears to reproach him--"I'll do by her as you would
do by your own, sir." Night after night it was the same, and Rosalie
heard his footsteps and listened and was less sorrowful, because she
knew that she was ever in his thoughts. But one day Mrs. Flynn came to
him in his shop.
"She's wantin' a word with ye on business," she said, and gestured
towards the little house across the way. "'Tis few words ye do be
shpakin' to annybody, but if y' have kind words to shpake and good
things to say, y' naidn't be bitin' yer tongue," she added in response
to his nod, and left him.
Charley looked after her with a troubled face. On the instant it seemed
to him that Mrs. Flynn knew all. But his second thought told him that
it was only an instinct on her part that there was something between
them--the beginning of love, maybe.
In another half-hour he was beside Rosalie's chair. "Perhaps you are
angry," she said, as he came towards her where she sat in the great
arm-chair. She did not give him time to answer, but hurried on. "I
wanted to tell you that I have heard you every night outside, and that I
have been glad, and sorry too--so sorry for us both."
"Rosalie! Rosalie" he said hoarsely, and dropped on a knee beside her
chair, and took her hand and kissed it. He did not dare do more.
"I wanted to say to you," she said, dropping a hand on his shoulder,
"that I do not blame you for anything--not for anything. Yet I want you
to be sorry too. I want you to feel as sorry for me as I feel sorry for
you."
"I am the worst man and you the best woman in the world."
She leaned over him with tears in her eyes. "Hush!" she said. "I want to
help you--Charles. You are wise. You know ten thousand things more than
I; but I know one thing you do not understand."
"You know and do whatever is good," he said brokenly.
"Oh, no, no, no! But I know one thing, because I have been taught, and
because it was born with me. Perhaps much was habit with me in the past,
but now I know that one thing is true. It is God."
She paused. "I have learned so much since--since then."
He looked up with a groan, and put a finger on her lips. "You are
feeling bitterly sorry for me," she said. "But you must let me
speak--that is all I ask. It is all love asks. I cannot bear that you
should not share my thoughts. That is the thing that has hurt--hurt so
all these months, these long hard months, when I could not see you, and
did not know why I could not. Don't shake so, please! Hear me to the
end, and we shall both be the better after. I felt it all so cruelly,
because I did not--and I do not--understand. I rebelled, but not against
you. I rebelled against myself, against what you called Fate. Fate
is one's self, what one brings on one's self. But I had faith in
you--always--always, even when I thought I hated you."
"Ah, hate me! Hate me! It is your loving that cuts me to the quick," he
said. "You have the magnanimity of God."
Her eyes leapt up. "'Of God'--you believe in God!" she said eagerly.
"God is God to you? He is the one thing that has come out of all this
to me." She reached out her hand and took her Bible from a table.
"Read that to yourself," she said, and, opening the Book, pointed to a
passage. He read it:
And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in
the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the
presence of the Lord God amongst the trees of the garden.
And the Lord God called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art
thou?
And he said, I heard Thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid,
because I was naked; and I hid myself.
And He said, Who told thee that thou wart naked? Hast thou eaten of
the tree whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat?
Closing the Book, Charley said: "I understand--I see."
"Will you say a prayer with me?" she urged. "It is all I ask. It is the
only--the only thing I want to hurt you, because it may make you happier
in the end. What keeps us apart, I do not know. But if you will say one
prayer with me, I will keep on trusting, I will never complain, and I
will wait--wait."
He kissed both her hands, but the look in his eyes was that of a man
being broken on the wheel. She slipped to the floor, her rosary in her
fingers. "Let us pray," she said simply, and in a voice as clear as a
child's, but with the anguish of a woman's struggling heart behind.
He did not move. She looked at him, caught his hands in both of hers,
and cried: "But you will not deny me this! Haven't I the right to ask
it? Haven't I a right to ask of you a thousand times as much?"
"You have the right to ask all that is mine to give life, honour, my
body in pieces inch by inch, the last that I can call my own. But,
Rosalie, this is not mine to give! How can I pray, unless I believe!"
"You do--oh, you do believe in God," she cried passionately.
"Rosalie--my life," he urged, hoarse misery in his voice, "the only
thing I have to give you is the bare soul of a truthful man--I am that
now at least. You have made me so. If I deceived the whole world, if I
was as the thief upon the cross, I should still be truthful to you. You
open your heart to me--let me open mine to you, to see it as it is.
Once my soul was like a watch, cased and carried in the pocket of life,
uncertain, untrue, because it was a soul made, not born. I must look at
the hands to know the time, and because it varied, because the working
did not answer to the absolute, I said: 'The soul is a lie.' You--you
have changed all that, Rosalie. My soul now is like a dial to the sun.
But the clouds are there above, and I do not know what time it is in
life. When the clouds break--if they ever break--and the sun shines, the
dial will speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth--"
He paused, confused, for he had repeated the words of a witness taking
the oath in court.
"'So help me God!"' she finished the oath for him. Then, with a sudden
change of manner, she came to her feet with a spring. She did not quite
understand. She was, however, dimly conscious of the power she had over
his chivalrous mind: the power of the weak over the strong--the tyranny
of the defended over the defender. She was a woman tortured beyond
bearing; and she was fighting for her very life, mad with anguish as she
struggled.
"I do not understand you," she cried, with flashing eyes. "One minute
you say you do not believe in anything, and the next you say, 'So help
me God!'"
"Ah, no, you said that, Rosalie," he interposed gently.
"You said I was as magnanimous as God. You were laughing at me then,
mocking me, whose only fault is that I loved and trusted you. In the
wickedness of your heart you robbed me of happiness, you--"
"Don't--don't! Rosalie! Rosalie!" he exclaimed in shrinking protest.
That she had spoken to him as her deepest heart abhorred only increased
her agitated denunciation. "Yes, yes, in your mad selfishness, you did
not care for the poor girl who forgot all, lost all, and now--"
She stopped short at the sight of his white, awe stricken face. His
eye-glass seemed like a frost of death over an eye that looked upon
some shocking scene of woe. Yet he appeared not to see, for his fingers
fumbled on his waistcoat for the monocle--fumbled--vaguely, helplessly.
It was the realisation of a soul cast into the outer darkness. Her
abrupt silence came upon him like the last engulfing wave to a drowning
man--the final assurance of the end, in which there is quiet and the
deadly smother.
"Now--I know-the truth!" he said, in a curious even tone, different
from any she had ever heard from him. It was the old Charley Steele who
spoke, the Charley Steele in whom the intellect was supreme once more.
The judicial spirit, the inveterate intelligence which put justice
before all, was alive in him, almost rejoicing in its regained
governance. The new Charley was as dead as the old had been of late, and
this clarifying moment left the grim impression behind that the old law
was not obsolete. He felt that in the abandonment of her indignation she
had mercilessly told the truth; and the irreducible quality of mind in
him which in the old days made for justice, approved. There was a new
element now, however--that conscience which never possessed him fully
until the day he saw Rosalie go travelling over the hills with her
crippled father. That picture of the girl against the twilight, her
figure silhouetted in the clear air, had come to him in sleeping and
waking dreams, the type and sign of an everlasting melancholy. As he
looked at her blindly now, he saw, not herself, but that melancholy
figure. Out of the distance his own voice said again:
"Now--I know-the truth!"
She had struck with a violence she did not intend, which, she knew, must
rend her own heart in the future, which put in the dice-box the last
hopes she had. But she could not have helped it--she could not have
stayed the words, though a suspended sword were to fall with the
saying. It was the cry of tradition and religion, and every home-bred,
convent-nurtured habit, the instinct of heredity, the wail of woman, for
whom destiny, or man, or nature, has arranged the disproportionate share
of life's penalties. It was the impotent rebellion against the first
curse, that man in his punishment should earn his bread by the sweat of
his brow--which he might do with joy--while the woman must work out her
ordained sentence "in sorrow all the days of her life."
In her bitter words was the inherent revolt of the race of woman. But
now she suddenly felt that she had flung him an infinite distance from
her; that she had struck at the thing she most cherished--his belief
that she loved him; that even if she had told the truth--and she felt
she had not--it was not the truth she wished him most to feel.
For an instant she stood looking at him, shocked and confounded, then
her changeless love rushed back on her, the maternal and protective
spirit welled up, and with a passionate cry she threw herself in the
chair again in very weakness, with outstretched hands, saying:
"Forgive me--oh, forgive me! I did not mean it--oh, forgive your
Rosalie!"
Stooping over her, he answered:
"It is good for me to know the whole truth. What hurts you may give me
will pass--for life must end, and my life cannot be long enough to pay
the price of the hurts I have given you. I could bear a thousand--one
for every hour--if they could bring back the light to your eye, the joy
to your heart. Could prayer, do you think, make me sorrier than I am? I
have hurt what I would have spared from hurt at the cost of my life--and
all the lives in all the world!" he added fiercely.
"Forgive me--oh, forgive your Rosalie!" she pleaded. "I did not know
what I was saying--I was mad."
"It was all so sane and true," he said, like one who, on the brink of
death, finds a satisfaction in speaking the perfect truth. "I am glad to
hear the truth--I have been such a liar."
She looked up startled, her tears blinding her. "You have not deceived
me?" she asked bitterly. "Oh, you have not deceived me--you have loved
me, have you not?" It was that which mattered, that only. Moveless and
eager, she looked--looked at him, waiting, as it were, for sentence.
"I never lied to you, Rosalie--never!" he answered, and he touched her
hand.
She gave a moan of relief at his words. "Oh, then, oh, then... " she
said, in a low voice, and the tears in her eyes dried away.
"I meant that until I knew you, I kept deceiving myself and others all
my life--"
"But without knowing it?" she said eagerly.
"Perhaps, without quite knowing it."
"Until you knew me?" she asked, in quick, quivering tones.
"Till I knew you," he answered.
"Then I have done you good--not ill?" she asked, with painful
breathlessness.
"The only good there may be in me is you, and you only," he said, and
he choked something rising in his throat, seeing the greatness of her
heart, her dear desire to have entered into his life to his own good. He
would have said that there was no good in him at all, but that he wished
to comfort her.
A little cry of joy broke from her lips. "Oh, that--that!" she cried,
with happy tears. "Won't you kiss me now?" she added softly.
He clasped her in his arms, and though his eyes were dry, his heart wept
tears of blood.
CHAPTER LII. THE COMING OF BILLY
Chaudiere had made--and lost--a reputation. The Passion Play in the
valley had become known to a whole country--to the Cure's and the
Seigneur's unavailing regret. They had meant to revive the great story
for their own people and the Indians--a homely, beautiful object-lesson,
in an Eden--like innocence and quiet and repose; but behold the world
had invaded them! The vanity of the Notary had undone them. He had
written to the great papers of the province, telling of the advent of
the play, and pilgrimages had been organised, and excursions had been
made to the spot, where a simple people had achieved a crude but noble
picture of the life and death of the Hero of Christendom. The Cure
viewed with consternation the invasion of their quiet. It was no longer
his own Chaudiere; and when, on a Sunday, his dear people were jostled
from the church to make room for strangers, his gentle eloquence seemed
to forsake him, he spoke haltingly, and his intoning of the Mass lacked
the old soothing simplicity.
"Ah, my dear Seigneur!" he said, on the Sunday before the playing was to
end, "we have overshot the mark."
The Seigneur nodded and turned his head away. "There is an English play
which says, 'I have shot mine arrow o'er the house and hurt my brother.'
That's it--that's it! We began with religion, and we end with greed, and
pride, and notoriety."
"What do we want of fame! The price is too high, Maurice. Fame is not
good for the hearts and minds of simple folk."
"It will soon be over."
"I dread a sordid reaction."
The Seigneur stood thinking for a moment. "I have an idea," he said at
last. "Let us have these last days to ourselves. The mission ends next
Saturday at five o'clock. We will announce that all strangers must leave
the valley by Wednesday night. Then, during those last three days, while
yet the influence of the play is on them, you can lead your own people
back to the old quiet feelings."
"My dear Maurice--it is worthy of you! It is the way. We will announce
it to-day. And see now.... For those three days we will change the
principals; lest those who have taken the parts so long have lost the
pious awe which should be upon them. We will put new people in their
places. I will announce it at vespers presently. I have in my mind who
should play the Christ, and St. John, and St. Peter--the men are not
hard to find; but for Mary the Mother and Mary Magdalene--"
The eyes of the two men suddenly met, a look of understanding passed
between them.
"Will she do it?" said the Seigneur.
The Cure nodded. "Paulette Dubois has heard the word, 'Go and sin no
more'; she will obey."
Walking through the village as they talked, the Cure shrank back
painfully several times, for voices of strangers, singing festive songs,
rolled out upon the road. "Who can they be?" he said distressfully.
Without a word the Seigneur went to the door of the inn whence the
sounds proceeded, and, without knocking, entered. A moment afterwards
the voices stopped, but broke out again, quieted, then once more broke
out, and presently the Seigneur issued from the door, white with anger,
three strangers behind him. All were intoxicated.
One was violent. It was Billy Wantage, whom the years had not improved.
He had arrived that day with two companions--an excursion of curiosity
as an excuse for a "spree."
"What's the matter with you, old stick-in-the-mud?" he shouted. "Mass is
over, isn't it? Can't we have a little guzzle between prayers?"
By this time a crowd had gathered, among them Filion Lacasse. At a
motion from the Seigneur, and a whisper that went round quickly, a dozen
habitants swiftly sprang on the three men, pinioned their arms, and
carrying them bodily to the pump by the tavern, held them under it, one
by one, till each was soaked and sober. Then their horses and wagon were
brought, and they were given five minutes to leave the village.
With a devilish look in his eye, and drenched and furious, Billy
was disposed to resist the command, but the faces around him were
determined, and, muttering curses, the three drove away towards the next
parish.
CHAPTER LIII. THE SEIGNEUR AND THE CURE HAVE A SUSPICION
Presently the Seigneur and the Cure stood before the door of the
tailor-shop. The Cure was about to knock, when the Seigneur laid a hand
upon his arm.
"There is no use; he has been gone several days," he said.
"Gone--gone!" said the Cure.
"I came to see him yesterday, and not finding him, I asked at the
post-office." M. Rossignol's voice lowered. "He told Mrs. Flynn he was
going into the hills, so Rosalie says."
The Cure's face fell. "He went away also just before the play began. I
almost fear that--that we get no nearer. His mind prompts him to do good
and not evil, and yet--and yet.... I have dreamed a good dream, Maurice,
but I sometimes fear I have dreamed in vain."
"Wait-wait!"
M. Loisel looked towards the post-office musingly. "I have thought
sometimes that what man's prayers may not accomplish a woman's love
might do. If--but, alas, what do we know of his past! Nothing. What
do we know of his future? Nothing. What do we know of the human heart?
Nothing--nothing!"
The Seigneur was astounded. The Cure's meaning was plain. "What do you
mean?" he asked, almost gruffly.
"She--Rosalie--has changed--changed." In his heart he dwelt sorrowfully
upon the fact that she had not been to confession to him for many, many
months.
"Since her father's death--since her illness?"
"Since she went to Montreal seven months ago. Even while she was so ill
these past weeks, she never asked for me; and when I came... Ah, if it
is that her heart has gone out to the man, and his does not respond!"
"A good thing, too!" said the other gloomily. "We don't know where he
came from, and we do know that he is a pagan."
"Yet there she sits now, hour after hour, day after day--so changed."
"She has lost her father," urged M. Rossignol anxiously.
"I know the grief of children--this is not such a grief. There is
something more. But I cannot ask. If she were a sinner--but she is
without fault. Have we not watched her grow up here, mirthful, brave,
pure-souled--"
"Fitted for any station," interposed the Seigneur huskily. Presently
he laid a hand upon the Cure's arm. "Shall I ask her again?" he said,
breathing hard. "Do you think she has found out her mistake?"
The Cure was so taken aback that at first he could not speak. When
he realised, however, he could scarce suppress a smile at the other's
simple vanity. But he mastered himself, and said: "It is not that,
Maurice. It is not you."
"How did you know I had asked her?" asked his friend querulously.
"You have just told me."
M. Rossignol felt a kind of reproval in the Cure's tone. It made him
a little nervous. "I'm an old fool, but she needed some one," he
protested. "At least I am a gentleman, and she would not be thrown
away."
"Dear Maurice!" said the Cure, and linked his arm in the other's. "In
all respects save one, it would have been to her advantage. But youth is
the only comrade for youth. All else is evasion of life's laws."
The Seigneur pressed his arm. "I thought you less worldly-wise than
myself; I find you more," he said.
"Not worldly-wise. Life is deeper than the world or worldly wisdom.
Come, we will both go and see Rosalie."
M. Rossignol suddenly stopped at the post-office door, and half turned
towards the tailor-shop. "He is young. Suppose that he drew her love his
way, but gave her nothing in return, and--"
"If it were so"--the Cure paused, and his face darkened--"if it were so,
he should leave her forever; and so my dream would end."
"And Rosalie?"
"Rosalie would forget. To remember, youth must see and touch and be
near, else it wears itself out in excess of feeling. Youth feels more
deeply than age, but it must bear daily witness."
"Upon my honour, Cure, you shall write your little philosophies for the
world," said M. Rossignol, and then knocked at the door.
"I will go in alone, Maurice," the Cure urged. "Good-you are right,"
answered the other. "I will go write the proclamation denying strangers
the valley after Wednesday. I will enforce it, too," he added, with
vigour, and, turning, walked up the street, as Mrs. Flynn admitted the
Cure to the post-office.
A half-hour later M. Loisel again appeared at the post-office door, a
pale, beautiful face at his shoulder.
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[Illustration: Then Mimer saw the bear, (see page 4)]
TOLD TO THE CHILDREN SERIES
EDITED BY LOUEY CHISHOLM
STORIES OF
SIEGFRIED
TOLD TO THE CHILDREN BY
MARY MACGREGOR
WITH PICTURES BY
GRANVILLE FELL
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
* * * * *
TO
DENIS
* * * * *
Dear Denis,--Here is a story that I found in an old German poem called
the Nibelungenlied. The poem is full of strange adventure, adventure
of both tiny dwarf and stalwart mortal.
Some of these adventures will fill this little book, and already I can
see you sitting in the nursery as you read them.
The door is opened but you do not look up. 'Denis! Denis!' You are
called, but you do not hear, for you are not really in the nursery any
longer.
You have wandered away to Nibelheim, the home of the strange little
people of whom you are reading, and you have ears only for the harsh
voices of the tiny Nibelungs, eyes only for their odd, wrinkled faces.
Siegfried is the merry hero of the Nibelungenlied. I wonder will you
think him as brave as French Roland or as chivalrous as your English
favourite, Guy of Warwick? Yet even should you think the German hero
brave and chivalrous as these, I can hardly believe you will read and
re-read this little book as often as you read and re-read the volumes
which told you about your French and English heroes.--Yours
affectionately,
MARY MACGREGOR.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
I. Mimer the Blacksmith, 1
II. Siegfried wins the Treasure, 11
III. Siegfried comes home, 18
IV. Kriemhild's Dream, 23
V. Siegfried journeys to Worms, 27
VI. Siegfried's Welcome to Worms, 32
VII. Siegfried's Sojourn at Worms, 42
VIII. Siegfried sees Kriemhild, 59
IX. Siegfried goes to Isenland, 64
X. Siegfried subdues Brunhild, 71
XI. Siegfried goes to the Cave, 80
XII. The Wedding Feast, 87
XIII. Siegfried goes home with Kriemhild, 93
XIV. Siegfried and Kriemhild go to Worms, 99
XV. Siegfried is slain, 106
* * * * *
LIST OF PICTURES
Then Mimer saw the bear, _Frontispiece_
Facing page
'I will kill thee, for in truth thou art an ugly monster', 8
Seizing the magic sword, he cut off their heads, 16
Knighted by the royal hand of Siegmund the King, 20
The heroes entered the streets of Worms, 32
The maiden hurled her spear, 76
Siegfried bent low before the lady Kriemhild, 86
While Siegfried drank of the cool, clear water, Hagen
stabbed him, 114
* * * * *
CHAPTER I
MIMER THE BLACKSMITH
Siegfried was born a Prince and grew to be a hero, a hero with a heart
of gold. Though he could fight, and was as strong as any lion, yet he
could love too and be as gentle as a child.
The father and mother of the hero-boy lived in a strong castle near
the banks of the great Rhine river. Siegmund, his father, was a rich
king, Sieglinde, his mother, a beautiful queen, and dearly did they
love their little son Siegfried.
The courtiers and the high-born maidens who dwelt in the castle
honoured the little Prince, and thought him the fairest child in all
the land, as indeed he was.
Sieglinde, his queen-mother, would ofttimes dress her little son in
costly garments and lead him by the hand before the proud, strong
men-at-arms who stood before the castle walls. Nought had they but
smiles and gentle words for their little Prince.
When he grew older, Siegfried would ride into the country, yet always
would he be attended by King Siegmund's most trusted warriors.
Then one day armed men entered the Netherlands, the country over which
King Siegmund ruled, and the little Prince was sent away from the
castle, lest by any evil chance he should fall into the hands of the
foe.
Siegfried was hidden away safe in the thickets of a great forest, and
dwelt there under the care of a blacksmith, named Mimer.
Mimer was a dwarf, belonging to a strange race of little folk called
Nibelungs. The Nibelungs lived for the most part in a dark little town
beneath the ground. Nibelheim was the name of this little town and
many of the tiny men who dwelt there were smiths. All the livelong day
they would hammer on their little anvils, but all through the long
night they would dance and play with tiny little Nibelung women.
It was not in the little dark town of Nibelheim that Mimer had his
forge, but under the trees of the great forest to which Siegfried had
been sent.
As Mimer or his pupils wielded their tools the wild beasts would start
from their lair, and the swift birds would wing their flight through
the mazes of the wood, lest danger lay in those heavy, resounding
strokes.
But Siegfried, the hero-boy, would laugh for glee, and seizing the
heaviest hammer he could see he would swing it with such force upon
the anvil that it would be splintered into a thousand pieces.
Then Mimer the blacksmith would scold the lad, who was now the
strongest of all the lads under his care; but little heeding his
rebukes, Siegfried would fling himself merrily out of the smithy and
hasten with great strides into the gladsome wood. For now the Prince
was growing a big lad, and his strength was even as the strength of
ten.
To-day Siegfried was in a merry mood. He would repay Mimer's rebukes
in right good fashion. He would frighten the little blacksmith dwarf
until he was forced to cry for mercy.
Clad in his forest dress of deerskins, with his hair as burnished gold
blowing around his shoulders, Siegfried wandered away into the depths
of the woodland.
There he seized the silver horn which hung from his girdle and raised
it to his lips. A long, clear note he blew, and ere the sound had died
away the boy saw a sight which pleased him well. Here was good prey
indeed! A bear, a great big shaggy bear was peering at him out of a
bush, and as he gazed the beast opened its jaws and growled, a fierce
and angry growl.
Not a whit afraid was Siegfried. Quick as lightning he had caught the
great creature in his arms, and ere it could turn upon him, it was
muzzled, and was being led quietly along toward the smithy.
Mimer was busy at his forge sharpening a sword when Siegfried reached
the doorway.
At the sound of laughter the little dwarf raised his head. It was the
Prince who laughed. Then Mimer saw the bear,[1] and letting the sword
he held drop to the ground with a clang, he ran to hide himself in the
darkest corner of the smithy.
[Footnote 1: See frontispiece.]
Then Siegfried laughed again. He was no hero-boy to-day, for next he
made the big bear hunt the little Nibelung dwarf from corner to
corner, nor could the frightened little man escape or hide himself in
darkness. Again and again as he crouched in a shadowed corner,
Siegfried would stir up the embers of the forge until all the smithy
was lighted with a ruddy glow.
At length the Prince tired of his game, and unmuzzling the bear he
chased the bewildered beast back into the shelter of the woodlands.
Mimer, poor little dwarf, all a-tremble with his fear, cried angrily,
'Thou mayest go shoot if so it please thee, and bring home thy dead
prey. Dead bears thou mayest bring hither if thou wilt, but live bears
shalt thou leave to crouch in their lair or to roam through the
forest.' But Siegfried, the naughty Prince, only laughed at the little
Nibelung's frightened face and harsh, croaking voice.
Now as the days passed, Mimer the blacksmith began to wish that
Siegfried had never come to dwell with him in his smithy. The Prince
was growing too strong, too brave to please the little dwarf, moreover
many were the mischievous tricks his pupil played on him.
Prince though he was, Mimer would see if he could not get rid of his
tormentor. For indeed though, as I have told you, Siegfried had a
heart of gold, at this time the gold seemed to have grown dim and
tarnished. Perhaps that was because the Prince had learned to distrust
and to dislike, nay, more, to hate the little, cunning dwarf.
However that may be, it is certain that Siegfried played many pranks
upon the little Nibelung, and he, Mimer, determined to get rid of the
quick-tempered, strong-handed Prince.
One day, therefore, it happened that the little dwarf told Siegfried
to go deep into the forest to bring home charcoal for the forge. And
this Mimer did, though he knew that in the very part of the forest to
which he was sending the lad there dwelt a terrible dragon, named
Regin. Indeed Regin was a brother of the little blacksmith, and would
be lying in wait for the Prince. It would be but the work of a moment
for the monster to seize the lad and greedily to devour him.
To Siegfried it was always joy to wander afar through the woodland.
Ofttimes had he thrown himself down on the soft, moss-covered ground
and lain there hour after hour, listening to the wood-birds' song.
Sometimes he would even find a reed and try to pipe a tune as sweet as
did the birds, but that was all in vain, as the lad soon found. No
tiny songster would linger to hearken to the shrill piping of his
grassy reed, and the Prince himself was soon ready to fling it far
away.
It was no hardship then to Siegfried to leave the forge and the hated
little Nibelung, therefore it was that with right good-will he set out
in search of charcoal for Mimer the blacksmith.
As he loitered there where the trees grew thickest, Siegfried took his
horn and blew it lustily. If he could not pipe on a grassy reed, at
least he could blow a rousing note on his silver horn.
[Illustration: "I will kill thee, for in truth thou art an ugly
monster"]
Suddenly as Siegfried blew, the trees seemed to sway, the earth to
give out fire. Regin, the dragon, had roused himself at the blast, and
was even now drawing near to the Prince.
It was at the mighty strides of the monster that the trees had seemed
to tremble, it was as he opened his terrible jaws that the earth had
seemed to belch out fire.
For a little while Siegfried watched the dragon in silence. Then he
laughed aloud, and a brave, gay laugh it was. Alone in the forest,
with a sword buckled to his side, the hero was afraid of naught, not
even of Regin. The ugly monster was sitting now on a little hillock,
looking down upon the lad, his victim as he thought.
Then Siegfried called boldly to the dragon, 'I will kill thee, for in
truth thou art an ugly monster.'
At those words Regin opened his great jaws, and showed his terrible
fangs. Yet still the boy Prince mocked at the hideous dragon.
And now Regin in his fury crept closer and closer to the lad, swinging
his great tail, until he well-nigh swept Siegfried from his feet.
Swiftly then the Prince drew his sword, well tempered as he knew, for
had not he himself wrought it in the forge of Mimer the blacksmith?
Swiftly he drew his sword, and with one bound he sprang upon the
dragon's back, and as he reared himself, down came the hero's shining
sword and pierced into the very heart of the monster. Thus as
Siegfried leaped nimbly to the ground, the dragon fell back dead.
Regin was no longer to be feared.
Then Siegfried did a curious thing. He had heard the little Nibelung
men who came to the smithy to talk with Mimer, he had heard them say
that whoever should bathe in the blood of Regin the dragon would
henceforth be safe from every foe. For his skin would grow so tough
and horny that it would be to him as an armour through which no sword
or spear could ever pierce.
Thinking of the little Nibelungs' harsh voices and wrinkled little
faces, as they had sat talking thus around Mimer's glowing forge,
Siegfried now flung aside his deerskin dress and bathed himself from
top to toe in the dragon's blood.
But as he bathed, a leaf from off a linden tree was blown upon his
shoulders, and on the spot where it rested Siegfried's skin was still
soft and tender as when he was a little child. It was only a tiny spot
which was covered by the linden leaf, but should a spear thrust, or an
arrow pierce that tiny spot, Siegfried would be wounded as easily as
any other man.
The dragon was dead, the bath was over, and clad once more in his
deerskin, Siegfried set out for the smithy. He brought no charcoal for
the forge; all that he carried with him was a heart afire with anger,
a sword quivering to take the life of the Nibelung, Mimer.
For now Siegfried knew that the dwarf had wished to send him forth to
death, when he bade him go seek charcoal in the depths of the forest.
Into the dusky glow of the smithy plunged the hero, and swiftly he
slew the traitor Mimer. Then gaily, for he had but slain evil ones of
whom the world was well rid, then gaily Siegfried fared through the
forest in quest of adventure.
CHAPTER II
SIEGFRIED WINS THE TREASURE
Now this is what befell the Prince.
In his wanderings he reached the country called Isenland, where the
warlike but beautiful Queen Brunhild reigned. He gazed with wonder at
her castle, so strong it stood on the edge of the sea, guarded by
seven great gates. Her marble palaces also made him marvel, so white
they glittered in the sun.
But most of all he marvelled at this haughty queen, who refused to
marry any knight unless he could vanquish her in every contest to
which she summoned him.
Brunhild from the castle window saw the fair face and the strong limbs
of the hero, and demanded that he should be brought into her presence,
and as a sign of her favour she showed the young Prince her magic
horse Gana.
Yet Siegfried had no wish to conquer the warrior-queen and gain her
hand and her broad dominions for his own. Siegfried thought only of a
wonder-maiden, unknown, unseen as yet, though in his heart he hid an
image of her as he dreamed that she would be.
It is true that Siegfried had no love for the haughty Brunhild. It is
also true that he wished to prove to her that he alone was a match for
all her boldest warriors, and had even power to bewitch her magic
ste | 3,084.286594 |
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THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 38. SATURDAY, MARCH 20, 1841. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: HOLY-CROSS ABBEY, COUNTY OF TIPPERARY.]
In a recent number of our Journal we led our readers to the banks of that
beautiful river,
“The gentle Shire, that, making way
By sweet Clonmel, adorns rich Waterford;”
and we now return to it with pleasure to notice another of the beautiful
architectural remains of antiquity seated on its banks--the celebrated
Abbey of the Holy Cross. This noble monastic ruin is situated in the
barony of Eliogarty, county of Tipperary, three miles from Thurles, on
the road to Cashel, and seven miles north-east of the latter.
The origin as well as the name of this celebrated monastery is derived
from a piece of the holy cross for which it was erected as a fitting
depository. This relic, covered with gold and ornamented with precious
stones, was, as O’Halloran states, but without naming his authority,
a present from Pope Pascal II, in 1110, to Murtogh O’Brien, monarch
of Ireland, and grandson to Brian Boru, who determined to found a
monastery in its honour, but did not live to complete it. But, however
true this account may be as to the gift of the relic, there is every
reason to doubt it as far as the date of the foundation of the monastery
is concerned, which, as appears from the original charter still in
existence, was founded by Donald O’Brien, King of Limerick, the son of
the Murtogh above named, as late as the year 1182, at which time it was
richly endowed with lands for its support by its founder. These grants
were confirmed in 1186, by King John, then Lord of Ireland, who further
ordered that the monks of this abbey should enjoy all chartered liberties
and freedoms, as appears from the following record of the 20th Edward I.
A.D. 1320:--
“EDWARD, by the grace of God, King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke
of Aquitain, to all to whom these presents shall come, greeting. Know
ye that brother Thomas, Abbot of the Church of Mary of the Holy Cross,
near Cashel, came into our Chancery of Ireland the day after the feast
of Michael the Archangel, in the 13th year of our reign, at Cashel, and
exhibited in our said Chancery a certain charter, not cancelled, nor in
any respect vitiated, under the seal of John, formerly Lord of Ireland
and Earl of Morton, in these words:
‘JOHN, Lord of Ireland and Earl of Morton, to all justices, barons, &c.,
as well French as English, Welsh and Irish, and all other liege men
of Ireland, greeting. Know ye, that, for the love of God, and for the
salvation of my own and the souls of my predecessors and successors, I
have granted and given, and by these presents do grant and give, to God
and the blessed Mary of the Holy Cross, and to the Cistertian Monks
serving God there, in free, pure, and perpetual alms, the under-written
lands, as fully and freely as Domuald O’Brien, King of Lymberick, gave
and granted, and by this charter confirmed to the Cistertian Monks of the
Holy Cross; to wit: Kelkaterlamunu, Ballydubal, Ballyidugin, Ballygirryr,
Ballymyoletobin, and Ballytheloth, Gardath, Ballaschelagh, Balythougal
et Ithologin. These lands I have given for the salvation of my soul, and
those of my predecessors and successors, and for the souls of my soldiers
who lie there, to enjoy peaceably, with all liberties and free customs,
without any secular exactions in fields, ways, forests, fisheries, &c. I
have also granted that they shall be free from all mulcts in my courts,
for what cause soever they shall be amerced, and also free of all toll
whatever; they shall sell or buy, for their own use, throughout my land
of Normandy, England, Wales, and Ireland; and that their lands be not put
in plevine.--Witnesses, a Bishop of Ferns; John de Courcy, de Angulo,
Riddel, Chancellor, and David of Wales.’”
It appears also that in 1233 the above charter of King John was confirmed
by King Henry III, who took this monastery into his protection, which
protection he again renewed in 1234; and that it was again confirmed by
King Richard II. in 1395, and that in 1414, James Earl of Ormond, and the
Lord Deputy Thomas le Botiller or Butler, prior of St John of Jerusalem,
further granted the protection of the crown to this house.
Thus protected and fostered by royalty, the Abbey of the Holy Cross
became one of the most magnificent and wealthy in the kingdom, and its
mitred abbot was styled Earl of Holy Cross, the lands belonging to the
abbey constituting an earldom. He was also a baron of parliament, and
usually vicar-general of the Cistertian order in Ireland. The abbey was
originally a daughter of the Abbey of Maig, or Monaster-Nenagh, in the
county of Limerick, and was subjected to that of Furnes in Lancashire by
the Abbot of Clarevaux, in a general chapter of the order in 1249. After
the dissolution of the monasteries in Ireland, Holy Cross Abbey with its
appurtenances was granted by Queen Elizabeth in 1563 to Gerald Earl of
Ormond, _in capite_, at the annual rent of £15, 10s. 4d.; and we believe
this constitutes at present the estate, by purchase, of a worthy and
deeply learned fellow of Trinity College, namely, Dr Wall.
As a monastic ruin, the Abbey of Holy Cross ranks in popular esteem as
one of the first, if not the very first, in Ireland. But though many of
its architectural features are of remarkable beauty, it is perhaps as
a whole scarcely deserving of so high a character; and its effect upon
the mind is greatly diminished by the cabins and other objects of a mean
character by which it is nearly surrounded. Like most monastic structures
of considerable importance, its general form is that of a cross,
consisting of a nave, chancel, and transept, with a lofty square belfry
at the intersection of the cross; but it is distinguished from other
structures of the kind in having in both of its transepts two distinct
chapels beautifully groined--a feature which imparts much interest and
picturesqueness to the general effect. Between two of these chapels
and the south transept there is a double row of three pointed arches,
supported by twisted pillars, each distant about two feet four inches
from the other, and having a similar pointed arch in front. The object
of this singular feature has given rise to much conjecture, but the more
rational opinion seems to be, that it was designed as a resting place
for the dead bodies of the monks and other persons previous to interment
in the abbey, or its cemetery. In addition to this, the interior of the
church has another very unique and remarkable feature, namely, that the
choir arch is not placed as usual beneath the tower, but thirty feet
in advance of it, thus making the choir of greater length by fourteen
feet than the nave, which is but fifty-eight feet long, the entire
length of the church being one hundred and thirty feet. This peculiarity
appears, however, to be an after-thought, and not the design of the
original architect, which was evidently to limit, as usual, the length
of the choir to the arch in front of the tower, and the second arch is
unquestionably of more modern construction. The steeple rests on four
beautifully groined arches, the supporters of which are connected in the
centre by a great variety of ogives passing diagonally from their angles;
and the roof of the choir, as well as those of the side chapels, is
similarly enriched. The nave appears to have been of meaner architecture,
and has lost its roof; but it has aisles formed by four pointed arches
on each side, and which lead into the transepts. Of the windows in this
church we may observe generally, that they are of very elegant taste of
design.
Thus much of the abbey church itself; but of the ruins of the cloisters,
which are of meaner architecture, and of all the other edifices
appertaining to a monastic establishment of this grandeur, though in
a tolerable state of preservation, it would be tedious to the general
reader to give a detailed account, nor would our present space permit
it. Neither can we describe what is of higher interest, the magnificent
monumental remains for which this abbey is so eminently distinguished.
But we shall return to the subject in a future number, and in the mean
time we shall only add, that this abbey is well worthy the attention of
the antiquary and architectural student, and that to the pleasure tourist
of cultivated tastes it is of the most delightful interest.
P.
THE ITALIAN ORGAN BOY.
CONCLUSION.
Carlo having recovered himself, proceeded as follows:--
“In the thus light-hearted and unmurmuring though tedious and toilsome
accumulation of the fund that was to purchase station and happiness
for Bianca, the first of the three years sped prosperously past.
Francesco--for old Marcolini, confiding in the integrity and industry of
my father to fulfil the conditional arrangement, laid no restraint upon
him--was our almost daily visitor, and not rarely a cheerful assistant in
the lighter labours of our garden, in tending our rich parterres, our fig
trees, and our vines. One serious drawback on our happiness--the first
flush of devotion to Bianca over--we soon experienced. Ludovico, though
at times he worked harder and longer than the rest, and rejected the
occasional cheap indulgences my father permitted, had unfortunately been
so entangled with his lawless and loose-living companions, that after a
while he was again seduced by them into scenes of profligate amusement
and disgraceful licence. It mischanced that near the close of the year,
the very day before the great fair of Telese, to which we had long looked
forward as likely to swell our savings much, our father met with an
accident which disabled him from going to it. The cart, laden with our
richest and choicest garden produce, my mother’s eggs and poultry, and
Bianca’s contribution of nosegays, needlework, and straw plaits, was in
his unfitness necessarily entrusted to the charge of Ludovico. At the
fair he unfortunately fell in with some of his low-principled associates,
who seduced him into a gambling booth, where soon, infected with the
excitement of play, he hazarded a small sum, which by an evil chance
was returned to him threefold. Inflamed by the easy acquisition, he
thought with rapture how much readier a way this was for a lucky fellow,
as he appeared to be, to make his money, than by the slow and dull
and difficult returns of labour, and almost anticipated his returning
home that night with Bianca’s fortune in his pocket, and an immediate
abridgement, in consequence, of the weary postponement of her wedding. He
risked a higher sum with success, another with disappointment, and so on
with varying fortune, till a friendly neighbour, who had heard where he
was, came in and forced him with difficulty from the fatal fascination.
He had been at the table but a short time, and had lost but little,
which, to escape detection, he replaced by a loan; but he was inspired
with a passion for play, which, whenever an occasion was afforded, he
eagerly indulged. But notwithstanding this, and the occasional losses
and anxious evasions to which it exposed us, our efforts flourished,
and our reserved earnings increased apace. Never before had we gathered
such abundant returns from our garden and few fields, for never before
had we tended them with half the care. Our sales were quick as our
produce was luxuriant, and before half the allotted period had expired,
Bianca’s purse was by the half more valuable than we had ventured to
expect. At this time my father was induced by my mother’s influence and
representations to try and bring the suspense and postponement of the
nuptials to a close, by borrowing on security what would complete the
stipulated sum, and engage old Marcolini’s consent to an immediate union.
This was accordingly done, the necessary sum furnished by a money-lender,
Marcolini’s approval obtained, a day fixed, our festive arrangements
made, and all was light and merriment. But, alas and alas! a cruel blow
was in wait to dash to pieces our fond and joyous schemes, just as they
seemed to approach reality.
One morning, as by sunrise my father was going to the garden--it
was to decorate a bridal arbour which we had constructed for the
occasion--I heard from him, as he passed through the inner room, a cry
of astonishment and dismay, and hurrying in, found him gazing in horror
upon an open and, alas, empty box--it was the one in which Bianca’s long
hoarded dower had been kept! All was gone--the hardly gathered earnings,
the borrowed money, and with it all our mirthful plans and sparkling
expectations; and, though a grave, strong-minded man, he was for the time
quite crushed and broken by the shock. ‘Carlo,’ said he, ‘we are ruined,
utterly undone. Villains have plundered us: your sister’s heart will be
broken, and there is nothing left for us but despair. These weakened
limbs could not go through such another term of trial in the face of
such misfortune. It will be well if they last long enough to earn what
will meet the demands of Bartolo the broker. Your brother, to whom we
might else have looked for aid, is getting worse and worse in his evil
ways: he has turned--that ever I should have to speak such words of son
of mine!--yes, turned a worthless profligate and gamester. The God of
Heaven grant,’ continued he, turning ghastly pale, and staggering against
the wall as his eye fell upon a well-known knife, that, with its blade
broken, lay upon the floor, ‘that it be not even worse. Carlo, look
on that, and tell me, O tell me, that you know it not!’ With horror I
recognized my unhappy brother’s knife; and a fragment of the steel fixed
in the box showed too plainly in what base work it had been employed. I
was struck speechless at the sight; but in defiance of all evidence, when
I thought of my warm-hearted generous brother, I burned with anger at
myself for my momentary misgiving, and almost fiercely chid my father for
his dark suspicion. ‘Carlo,’ answered he gravely, ‘you are yet childish
and inexperienced, and know not the power of evil company, the blight
of that accursed vice upon every principle of truth and honesty. Your
brother, I have told you, is an abandoned gambler--consorts with all the
dregs and refuse of the country, mocks at the entreaties of a mother, the
warnings of a father, the honest, ay, till he bore it, the ever honest
name of his family; and he who does all this, will, time and temptation
pressing him, but feebly shrink from the basest act. But go,’ added he
with stern emphasis, ‘call him. Though guilty, I will see him face to
face before I lay my curse upon him.’ With fear and trembling, for I knew
how terrible my father’s temper was when roused, I was obliged to confess
that he had not spent the night at home; and his forehead grew still
gloomier and more wrinkled as he listened.
He said nothing, but fell upon a seat, folded his arms, and remained
looking fixedly upon the ground in great and fearful agony of thought.
About half an hour afterwards, my heart leaped within me as I caught the
sound of Ludovico’s cautiously approaching steps--for on such occasions
he strove to steal in unnoticed--and I rushed to the door. There indeed
he was coming up the walk in front. But what a figure!--his eyes were
bloodshot, his face haggard, his dress disordered, his gait uneven, and
altogether he appeared still under the power of a deep overnight debauch.
My father upon hearing rose to meet him, and at the sight of his agitated
and afflicted features, Ludovico, overcome with dismay and confusion,
only afforded confirmatory evidence of guilt. Without a word, my father
beckoned with his hand to him, and walking into the room, pointed to the
forced and vacant box, fixing his eyes sternly and accusingly upon my
poor brother, who with fainting knees accompanied him. With constrained
silence he then lifted up the broken knife from the floor, fitted it
before Ludovico’s eyes to the fragment remaining in the lid, and then
turning up the haft, presented it to him. A cry of dismay and horror
broke from his lips as he recognized his knife, and the terrible truth
burst upon him.
‘I am innocent, oh, my father, I am innocent,’ he cried as he fell on his
knees before him. But, alas, the action, in place of removing, was about
to rivet the evidence of his guilt, for as he stooped, a key fell from
his pocket--a false one for the door which led from the very room into
the garden, which he had privately procured for the purpose of secret
admission when belated in his revels. My father, without other reply,
seized it, applied it to the door, and opened the lock. He then turned to
him, as if every stay and doubt were banished, and with a voice in which
pain and sorrow only aggravated passion, exclaimed, ‘Wretched boy, I
disown thee! Never shall villain, gambler, robber, liar, be called son of
mine. Away, then, from my presence and my roof for ever! He who could so
basely forget every lesson of honesty he was taught from his childhood,
who could plunder his poor sister of what we have painfully earned for
her by the sweat of our brows, and doom her to hopelessness and life-long
loneliness, to feed his own vile profligacy, would not scruple to dip his
hand in blood, ay, in the blood of his household, for their inheritance.
We are not safe with such a one. Away to your brigand comrades of the
hills--lead the villain life you incline to--do what you will--but
never cross this threshold again!’ My mother and Bianca, roused by the
noise, now hurried fearfully into the room, and a glance at Ludovico’s
horror-struck and supplicating posture, at the shattered box, and my
father’s inflamed and convulsed countenance, was enough without words to
inform them of the revolting truth.
‘My father’s heart is hardened against me,’ exclaimed Ludovico, ‘and I
wonder not. I have indeed been loose-lived and disobedient, but never
base nor dishonest, and let me not be now condemned because these
appearances are against me. I solemnly swear by----’ My father fiercely
checked him. ‘Add not perjury to infamy--it needs not swearing--the
matter can be put beyond a doubt, ay, even beyond your own audacious
denial. Mark those footsteps in the soft soil before the door: that bed
was left by me smooth and unruffled yesternight--they are those of the
villain thief; and, Ludovico, I cannot mistake the footprints of him
who has wrought by my side since boyhood--wretched father that I am!
they are _yours_. Deny it if you can.’ Convinced in my own heart of
his innocence, I sprang forward to apply the test, but soon recoiled
in horror, as before the anxious eyes of all I proved the accurate
correspondence of the marks--a shock which for a moment crushed my own
faith in my brother’s truth. What now availed my mother’s entreaties,
my sister’s tears, Ludovico’s continued passionate assertion of his
innocence, to change the stern conviction of my father? He vehemently
reiterated his sentence of banishment, and counselled him, if he would
mitigate the keenness of remorse, to confess his crime and return its
ill-gotten fruits. Ludovico, stung to the quick by his reproaches, and by
the agonies of my mother and Bianca, felt resentment rise in his heart
to strengthen him to support his fate, and indignantly rose to depart.
‘Cease your prayers, my mother and my Bianca. Carlo, you will live, I
feel, to see me righted, and my father, too, to repent his harshness to
his son, and his distrust in one whom he has often detected in error,
but never yet in ignominy. My sister, if my heart’s blood could at this
moment be coined into treasure to replace that which you have lost, and
build again your shattered hopes, freely would I pour it out. But words
are idle to make your heart what it was but an hour ago. I go--better
any where than here--and if you hear of me again, it will be of one who
has learned seriousness from suffering, and proved by acts his love and
interest for you all.’ As he finished speaking, he hurried from the door
without further farewell, and, plunging among the thickly wooded <DW72>s,
was speedily lost to my passionate pursuit.
That evening, however, a boy left a billet from him to Bianca, in which
he mentioned his intention of trying to turn his musical talent to
account, by proceeding to England, where he was told that money was but
lightly thought of, and purses were ever open, and where he might readily
glean both what would support himself, and supply something towards
enabling my father to meet Bartolo the usurer, and perhaps, too, old
Marcolini, upon the day first fixed for her union with Francesco. He
concluded by asking pardon from our offended confidence and affection for
once more scornfully denying the odious charge--a denial which, amid our
joint tears over the letter, we believed as firmly as the words of holy
writ.
Why need I stay to mention all the gloom and grief which was now spread
over our but lately so bright and hopeful household, for Ludovico,
despite his thoughtless forwardness, had been the life and spring of all
our movements.
My father’s dark locks soon became streaked with grey, for his pride
of honesty in an unblemished name was sorely abased: his heart was
wounded and enfeebled; and when the fever of his first anger was past,
he began to think at times that perhaps he had dealt too hardly and
hastily with Ludovico. My mother often wept: my sister’s cheek became
wan and pale even with Francesco by her side: my own heart was faint and
joyless: a cloud of spiritless sadness and depression settled over all,
and every thing seemed to lament him who was far away among strangers,
in loneliness and disgrace--him whose bold spirit, athletic form, and
buoyant beauty, had, notwithstanding his frailties, been the pride and
glory, secret or avowed, of all.
But Providence is able and merciful to cleanse the character of the
innocent and calumniated in the end, and after many weary months
Ludovico’s was cleared before all the village by the death-bed confession
of one of his former associates, who, under the impulse of a late
remorse, stated that the robbery had been committed by himself--that
Ludovico had on the night in question been designedly drugged by some
of his accomplices--his knife taken and purposely left in the room, and
his shoes borrowed for the same end, of warding search or suspicion from
themselves by his condemnation. By way of expiation for the diabolical
villany, he secretly menaced his partners in the plot that he would
reveal their names and give them up to justice, unless the money with
the interest in full was forthwith restored, which in consequence was
quickly done. And now that his son’s good fame was established in
the light of day, my father’s breast was lightened of the burthen of
conscious disgrace, but only to suffer the more keenly the poignancy of
self-reproach for the extreme and unjust severity of his treatment; and
often would he bitterly accuse himself of savage inhumanity, and madly
wish that by the sacrifice of his own life he could restore his exiled
son to his embrace once more. As I listened to his painful lamentations
and upbraiding, I formed a scheme, which was no sooner devised than I
hurried to execute, of following Ludovico to England, of finding him,
as in the credulity of inexperience I doubted not readily to do, and
bringing him back with me to home, to reputation, and to happiness.
Knowing the opposition I would meet if I mentioned my secret, I collected
as speedily as I could what money I supposed would defray my first
expenses, procured this organ, and my poor little marmoset, as I knew
my wandering countrymen were wont to furnish themselves; and leaving a
letter with a young neighbour to give when I was gone, took my way to
Naples, whence I got a passage to London. My heart often died within me
as I wandered through its great and busy streets, and many is the hour
of sorrow and hardship I endured; but desire for Ludovico, and the hope
of finding him which never failed me, carried me through all. For nearly
a year I traversed England, much of Scotland and Ireland, supporting
myself by grinding this poor music. I have not my brother’s fine voice
and skill, but the people here are for the most part indulgent, and
not so delicate to please as those of Italy. But the good God guided
me at last to a happy meeting with an old Neapolitan, who alone, of
the hundreds whom I questioned, was able to give me any information of
Ludovico, with whom he had fortunately fallen in a few months before in
this very city. With that cordial confidence which one is apt to flare in
a fellow countryman when cast among strangers, Ludovico had made known
to him all his story, adding that, having now by prudence and exertion
of his talent for music--and few could touch a guitar or raise a voice
like him--gathered a sufficient sum of money, he was about to return
to Italy and to the neighbourhood of his native village, to apportion
Bianca once more, and set on foot some inquiry to redeem, if possible,
his forfeited character, and fix the guilt of the robbery upon the real
offenders, whom long reflection on the circumstances had erewhile led
him to suspect. Oh! how my heart thrilled and burned within me as I
listened to the long-sought blissful words, and knew that in very deed I
was at last upon the track of him--though the rapture of an unexpected
meeting in this foreign land I was not to have--after whom I had made
such a weary pilgrimage in vain. Not in vain neither. I have done what
I could, and when I stand proudly amid my family once more, and receive
their embraces and congratulations, say, shall I be without my reward? My
daily gleanings I hoard with the eagerness of a miser: little do I spend
on food or lodging: for when I think of my own dear Montanio, of those
to complete whose happiness I alone am wanting, I have but one wish, one
prayer--to have wherewithal to carry me to my own beautiful land again,
to my father’s blessing, my brother’s love, my mother’s and my sister’s
arms.”
Tears of tenderness and rapture started to the eyes of the ardent and
devoted youth as he thus concluded his narrative, in which the fervour
and interest of truth were, as he told it, beautifully blended with much
of the elevation and singularity of romance.
Further particulars respecting this generous witness to the
disinterestedness and fortitude with which family and fraternal love can
inspire the young, the delicate, and the undisciplined, my necessary
limitation of space compels me to forego. I need scarcely add that I
was instrumental in furnishing a supplement for his insufficient means,
and I did not lose sight of the noble lad, till, with mixed emotions of
buoyant anticipation, and perhaps momentarily regretful gratitude, he
parted from me on his return to Italy. In imagination I often make one of
the reunited family, and at times, too, indulge the hope that the chances
and changes of a shifting lot may some time enable me in very deed to
look on old Girardi and his spouse, Carlo and the reformed Ludovico, the
fair Bianca and the faithful Francesco, and claim a return in kind--an
evening spent among their gleeful rural party--for the fellow-feeling I
had the good fortune to conceive for the desolation, and the part I was
privileged to take in abridging the banishment, of the Italian Organ Boy.
J. J. M.
KNOWLEDGE AND IGNORANCE.
Second Article.
BOULDERS--CONTINUED.
If the dreary waste of the sandy desert, when the hot and suffocating
blast sweeps over its parched surface, appears to the affrighted
traveller invested with all the characters of sublimity, not less
impressed with awe is the wanderer of polar regions, when, gazing on the
heart-chilling magnificence of the interminable ice which surrounds him,
he hears the sigh of the coming snow-storm, fraught with danger or with
death. But at a time when repeated voyages and spirit-stirring narratives
have rendered familiar to every one the beauties and the dangers of ice
in every conceivable form of floe, of field, or of berg, and have excited
sympathy for the sufferings or admiration of the daring of those who, to
advance the cause of science, or to pursue for commercial purposes the
mighty whale, have ventured within the precincts of that icy kingdom, it
is not necessary to describe the solitary grandeur of a scene in which
ice spreads like a sea beneath the feet, and rises as a mountain above
the head. Not even, then, by the side of a cheerful fire, in these more
temperate regions, shall we unnecessarily indulge in shudderings at the
thought of distant powers of congelation, or enter further into the
subject of polar picturesqueness. It is as a geological agent that we
have now to contemplate ice in the various forms of fields and bergs, or
of glaciers; its efficiency as a moving power being first considered.
Scoresby justly denominates ice-fields “one of the wonders of the deep.
They are often,” he says, “met with of the diameter of twenty or thirty
miles; and when in a state of such close combination that no interstice
can be seen, they sometimes extend to a length of fifty, or nearly a
hundred miles.” The average thickness of these fields is from ten to
fifteen feet, and their surface is varied by hummocks, which rise to a
height of from forty to fifty feet. The weight of a piece of field ice,
one mile square and thirteen feet thick, is, according to Scoresby’s
estimate, 11,314,284 tons; and from the difference of specific gravity
between ice and sea-water, this floating mass is sufficiently buoyant to
support a weight of stones or other heavy bodies equal to 1,257,142, or
in round numbers one million tons.
Grand, however, as such floating fields of ice are, they are exceeded in
magnificence by bergs. One of these, Scoresby relates, was one mile in
circumference, fifteen hundred feet square, and a hundred feet above the
level of the sea; so that, allowing for the inequalities of its surface,
he considered its depth in the water seven hundred feet, its total
thickness eight hundred feet, and its weight about forty-five millions of
tons--an enormous mass, capable of transporting at least five millions
of tons of extraneous weight. In number, too, they are as remarkable
as in magnitude: above five hundred were counted by Scoresby from the
mast-head at one time, of which scarcely one was less than the hull of
a ship, about a hundred as high as the ship’s mast, and some twice that
height, or two hundred feet above the surface of the sea; hence in total
thickness about sixteen hundred feet. These, then, it must be admitted,
are mighty engines fitted for the transport of rocks of colossal
magnitude. But | 3,084.287612 |
2023-11-16 19:08:28.4682610 | 1,475 | 11 | FROM CELT TO TUDOR***
E-text prepared by MWS 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/englishlandslett01mitc
Project Gutenberg has the other three volumes of this work.
II: From Elizabeth to Anne
see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54142
III: Queen Anne and the Georges
see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37226
IV: The Later Georges to Victoria
see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54143
ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS
From Celt to Tudor
* * * * * *
ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS
_By Donald G. Mitchell_
I. From Celt to Tudor
II. From Elizabeth to Anne
III. Queen Anne and the Georges
IV. The Later Georges to Victoria
_Each 1 vol., 12mo, cloth, gilt top, $1.50_
AMERICAN LANDS AND LETTERS
From the Mayflower to Rip Van Winkle
_1 vol., square 12mo, Illustrated, $2.50_
* * * * * *
ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS
From Celt to Tudor
by
DONALD G. MITCHELL
[Illustration]
New York
Charles Scribner’s Sons
MDCCCXCVII
Copyright, 1889, by
Charles Scribner’S Sons
Trow’S
Printing and Bookbinding Company,
New York.
_PREFACE._
This little book is made up from the opening series of a considerable
range of “talks,” with which--during the past few years--I have
undertaken to entertain, and (if it might be) instruct a bevy of friends;
and the interest of a few outsiders who have come to the hearings has
induced me to put the matter in type. I feel somewhat awkwardly in
obtruding upon the public any such panoramic view of British writers, in
these days of specialists--when students devote half a lifetime to the
analysis of the works of a single author, and to the proper study of a
single period.
I have tried, however, to avoid bad mistakes and misleading ones, and
shall reckon my commentary only so far forth good--as it may familiarize
the average reader with the salient characteristics of the writers
brought under notice, and shall put these writers into such a swathing of
historic and geographic enwrapments as shall keep them better in mind.
When I consider the large number of books recently issued on similar
topics, and the scholarly acuteness, and the great range belonging to
so many of them, I am not a little discomforted at thought of my bold
scurry over so wide reach of ground. Indeed, I have the figure before me
now--as I hint an apology--of an old-time country doctor who has ventured
with his saddle-bags and spicy nostrums into competition with a half
score of special practitioners--with their microscopy and their _granules
dosimetriques_; but I think, consolingly, that possibly the old-time
mediciner--if not able to cure, can at the least induce a pleasurable
slumber.
EDGEWOOD, 1889.
_CONTENTS._
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
PRELIMINARY, 1
EARLY CENTURIES, 5
CELTIC LITERATURE, 7
BEGINNING OF ENGLISH LEARNING, 9
CÆDMON, 13
BEDA, 15
KING ALFRED, 17
CANUTE AND GODIVA, 22
WILLIAM THE NORMAN, 25
HAROLD THE SAXON, 29
CHAPTER II.
GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH, 37
KING ARTHUR LEGENDS, 39
EARLY NORMAN KINGS, 46
RICHARD CŒUR DE LION, 50
TIMES OF KING JOHN, 53
MIXED LANGUAGE, 56
SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE, 59
EARLY BOOK-MAKING, 62
RELIGIOUS HOUSES, 66
LIFE OF A DAMOISELLE, 72
CHAPTER III.
ROGER BACON, 77
WILLIAM LANGLANDE, 84
JOHN WYCLIF, 90
CHAUCER, 97
CHAPTER IV.
OF GOWER AND FROISSART, 127
TWO HENRYS AND TWO POETS, 132
HENRY V. AND WAR TIMES, 141
JOAN OF ARC AND RICHARD III., 146
CAXTON AND FIRST ENGLISH PRINTING, 149
OLD PRIVATE LETTERS, 154
A BURST OF BALLADRY, 158
CHAPTER V.
EARLY DAYS OF HENRY VIII., 167
CARDINAL WOLSEY, AND SIR THOMAS MORE, 173
CRANMER, LATIMER, KNOX, AND OTHERS, 182
VERSE-WRITING AND PSALMODIES, 189
WYATT AND SURREY, 193
A BOY-KING, A QUEEN, AND SCHOOLMASTER, 197
CHAPTER VI.
ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND, 204
PERSONALITY OF THE QUEEN, 207
BURLEIGH AND OTHERS, 210
A GROUP OF GREAT NAMES, 214
EDMUND SPENSER, 217
THE FAERY QUEEN, 221
PHILIP SIDNEY, 230
CHAPTER VII.
JOHN LYLY, 245
FRANCIS BACON, 250
THOMAS HOBBES, 261
GEORGE CHAPMAN, 266
MARLOWE, 269
A TAVERN COTERIE, 274
CHAPTER VIII.
GEORGE PEELE, 284
THOMAS DEKKER, 287
MICHAEL DRAYTON, 291
BEN JONSON, 295
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[Illustration: UNDER BLUE SKIES]
JULIUS BIEN & CO. LITH.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Under
Blue
Skies.
Verses &
Pictures
By
S. J. Brigham
Worthington Co.
747 BWAY. N. Y.
[Illustration]
UNDER BLUE SKIES.
_(Frontispiece)_
Under blue skies
Daffodils dance, and the Oriole flies,
Bright, golden butterflies float on the breeze
Over the clover with brown honey-bees;
Daisies and buttercups, slender and tall,
Nod to the roses that cover the wall,
Under blue skies.
Under blue skies,
Every day brings us a sweeter surprise,
Blooming of flowers and singing of birds,
Words without song, and song without words;
A world of bright children, all happy and gay,
In sunshine and shadow, at work and at play.
Copyright, 1886, by S. J. Brigham, N. Y.
Contents.
_UNDER BLUE SKIES._
_LITTLE NEIGHBORS._
_STUDY-HOUR._
_THE LETTER._
_DAFFY DIL AND JONNY QUIL._
_CAMPING SONG._
_THE FAMILY DRIVE._
_SILENT VOICES. I. DAISIES._
_SILENT VOICES. II. BLUE-EYED GRASS._
_SILENT VOICES. III. CLOSING FLOWERS._
_DANDELION._
_SWEET GRASS._
_THE MULLEIN PATCH._
"_TOSSED UP IN A BLANKET._"
_THE SAND-MAN._
_THE LILY POND._
_LUNCH TIME._
"_WHIRL THE BOAT._"
_KINDERGARTEN._
_THE ORIOLE'S NEST._
_THE JUNE-BUG._
_CHOCOLATE DROP._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LITTLE NEIGHBORS.
Birds a-singing in the trees,
Marigolds a-blowing;
Bees a-humming what they please,
Coming and a-going;
Hiding in the hollyhocks,
Swinging on the clover,
Climbing up the Lily-stalks,
Honey running over.
Breath of roses in the air,
Roses are in hiding;
Breezes will not tell us where,—
Winds are not confiding;
Down the walks the children wind,
Through the fence a-peeping;
Like the bees and birds they find
Treasures for the seeking.
Little neighbors, like the birds,
Sing and talk at pleasure;
Like the bees, with honeyed words,
Choose their time and measure;
Like sweet peas they cling and climb,
Here and there and yonder;
All the pleasant summer-time
They visit and they wander.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
STUDY-HOUR.
O hush! you Robin, you sing and swing
In the lilac tree,
And my lessons seem long when I hear your song
So happy and free.
If only the hours had wings, I know
They would flutter away,
Like the bird on the tree, or the velvet bee,
Or the butterfly gay.
But then I know that a maid like me
Has a life to live,
And my heart and my mind has something to find
Before it can give.
O rest you, Robin, a little while
Your voice and your wing!
And then by-and-by dear Robin and I
Will both sing and swing.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE LETTER.
"O, wait, little maiden,
With hand letter-laden!
I'll take it one minute,
And please tell me who
You have written it to,
And all that is in it."
"Ah, no!" said the maiden,
"With love it is laden,
No stranger can take it:
I will just tell you this,
It is sealed with a kiss,
And _Mamma_ will break it."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
DAFFY DIL
AND
JONNY QUIL.
Said Jonny Quil
to Daffy Dil,
His pretty country cousin:
"Now is our chance
to have a dance,
Your sisters, full a dozen,
Are here in golden
cap and frill;
What say you,
Cousin Daffy Dil?"
Said Daffy Dil
to Jonny Quil,
"To dance would give
us pleasure;
But, then, you know,
the wind must blow,
To beat our time
and measure.
Young April Wind
will be here soon,
And he will whistle
us a tune."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CAMPING SONG.
O who would live in a cottage close,
Shut in like a captive bird?
I would sooner have a tent like mine,
Within the shade of a fragrant pine,
Where the breaking waves are heard,—
Are heard,
The breaking waves are heard.
The song of winds in the sweet pine tree,
The waters that kiss the shore,
The white-winged sea-bird's mellow cry,
Mingled in one sweet melody,
Steals softly in at my door,—
My door,
Steals in at my open door.
All day I sing and read and sew,
Beneath this sheltering pine,
Kissed by cool breezes from the sea,
And people passing envy me,
And wish for a tent like mine,—
Like mine,
For a cosy tent like mine.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE FAMILY DRIVE.
"Heigh, ho!"
Like the wind we go,
For a family drive to Jericho;
The horses dance
And prink and prance,
But who is afraid of the horses, O?
"Heigh, ho!"
O, the daisies grow
Along the wayside to Jericho;
But the horses run
And spoil our fun,
And we cannot pick us a daisy, O.
"Whoa! whoa!!"
Won't you please go slow?
We are going home from Jericho;
All danger past,
We are home at last,
Without a tip or a tumble, O.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SILENT VOICES.
I.
DAISIES.
Hosts of little daisies white
Stand among the grasses,
Greeting with a girlish grace
Every breeze that passes.
Quaint white caps and golden hair,
Tresses green and slender;
With my heart I heard them say
Something very tender—
Saying something to the grass,
Very sweet and tender.
[Illustration]
SILENT VOICES.
II.
BLUE-EYED GRASS.
Hush—O hush! you wanton winds,
Hush you, while I listen!
In the blue eyes of the grass
Tear-drops seem to glisten.
A shy Daisy leaned that way,
When the winds were blowing;
With my heart I heard him say
Something worth the knowing—
Fondly, to the Daisy say,
Something worth the knowing.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SILENT VOICES.
III.
CLOSING FLOWERS.
When the sun, in red and gold,
Down the West was creeping;
When the bird beneath its wing
Tucked its head for sleeping,
Silently the silken doors
Of the flowers were closing;
Poppies each, with drooping head,
Slowly fell a-dozing.
With my heart, I heard them say,
"Good-night till the morrow:
Here's good-night to all the world
Till the happy morrow."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
DANDELION.
Modest little Dandelion,
Standing in the grass,
Offering her plate of gold
To people as they pass.
If you slight her, soon her tresses
Will be growing gray,
And some antic, frantic wind
Will blow them all away!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SWEET GRASS.
The sweet grass grows
Where the Daisy blows,
But how sweet grass with its tender grace..
And the Daisy with its winsome face,
Came to live in the same sweet place,
Nobody knows.
The sweet grass grows
Where the Daisy blows,
And under the shade of the tender grass
The children saw some crickets pass;
But why they were all in black, alas!
Nobody knows.
The sweet grass grows
Where the Daisy blows;
The children pulled till their hands were red;
The grasshoppers shook with fear and fled;
But what Sweet Grass to the Daisy said,
Nobody knows.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE MULLEIN PATCH.
O Mullein, whisper in my ear
And tell me how you grow,
I was the taller of the two
But one short week ago,
And now, as I on tiptoe stand,
Can scarcely reach you with my hand.
You're growing very lovely, too,
In your pale-green velvet gown;
And golden as a daffodil
Are the flowers in your crown.
So tall and stately! Is it true
That all your neighbors envy you?
The Thistle flushed as the maiden spoke,
And thrust out every thorn;
The Wormwood very bitter grew;
And tossed her head in scorn;
The Teazle and the Burdock tried
To pull the maiden's dress aside.
The Mullein kept the secret well,
And the maiden never knew
That she the only object was
Of envy. And 'tis true
That when she left and said Good-bye!
For sadness they made no reply.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
"TOSSED UP IN A BLANKET."
Toss away, toss away,
Low away, high,
Up in a blanket
To visit the sky;
Lightly she'll swing
In the silver moon,
And bring to her sisters
A star pretty soon.
Toss away, toss away,
High away, low,
Rock her to sleep
In the silver bow;
Toss up a kiss to
The man in the moon,
And bring back another
To us very soon.
[Illustration]
THE SAND-MAN.
Have you ever seen the sand-man, old,
Who comes to us every one, I'm told,
With his countless bags of silver sand,
And drops it down with an unseen hand;
And our eyelids very heavy grow,
As off to the land of dreams we go?
He is very shy. I have often tried
To keep my eyelids open wide
And watch for him. But he cheats me so,
And puts me to sleep before I know.
Is he like the wind, do you suppose,
Which is never seen when it comes and goes?
Oh, ho! The sand-man's fun is past,
He has gone to sleep himself at last;
We'll build a fort beside the sea,
And he our prisoner shall be.
He is not the wind with an unseen hand,
But a giant made of silver sand.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE
LILY
POND.
The wind is fair,
Shall we take a row,
Down to the cove
Where the lilies grow?
Their petals white
To the sun unfold,
Their trembling hearts
Are yellow as gold.
My boat is as safe
As a boat can be;
You need not fear
To go with me.
A fleet of lilies,
So fresh and fair,
Like fairy ships,
Are anchored there.
They rock and dip
With every breeze,
Like real ships
On real seas.
My boat is as safe
As a boat can be;
You need not fear
To go with me.
[Illustration]
LUNCH TIME.
The Bees are coming,
I hear them humming
Their pleasant Summer song.
You are late to-day;
Did you lose your way?
We have been waiting long.
My cream-white Clover
Is running over
With honey clear and sweet;
And my Brier-Rose,
As a bee well knows,
Holds something nice to eat.
Come, take your honey,
It costs no money,
The little gift is free;
Come every noon
Through merry June,
And take your lunch with me.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
"WHIRL THE BOAT."
Whirl, whirl,
Each little girl,
Like a gay butterfly over the grass;
Light as a feather,
Whirl they together,
Scaring the little brown birds as they pass.
Spin, spin,
See them begin,
Like two tops gliding over the ground;
Light as a feather,
Spin they together,
Whirling the boat around and | 3,084.488454 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
WORKS OF
ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
I——THE LEAVENWORTH CASE. A Lawyer’s Story.
4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth, $1 00
II——A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.
4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth, $1 00
III——HAND AND RING.
4to, paper, 20 cents; 16mo, paper, 50 cents; 16mo, cloth, $1 00
IV——THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. A Story of New York Life.
16mo, paper, 50 cents; cloth $1 00
V——X. Y. Z. A Detective Story.
16mo, paper 25
VI——THE DEFENCE OF THE BRIDE, and other Poems.
16mo, cloth $1 00
VII——THE MILL MYSTERY.
16mo, paper, 50 cents; cloth $1 00
VIII——RISIFI’S DAUGHTER. A Drama.
16mo, cloth $1 00
IX——7 to 12. A Story.
16mo, paper 25
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, PUBLISHERS,
NEW YORK AND LONDON.
7 to 12
A DETECTIVE STORY
BY
ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
AUTHOR OF “THE LEAVENWORTH CASE,” “THE MILL MYSTERY,” ETC.
NEW YORK AND LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1887
COPYRIGHT BY
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
1887
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
New York
CONTENTS
7 TO 12, A DETECTIVE STORY 1
ONE HOUR MORE 79
7 TO 12.
A DETECTIVE STORY.
“Clarke?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Another entrance through a second-story window. A detective wanted
right off. Better hurry up there, —— East Seventy-third Street.”
“All right, sir.”
Clarke turned to go; but the next moment I heard the Superintendent
call him back.
“It is Mr. Winchester’s, you know; the banker.”
Clarke nodded and started again; but a suppressed exclamation from the
Superintendent made him stop for the second time.
“I’ve changed my mind,” said the latter, folding up the slip of paper
he held in his hand. “You can see what Halley has for you to do; I’ll
attend to this.” And giving me a look that was a summons, he whispered
in my ear: “This notification was written by Mr. Winchester himself,
and at the bottom I see hurriedly added, ‘Keep it quiet; send your
discreetest man.’ That means something more than a common burglary.”
I nodded, and the affair was put in my hands. As I was going out of the
door, a fellow detective came hurriedly in.
“Nabbed them,” cried he.
“Who?” asked more than one voice.
“The fellows who have been climbing into second-story windows, and
helping themselves while the family is at dinner.”
I stopped.
“Where did you catch them?” I asked.
“In Twenty-second Street.”
“To-night?”
“Not two hours ago.”
I looked at the Superintendent. He gave a curious lift of his brows,
which I answered with a short smile. In another moment I was in the
street.
My first ring at the bell of No. —— East Seventy-third Street brought
response in the shape of Mr. Winchester himself. Seeing me, his
countenance fell, but in another instant brightened as I observed:
“You sent for a detective, sir;” and quietly showed him my badge.
“Yes,” he murmured; “but I did not expect”——he paused. I was
used to these pauses; I do not suppose I look exactly like the
ordinary detective. “Your name?” he asked, ushering me into a small
reception-room.
“Byrd,” I replied. And taking as a compliment the look of satisfaction
which crossed his face as he finished a hasty but keen scrutiny of my
countenance and figure, I in turn subjected him to a respectful but
earnest glance of interrogation.
“There has been a robbery here,” I ventured.
He nodded, and a look of care replaced the affable expression which a
moment before had so agreeably illumined his somewhat stern features.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth,” he whispered, shortly. “Mrs.
Winchester’s diamonds.”
I started; not so much at the nature and value of the articles stolen,
as at the indefinable air with which this announcement was made by the
wealthy and potential broker and banker. If his all had been taken his
eye could not have darkened with a deeper shadow; if that all had been
lost through means which touched his personal pride and feelings, he
could not have given a sharper edge to his tones, business-like as he
endeavored to make them.
“A heavy loss,” I remarked. “Will you give me the details of the affair
as far as you know them?”
He shook his head and waved his hand with a slight gesture towards the
stairs.
“I prefer that you learn them from such inquiries as you will make
above,” said he. “My wife will tell you what she knows about it, and
there is a servant or two who may have something to say. I would speak
to no one else,” he added, with a deepening of the furrow in his brow;
“at least not at present. Only,”——and here his manner became markedly
impressive,——“understand this. Those diamonds _must_ be found in
forty-eight hours, no matter who suffers, or what consequences follow
a firm and determined pursuit of them. I will stop at nothing to
have them back in the time mentioned, and I do not expect you to. If
they are here by Thursday night——” and the hand he held out with its
fingers curved and grasping actually trembled with his vehemence——“I
will give you five hundred dollars Friday afternoon. If they are here
without noise, scandal, or——” his voice sank further——“disquietude to
my wife, I will increase the sum to a thousand. Isn’t that handsome?”
he queried, with an attempt at a lighter tone, which was not altogether
successful.
“Very,” was my short but deferential reply. And, interested enough by
this time, I turned towards the door, when he stopped me.
“One moment,” said he. “I have endeavored not to forestall your
judgment by any surmises or conclusions of my own. But, after you have
investigated the matter and come to some sort of theory in regard to
it, I should like to hear what you have to say.”
“I will be happy to consult with you,” was my reply; and, seeing
that he had no further remarks to offer, I prepared to accompany him
up-stairs.
The house was a superb one, and not the least handsome portion of it
was the staircase. As we went up, the eye rested everywhere on the
richest artistic effects of carved wood-work and tapestry hangings.
Nor was the glitter of brass lacking, nor the sensuous glow which is
cast by the light striking through ruby-colored glass. At the top was
a square hall fitted up with divans and heavily bespread with rugs. At
one end a half-drawn portière disclosed a suite of apartments furnished
with a splendor equal to that which marked the rest of the house, while
at the other was a closed door, towards which Mr. Winchester advanced.
I was hastily following him, when a young man, coming from above,
stepped between us. Mr. Winchester at once turned.
“Are you going out?” he asked this person, in a tone that lacked the
cordiality of a parent, while it yet suggested the authority of one.
The young gentleman, who was of fine height and carriage, paused with
a curious, hesitating air.
“Are you?” he inquired, ignoring my presence, or possibly not noticing
it, I being several feet from him and somewhat in the shadow.
“We may show ourselves at the Smiths for a few minutes, by and by,” Mr.
Winchester returned.
“No; I am not going out,” the young man said, and, turning, he went
again up-stairs.
Mr. Winchester’s eye followed him. It was only for a moment; but to
me, accustomed as I am to note the smallest details in the manner and
expression of a person, there was a language in that look which opened
a whole field of speculation.
“Your son?” I inquired, stepping nearer to him.
“My wife’s son,” he replied; and, without giving me an opportunity to
put another query, he opened the door before him and ushered me in.
A tall, elegant woman of middle age was seated before the mirror,
having the final touches given to her rich toilette by a young woman
who knelt on the floor at her side. A marked picture, and this not from
the accessories of wealth and splendor everywhere observable, but from
the character of the two faces, which, while of an utterly dissimilar
cast, and possibly belonging to the two extremes of society, were both
remarkable for their force and individuality of expression, as well as
for the look of trouble and suppressed anxiety, which made them both
like the shadows of one deep, dark thought.
The younger woman was the first to notice us and rise. Though occupying
a humble position and accustomed to defer to those around her, there
was extreme grace in her movement and a certain charm in her whole
bearing which made it natural for the eye to follow her. I did not
long allow myself this pleasure, however, for in another instant Mrs.
Winchester had caught sight of our forms in the mirror, and, rising
with a certain cold majesty, in keeping with her imposing figure and
conspicuous if mature beauty, stepped towards us with a slow step,
full of repose and quiet determination. Whatever _her_ feelings might
be, they were without the fierceness and acrimony which characterized
those of her husband. But were they less keen? At first glance I
thought not, but at the second I doubted. Mrs. Winchester was already a
riddle to me.
“Millicent,”——so her husband addressed her,——“allow me to introduce
to you a young man from the police force. If the diamonds are to be
recovered before the week is out, he is the man to do it. I pray you
offer him every facility for learning the facts. He may wish to speak
to the servants and to——” his eye roamed towards the young girl, who, I
thought, turned pale under his scrutiny——“to Philippa.”
“Philippa knows nothing,” the lady’s indifferent side-look seemed to
say, but her lips did not move, nor did she speak till he had left the
room and closed the door behind him. Then she turned to me and gave me
first a careless look and then a keener and more sustained one.
“You have been told how I lost my diamonds,” she remarked at length.
“They said at the station that a man had entered by your second-story
window while you were at dinner.”
“Not at dinner,” she corrected gravely. “I do not leave my jewel-box
lying open, while I go down to dinner. I was in the reception-room
below——Mr. Winchester had sent word that he wished to see me for an
instant——and being on the point of going to an evening party, my
diamonds were in their case on the mantel-piece. When I came back
the case was there, but no diamonds. They had been carried off in my
absence.”
I glanced at the mantel-shelf. On it lay the open jewel-case. “What
made you think a burglar took them?” I asked, my eyes on the lady I was
addressing, but my ears open to the quick, involuntary drawing in of
the breath which had escaped the young girl at the last sentence of her
mistress.
“The window was up——I had left it closed——and there was a sound of
scurrying feet on the pavement below. I had just time to see the forms
of two men hurrying down the street. You know there have been a series
of burglaries of this nature lately.”
I bowed, for her imperiousness seemed to demand it. Then I glanced at
Philippa. She was standing with her face half averted, trifling with
some object on the table, but her apparent unconcern was forced, and
her hand trembled so that she hastily dropped the article with which
she was toying and turned in such a manner that she hid it as well as
her countenance from view.
I made a note of this and allowed my attention to return to Mrs.
Winchester.
“At what time was this?” I inquired.
“Seven o’clock.”
“Late for a burglary of this kind.”
A flush sudden and deep broke out on the lady’s cheek.
“It was successful, however,” she observed.
Ignoring her anger, which may have arisen from sheer haughtiness and
a natural dislike to having any statement she chose to make commented
upon, I pursued my inquiries.
“And how long, madam, do you think you were down-stairs?”
“Some five minutes or so; certainly not ten.”
“And the window was closed when you left the room and open when you
returned?”
“I said so.”
I glanced at the windows. They were both closed now and the shades
drawn.
“May I ask you to show me which window, and also how wide it stood
open?”
“It was the window over the stoop, and it stood half-way open.”
I passed at once to the window.
“And the shade?” I asked, turning.
“Was——was down.”
“You are sure, madam?”
“Quite; it was by the noise it made as I opened the door that I noticed
the window was open.”
“Your first glance, then, was not at the mantel-piece?”
“No, sir, but my second was.” Her self-possession was almost cold.
This great lady evidently did not enjoy her position of witness,
notwithstanding the heavy loss she had sustained, and the fact that the
inquisition being made was all in her own interests. I was not to be
repelled by her manner, however, for a suspicion had seized me which
somewhat accounted for the words and method pursued by Mr. Winchester,
and a suspicion once formed, holds imperious sway over the mind of a
detective till it is either disproved by facts or confirmed in the same
manner into a settled belief.
“Madam,” I remarked, “your loss is very great, and demands the most
speedy and vigorous effort on the part of the police, that it may not
result in a permanent one. Has it struck you”——and I looked firmly at
the young girl whom, by my change of position, I had brought again into
view——“that it was in any way peculiar that chance thieves working in
this dangerous and conspicuous manner should know just the moment to
make the hazardous effort which resulted so favorably to themselves?
These burglaries which, as you say, have been so plentiful of late,
have hitherto all taken place at the hour the family are supposed to be
at dinner, while this occurred just when the family would reasonably
be supposed to be returning up-stairs. Besides, the gas was burning in
this room, was it not?”
“Yes.”
“And the shades down?”
“Yes.”
“So that, till the stoop had been climbed and the room entered, the
thief had every reason to believe it was occupied, unless he had
notification to the contrary from some one better situated than
himself?”
The lady’s eyes opened, and a slight, sarcastic smile parted her lips;
but I was not studying her at this moment, but the young Philippa.
Humble as she evidently was, and in a condition of mind that caused
her to place a restraint upon herself, she took a step forward as I
said this, and her mouth opened, as if she would fling some word into
the conversation that would neither bear the stamp of humility nor
sustain her previous rôle of indifference. But a moment’s thought was
sufficient to quell her passionate impulse, and in another instant she
was gliding quietly from the room, when I leaned toward Mrs. Winchester
and whispered:
“Request the young woman to wait in the hall outside, and suggest that
she leave the door open. I do not feel like letting out of my sight
just yet any person, no matter how reliable, who has listened to my
last remark.”
Mrs. Winchester looked surprised, and eyed me with something of the
expression she might have betrayed if I had begged her to stop a mouse
from escaping the conference we were holding. But she did what I asked
her, and that with a cold, commanding air which proved that, however
useful she found the deft and graceful Philippa, she had no real
liking for her or any interest in her beyond that which sprang from
the value of her services. Was this state of things the fault of Mrs.
Winchester or of Philippa? I had not time to determine. The docility of
the latter was not, perhaps, to be trusted too far, especially if, as
I half suspected, there was some tie between her and the thieves who
had carried off Mrs. Winchester’s jewels; and while she still lingered
where I could see her, I must put the question so evidently demanded by
the gravity of the situation.
“Mrs. Winchester,” I said, “is there any one in your house whom you
think capable of being in league with the robbers?”
The question took her by surprise; she started, and the flush
reappeared on her cheek. “I do not understand you,” she began; but,
speedily recovering her self-possession, she exclaimed, in a low but
emphatic tone, “No; how could you think of such a thing? It is the work
of professional burglars and of them alone.”
I made a slight but unmistakable gesture towards the hall.
“Who is that girl?” I asked.
“Philippa? My maid,” she answered, without the slightest token of
understanding, much less of sharing, the suspicion which I feared I
had, perhaps, too strongly suggested by my rather pointed inquiry. “Or,
rather,” she corrected, with some slight show of sarcasm, “she is what
is commonly called _a companion_; being sufficiently well educated to
read to me if I happen to be in the mood for listening, or even to play
on the piano, if music is required in the house.”
The chill indifference of this answer stamped Mrs. Winchester as a
woman of more elegance than feeling; but as that only made my rather
disagreeable task easier, it would be ungracious in me to criticise it.
“How long has she been with you?” I pursued.
“Oh, a year; perhaps more.”
“And you know her well; her antecedents and associates?”
“Yes; I know her; all that there is to know. She is not a deep person,
nor is she worthy your questions. Let us drop Philippa.”
“In one moment,” I returned. “In a case like this I must satisfy myself
thoroughly as to the character and past history of all who are in the
house. I have seen Philippa, and consequently push my inquiries in her
regard first. With whom did she live before she came to you, and where
does she spend her time when she is not with you in the house?”
Mrs. Winchester grew visibly impatient. “Follies!” she cried; then,
hurriedly, as if anxious to be done with my importunities, “Philippa is
the daughter of the clergyman who married my husband and myself. I have
always known her; she came from her father’s death-bed to my house. As
for associates, she has none; and the time she spends out of my rooms
is so small that I think it is hardly worth inquiring how or where it
is employed. Have you any further inquiries to make?”
I had, but I reserved them. “Will you let me speak to Philippa?” I
asked.
Her gesture was one of the utmost disdain, but it contained an
acquiescence of which I was not slow in availing myself. Stepping
rapidly into the hall, I approached the slight figure I had managed to
keep in view during this conversation.
But at my first movement in her direction the young girl started, and
before I could address her she had passed through the doorway of the
opposite room and disappeared in the darkness beyond.
I immediately stepped back to the lady I had left.
“Do those rooms communicate with a back staircase?” I inquired.
“Yes,” she returned, with uncompromising coldness.
I was baffled; that is, as far as Philippa was concerned. Accepting the
situation, however, with what grace I could, I bowed my acknowledgments
to Mrs. Winchester, and excusing myself for the moment, went hurriedly
below.
I found her husband awaiting me with ill-concealed anxiety.
“Well?” he asked, at my reappearance.
“I have come to a conclusion,” said I.
He drew me into a remote corner of the room, where, without our
conversation being overheard, he could still keep his eye on the
staircase, visible through the half-open door.
“Let me hear,” said he.
I at once spoke my mind.
“The thief was no chance one; he not only knew that your house
contained diamonds, but he knew where to find them and when. Either a
signal was given him when to enter or the diamonds were thrown into his
hand out of the window. Does my conviction coincide with yours?”
He smiled a grim smile and waived the question.
“And who do you think gave the signal or threw the diamonds? Do not be
afraid to speak names; the case is too serious for paltering.”
“Well,” said I, “I have been in the house but a few minutes and have
seen but three persons besides yourself. I had rather not mention any
one as the possible accomplice of so daring a crime till I have seen
and conversed with every one here. But there is a girl up-stairs——you
yourself called my attention to her——about whom I should like to ask a
question or two. I allude to Philippa, Mrs. Winchester’s companion.”
He turned an eye full of expectancy towards me.
“Do you like her? Have you confidence in her? Is she a person to be
trusted?” I inquired.
His glance grew quite bright, and he bowed with almost a gesture of
respect.
“You could not have a better witness,” he remarked.
The answer was so unexpected, I hastily dropped my eyes.
“She will talk, then, if I interrogate her?” said I.
It was now his turn to look disconcerted.
“Then you have not done so?” he asked.
“I have not had the opportunity,” I rejoined.
“Ah,” he exclaimed, “I see.” And with a look and manner hard to
describe, he added, “Mrs. Winchester naturally kept the girl quiet. I
might have expected that.”
Astonished at this new turn, I ventured to speak the thought suggested
by an admission so extraordinary.
“And why should Mrs. Winchester wish to suppress any evidence
calculated to lead to the discovery of a thief who had so heavily
robbed her?”
The gleam of satisfaction which for the last few moments had lighted up
the countenance of the gentleman before me, faded perceptibly.
“I see,” he observed, “that our opinions on this matter are less in
accord than I supposed. But,” he continued more heartily, “you have, as
you very justly remarked just now, been but a few minutes in the house,
and have not had full opportunity to learn the facts. I will wait till
you have talked with Philippa. Shall I call her here?”
“Do,” I urged; “she is below, I think, though possibly she may still
be in the rooms above;” and I explained how she had started away at my
approach, hiding herself in apartments to which I felt I had not the
right of access.
He frowned, and moved hastily toward the door, but paused half-way to
ask me another question.
“Before I go,” said he, “I should like to inquire what word of Mrs.
Winchester led you to the conclusion that the theft was committed by
some one in the house?”
“Wait,” cried I, “you are going too fast; I do not say the theft was
committed by some one in the house. I merely speak of an accomplice.”
“Who flung the diamonds out of the window——”
“Or merely gave the signal that they were accessible, and for the
moment unguarded.”
He waved his hand impatiently.
“Let us not waste time,” he exclaimed. “I want to know what Mrs.
Winchester said——”
“She said nothing,” I interrupted, for my haste was as great as his;
“that is, nothing beyond the necessary relation of the facts——”
“Which were——”
“That the jewels were lying open in their case on the bureau; that
you called her from below; and that she hastened to respond by her
presence; was gone five minutes or so, and, returning, found the window
open and the diamonds gone. As she had left the window shut, she
naturally sprang to it and looked out, in time to see two men hurrying
down the street. Surely these facts you know as well as I.”
“I was curious,” he replied. “So those are the facts you received, and
it is from them alone you gathered the conclusion you have stated?”
“No,” said I, “there was Philippa.”
“But she said nothing.”
“I know, but she did not need to speak. I heard her heart beat, if I
may so express myself, and from its beatings came the conviction I have
given you.”
Mr. Winchester bestowed upon me an approving smile.
“You are all I thought you,” was his comment. “Philippa’s heart did
beat, and with most unwonted emotions, too. Philippa saw the person who
relieved Mrs. Winchester of her jewels.”
“What!” I cried, “and you——”
He did not wait to hear the end of my remonstrance. “I say so,” he went
on, “because while Mrs. Winchester was here, and before she ascended, I
saw Philippa go up. She had just time to reach the head of the stairs,
when the person whose step I had already detected crossing the floor
above, gained the hall——”
“The hall?” I cried.
“Yes. Can it be you really allowed yourself to dream for a moment that
the thief who stole this small fortune came in by the window?”
“Mr. Winchester,” said I, “when I left the police station it was with
some doubt, I confess, as to whether this theft had been committed in
just the way the man who brought your note said it had been. But after
hearing what Mrs. Winchester had to say——”
“Mrs. Winchester’s account of this occurrence is not to be depended
upon,” he broke in calmly, but determinedly. “Shall I give you a fact
or two? The window which my wife declares she found open when she went
up-stairs was not raised while she was down here, but after her return,
for _I heard it_. The step which crossed the floor above us while we
were talking together here, went out, not by any window, but by the
door leading into the hall; so that——”
“Mr. Winchester,” I interrupted, “do you realize that if what you say
is true, the diamonds are probably still in your house?”
“Just where I think they are, Mr. Byrd; just where I think they are.”
I began to have a strong notion of his suspicion.
“And Philippa,” I suggested.
“_Saw_ what I _heard_.”
I made no further effort to detain him. “Let us have her here,” I
cried. “If what you surmise is true, the mystery ought to be one of
easy solution. So easy,” I could not forbear adding, “that I wonder you
felt the need of sending for a detective.”
“You forget,” he observed, “that it is not so much the discovery of
the thief I am after, as the recovery of the jewels. The former I
might have managed without your assistance; but the latter requires an
authority backed by the law.” And merely stopping to call my attention
to the necessity of keeping a watch on the front door that no one
should escape from the house while he was gone, he hastily left me and
went up-stairs.
He was absent some twenty minutes, during which I heard him pass in and
out of his wife’s room. But when he came down he was alone, and his
countenance, which before had looked merely anxious and determined, now
bore the marks of anger and impatience.
“I do not know by what motive she is actuated,” cried he, “but I cannot
induce Philippa to speak. She insists she has nothing to say | 3,084.488603 |
2023-11-16 19:08:28.5634110 | 54 | 24 |
Produced by Carla Foust, Tor Martin Kristiansen and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This book was produced from scanned images of public
domain material from the Google Print project.)
Transcriber's note | 3,084.583451 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Boy Slaves, by Captain Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
This is an excellent book, telling of the adventures of three midshipmen
and a much older sailor from a British warship that goes aground off the
coast of Africa, well offshore, and sinks with all hands. However these
four find themselves afloat on a spar, which they paddle with their
hands for several days until they reach the shore of Africa. Shortly
after this they are taken prisoner by some Arabs, who intend to take
them north to a town where they can be sold as slaves.
The book deals with their adventures as they are driven north to be
sold. In those days Arab pirate ships, known as Barbary pirates, and
also Algerine pirates, used to capture European vessels and make their
white crews and passengers into slaves, demanding ransoms from their
families. Even if the ransom was received, the captors usually
pretended it hadn't been. The practice had been going on for centuries,
and was terminated in 1816 when Admiral Lord Exmouth attacked Algiers,
and obtained the release of 1300 white slaves. Following this the
French were charged with the responsibility of keeping the Arabs of
North Africa in order. The date of 1816 is wrongly given as 1856 on
page xi of Guy Pocock's introduction to the Everyman Edition of the
book.
The audiobook takes about ten hours to play.
________________________________________________________________________
THE BOY SLAVES, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE LAND OF THE SLAVE.
Land of Ethiope! whose burning centre seems unapproachable as the frozen
Pole!
Land of the unicorn and the lion, of the crouching panther and the
stately elephant, of the camel, the camel-leopard, and the camel-bird!
Land of the antelopes, of the wild gemsbok, and the gentle gazelle, land
of the gigantic crocodile and huge river-horse, land teeming with animal
life, and, last in the list of my apostrophic appellations--last, and
that which must grieve the heart to pronounce it, land of the slave!
Ah; little do men think, while thus hailing thee, how near may be the
dread doom to their own hearths and homes! Little dream they, while
expressing their sympathy--alas! too often, as of late shown in England,
a hypocritical utterance--little do they suspect, while glibly
commiserating the lot of thy sable-skinned children, that hundreds, ay
thousands, of their own colour and kindred are held within thy confines,
subject to a lot even lowlier than these--a fate far more fearful.
Alas! it is even so. While I write, the proud Caucasian, despite his
boasted superiority of intellect, despite the whiteness of his skin, may
be found by hundreds in the unknown interior, wretchedly toiling, the
slave not only of thy oppressors, but the slave of thy slaves!
Let us lift that curtain which shrouds thy great Saara, and look upon
some pictures that should teach the son of Shem, while despising his
brothers Ham and Japhet, that he is not master of the world.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dread is that shore between Susa and Senegal, on the western edge of
Africa--by mariners most dreaded of any other in the world. The very
thought of it causes the sailor to shiver with affright. And no wonder;
on that inhospitable seaboard thousands of his fellows have found a
watery grave; and thousands of others a doom far more deplorable than
death!
There are two great deserts: one of land, the other of water--the Saara
and the Atlantic--their contiguity extending through ten degrees of the
earth's latitude--an enormous distance. Nothing separates them, save a
line existing only in the imagination. The dreary and dangerous
wilderness of water kisses the wilderness of sand--not less dreary or
dangerous to those whose misfortune it may be to become castaways on
this dreaded shore.
Alas! it has been the misfortune of many--not hundreds, but thousands.
Hundreds of ships, rather than hundreds of men, have suffered wreck and
ruin between Susa and Senegal. Perhaps were we to include Roman,
Phoenician, and Carthaginian, we might say thousands of ships also.
More noted, however, have been the disasters of modern times, during
what may be termed the epoch of modern navigation. Within the period of
the last three centuries, sailors of almost every maritime nation--at
least all whose errand has led them along the eastern edge of the
Atlantic--have had reason to regret approximation to those shores, known
in ship parlance as the Barbary coast; but which, with a slight
alteration in the orthography, might be appropriately styled
"Barbarian."
A chapter might be written in explanation of this peculiarity of
expression--a chapter which would comprise many parts of two sciences,
both but little understood--ethnology and meteorology.
Of the former we may have a good deal to tell before the ending of this
narrative. Of the latter it must suffice to say: that the frequent
wrecks occurring on the Barbary coast, or, more properly on that of the
Saara south of it, are the result of an Atlantic current setting
eastwards against that shore.
The cause of this current is simple enough, though it requires
explanation: since it seems to contradict not only the theory of the
"trade" winds, but of the centrifugal inclination attributed to the
waters of the ocean.
I have room only for the theory in its simplest form. The heating of
the Saara under a tropical sun; the absence of those influences,
moisture and verdure, which repel the heat and retain its opposite; the
ascension of the heated air that hangs over this vast tract of desert;
the colder atmosphere rushing in from the Atlantic Ocean; the consequent
eastward tendency of the waters of the sea.
These facts will account for that current which has proved a deadly
maelstrom to hundreds, ay thousands, of ships, in all ages, whose
misfortune it has been to sail unsuspectingly along the western shores
of the Ethiopian continent.
Even | 3,084.585297 |
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Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and Hall "Christmas Stories" edition by
David Price, email [email protected]
MUGBY JUNCTION
CHAPTER I--BARBOX BROTHERS
I.
"Guard! What place is this?"
"Mugby Junction, sir."
"A windy place!"
"Yes, it mostly is, sir."
"And looks comfortless indeed!"
"Yes, it generally does, sir."
"Is it a rainy night still?"
"Pours, sir."
"Open the door. I'll get out."
"You'll have, sir," said the guard, glistening with drops of wet, and
looking at the tearful face of his watch by the light of his lantern as
the traveller descended, "three minutes here."
"More, I think.--For I am not going on."
"Thought you had a through ticket, sir?"
"So I have, but I shall sacrifice the rest of it. I want my luggage."
"Please to come to the van and point it out, sir. Be good enough to look
very sharp, sir. Not a moment to spare."
The guard hurried to the luggage van, and the traveller hurried after
him. The guard got into it, and the traveller looked into it.
"Those two large black portmanteaus in the corner where your light
shines. Those are mine."
"Name upon 'em, sir?"
"Barbox Brothers."
"Stand clear, sir, if you please. One. Two. Right!"
Lamp waved. Signal lights ahead already changing. Shriek from engine.
Train gone.
"Mugby Junction!" said the traveller, pulling up the woollen muffler
round his throat with both hands. "At past three o'clock of a
tempestuous morning! So!"
He spoke to himself. There was no one else to speak to. Perhaps, though
there had been any one else to speak to, he would have preferred to speak
to himself. Speaking to himself he spoke to a man within five years of
fifty either way, who had turned grey too soon, like a neglected fire; a
man of pondering habit, brooding carriage of the head, and suppressed
internal voice; a man with many indications on him of having been much
alone.
He stood unnoticed on the dreary platform, except by the rain and by the
wind. Those two vigilant assailants made a rush at him. | 3,084.679064 |
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Produced by Marius Masi, Don Kretz and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's notes:
(1) Numbers following letters (without space) like C2 were originally
printed in subscript. Letter subscripts are preceded by an
underscore, like C_n.
(2) Characters following a carat (^) were printed in superscript.
(3) Side-notes were relocated to function as titles of their respective
paragraphs.
(4) Macrons and breves above letters and dots below letters were not
inserted.
(5) dP stands for the partial-derivative symbol, or curled 'd'.
(6) [oo] stands for the infinity symbol, and [int] for the integral
symbol.
(7) The following typographical errors have been corrected:
ARTICLE EKATERINOSLAV: "Nearly 40,000 persons find occupation in
factories, the most important being iron-works and agricultural
machinery works, though there are also tobacco... " 'important'
amended from 'imporant'.
ARTICLE ELASTICITY: "The limits of perfect elasticity as regards
change of shape, on the other hand, are very low, if they exist at
all, for glasses and other hard, brittle solids; but a class of
metals including copper, brass, steel, and platinum are very
perfectly elastic as regards distortion, provided that the
distortion is not too great." Missing 'and' after'steel'.
ARTICLE ELASTICITY: "The parts of the radii vectors within the
sphere..."'vectors' amended from'vectores'.
ARTICLE ELBE: "Its total length is 725 m., of which 190 are in
Bohemia, 77 in the kingdom of Saxony, and 350 in Prussia, the
remaining 108 being in Hamburg and other states of Germany." 'Its'
amended from 'it'.
ARTICLE ELBE: "Finally, in 1870, 1,000,000 thalers were paid to
Mecklenburg and 85,000 thalers to Anhalt, which thereupon abandoned
all claims to levy tolls upon the Elbe shipping, and thus
navigation on the river became at last entirely free. 'Anhalt'
amended from 'Anhal'.
ARTICLE ELBE: "... after driving back at Lobositz the Austrian
forces which were hastening to their assistance; but only nine
months later he lost his reputation for "invincibility" by his
crushing defeat at Kolin..." 'assistance' amended from
'asistance'.
ARTICLE ELECTRICITY: "De la Rive reviews the subject in his large
Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism, vol. ii. ch. iii. The writer
made a contribution to the discussion in 1874..." 'Magnetism'
amended from 'Magnestism'.
ARTICLE ELECTRICITY SUPPLY: "... or by means of overhead wires
within restricted areas, but the limitations proved uneconomical
and the installations were for the most part merged into larger
undertakings sanctioned by parliamentary powers." 'limitations'
amended from 'limitatons'.
ARTICLE ELECTROKINETICS: "A vector can most conveniently be
represented by a symbol such as a + ib, where a stands for any
length of a units measured horizontally and b for a length b units
measured vertically, and the symbol i is a sign of perpendicularity
..."'symbol' amended from'smybol'.
ARTICLE ELECTROSCOPE: "The collapse of the gold-leaf is observed
through an aperture in the case by a microscope, and the time taken
by the gold-leaf to fall over a certain distance is proportional to
the ionizing current, that is, to the intensity of the
radioactivity of the substance.'microscope' amended from
'miscroscope'.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
A DICTIONARY OF ARTS, SCIENCES, LITERATURE
AND GENERAL INFORMATION
ELEVENTH EDITION
VOLUME IX, SLICE II
Ehud to Electroscope
ARTICLES IN THIS SLICE:
EHUD ELBERFELD
EIBENSTOCK ELBEUF
EICHBERG, JULIUS ELBING
EICHENDORFF, JOSEPH, FREIHERR VON ELBOW
EICHHORN, JOHANN GOTTFRIED ELBURZ
EICHHORN, KARL FRIEDRICH ELCHE
EICHSTATT ELCHINGEN
EICHWALD, KARL EDUARD VON ELDAD BEN MAHLI
EIDER (river of Prussia) ELDER (ruler or officer)
EIDER (duck) ELDER (shrubs and trees)
EIFEL ELDON, JOHN SCOTT
EIFFEL TOWER EL DORADO
EILDON HILLS ELDUAYEN, JOSE DE
EILENBURG ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE
EINBECK ELEATIC SCHOOL
EINDHOVEN ELECAMPANE
EINHARD ELECTION (politics)
EINHORN, DAVID ELECTION (English law choice)
EINSIEDELN ELECTORAL COMMISSION
EISENACH ELECTORS
EISENBERG ELECTRA
EISENERZ ELECTRICAL MACHINE
EISLEBEN ELECTRIC EEL
EISTEDDFOD ELECTRICITY
EJECTMENT ELECTRICITY SUPPLY
EKATERINBURG ELECTRIC WAVES
EKATERINODAR ELECTROCHEMISTRY
EKATERINOSLAV (Russian government) ELECTROCUTION
EKATERINOSLAV (Russian town) ELECTROKINETICS
EKHOF, KONRAD ELECTROLIER
EKRON ELECTROLYSIS
ELABUGA ELECTROMAGNETISM
ELAM ELECTROMETALLURGY
ELAND ELECTROMETER
ELASTICITY ELECTRON
ELATERITE ELECT | 3,084.682248 |
2023-11-16 19:08:28.6624490 | 2,745 | 7 |
Produced by Joseph R. Hauser, Turgut Dincer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. Music
transcribed by Brian Foley using LilyPond.
_By Lady Gregory_
Irish Folk-History Plays
First Series: The Tragedies
Grania. Kincora. Dervorgilla
Second Series: The Tragic Comedies
The Canavans. The White Cockade. The Deliverer
New Comedies
The Bogie Men. The Full Moon. Coats. Damer's
Gold. McDonough's Wife
Our Irish Theatre
A Chapter of Autobiography
Seven Short Plays
Spreading the News. Hyacinth Halvey. The Rising
of the Moon. The Jackdaw. The Workhouse Ward.
The Travelling Man. The Gaol Gate
The Golden Apple
A Kiltartan Play for Children
Seven Short Plays
By
Lady Gregory
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1916
COPYRIGHT, 1903, by LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1904, by LADY GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1905, by LADY GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1906, by LADY GREGORY
COPYRIGHT, 1909, by LADY GREGORY
These plays have been copyrighted and published simultaneously in the
United States and Great Britain.
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages.
All acting rights, both professional and amateur, are reserved in the
United States, Great Britain, and all countries of the Copyright
Union, by the author. Performances forbidden and right of presentation
reserved.
Application for the right of performing these plays or reading them in
public should be made to Samuel French, 28 West 38th St., New York
City, or 26 South Hampton St., Strand, London.
Second Impression
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
DEDICATION
_To you, W. B. YEATS, good praiser, wholesome dispraiser, heavy-handed
judge, open-handed helper of us all, I offer a play of my plays for
every night of the week, because you like them, and because you have
taught me my trade._
AUGUSTA GREGORY
_Abbey Theatre,
May 1, 1909._
CONTENTS
PAGE
SPREADING THE NEWS 1
HYACINTH HALVEY 29
THE RISING OF THE MOON 75
THE JACKDAW 93
THE WORKHOUSE WARD 137
THE TRAVELLING MAN 155
THE GAOL GATE 173
MUSIC FOR THE SONGS IN THE PLAYS 189
NOTES, &C. 196
SPREADING THE NEWS
PERSONS
_Bartley Fallon._
_Mrs. Fallon._
_Jack Smith._
_Shawn Early._
_Tim Casey._
_James Ryan._
_Mrs. Tarpey._
_Mrs. Tully._
_A Policeman_ (JO MULDOON).
_A Removable Magistrate._
SPREADING THE NEWS
_Scene: The outskirts of a Fair. An Apple Stall, Mrs. Tarpey
sitting at it. Magistrate and Policeman enter._
_Magistrate_: So that is the Fair Green. Cattle and sheep and mud. No
system. What a repulsive sight!
_Policeman_: That is so, indeed.
_Magistrate_: I suppose there is a good deal of disorder in this
place?
_Policeman_: There is.
_Magistrate_: Common assault?
_Policeman_: It's common enough.
_Magistrate_: Agrarian crime, no doubt?
_Policeman_: That is so.
_Magistrate_: Boycotting? Maiming of cattle? Firing into houses?
_Policeman_: There was one time, and there might be again.
_Magistrate_: That is bad. Does it go any farther than that?
_Policeman_: Far enough, indeed.
_Magistrate:_ Homicide, then! This district has been shamefully
neglected! I will change all that. When I was in the Andaman Islands,
my system never failed. Yes, yes, I will change all that. What has
that woman on her stall?
_Policeman:_ Apples mostly--and sweets.
_Magistrate:_ Just see if there are any unlicensed goods
underneath--spirits or the like. We had evasions of the salt tax in the
Andaman Islands.
_Policeman:_ (_Sniffing cautiously and upsetting a heap of apples._) I
see no spirits here--or salt.
_Magistrate:_ (_To Mrs. Tarpey._) Do you know this town well, my good
woman?
_Mrs. Tarpey:_ (_Holding out some apples._) A penny the half-dozen,
your honour.
_Policeman:_ (_Shouting._) The gentleman is asking do you know the
town! He's the new magistrate!
_Mrs. Tarpey:_ (_Rising and ducking._) Do I know the town? I do, to be
sure.
_Magistrate:_ (_Shouting._) What is its chief business?
_Mrs. Tarpey:_ Business, is it? What business would the people here
have but to be minding one another's business?
_Magistrate:_ I mean what trade have they?
_Mrs. Tarpey:_ Not a trade. No trade at all but to be talking.
_Magistrate:_ I shall learn nothing here.
(_James Ryan comes in, pipe in mouth. Seeing Magistrate he
retreats quickly, taking pipe from mouth._)
_Magistrate:_ The smoke from that man's pipe had a greenish look; he
may be growing unlicensed tobacco at home. I wish I had brought my
telescope to this district. Come to the post-office, I will telegraph
for it. I found it very useful in the Andaman Islands.
(_Magistrate and Policeman go out left._)
_Mrs. Tarpey:_ Bad luck to Jo Muldoon, knocking my apples this way and
that way. (_Begins arranging them._) Showing off he was to the new
magistrate.
(_Enter Bartley Fallon and Mrs. Fallon._)
_Bartley:_ Indeed it's a poor country and a scarce country to be
living in. But I'm thinking if I went to America it's long ago the day
I'd be dead!
_Mrs. Fallon:_ So you might, indeed.
(_She puts her basket on a barrel and begins putting parcels in
it, taking them from under her cloak._)
_Bartley:_ And it's a great expense for a poor man to be buried in
America.
_Mrs. Fallon:_ Never fear, Bartley Fallon, but I'll give you a good
burying the day you'll die.
_Bartley:_ Maybe it's yourself will be buried in the graveyard of
Cloonmara before me, Mary Fallon, and I myself that will be dying
unbeknownst some night, and no one a-near me. And the cat itself may be
gone straying through the country, and the mice squealing over the
quilt.
_Mrs. Fallon:_ Leave off talking of dying. It might be twenty years
you'll be living yet.
_Bartley:_ (_With a deep sigh._) I'm thinking if I'll be living at the
end of twenty years, it's a very old man I'll be then!
_Mrs. Tarpey:_ (_Turns and sees them._) Good morrow, Bartley Fallon;
good morrow, Mrs. Fallon. Well, Bartley, you'll find no cause for
complaining to-day; they are all saying it was a good fair.
_Bartley:_ (_Raising his voice._) It was not a good fair, Mrs. Tarpey.
It was a scattered sort of a fair. If we didn't expect more, we got
less. That's the way with me always; whatever I have to sell goes down
and whatever I have to buy goes up. If there's ever any misfortune
coming to this world, it's on myself it pitches, like a flock of crows
on seed potatoes.
_Mrs. Fallon:_ Leave off talking of misfortunes, and listen to Jack
Smith that is coming the way, and he singing.
(_Voice of Jack Smith heard singing:_)
I thought, my first love,
There'd be but one house between you and me,
And I thought I would find
Yourself coaxing my child on your knee.
Over the tide
I would leap with the leap of a swan,
Till I came to the side
Of the wife of the Red-haired man!
(_Jack Smith comes in; he is a red-haired man, and is carrying
a hayfork._)
_Mrs. Tarpey:_ That should be a good song if I had my hearing.
_Mrs. Fallon:_ (_Shouting._) It's "The Red-haired Man's Wife."
_Mrs. Tarpey:_ I know it well. That's the song that has a skin on it!
(_She turns her back to them and goes on arranging her
apples._)
_Mrs. Fallon:_ Where's herself, Jack Smith?
_Jack Smith:_ She was delayed with her washing; bleaching the clothes
on the hedge she is, and she daren't leave them, with all the tinkers
that do be passing to the fair. It isn't to the fair I came myself,
but up to the Five Acre Meadow I'm going, where I have a contract for
the hay. We'll get a share of it into tramps to-day. (_He lays down
hayfork and lights his pipe._)
_Bartley:_ You will not get it into tramps to-day. The rain will be
down on it by evening, and on myself too. It's seldom I ever started
on a journey but the rain would come down on me before I'd find any
place of shelter.
_Jack Smith:_ If it didn't itself, Bartley, it is my belief you would
carry a leaky pail on your head in place of a hat, the way you'd not
be without some cause of complaining.
(_A voice heard, "Go on, now, go on out o' that. Go on I
say."_)
_Jack Smith:_ Look at that young mare of Pat Ryan's that is backing
into Shaughnessy's bullocks with the dint of the crowd! Don't be
daunted, Pat, I'll give you a hand with her.
(_He goes out, leaving his hayfork._)
_Mrs. Fallon:_ It's time for ourselves to be going home. I have all I
bought put in the basket. Look at there, Jack Smith's hayfork he left
after him! He'll be wanting it. (_Calls._) Jack Smith! Jack
Smith!--He's gone through the crowd--hurry after him, Bartley, he'll be
wanting it.
_Bartley:_ I'll do that. This is no safe place to be leaving it. (_He
takes up fork awkwardly and upsets the basket._) Look at that now! If
there is any basket in the fair upset, it must be our own basket! (_He
goes out to right._)
_Mrs. Fallon:_ Get out of that! It is your own fault, it is. Talk of
misfortunes and misfortunes will come. Glory be! Look at my new
egg-cups rolling in every part--and my two pound of sugar with the
paper broke----
_Mrs. Tarpey:_ (_Turning from stall._) God help us, Mrs. Fallon, what
happened to your basket?
_Mrs. Fallon:_ It's himself that knocked it down, bad manners to him.
(_Putting things up._) My grand sugar that's destroyed, and he'll not
drink his tea without it. I had best go back to the shop for more,
much good may it do him!
(_Enter Tim Casey._)
_Tim Casey:_ Where is Bartley Fallon, Mrs. Fallon? I want a word with
him before he'll leave the fair. I was afraid he might have gone home
by this, for he's a temperate man.
_Mrs. Fallon:_ I wish he did go home! It'd be best for me if he went
home straight from the fair | 3,084.682489 |
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THE JESTER'S SWORD
[Illustration]
BY ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
_The JESTER'S SWORD_
The Johnston Jewel Series
BY ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
Each, small 16mo, cloth, decorated cover and frontispiece, with
decorative text borders _75c._
* * * * *
LIST OF TITLES
THE RESCUE OF THE PRINCESS WINSOME: A Fairy Play for
Old and Young.
KEEPING TRYST: A Tale of King Arthur's Time.
*IN THE DESERT OF WAITING: The Legend of Camelback
Mountain.
*THE THREE WEAVERS: A Fairy Tale for Fathers and
Mothers as Well as for Their Daughters.
THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART.
*THE JESTER'S SWORD.
*Also bound in full flexible leather, with special tooling in gold,
boxed
_$2.00_
* * * * *
THE PAGE COMPANY
53 BEACON STREET, BOSTON, MASS.
[Illustration]
_THE JESTER'S SWORD_
* * * * *
How Aldebaran, the King's Son, Wore the Sheathed Sword of Conquest
* * * * *
BY ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
_Author of "The Little Colonel Series," "Big Brother," "Joel: A Boy of
Galilee," "In the Desert of Waiting," etc._
[Illustration]
BOSTON
_THE PAGE COMPANY_
Publishers
_Copyright, 1908_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_Copyright, 1909_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, June, 1909
Second Impression, August, 1909
Third Impression, October, 1910
Fourth Impression, November, 1911
Fifth Impression, November, 1912
Sixth Impression, January, 1916
Seventh Impression, August, 1917
Eighth Impression, April, 1920
TO
John
"_To renounce when that shall be necessary and not be
embittered._" R. L. STEVENSON.
_The Jester's Sword_
BECAUSE he was born in Mars' month, which is ruled by that red war-god,
they gave him the name of a red star--Aldebaran; the red star that is
the eye of Taurus. And because he was born in Mars' month, the
bloodstone became his signet, sure token that undaunted courage would
be the jewel of his soul.
Now all his brothers were as stalwart and as straight of limb as he, and
each one's horoscope held signs foretelling valorous deeds. But
Aldebaran's so far out-blazed them all, with comet's trail and planets
in most favourable conjunction, that from his first year it was known
the Sword of Conquest should be his. This sword had passed from sire to
son all down a line of kings. Not to the oldest one always, as did the
throne, though now and then the lot fell so, but to the one to whom the
signs all pointed as being worthiest to wield it.
So from the cradle it was destined for Aldebaran, and from the cradle it
was his greatest teacher. His old nurse fed him with such tales of it,
that even in his play the thought of such an heritage urged him to
greater ventures than his mates dared take. Many a night he knelt beside
his casement, gazing through the darkness at the red eye of Taurus,
whispering to himself the words the old astrologers had written, "_As
Aldebaran the star shines in the heavens, Aldebaran the man shall shine
among his fellows._"
Day after day the great ambition grew within him, bone of his bone and
strength of his sinew, until it was as much a part of him as the strong
heart beating in his breast. But only to one did he give voice to it, to
the maiden Vesta, who had always shared his play. Now it chanced that
she, too, bore the name of a star, and when he told her what the
astrologers had written, she repeated the words of her own destiny:
"_As Vesta the star keeps watch in the heavens above the hearths of
mortals, so Vesta the maiden shall keep eternal vigil beside the heart
of him who of all men is the bravest._"
When Aldebaran heard that he swore by the bloodstone on his finger that
when the time was ripe for him to wield the sword he would show the
world a far greater courage than it had ever known before. And Vesta
smiling, promised by that same token to keep vigil by one fire only, the
fire that she had kindled in his heart.
One by one his elder brothers grew up and went out into the world to
win their fortunes, and like a restless steed that frets against the
rein, impatient to be off, he chafed against delay and longed to follow.
For now the ambition that had grown with his growth had come to be more
than bone of his bone and strength of his sinew. It was an all-consuming
desire which coursed through him even as his heart's blood; for with
the years had come an added reason for the keeping of his youthful vow.
Only in that way could Vesta's destiny be linked with his.
When the great day came at last for the Sword to be put into his hands,
with a blare of trumpets the castle gates flew open, and a long
procession of nobles filed through. To the sound of cheers and ringing
of bells, Aldebaran fared forth on his quest. The old king, his father,
stepped down in the morning sun, and with bared head Aldebaran knelt to
receive his blessing. With his hand on the Sword he swore that he would
not come home again, until he had made a braver conquest than had ever
been made with it before, and by the bloodstone on his finger the old
king knew that Aldebaran would fail not in the keeping of that oath.
With the godspeed of the villagers ringing in his ears, he rode away.
Only once he paused to look back, when a white hand fluttered at a
casement, and Vesta's sorrowful face shone down on him like a star.
Then she, too, saw the bloodstone on his finger as he waved her a
farewell, and she, too, knew by that token he would fail not in the
keeping of his oath.
'Twas passing wonderful how soon Aldebaran began to taste the sweets of
great achievement. His name was on the tongue of every troubadour, his
deeds in every minstrel's song. And though he travelled far to alien
lands, scarce known by hearsay even to the folk at home, his fame was
carried back, far over seas again, and in his father's court his name
was spoken daily in proud tones, as they recounted all his honours.
Young, strong, with the impetuous blood begotten of success tingling
through all his veins, he had no thought that dire mishap could seize
on _him_; that pain or malady or mortal weakness could pierce _his_
armour, which youth and health had girt about him. From place to place
he went, wherever there was need of some brave champion to espouse a
weak ones cause. It mattered not who was arrayed against him, whether a
tyrant king, a dragon breathing fire, or some hideous scaly monster
that preyed upon the villages. His Sword of Conquest was unsheathed for
each; and as his courage grew with every added victory, he thirsted for
some greater foe to vanquish, remembering his youthful vow.
And as he journeyed on he pictured often to himself the day of his
returning, the day on which his vow should find fulfilment. How wide
the gates would be thrown open for his welcome! How loud would swell the
cheers of those who thronged to do him honour! His dreams were always of
that triumphal entrance, and of Vesta's approving smile. Never once the
shadow of a thought stole through his mind that it might be far
otherwise. Was not he born for conquest? Did not the very stars
foretell success?
One night, belated in a mountain pass, he sought the shelter of a
shelving rock, and with his mantle wrapped about him lay down to sleep.
Upon the morrow he would sally forth and beard the Province Terror in
his stronghold; would challenge him to combat, and after long and
glorious battle would rid the country of its dreaded foe. Already
tasting victory, he fell asleep, a smile upon his lips.
But in the night a storm swept down the mountain pass with sudden fury,
uprooting trees a century old, and rending mighty rocks with sword
thrusts of its lightning. And when it passed Aldebaran lay prone upon
the earth borne down by rocks and fallen trees. Lay as if dead until two
passing goat-herds found him and bore him down in pity to their hut.
Long weeks went by before the fever craze and pains began to leave him,
and when at last he crawled out in the sun, he found himself a poor
misshapen thing, all maimed and marred, with twisted back and face all
drawn awry and foot that dragged. One hand hung nerveless by his side.
Never more would it be strong enough to use the Sword. He could not even
draw it from its scabbard.
As in a daze he looked upon himself, thinking some hideous nightmare had
him in its hold. "That is not _I_!" he cried, in horror at the thought.
Then as the truth began to pierce his soul, he sat with starting | 3,084.684275 |
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CATALOGUE No. 40.
MICROSCOPES
AND
ACCESSORY APPARATUS.
ERNST LEITZ
WETZLAR
GERMANY.
Founded in 1850.
Branch Offices:
NEW-YORK: CHICAGO: BERLIN NW.
411 West 59th Str. 32-38 Clark Str. 45 Luisenstrasse.
30 East 18th Street.
1903.
="Highest award"= Worlds Columbian Exhibition =Chicago 1893=.
Contents.
New constructions 5
Objectives and Eye-pieces 7
Stands 16
Illuminating Apparatus 20
Complete Microscope Outfits 24
Microscopes for Mineralogical Research 57
Dissecting Microscopes and Lupes 62
Apparatus for Blood Examinations 70
Micrometers 73
Drawing Apparatus 74
Mechanical Stages 78
Photo-micrographic Apparatus 82
Projection Apparatus (Edinger) 84
The Large Projection Apparatus 87
Microtomes 92
Miscellaneous Accessories 99
Publications 104
Index 105
Notice.
All previous editions of this catalogue are superceded by the present
one, which should be exclusively used in ordering.
Orders will be filled at once after their receipt.
In ordering care should be taken to give the =number= of each article
desired and to state listprice.
To avoid delay and misunderstandings, we request that name and address
be plainly written.
Goods are forwarded at the expense and risk of the purchaser.
Our instruments for use in =Universities, Colleges, Schools= &c. of the
=United States= are by law free of duty and we shall be pleased to make
specially low quotations for such orders.
ERNST LEITZ.
New Constructions.
Since issueing our last catalogue, a number of new apparatus and
accessories have been added. The following are the more important ones:
1. A completely =new stand "A"= with extra fine micrometerscrew
transmitting its movement directly to the tube. The stand is of elegant
appearance and large dimensions, making it especially well adapted for
work in photo-micrography.
2. =Stand I= is now fitted out with the new special fine adjustment (each
division {1/1000} mm).
3. =Stand II= with round centering stage.
4. =Stand IV= is replaced by a model of larger size.
5. =Photo-micrographic apparatus= for use in horizontal and vertical
position, having joint for inclination, large size bellows and
plateholder.
6. =Large projection-apparatus= for electric lamp of 30 Ampere with triple
collecting lens of 210 mm aperture.
7. =Objective 1 a= with adjustable mounting and changeable magnification.
It is an excellent objective of low power for general purposes, having a
comparatively short working distance.
8. =Objective 1 b= with changeable magnification of lowest power, as far
down as two diameters. It serves for drawing extended sections and
specimens.
9. =Saccharimeter after Mitcherlich= improved form.
10. =Trichinoscope=, projection-apparatus of strong and simple
construction.
=Preface.=
Our American Branch house in New-York under the management of Mr. Wm.
Krafft has now been established for over 10 years. This period has
witnessed a gradual development of our business in the United States,
making it necessary to establish some years ago a Western Branch in
Chicago of which Mr. R. Gibson has charge.
The cordial reception our firm received has been most gratifying and we
take this opportunity to thank our many patrons for their kind
consideration.
It is our aim to co-operate with the scientists and construct new
apparatus to meet their needs or improve others wherever this is
possible.
The foregoing list of additions and improvements made since issueing our
last catalogue is proof that we spare no time nor labor to hold pace
with the increased wants of modern times.
We have now manufactured and sold over 71000 compound microscopes and
31000 oil immersion objectives, a large number of which are used in the
laboratories of Universities, Colleges, and other Educational
Institutions of the United States.
We are prepared at New-York and Chicago to repair our instruments or
make alterations at short notice and at lowest prices. The optical part
of a microscope should invariably be sent to the maker, as he is best in
a position to repair same and has an added interest to bring a lens back
to its original quality or even improve it.
Microscopes, bacteriological apparatus and all other scientific
instruments or preparations expressly imported for | 3,084.684282 |
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E-text prepared by Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed Proofreading
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/egregiousenglish00mcnerich
THE EGREGIOUS ENGLISH
by
ANGUS McNEILL
[Illustration]
New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons
London: Grant Richards
1903
Copyright, 1902, by
Angus McNeill
Published, January, 1903
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--Apollo 1
II.--The Sportsman 13
III.--The Man of Business 20
IV.--The Journalist 28
V.--The Employed Person 37
VI.--Chiffon 47
VII.--The Soldier 59
VIII.--The Navy 71
IX.--The Churches 79
X.--The Politician 90
XI.--Poets 103
XII.--Fiction 113
XIII.--Suburbanism 124
XIV.--The Man-about-Town 137
XV.--Drink 144
XVI.--Food 153
XVII.--Law and Order 163
XVIII.--Education 171
XIX.--Recreation 183
XX.--Stock Exchange 192
XXI.--The Beloved 199
The Egregious English
CHAPTER I
APOLLO
It has become the Englishman's habit, one might almost say the
Englishman's instinct, to take himself for the head and front of the
universe. The order of creation began, we are told, in protoplasm.
It has achieved at length the Englishman. Herein are the culmination
and ultimate glory of evolutionary processes. Nature, like the
seventh-standard boy in a board school, "can get no higher." She
has made the Englishman, and her work therefore is done. For the
continued progress of the world and all that in it is, the Englishman
will make due provision. He knows exactly what is wanted, and by
himself it shall be supplied. There is little that can be considered
distinguishingly English which does not reflect this point of view. As
an easy-going, entirely confident, imperturbable piece of arrogance,
the Englishman has certainly no mammalian compeer. Even in the | 3,084.780186 |
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ON CANADA'S FRONTIER
Sketches
OF HISTORY, SPORT, AND ADVENTURE AND OF THE INDIANS, MISSIONARIES
FUR-TRADERS, AND NEWER SETTLERS OF WESTERN CANADA
BY
JULIAN RALPH
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
1892
Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers.
_All rights reserved_.
TO
THE PEOPLE OF CANADA
THIS BOOK IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR WHO, DURING MANY LONG
JOURNEYS IN THE CANADIAN WEST WAS ALWAYS AND EVERYWHERE TREATED WITH AN
EXTREME FRIENDLINESS TO WHICH HE HERE TESTIFIES BUT WHICH HE CANNOT
EASILY RETURN IN EQUAL MEASURE
PREFACE
If all those into whose hands this book may fall were as well informed
upon the Dominion of Canada as are the people of the United States,
there would not be needed a word of explanation of the title of this
volume. Yet to those who might otherwise infer that what is here related
applies equally to all parts of Canada, it is necessary to explain that
the work deals solely with scenes and phases of life in the newer, and
mainly the western, parts of that country. The great English colony
which stirs the pages of more than two centuries of history has for its
capitals such proud and notable cities as Montreal, Quebec, Toronto,
Halifax, and many others, to distinguish the progressive civilization of
the region east of Lake Huron--the older provinces. But the Canada of
the geographies of to-day is a land of greater area than the United
States; it is, in fact, the "British America" of old. A great
trans-Canadian railway has joined the ambitious province of the Pacific
<DW72> to the provinces of old Canada with stitches of steel across the
Plains. There the same mixed surplusage of Europe that settled our own
West is elbowing the fur-trader and the Indian out of the way, and is
laying out farms far north, in the smiling Peace River district, where
it was only a little while ago supposed that there were but two seasons,
winter and late spring. It is with that new part of Canada, between the
ancient and well-populated provinces and the sturdy new cities of the
Pacific Coast, that this book deals. Some references to the North are
added in those chapters that treat of hunting and fishing and
fur-trading.
The chapters that compose this book originally formed a series of
papers which recorded journeys and studies made in Canada during the
past three years. The first one to be published was that which describes
a settler's colony in which a few titled foreigners took the lead; the
others were written so recently that they should possess the same
interest and value as if they here first met the public eye. What that
interest and value amount to is for the reader to judge, the author's
position being such that he may only call attention to the fact that he
had access to private papers and documents when he prepared the sketches
of the Hudson Bay Company, and that, in pursuing information about the
great province of British Columbia, he was not able to learn that a
serious and extended study of its resources had ever been made. The
principal studies and sketches were prepared for and published in
Harper's Magazine. The spirit in which they were written was solely that
of one who loves the open air and his fellow-men of every condition and
color, and who has had the good-fortune to witness in newer Canada
something of the old and almost departed life of the plainsmen and
woodsmen, and of the newer forces of nation-building on our continent.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. Titled Pioneers 1
II. Chartering a Nation 11
III. A Famous Missionary 53
IV. Antoine's Moose-yard 66
V. Big Fishing 115
VI. "A Skin for a Skin" 134
VII. "Talking Musquash" 190
VIII. Canada's El Dorado 214
IX. Dan Dunn's Outfit 290
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
_The Romantic Adventure of Old Sun's Wife_ Frontispiece
_Dr. Rudolph Meyer's Place on the Pipestone_ 2
_Settler's Sod Cabin_ 3
_Whitewood, a Settlement on the Prairie_ 4
_Interior of Sod Cabin on the Frontier_ 5
_Prairie Sod Stable_ 7
_Trained Ox Team_ 9
_Indian Boys Running a Foot-race_ 31
_Indian Mother and Boy_ 36
_Opening of the Soldier Clan Dance_ 39
_Sketch in the Soldier Clan | 3,084.780274 |
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CARRY ON!
By VIRNA SHEARD
PUBLISHED UNDER THE DISTINGUISHED
PATRONAGE OF THE IMPERIAL ORDER
OF THE DAUGHTERS OF THE
EMPIRE IN AID OF THE
RED CROSS
TORONTO:
WARWICK BROS. & RUTTER, LIMITED
1917
COPYRIGHT, CANADA, 1917
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We acknowledge with thanks the kindness of _The Globe_, Toronto, for
permission to use Carry On, The Young Knights, The Watcher, October
Goes, Dreams, The Cry, A War Chant, To One Who Sleeps, The Requiem and
The Lament, to _Saturday Night_, Toronto, for permission to use Before
the Dawn, and to _The Canadian Magazine_ for permission to use When
Jonquils Blow. The other poems have not hitherto been published.
CONTENTS
Carry On
The Young Knights
The Shells
The Watcher
October Goes
Dreams
Before the Dawn
Crosses
The Cry
A War Chant
When Jonquils Blow
To One Who Sleeps
The Sea
Comrades
Requiem
Lament
CARRY ON!
That all freedom may abide
Carry on!
For the brave who fought and died,
Carry on!
England's flag so long adored
Is the banner of the Lord--
His the cannon--His the sword--
Carry on, and on! Carry on!
Through the night of death and tears,
Carry on!
Through the hour that scars and sears,
Carry on!
Legions in the flame-torn sky,--
Armies that go reeling by,--
Only once can each man die;
Carry on!
For the things you count the best,
Carry on!
Take love with you,--leave the rest--
Carry on!
Though the fight be short or long,
Men of ours--O dear and strong--
Yours will be the Victor's song,
Carry on--and on! Carry on!
THE YOUNG KNIGHTS
Now they remain to us forever young
Who with such splendor gave their youth away;
Perpetual Spring is their inheritance,
Though they have lived in Flanders and in France
A round of years, in one remembered day.
They drained life's goblet as a joyous draught
And left within the cup no bitter lees.
Sweetly they answered to the King's behest,
And gallantly fared forth upon a quest,
Beset by foes on land and on the seas.
So in the ancient world hath bloomed again
The rose of old romance--red as of yore;
The flower of high emprise hath whitely blown
Above the graves of those we call our own,
And we will know its fragrance evermore.
Now if their deeds were written with the stars,
In golden letters on the midnight sky
They would not care. They were so young, and dear,
They loved the best the things that were most near,
And gave no thought to glory far and high.
They need no shafts of marble pure and cold--
No painted windows radiantly bright;
Across our hearts their names are carven deep--
In waking dreams, and in the dreams of sleep,
They bring us still ineffable delight.
Methinks heaven's gates swing open very wide
To welcome in a host so fair and strong;
Perchance the unharmed angels as they sing,
May envy these the battle-scars they bring,
And sigh e'er they take up the triumph song!
THE SHELLS
O my brave heart! O my strong heart! My sweet heart and gay,
The soul of me went with you the hour you marched away,
For surely she is soulless, this woman white, and still,
Who works with shining metal to make the things that kill.
I tremble as I touch them,--so strange they are, and bright;
Each one will be a comet to break the purple night.
Grey Fear will ride before it, and Death will ride behind,
The sound of it will deafen,--the light of it will blind!
And whom it meets in passing, but God alone will know;
Each one will blaze a trail in blood--will hew a road of woe;
O when the fear is on me, my heart grows faint and cold:--
I dare not think of what I do,--of what my fingers hold.
Then sounds a Voice, "Arise, and make the weapons of the Lord!"
"He rides upon the whirlwind! He hath need of shell and sword!
His army is a mighty host--the lovely and the strong,--
They follow Him to battle, with trumpet and with Song!"
O my brave heart! My strong heart! My sweet heart and dear,--
'Tis not for me to falter,--'Tis not for me to fear--
Across the utmost barrier--wherever you may be,--
With joy unspent, and deathless, my soul will follow thee.
THE WATCHER
Little White Moon--Each night from Heaven you lean
To watch the lonely Seas, and all the Earth between;--
O little shining Moon! What have you seen?--
What have you seen upon the fields of France,
Where through the drowsy grain, the gay red poppies dance,
Unheeding splintered gun or broken lance?
Deep in the green-wood, shadow-laced, and still,
What is it you have found, by fern-bed and by rill?
What by each hollow--and each little hill?--
When o'er the sky the driven smoke-clouds flee,
And through a dusky veil look down fearfully--
What do you find adrift upon the sea?
In the great mountains where the four winds blow,--
Where the King's cavalry, and his foot-soldiers go--
What have you seen beneath the shifting snow?
Little white Moon! So old,--so strangely bright--
How could you still shine on, unless you knew some night
Here in the world you watch, all would be right!
OCTOBER GOES
October goes, and its colors all pass:
At dawn there's a silver film on the grass,
And the reeds are shining as pipes of glass,
But yesterweek where the | 3,084.7842 |
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Produced by Juli Rew.
Vanity Fair
by
William Makepeace Thackeray
BEFORE THE CURTAIN
As the manager of the Performance sits before the curtain on the boards
and looks into the Fair, a feeling of profound melancholy comes over
him in his survey of the bustling place. There is a great quantity of
eating and drinking, making love and jilting, laughing and the
contrary, smoking, cheating, fighting, dancing and fiddling; there are
bullies pushing about, bucks ogling the women, knaves picking pockets,
policemen on the look-out, quacks (OTHER quacks, plague take them!)
bawling in front of their booths, and yokels looking up at the
tinselled dancers and poor old rouged tumblers, while the
light-fingered folk are operating upon their pockets behind. Yes, this
is VANITY FAIR; not a moral place certainly; nor a merry one, though
very noisy. Look at the faces of the actors and buffoons when they
come off from their business; and Tom Fool washing the paint off his
cheeks before he sits down to dinner with his wife and the little Jack
Puddings behind the canvas. The curtain will be up presently, and he
will be turning over head and heels, and crying, "How are you?"
A man with a reflective turn of mind, walking through an exhibition of
this sort, will not be oppressed, I take it, by his own or other
people's hilarity. An episode of humour or kindness touches and
amuses him here and there--a pretty child looking at a gingerbread
stall; a pretty girl blushing whilst her lover talks to her and chooses
her fairing; poor Tom Fool, yonder behind the waggon, mumbling his bone
with the honest family which lives by his tumbling; but the general
impression is one more melancholy than mirthful. When you come home
you sit down in a sober, contemplative, not uncharitable frame of mind,
and apply yourself to your books or your business.
I have no other moral than this to tag to the present story of "Vanity
Fair." Some people consider Fairs immoral altogether, and eschew such,
with their servants and families: very likely they are right. But
persons who think otherwise, and are of a lazy, or a benevolent, or a
sarcastic mood, may perhaps like to step in for half an hour, and look
at the performances. There are scenes of all sorts; some dreadful
combats, some grand and lofty horse-riding, some scenes of high life,
and some of very middling indeed; some love-making for the sentimental,
and some light comic business; the whole accompanied by appropriate
scenery and brilliantly illuminated with the Author's own candles.
What more has the Manager of the Performance to say?--To acknowledge
the kindness with which it has been received in all the principal towns
of England through which the Show has passed, and where it has been
most favourably noticed by the respected conductors of the public
Press, and by the Nobility and Gentry. He is proud to think that his
Puppets have given satisfaction to the very best company in this
empire. The famous little Becky Puppet has been pronounced to be
uncommonly flexible in the joints, and lively on the wire; the Amelia
Doll, though it has had a smaller circle of admirers, has yet been
carved and dressed with the greatest care by the artist; the Dobbin
Figure, though apparently clumsy, yet dances in a very amusing and
natural manner; the Little Boys' Dance has been liked by some; and
please to remark the richly dressed figure of the Wicked Nobleman, on
which no expense has been spared, and which Old Nick will fetch away at
the end of this singular performance.
And with this, and a profound bow to his patrons, the Manager retires,
and the curtain rises.
LONDON, June 28, 1848
CONTENTS
I Chiswick Mall
II In Which Miss Sharp and Miss Sedley Prepare to Open the
Campaign
III Rebecca Is in Presence of the Enemy
IV The Green Silk Purse
V Dobbin of Ours
VI Vauxhall
VII Crawley of Queen's Crawley
VIII Private and Confidential
IX Family Portraits
X Miss Sharp Begins to Make Friends
XI Arcadian Simplicity
XII Quite a Sentimental Chapter
XIII Sentimental and Otherwise
XIV | 3,084.784276 |
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Produced by Bryan Ness, Louise Pattison and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
Transcriber's Note:
In the original, the speeches of H.R.H. the Prince of Wales are set in a
larger type face. In this e-text the larger type sections are represented
by indentation. Corrections are listed at the end of the book.
* * * * *
SPEECHES AND ADDRESSES
OF
H.R.H. THE PRINCE OF WALES:
1863-1888.
[Illustration: Albert Edward P.]
SPEECHES AND ADDRESSES
OF
H.R.H. THE PRINCE OF WALES:
1863-1888.
EDITED BY
JAMES MACAULAY, A.M., M.D. EDIN.,
AUTHOR OF "VICTORIA R.I., HER LIFE AND REIGN."
_WITH A PORTRAIT._
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1889.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
To the Memory of
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
T H E P R I N C E C O N S O R T,
THE "NOBLE FATHER OF OUR KINGS TO BE,"
ALBERT THE WISE AND GOOD.
PREFACE.
The year 1888, that of the Silver Wedding of the Prince and Princess of
Wales, is also the 25th anniversary of the year when the Prince first
began to appear in public life. It is, therefore, a fit time to present
some record of events in which His Royal Highness has taken part, and of
services rendered by him to the nation, during the past quarter of a
century. The best and the least formal way of doing this seemed to be
the reproduction of his Speeches and Addresses, along with some account
of the occasions when they were delivered.
Some of these speeches, in more recent years, are known to all, and
their importance is universally recognised; such as those relating to
the various International Exhibitions, the foundation of the Royal
College of Music, and the establishment of the Imperial Institute. But
throughout the whole of the twenty-five years, there has been a
succession of speeches, on all manner of occasions, of many of which
there is no adequate record or remembrance. It is only due to the Prince
to recall the various services thus rendered by him, especially during
those earlier years when the loss of the Prince Consort was most deeply
felt, and when the Queen, whose Jubilee has been so splendidly
celebrated, was living in retirement. A new generation has come on the
stage since those days, and there are comparatively few who remember the
number and variety of occasions upon which Royalty was worthily
represented by the Prince of Wales, and the important and arduous duties
voluntarily and cheerfully undertaken by him.
Before carrying out this design, it was advisable to ascertain if there
might be any objection on the part of the Prince of Wales. There might,
for instance, be a purpose of official publication of these speeches. On
the matter being referred to the Prince, he not only made no objection,
but, in most kind and gracious terms, gave his sanction to the work, and
hoped it might be "useful to the various objects which he had publicly
advocated and supported."
The number and diversity of occasions on which the Prince has made these
public appearances will surprise those who have not personal
recollection of them. The speeches themselves will surprise no one. The
Prince has had education and culture such as few of any station obtain;
directed at first by such a father as the Prince Consort, and by tutors
who carried out the design of both his parents. Accomplished in Art, and
interested in Science, in Antiquities, and most branches of learning;
with some University training at Oxford, Cambridge, and Edinburgh, and
with his mind enlarged by foreign travel, we might expect the fruits of
such training to appear in his public addresses. Add to this the
kindliness which comes from a good natural disposition, the sympathetic
influence of a genial manner, and the grace which is given by a training
from childhood in the highest station, and we can understand how the
speeches even of the earliest years were heard with pleasure and
approval. Some of the speeches are very brief, but are always to the
point, and present the gist of the subject in hand. It was Earl
Granville who once said, in proposing his health, that, "if the speeches
of His Royal Highness were usually short, they were always, to use a
homely expression, as full of meat as an egg." Even where there has been
no formal speech, we are interested in knowing what the Prince has done
as well as what he has said; and therefore some important occasions are
included when no speech was made.
It is the variety of subjects that will strike most readers. Let it be
noted, moreover, that the speeches now reproduced are only those
addressed to meetings where reporters for the press were present. There
have been innumerable meetings besides,--meetings of Commissions, of
Boards, of Councils, of Committees, at none of which has the Prince ever
been an inactive or silent member, but rather the guiding and moving
spirit. If the voluntary offices of His Royal Highness were printed at
length, they would far outnumber those mere honorary titles with which
the College of Arms concerns itself; and are such as imply thought and
work, in many useful and beneficent ways.
Long may His Royal Highness have the health and the will for such
offices and duties. If his future career is equal to the hopes and
promise of his early life, and the performances of the last twenty-five
years, he will leave a name illustrious and memorable in the history of
the British Empire.
* * * * *
[***symbol] _The frontispiece portrait, under which the Prince of
Wales has been pleased to put his autograph, is etched by W. Strang,
from a recent photograph by Van der Weyde._
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE EARLY YEARS OF THE PRINCE OF WALES 1
AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY BANQUET OF 1863 11
FREED | 3,084.97861 |
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Produced by Joel Erickson, Dave Avis
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: LOUIS DASHED THE GLOWING END OF HIS CIGAR IN THE <DW64>'S
FACE.]
A BEAUTIFUL POSSIBILITY
BY
EDITH FERGUSON BLACK
A BEAUTIFUL POSSIBILITY.
CHAPTER I.
In one of the fairest of the West Indian islands a simple but elegant
villa lifted its gabled roofs amidst a bewildering wealth of tropical
beauty. Brilliant birds flitted among the foliage, gold and silver
fishes darted to and fro in a large stone basin of a fountain which
threw its glittering spray over the lawn in front of the house, and on
the vine-shaded veranda hammocks hung temptingly, and low wicker chairs
invited to repose.
Behind the jalousies of the library the owner of the villa sat at a
desk, busily writing. He was a slight, delicate looking man, with an
expression of careless good humor upon his face and an easy air of
assurance according with the interior of the room which bespoke a
cultured taste and the ability to gratify it. Books were everywhere,
rare bits of china, curios and exquisitely tinted shells lay in
picturesque confusion upon tables and wall brackets of native woods;
soft silken draperies fell from the windows and partially screened from
view a large alcove where microscopes of different sizes stood upon
cabinets whose shelves were filled with a miscellaneous collection of
rare plants and beautiful insects, specimens from the agate forest of
Arizona, petrified remains from the 'Bad Lands' of Dakota, feathery
fronded seaweed, skeletons of birds and strange wild creatures, and all
the countless curiosities in which naturalists delight.
Lenox Hildreth when a young man, forced to flee from the rigors of the
New England climate by reason of an inherited tendency to pulmonary
disease, had chosen Barbadoes as his adopted country, and had never
since revisited the land of his birth. From the first, fortune had
smiled upon him, and when, some time after his marriage with the
daughter of a wealthy planter, she had come into possession of all her
father's estates, he had built the house which for fifteen years he had
called home. When Ev | 3,084.988563 |
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Transcribed from the 1889 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
THE ROMAN AND THE TEUTON
A SERIES OF LECTURES
DELIVERED BEFORE
_THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE_
BY
CHARLES KINGSLEY, M.A.
_NEW EDITION_, _WITH PREFACE_, _BY_
PROFESSOR F. MAX MULLER
London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1889
[_All rights reserved_]
OXFORD:
HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY.
DEDICATED
TO
The Gentlemen of the University
WHO DID ME THE HONOUR
TO ATTEND THESE LECTURES.
Contents
Preface by Professor F. Max Muller
The Forest Children
The Dying Empire
Preface to Lecture III
The Human Deluge
The Gothic Civilizer
Dietrich's End
The Nemesis of the Goths
Paulus Diaconus
The Clergy and the Heathen
The Monk a Civilizer
The Lombard Laws
The Popes and the Lombards
The Strategy of Prividence
Appendix--Inaugural Lecture: The Limits of Exact Science as Applied to
History
PREFACE
Never shall I forget the moment when for the last time I gazed upon the
manly features of Charles Kingsley, features which Death had rendered
calm, grand, sublime. The constant struggle that in life seemed to allow
no rest to his expression, the spirit, like a caged lion, shaking the
bars of his prison, the mind striving for utterance, the soul wearying
for loving response,--all that was over. There remained only the
satisfied expression of triumph and peace, as of a soldier who had fought
a good fight, and who, while sinking into the stillness of the slumber of
death, listens to the distant sounds of music and to the shouts of
victory. One saw the ideal man, as Nature had meant him to be, and one
felt that there is no greater sculptor than Death.
As one looked on that marble statue which only some weeks ago had so
warmly pressed one's hand, his whole life flashed through one's thoughts.
One remembered the young curate and the Saint's Tragedy; the chartist
parson and Alton Locke; the happy poet and the Sands of Dee; the
brilliant novel-writer and Hypatia and Westward-Ho; the Rector of
Eversley and his Village Sermons; the beloved professor at Cambridge, the
busy canon at Chester, the powerful preacher in Westminster Abbey. One
thought of him by the Berkshire chalk-streams and on the Devonshire
coast, watching the beauty and wisdom of Nature, reading her solemn
lessons, chuckling too over her inimitable fun. One saw him in
town-alleys, preaching the Gospel of godliness and cleanliness, while
smoking his pipe with soldiers and navvies. One heard him in drawing-
rooms, listened to with patient silence, till one of his vigorous or
quaint speeches bounded forth, never to be forgotten. How children
delighted in him! How young, wild men believed in him, and obeyed him
too! How women were captivated by his chivalry, older men by his genuine
humility and sympathy!
All that was now passing away--was gone. But as one looked on him for
the last time on earth, one felt that greater than the curate, the poet,
the professor, the canon, had been the man himself, with his warm heart,
his honest purposes, his trust in his friends, his readiness to spend
himself, his chivalry and humility, worthy of a better age.
Of all this the world knew little;--yet few men excited wider and
stronger sympathies.
Who can forget that funeral on the 28th Jan., 1875, and the large sad
throng that gathered round his grave? There was the representative of
the Prince of Wales, and close by the gipsies of the Eversley common, who
used to call him their Patrico-rai, their Priest-King. There was the old
Squire of his village, and the labourers, young and old, to whom he had
been a friend and a father. There were Governors of distant Colonies,
officers, and sailors, the Bishop of his diocese, and the Dean of his
abbey; there were the leading Nonconformists of the neighbourhood, and
his own devoted curates, Peers and Members of the House of Commons,
authors and publishers; and outside the church-yard, the horses and the
hounds and the huntsman in pink, for though as good a clergyman as any,
Charles Kingsley had been a good | 3,085.086737 |
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Produced by Greg Bergquist 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)
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 1
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 1
Paths of the Mound-Building Indians
and Great Game Animals
BY
ARCHER BUTLER HULBERT
_With Maps and Illustrations_
[Illustration]
THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY
CLEVELAND, OHIO
1902
COPYRIGHT, 1902
BY
THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
TO
MY FATHER
THIS SERIES OF VOLUMES
IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
"_Je n'aurais point aux Dieux demande d'autre pere._"
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE 11
GENERAL INTRODUCTION 17
PART I
I. THE COMPARATIVE METHOD OF STUDY 37
II. DISTRIBUTION OF MOUND-BUILDING INDIANS 43
III. EARLY TRAVEL IN THE INTERIOR 53
IV. HIGHLAND LOCATION OF ARCHAEOLOGICAL REMAINS 68
V. WATERSHED MIGRATIONS 94
PART II
I. INTRODUCTORY 101
II. RANGE AND HABITS OF THE BUFFALO 103
III. EARLY USE OF BUFFALO ROADS 110
IV. CONTINENTAL THOROUGHFARES 128
ILLUSTRATIONS
I. ARCHAEOLOGIC MAP OF WISCONSIN
(showing interior location of remains) 48
II. ARCHAEOLOGIC MAP OF OHIO
(showing interior location of remains) 52
III. ARCHAEOLOGIC MAP OF ILLINOIS AND INDIANA
(showing interior location of remains) 55
IV. EARLY HIGHWAYS ON THE WATERSHEDS OF OHIO 78
PREFACE
Beginning with the first highways of America, the first monograph of the
series will consider the routes of the mound-building Indians and the
trails of the large game animals, particularly the buffalo, as having
set the course of landward travel in America on the watersheds of the
interior of the continent. The second monograph will treat of the Indian
thoroughfares of America; the third, fourth, and fifth, the three roads
built westward during the old French War, Washington's Road (Nemacolin's
Path), Braddock's Road, and the Old Glade (Forbes's) Road. The sixth
monograph will be a study of Boone's Wilderness Road to Kentucky; the
seventh and eighth, a study of the principal portage paths of the
interior of the continent and of the military roads built in the
Mississippi basin during the era of conquest; Vol. IX. will take up the
historic water-ways which most influenced westward conquest and
immigration; the famed Cumberland Road, or Old National Road, "which
more than any other material structure in the land served to harmonize
and strengthen, if not to save, the Union," will be the subject of the
tenth monograph. Two volumes will be given to the study of the pioneer
roads of America, and two to the consideration of the history of the
great American canals.
The history of America in the later part of the pioneer period, between
1810 and 1840, centers about the roads and canals which were to that day
what our trunk railway lines are to us today. The "life of the road" was
the life of the nation, and a study of the traffic on those first
highways of land and water, and of the customs and experiences of the
early travelers over them brings back with freshening interest the story
of our own "Middle Age." Horace Bushnell well said: "If you wish to know
whether society is stagnant, learning scholastic, religion a dead
formality, you may learn something by going into universities and
libraries; something also by the work that is doing on cathedrals and
churches, or in them; but quite as much by looking at the roads. For if
there is any motion in society, the Road, which is the symbol of motion,
will indicate the fact. When there is activity, or enlargement, or a
liberalizing spirit of any kind, then there is intercourse and travel,
and these require roads. So if there is any kind of advancement going
on, if new ideas are abroad and new hopes rising, then you will see it
by the roads that are building. Nothing makes an inroad without making a
road. All creative action, whether in government, industry, thought, or
religion, creates roads." The days when our first roads and our great
canals were building, were days when "new ideas were abroad and new
hopes rising." The four volumes of our series treating of pioneer roads
and the great canals will be a record of those ideas and hopes and the
mighty part they played in the social development of America. The final
volume will treat of the practical side of the road question. An index
will conclude the series.
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
GENERAL INTRODUCTION
GENERAL INTRODUCTION
Nothing is more typical of a civilization than its roads. The traveler
enters the city of Nazareth on a Roman road which has been used,
perhaps, since the Christian era dawned. Every line is typical of Rome;
every block of stone speaks of Roman power and Roman will. And ancient
roads come down from the Roman standard in a descending scale even as
the civilizations which built them. The main thoroughfare from the | 3,085.278603 |
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Produced by Robert J. Hall
[Page ii]
[Illustration: Captain Robert F. Scott R.N.
_J. Russell & Sons, Southsea, photographers_]
[Page iii]
THE VOYAGES OF CAPTAIN SCOTT
_Retold from 'The Voyage of the "Discovery"' and 'Scott's Last
Expedition'_
BY CHARLES TURLEY
Author of 'Godfrey Marten, Schoolboy,' 'A Band of Brothers,' etc.
With an introduction by
SIR J. M. BARRIE, BART.
Numerous illustrations in colour and black and white and a map
[Page v]
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
THE VOYAGE OF THE 'DISCOVERY'
Chapter
I. The 'Discovery'.
II. Southward Ho!
III. In Search of Winter Quarters.
IV. The Polar Winter.
V. The Start of the Southern Journey.
VI. The Return.
VII. A Second Winter.
VIII. The Western Journey.
IX. The Return from the West.
X. Release.
THE LAST EXPEDITION
Chapter
Preface to 'Scott's Last Expedition'.
Biographical Note.
British Antarctic Expedition, 1910.
[Page vi]
I. Through Stormy Seas.
II. Depot Laying to One Ton Camp.
III. Perils.
IV. A Happy Family.
V. Winter.
VI. Good-bye to Cape Evans.
VII. The Southern Journey Begins.
VIII. On the Beardmore Glacier.
IX. The South Pole.
X. On the Homeward Journey.
XI. The Last March.
Search Party Discovers the Tent.
In Memoriam.
Farewell Letters.
Message to the Public.
Index.
[Page vii]
ILLUSTRATIONS
_PHOTOGRAVURE PLATE_
Portrait of Captain Robert F. Scott
_From a photograph by J. Russell & Son, Southsea_.
_COLOURED PLATES_
_From Water-Colour Drawings by Dr. Edward A. Wilson._.
Sledding.
Mount Erebus.
Lunar Corona.
'Birdie' Bowers reading the thermometer on the ramp.
_DOUBLE PAGE PLATE_
Panorama at Cape Evans.
Berg in South Bay.
_FULL PAGE PLATES_
Robert F. Scott at the age of thirteen as a naval cadet.
The 'Discovery'.
Looking up the gateway from Pony Depot.
Pinnacled ice at mouth of Ferrar Glacier.
Pressure ridges north side of Discovery Bluff.
The 'Terra Nova' leaving the Antarctic.
Pony Camp on the barrier.
Snowed-up tent after three days' blizzard.
Pitching the double tent on the summit.
[Page viii]
Adelie Penguin on nest.
Emperor Penguins on sea-ice.
Dog party starting from Hut Point.
Dog lines.
| 3,085.284682 |
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provided by the Internet Archive
[Illustration: 006]
[Illustration: | 3,085.286935 |
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<-- p. 100 -->
At·tracÏtiv¶iÏty (?), n. The quality or degree of attractive power.
AtÏtract¶or (?), n. One who, or that which, attracts.
Sir T. Browne.
At¶traÏhent (?), a. [L. attrahens, p. pr. of attrahere. See Attract, v. t.] Attracting; drawing; attractive.
At¶traÏhent, n. 1. That which attracts, as a magnet.
The motion of the steel to its attrahent.
Glanvill.
2. (Med.) A substance which, by irritating the surface, excites action in the part to which it is applied, as a blister, an epispastic, a sinapism.
AtÏtrap¶ (?), v. t. [F. attraper to catch; … (L. ad + trappe trap. See Trap (for taking game).] To entrap; to insnare. [Obs.]
Grafton.
AtÏtrap¶, v. t. [Pref. ad + trap to adorn.] To adorn with trapping; to array. [Obs.]
Shall your horse be attrapped... more richly?
Holland.
At·trecÏta¶tion (?), n. [L. attrectatio; ad + tractare to handle.] Frequent handling or touching. [Obs.]
Jer. Taylor.
AtÏtrib¶uÏtaÏble (?), a. Capable of being attributed; ascribable; imputable.
Errors... attributable to carelessness.
J.D. Hooker.
AtÏtrib¶ute (?), v. t. [imp. & p. p. Attributed; p. pr. & vb. n. Attributing.] [L. attributus, p. p. of attribuere; ad + tribuere to bestow. See Tribute.] To ascribe; to consider (something) as due or appropriate (to); to refer, as an effect to a cause; to impute; to assign; to consider as belonging (to).
We attribute nothing to God that hath any repugnancy or contradiction in it.
Abp. Tillotson.
The merit of service is seldom attributed to the true and exact performer.
Shak.
Syn. Ð See Ascribe.
At¶triÏbute (?), n. [L. attributum.] 1. That which is attributed; a quality which is considered as belonging to, or inherent in, a person or thing; an essential or necessary property or characteristic.
But mercy is above this sceptered away;...
It is an attribute to God himself.
Shak.
2. Reputation. [Poetic]
Shak.
3. (Paint. & Sculp.) A conventional symbol of office, character, or identity, added to any particular figure; as, a club is the attribute of Hercules.
4. (Gram.) Quality, etc., denoted by an attributive; an attributive adjunct or adjective.
At·triÏbu¶tion (?), n. [L. attributio: cf. F. attribution.] 1. The act of attributing or ascribing, as a quality, character, or function, to a thing or person, an effect to a cause.
2. That which is ascribed or attributed.
AtÏtrib¶uÏtive (?), a. [Cf. F. attributif.] Attributing; pertaining to, expressing, or assigning an attribute; of the nature of an attribute.
AtÏtrib¶uÏtive, n, (Gram.) A word that denotes an attribute; esp. a modifying word joined to a noun; an adjective or adjective phrase.
AtÏtrib¶uÏtiveÏly, adv. In an attributive manner.
AtÏtrite¶ (?), a. [L. attritus, p. p. of atterere; ad + terere to rub. See Trite.] 1. Rubbed; worn by friction.
Milton.
2. (Theol.) Repentant from fear of punishment; having attrition of grief for sin; Ð opposed to contrite.
AtÏtri¶tion (?), n. [L. attritio: cf. F. attrition.] 1. The act of rubbing together; friction; the act of wearing by friction, or by rubbing substances together; abrasion.
Effected by attrition of the inward stomach.
Arbuthnot.
2. The state of being worn.
Johnson.
3. (Theol.) Grief for sin arising only from fear of punishment or feelings of shame. See Contrition.
Wallis.
At¶try (?), a. [See Atter.] Poisonous; malignant; malicious. [Obs.]
Chaucer.
AtÏtune¶ (?), v. t. [imp. & p. p. Attuned (?); p. pr. & vb. n. Attuning.] [Pref. adÐ + tune.]
1. To tune or put in tune; to make melodious; to adjust, as one sound or musical instrument to another; as, to attune the voice to a harp.
2. To arrange fitly; to make accordant.
Wake to energy each social aim,
Attuned spontaneous to the will of Jove.
Beattie.
AÏtwain¶ (?), adv. [OE. atwaine, atwinne; pref. aÐ + twain.] In twain; asunder. [Obs. or Poetic] ½Cuts atwain the knots.¸
Tennyson.
AÏtween¶ (?), adv. or prep. [See Atwain, and cf. Between.] Between. [Archaic]
Spenser. Tennyson.
AÏtwirl¶ (?), a. & adv. [Pref. aÐ + twist.] Twisted; distorted; awry. [R.]
Halliwell.
AÏtwite¶ (?), v. t. [OE. attwyten, AS. ‘twÆtan. See Twit.] To speak reproachfully of; to twit; to upbraid. [Obs.]
AÏtwixt¶ (?), adv. Betwixt. [Obs.] Spenser.
AÏtwo¶ (?), adv. [Pref. aÐ + two.] In two; in twain; asunder. [Obs.]
Chaucer.
AÏtyp¶ic (?), AÏtyp¶icÏal,} a. [Pref. aÐ not + typic, typical.] That has no type; devoid of typical character; irregular; unlike the type.
Ø Au·bade¶ (?), n. [F., fr. aube the dawn, fr. L. albus white.] An open air concert in the morning, as distinguished from an evening serenade; also, a pianoforte composition suggestive of morning.
Grove.
The crowing cock...
Sang his aubade with lusty voice and clear.
Longfellow.
Ø Au·baine¶ (?), n. [F., fr. aubain an alien, fr. L. alibi elsewhere.] Succession to the goods of a stranger not naturalized.
Littr‚.
Droit d'aubaine (?), the right, formerly possessed by the king of France, to all the personal property of which an alien died possessed. It was abolished in 1819.
Bouvier.
Aube (?), n. [See Ale.] An alb. [Obs.]
Fuller.
Ø Au·berge¶ (?), n. [F.] An inn.
Beau. & Fl.
Ø Au¶bin (?), n. [F.] A broken gait of a horse, between an amble and a gallop; Ð commonly called a Canterbury gallop.
Au¶burn (?), a. [OE. auburne blonde, OF. alborne, auborne, fr. LL. alburnus whitish, fr. L. albus white. Cf. Alburn.] 1. FlaxenÐ. [Obs.]
Florio.
2. Reddish brown.
His auburn locks on either shoulder flowed.
Dryden.
Ø AuÏche¶niÏum (?), n. [NL., fr. Gr.?, fr.? the neck.] (Zo”l.) The part of the neck nearest the back.
Auc¶taÏry (?), n. [L. auctarium.] That which is superadded; augmentation. [Obs.]
Baxter.
Auc¶tion (?), n. [L. auctio an increasing, a public sale, where the price was called out, and the article to be sold was adjudged to the last increaser of the price, or the highest bidder, fr. L. augere, auctum, to increase. See Augment.] 1. A public sale of property to the highest bidder, esp. by a person licensed and authorized for the purpose; a vendue.
2. The things sold by auction or put up to auction.
Ask you why Phryne the whole auction buys?
Pope.
µ In the United States, the more prevalent expression has been ½sales at auction,¸ that is, by an increase of bids (Lat. auctione). This latter form is preferable.
Dutch auction, the public offer of property at a price beyond its value, then gradually lowering the price, till some one accepts it as purchaser.
P. Cyc.
Auc¶tion, v. t. To sell by auction.
Auc¶tionÏaÏry (?), a. [L. auctionarius.] Of or pertaining to an auction or an auctioneer. [R.]
With auctionary hammer in thy hand.
Dryden.
Auc·tionÏeer¶ (?), n. A person who sells by auction; a person whose business it is to dispose of goods or lands by public sale to the highest or best bidder.
Auc·tionÏeer¶, v. t. To sell by auction; to auction.
Estates... advertised and auctioneered away.
Cowper.
Au·cuÏpa¶tion (?), n. [L. aucupatio, fr. auceps, contr. for aviceps; avis bird + capere to take.] Birdcatching; fowling. [Obs.]
Blount.
AuÏda¶cious (?), a. [F. audacieux, as if fr. LL. audaciosus (not found), fr. L. audacia audacity, fr. audax, Ðacis, bold, fr. audere to dare.] 1. Daring; spirited; adventurous.
As in a cloudy chair, ascending rides
Audacious.
Milton.
2. Contemning the restraints of law, religion, or decorum; bold in wickedness; presumptuous; impudent; insolent. ½ Audacious traitor.¸ Shak.
½ Such audacious neighborhood.¸
Milton.
3. Committed with, or proceedings from, daring effrontery or contempt of law, morality, or decorum. ½Audacious cruelty.¸ ½Audacious prate.¸
Shak.
AuÏda¶ciousÏly, adv. In an audacious manner; with excess of boldness; impudently.
AuÏda¶ciousÏness, n. The quality of being audacious; impudence; audacity.
AuÏdac¶iÏty (?), n. 1. Daring spirit, resolution, or confidence; venturesomeness.
The freedom and audacity necessary in the commerce of men.
Tatler.
2. Reckless daring; presumptuous impudence; Ð implying a contempt of law or moral restraints.
With the most arrogant audacity.
Joye.
Au·diÏbil¶iÏty (?), n. The quality of being audible; power of being heard; audible capacity.
Au¶diÏble (?), a. [LL. audibilis, fr. L. audire, auditum, to hear: cf. Gr.? ear, L. auris, and E. ear.] Capable of being heard; loud enough to be heard; actually heard; as, an audible voice or whisper.
Au¶diÏble, n. That which may be heard. [Obs.]
Visibles are swiftlier carried to the sense than audibles.
Bacon.
Au¶diÏbleÏness, n. The quality of being audible.
Au¶diÏbly, adv. So as to be heard.
Au¶diÏence (?), n. [F. audience, L. audientia, fr. audire to hear. See Audible, a.] 1. The act of hearing; attention to sounds.
Thou, therefore, give due audience, and attend.
Milton.
2. Admittance to a hearing; a formal | 3,085.378598 |
2023-11-16 19:08:29.3675150 | 7,436 | 6 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Archaic, dialect and variant spellings (including quoted proper
nouns) remain as printed, except where noted. Minor typographical
errors have been corrected without note; significant amendments have
been listed at the end of the text.
Greek text has been transliterated and appears between {braces}.
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THE
ETHNOLOGY
OF
THE BRITISH ISLANDS.
THE
ETHNOLOGY
OF
THE BRITISH ISLANDS.
BY
R. G. LATHAM, M.D., F.R.S.,
CORRESPONDING MEMBER TO THE ETHNOLOGICAL SOCIETY, NEW YORK, ETC.
[Device]
LONDON:
JOHN VAN VOORST, PATERNOSTER ROW.
MDCCCLII.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY T. E. METCALF, 63, SNOW HILL.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Preliminary Remarks.--Present Populations of the British Isles.--
Romans, &c.--Pre-historic Period.--The Irish Elk.--How far
Contemporaneous with Man.--Stone Period.--Modes of Sepulture.--
The Physical Condition of the Soil.--Its Fauna.--Skulls of the
Stone Period.--The Bronze Period.--Gold Ornaments.--Alloys and
Castings.--How far Native or Foreign.--Effect of the Introduction
of Metals.--Dwellings. 1
CHAPTER II.
Authorities for the Earliest Historical Period.--Herodotus.--
Aristotle.--Polybius.--Onomacritus.--Diodorus Siculus.--Strabo.--
Festus Avienus.--Ultimate sources.--Damnonii.--Ph[oe]nician
Trade.--The Orgies.--South-Eastern Britons of Caesar.--The Details
of his Attacks.--The Caledonians of Galgacus. 38
CHAPTER III.
Origin of the Britons.--Kelts of Gaul.--The Belgae.--Whether
Keltic or German.--Evidence of Caesar.--Attrebates, Belgae, Remi,
Durotriges and Morini, Chauci and Menapii. 58
CHAPTER IV.
The Picts.--List of Kings.--Penn Fahel.--Aber and Inver.--The
Picts probably, but not certainly, Britons. 76
CHAPTER V.
Origin of the Gaels.--Difficulties of its Investigation.--Not
Elucidated by any Records, nor yet by Traditions.--Arguments from
the Difference between the British and Gaelic Languages.--The
British Language spoken in Gaul.--The Gaelic not known to be
spoken in any part of the Continent.--Lhuyd's Doctrine.--The
Hibernian Hypothesis.--The Caledonian Hypothesis.--Postulates. 83
CHAPTER VI.
Roman Influences.--Agricola.--The Walls and Ramparts of Adrian,
Antoninus, and Severus.--Bonosus.--Carausius.--The Constantian
Family.--Franks and Alemanni in Britain.--Foreign Elements in the
Roman Legions. 90
CHAPTER VII.
Value of the Early British Records.--True and Genuine Traditions
Rare.--Gildas.--Beda.--Nennius.--Annales Cambrenses.--Difference
between Chronicles and Registers.--Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.--Irish
Annals.--Value of the Accounts of the Fifth and Sixth
Centuries.--Questions to which they apply. 104
CHAPTER VIII.
The Angles of Germany: their comparative obscurity.--Notice of
Tacitus.--Extract from Ptolemy.--Conditions of the Angle Area.--
The Varini.--The Reudigni and other Populations of Tacitus.--The
Sabalingii, &c., of Ptolemy.--The Suevi Angili.--Engle and
Ongle.--Original Angle Area. 142
CHAPTER IX.
The Saxons--of Upper Saxony--of Lower, or Old Saxony.--
Nordalbingians.--Saxons of Ptolemy.--Present and Ancient
Populations of Sleswick-Holstein.--North-Frisians.--Probable
Origin of the name Saxon.--The Littus Saxonicum.--Saxones
Bajocassini. 165
CHAPTER X.
The Angles of Germany--Imperfect Reconstruction of their
History--Their Heroic Age.--Beowulf.--Conquest of Anglen.--
Anecdote from Procopius.--Their Reduction under the Carlovingian
Dynasty.--The Angles of Thuringia. 200
CHAPTER XI.
Recapitulations and Illustrations.--Propositions respecting the
Keltic Character of the Original Occupants of Britain, &c.--The
Relations between the Ancient Britons and the Ancient Gauls,
&c.--The Scotch Gaels.--The Picts.--The Date of the Germanic
Invasions.--The names Angle and Saxon. 219
CHAPTER XII.
Analysis of the Germanic Populations of England.--The Jute
Element Questionable.--Frisian Elements Probable.--Other German
Elements, how far Probable.--Forms in -ing. 232
CHAPTER XIII.
The Scandinavians.--Forms in -by: their Import and
Distribution.--Danes of Lincolnshire, &c.; of East Anglia; of
Scotland; of the Isle of Man; of Lancashire and Cheshire; of
Pembrokeshire.--Norwegians of Northumberland, Scotland, and
Ireland, and Isle of Man.--Frisian forms in Yorkshire.--Bogy.--
Old Scratch.--The Picts possibly Scandinavian.--The Normans. 244
ETHNOLOGY
OF
THE BRITISH ISLANDS.
CHAPTER I.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.--PRESENT POPULATIONS OF THE BRITISH
ISLES.--ROMANS, ETC.--PRE-HISTORIC PERIOD.--THE IRISH ELK.--HOW FAR
CONTEMPORANEOUS WITH MAN.--STONE PERIOD.--MODES OF SEPULTURE.--THE
PHYSICAL CONDITION OF THE SOIL--ITS FAUNA.--SKULLS OF THE STONE
PERIOD.--THE BRONZE PERIOD.--GOLD ORNAMENTS.--ALLOYS AND
CASTINGS.--HOW FAR NATIVE OR FOREIGN.--EFFECT OF THE INTRODUCTION OF
METALS.--DWELLINGS.
The ethnologist, who passes from the history of the varieties of the
human species of the world at large, to the details of some special
family, tribe, or nation, is in the position of the naturalist who rises
from such a work as the _Systema Naturae_, or the _Regne Animal_, to
concentrate his attention on some special section or subsection of the
sciences of Zoology and Botany. If having done this he should betake
himself to some ponderous folio, bulkier than the one which he read
last, but devoted to a subject so specific and limited as to have
scarcely found a place in the general history of organized beings, the
comparison is all the closer. The subject, in its main characteristics,
is the same in both cases; but the difference of the details is
considerable. A topographical map on the scale of a chart of the world,
a manipulation for the microscope as compared with the preparation of a
wax model, are but types and illustrations of the contrast. A small
field requires working after a fashion impossible for a wide farm; often
with different implements, and often with different objects. A
dissertation upon the <DW64>s of Africa, and a dissertation upon the
Britons of the Welsh Principality, though both ethnological, have but
few questions in common, at least in the present state of our knowledge;
and out of a hundred pages devoted to each, scarcely ten would embody
the same sort of facts. With the <DW64>, we should search amongst old
travellers and modern missionaries for such exact statements as we might
be fortunate enough to find respecting his geographical position, the
texture of his hair, the shade of his skin, the peculiarities of his
creed, the structure of his language; and well satisfied should we be if
anything at once new and true fell in our way. But in the case of the
Briton all this is already known to the inquirer, and can be conveyed in
a few sentences to the reader. What then remains? A fresh series of
researches, which our very superiority of knowledge has developed;
inquiries which, with an imperfectly known population, would be
impossible. Who speculates to any extent upon such questions as the
degrees of intermixture between the Moors and the true <DW64>s of Nubia?
Who grapples with such a problem as the date of the occupation of New
Guinea? Such and such-like points are avoided; simply because the _data_
for working them are wanting. Yet with an area like the British Isles,
they are both possible and pertinent. More than this. In such countries
there must either be no ethnology at all, or it must be of the minute
kind, since the primary and fundamental questions, which constitute
nine-tenths of our inquiries elsewhere, are already answered.
Minute ethnology must be more or less speculative--the less the better.
It must be so, however, to some extent, because it attempts new
problems. Critical too it must be--the more the better. It often works
with unfamiliar instruments, whose manipulation must be explained, and
whose power tested. Again, although the field in which it works be wide,
the tract in which it moves may be beaten. An outlying question may have
been treated by many investigators, and the results may be extremely
different. In British ethnology, the history of opinions only, if given
with the due amount of criticism, would fill more than one volume larger
than the present.
The above has been written to shew that any work upon such a subject as
the present must partake, to a great degree, of the nature of a
disquisition: perhaps indeed, the term _controversy_ would not be too
strong. The undeniable and recognized results of previous investigators
are truisms. That the Britons and Gaels are Kelts, and that the English
are Germans is known wherever Welsh dissent, Irish poverty, or English
misgovernment are the subjects of notice. What such Kelticism or
Germanism may have to do with these same characteristics is neither so
well ascertained, nor yet so easy to discover. On the contrary, there is
much upon these points which may be well _un_-learnt. Kelts, perchance,
may not be so very Keltic, or Germans so very German as is believed; for
it may be that a very slight preponderance of the Keltic elements over
the German, or of the German over the Keltic may have determined the use
of the terms. Such a point as this is surely worth raising; yet it
cannot be answered off-hand. At present, however, it is mentioned as a
sample of minute ethnology, and as a warning of the disquisitional
character which the forthcoming pages, in strict pursuance to the nature
of the subject, must be expected to exhibit.
The extent, then, to which the two stocks that occupy the British Isles
are pure or mixed; the characteristics of each stock in its purest form;
and the effects of intermixture where it has taken place, are some of
our problems; and if they could each and all be satisfactorily answered,
we should have a Natural History of our Civilization. But the answers
are not satisfactory; at any rate they are not conclusive. Nevertheless,
a partial solution can be obtained; a partial solution which is
certainly worth some efforts on the part of both the reader and the
writer. Other questions, too, curious rather than of practical value,
constitute the department of minute ethnology; especially when the area
under notice is an island. The _date_ of its occupancy, although
impossible as an absolute epoch, can still be brought within certain
limits. Whether, however, such limits would not be too wide for any one
but a geologist, is another question.
Now, if I have succeeded in shewing that criticism and disquisition must
necessarily form a large part of such an ethnology as the one before us,
I have given a reason for what may, perhaps, seem an apparent
irregularity in the arrangement of the different parts of the subject.
With the civil historian, the earliest events come first; for, in
following causes to their consequences, he begins with the oldest. The
ethnologist, on the other hand, whenever--as is rarely the case--he can
lay before the reader the whole process and all the steps of his
investigations, reverses this method, and begins with the times in which
he lives; so that by a long series of inferences from effect to cause,
he concludes--so to say--at the beginning; inasmuch as it is his special
business to argue backwards or upwards. Yet the facts of the present
volume will follow neither of these arrangements exactly; though, of
course, the order of them will be, in the main, chronological. They will
be taken, in many cases, as they are wanted for the purposes of the
argument; so that if a fact of the tenth century be necessary for the
full understanding of one of the fifth, it will be taken out of its due
order. Occasional transpositions of this kind are to be found in all
works wherein the investigation of doubtful points preponderates over
the illustration of admitted facts, or in all works where discussion
outweighs exposition.
The period when the British Isles were occupied by Kelts only (or, at
least, supposed to have been so) will form the subject of the earlier
chapters. The facts will, of course, be given as I have been able to
find them; but it may be not unnecessary to state beforehand the nature
of the principal questions upon which they will bear.
The date of the first occupancy of the British Isles by man is one of
them. It can (as already stated) only be brought within certain
wide--very wide--limits; and that hypothetically, or subject to the
accuracy of several preliminary facts.
The division of mankind to which the earliest occupants belonged is the
next; and it is closely connected with the first. If the Kelts were the
earliest occupants of Britain, we can tell within a few thousand years
when they arrived. But what if there were an occupation of Britain
anterior to theirs?
The civilization of the earliest occupants is a question inextricably
interwoven with the other two; since the rate at which it advanced--if
it advanced at all--must depend upon the duration of the occupancy, and
the extent to which it was the occupancy of one, or more than one,
section of mankind. But foreign intercourse may have accelerated this
rate, or a foreign civilization may have altogether replaced that of the
_indigenae_. The evidence of this is a fourth question.
So interwoven with each other are all these questions, that, although
the facts of the first three chapters will be arranged with the special
view to their elucidation, no statement of the results will be given
until the invasion of the Anglo-Saxons, or the introduction of the great
Germanic elements of the British nation, leads us from the field of
early Keltic to that of early Teutonic research; and that will not be
until the details of the Britons as opposed to the Gaels, of the Gaels
as opposed to the Britons, and of the Picts (as far as they can be made
out) have been disposed of.
One of the populations of the British Isles, at the present moment,
speaks a language belonging to the Keltic, the other one belonging to
the Teutonic class of tongues. However, it is by no means certain that
the blood, pedigree, race, descent, or extraction coincides with the
form of speech: indeed it is certain that it does so but partially.
Though few individuals of Teutonic extraction speak any of the Keltic
dialects as their mother-tongue, the converse is exceedingly common; and
numerous Kelts know no other language but the English. Speech, then, is
only _prima facie_ evidence of descent; nevertheless, it is the most
convenient criterion we have.
The Keltic class falls into divisions and subdivisions. The oldest and
purest portion of the Gaelic Kelts is to be found in Ireland, especially
on the western coast. Situated as Connaught is on the Atlantic, it lies
beyond the influx of any new blood, except from the east and north; yet
from the east and north the introduction of fresh populations has been
but slight. Here, then, we find the Irish Gael in his most typical form.
Scotland, like Ireland, is _Gaelic_ in respect to its Keltic
population, but the stock is less pure. However slight may be the
admixture of English blood in the Highlands and the Western Isles, the
infusion of Scandinavian is very considerable. Caithness has numerous
geographical terms whose meaning is to be found in the Danish, Swedish,
Norwegian, and Icelandic. _Sutherland_ shews its political relations by
its name. It is the _Southern Land_; an impossible name if the county be
considered English (for it lies in the very _north_ of the island), but
a natural name if we refer it to Norway, of which Sutherland was, at one
time, a southern dependency, or (if not a dependency), a robbing-ground.
Orkney and Shetland were once as thoroughly Norse as the Faroe Isles or
Iceland.
The third variety of the present British population is in the Isle of
Man, where a language sufficiently like the Gaelic of Ireland and
Scotland to be placed in the same division, is still spoken. Yet the
blood is mixed. The Norsemen preponderated in Man; and the constitution
of the island is in many parts Scandinavian, though the language be
Keltic.
In Wales the language and population are still Keltic, though
sufficiently different from the Scotch, Irish, and Manx, to be
considered as a separate branch of that stock. It is conveniently called
_British_, _Cambrian_, and _Cambro-Briton_. It is quite unintelligible
to any Gael. Neither can any Gael, talking Gaelic, make himself
understood by a Briton. On the other hand, however, a Scotch and an
Irish Gael understand each other; whilst, with some effort, they
understand a Manxman, and _vice versa_. So that the number of mutually
unintelligible languages of the Keltic stock is two; in other words, the
Keltic dialects of the British Isles are referable to two branches--the
British for the Welsh, and the Gaelic for the Scotch, Irish, and Manx.
The other language of the British Isles is the English, one upon which
it is unnecessary to enlarge; but which makes the third tongue in actual
existence at the present moment, if we count the Irish, Scotch, and Manx
as dialects of the same language, and the fifth if we separate them.
By raising the Lowland Scotch to the rank of a separate language, we may
increase our varieties; but, as it is only a general view which we are
taking at present, it is as well not to multiply distinctions. I believe
that, notwithstanding some strong assertions to the contrary, there are
no two dialects of the English tongue--whether spoken east or west--in
North Britain or to the South of the Tweed--that are not mutually
intelligible, when used as it is the usual practice to use them. That
strange sentences may be made by picking out strange provincialisms,
and stringing them together in a manner that never occurs in common
parlance, is likely enough; but that any two men speaking English shall
be in the same position to each other as an Englishman is to a Dutchman
or Dane, so that one shall not know what the other says, is what I am
wholly unprepared to believe, both from what I have observed in the
practice of provincial speech, and what I have read in the way of
provincial glossaries.
The populations, however, just enumerated, represent but a fraction of
our ethnological varieties. They only give us those of the nineteenth
century. Other sections have become extinct, or, if not, have lost their
distinctive characteristics, which is much the same as dying out
altogether. The ethnology of these populations is a matter of history.
Beginning with those that have most recently been assimilated to the
great body of Englishmen, we have--
1. The Cornishmen of Cornwall.--They are Britons in blood, and until the
seventeenth century, were Britons in language also. When the Cornish
language ceased to be spoken it was still intelligible to a Welshman;
yet in the reign of Henry II., although intelligible, it was still
different. Giraldus Cambrensis especially states that the "Cornubians
and Armoricans used a language almost identical; a language which the
Welsh, from origin and intercourse, understood in _many_ things, and
_almost_ in all."
2. The Cumbrians, of Cumberland, retained the British language till
after the Conquest. This was, probably, spoken as far north as the
Clyde. Earlier, however, than either of these were--
3. The Picts.--The Cumbrian and Cornish Britons were simply members of
the same division with the Welshmen, Welshmen, so to say, when the Welsh
area extended south of the Bristol Channel and north of the Mersey. The
Picts were, probably, in a different category. They may indeed have been
Gaels. They have formed a separate substantive division of Kelts. They
may have been no Kelts at all, but Germans or Scandinavians.
But populations neither Keltic nor Teutonic have, at different times,
settled in England; populations which (like several branches of the
Keltic stock) have either lost their distinctive characteristics, or
become mixed in blood, but which (unlike such Kelts) were not indigenous
to any of the islands. Like the Germans or Teutons, on the other hand,
they were foreigners; but, unlike the Germans or Teutons, they have not
preserved their separate substantive character. Still, some of their
blood runs in both English and Keltic veins; some of their language has
mixed itself with both tongues; and some of their customs have either
corrupted or improved our national character. Thus--
1. The battle of Hastings filled England with Normans, French in
language, French and Scandinavian in blood, but (eventually) English in
the majority of their matrimonial alliances. And before the Normans
came--
2. The Danes--and before the Danes--
3. The Romans.--Such is the general view of the chief populations, past
and present, of England; of which, however, the Keltic and the Angle are
the chief.
The English-and-Scotch, the Normans, the Danes, and the Romans have all
been introduced upon the island within the Historical period--some
earlier than others, but all within the last 2,000 years, so that we
have a fair amount of information as to their history; not so much,
perhaps, as is generally believed, but still a fair amount. We know
within a few degrees of latitude and longitude where they came from; and
we know their ethnological relations to the occupants of the parts
around them.
With the Kelts this is not the case. Of Gael or Manxman, Briton or Pict,
we know next to nothing during their early history. We can guess where
they came from, and we can infer their ethnological relations; but
history, in the strict sense of the term, we have none; for the Keltic
period differs from that of all the others in being pre-historic. This
is but another way of saying that the Keltic populations, and those
only, are the aborigines of the island; or, if not aboriginal, the
earliest known. Yet it is possible that these same Keltic populations,
whose numerous tribes and clans and nations covered both the British and
the Hibernian Isles for generations and generations before the discovery
of the art of writing, or the existence of a historical record, may be
as well understood as their invaders; since ethnology infers where
history is silent, and history, even when speaking, may be indistinct.
At any rate, the previous notice of the ethnology of the British Isles
during the Historical period, prepares us with a little light for the
dark walk in the field of its earliest antiquity.
Nothing, as has just been stated, in the earliest historical records of
Britain, throws any light upon the original occupation of the British
Islands by man; indeed, nothing tells us that Britain, when so occupied,
was an island at all. The Straits of Dover may have existed when the
first human being set foot upon what is now the soil of Kent, or an
isthmus may have existed instead. Whether then it was by land, or
whether it was by water, that the population of Europe propagated itself
into England, is far beyond the evidence of any historical memorial--far
beyond the evidence of tradition. Nothing at present indicates the
nature of the primary migration of our earliest ancestors. Neither does
any historical record tell us what manner of men first established
themselves along the valleys of the Thames and Trent, or cleared the
forests along their watersheds. They may have been as much ruder than
the rudest of the tribes seen by Paulinus and Agricola, as those tribes
were ruder than ourselves. They may, on the other hand, have enjoyed a
higher civilization, a civilization which Caesar saw in its later stages
only; one which Gallic wars, and other evil influences, may have
impaired.
For the consideration of such questions as these it matters but little
whether we begin with the information which the ambition of Caesar gave
the Romans the opportunity of acquiring, or such accounts of the
Ph[oe]nician traders as found their way into the writings of the Greeks;
Polybius (for instance), Aristotle, or Herodotus. A few centuries, more
or less, are of trifling importance. The social condition in both cases
is the same. There was tin in Cornwall, and iron swords in Kent; in
other words, there was the civilization of men who knew the use of
metals, both on the side of the soldiers who followed Cassibelaunus to
fight against Caesar, and amongst the miners and traders of the
Land's-end. In both cases, too, there was foreign intercourse; with
Gaul, where there was a tincture of Roman, and with Spain, where there
was a tincture of Ph[oe]nician, civilization. This is not the infancy of
our species, nor yet that of any of its divisions. For this we must go
backwards, and farther back still, from the domain of testimony to that
of inference, admitting a pre-historic period, with its own proper and
peculiar methods of investigation--methods that the ethnologist shares
with the geologist and naturalist, rather than with the civil historian.
In respect to their results, they may be barren or they may be fertile;
but, whether barren or whether fertile, the practice and application of
them is a healthy intellectual exercise.
It must not be thought that the use of metals, and the contact with the
Continent, which have just been noticed, invalidate the statement as to
the insufficiency of our earliest historical notices. It must not be
thought that they tell us more than they really do. It is only at the
first view that the knowledge of certain metallurgic processes, and the
trade and power that such knowledge developes, are presumptions in
favour of a certain degree of antiquity in the occupancy of our island
on the parts of its islanders; and it is only by forgetting the
_insular_ character of Great Britain that we can allow ourselves to
suppose that, though our early arts tell us nothing about our first
introduction, they at any rate prove that it was _no recent event_.
"Time," we may fairly say, "must be allowed for such habits as are
implied by the use of metals to have developed themselves, and,
consequently, generations, centuries, and possibly even millenniums must
have elapsed between the landing of the first vessel of the first
Britons, and the beginning of the trade with the Kassiterides." As a
general rule, such reasoning is valid; yet the earliest known phenomena
of British civilization are compatible with a comparatively modern
introduction of its population. For Great Britain may have been peopled
like Iceland or Madeira, _i.e._, not a generation or two after the
peopling of the nearest parts of the opposite Continent, but many ages
later; in which case both the population and its civilization may be but
things of yesterday. In the twelfth century, Iceland had an alphabet and
the art of writing. Had these grown up within the island itself, the
inference would be that its population was of great antiquity; since
time must be allowed for their evolution--even as time must be allowed
for the growth of acorns on an oak. But the art may be newer than the
population, or the population and the art may be alike recent. Hence, as
the civilization of the earliest Britons may be newer than the stock to
which it belonged, the testimony of ancient writers to its existence is
anything but conclusive against the late origin of the stock itself. It
is best to admit an absolutely pre-historic period, and that without
reservation; and as a corollary, to allow that it may have differed in
kind as well as degree from the historic.
There is another fact that should be noticed. The languages of Great
Britain are reducible to two divisions, both of which agree in many
essential points with certain languages or dialects of Continental
Europe. The British was closely, the Gaelic more distantly, allied to
the ancient tongue of the Gauls. From this affinity we get an argument
_against_ any extreme antiquity of the Britons of the British Isles. The
date of their separation from the tribes of the Continent was not so
remote as to obliterate and annihilate all traces of the original
mother-tongue. It was not long enough for the usual processes by which
languages are changed, to eject from even the Irish Gaelic (the most
unlike of the two) every word and inflection which the progenitors of
the present Irish brought from Gaul, and to replace them by others. So
that, at the first view, we have a limit in this direction; yet unless
we have settled certain preliminaries, the limit is unreal. All that it
gives us is the comparatively recent introduction of the _Keltic_ stock.
Varieties of the human species, _other than Keltic_, may have existed
at an indefinitely early period, and subsequently have been superseded
by the Kelts. Philology, then, tells us little more than history; and it
may not be superfluous to add, that the occupancy of Great Britain by a
stock of the kind in question, earlier than the Keltic, and different
from it, is no imaginary case of the author's, but a doctrine which has
taken the definite form of a recognized hypothesis, and characterizes
one of the best ethnological schools of the Continent--the Scandinavian.
For the ambitious attempt at a reconstruction of the earliest state of
the human kind in Britain, we may prepare ourselves by a double series
of processes. Having taken society as it exists at the present moment,
we eject those elements of civilization which have brought it to its
present condition, beginning with the latest first. We then take up a
smaller question, and consider what arts and what forms of
knowledge--what conditions of society--existing amongst the earlier
populations have been lost or superseded with ourselves. The result is
an approximation to the state of things in the infancy of our species.
We subtract (for instance) from the sum of our present means and
appliances such elements as the knowledge of the power of steam, the art
of printing, and gunpowder; all which we can do under the full light of
history. Stripped of these, society takes a ruder shape. But it is
still not rude enough to be primitive. There are parts of the earth's
surface, at the present moment, where the metals are unknown. There was,
probably, a time when they were known nowhere. Hence, the influences of
such a knowledge as this must be subtracted. And then come weaving and
pottery, the ruder forms of domestic architecture, and boat-building,
lime-burning, dyeing, tanning, and the fermentation of liquors. When and
where were such arts as these wanting to communities? No man can answer
this; yet our methods of investigation require that the question should
be raised.
Other questions, too, which cannot be answered must be suggested, since
they serve to exhibit the trains of reasoning that depend upon them. Was
Britain (a question already indicated) cut off from Gaul by the Straits
of Dover when it was first peopled? If it were, the civilization
required for the building of a boat must have been one of the attributes
of the first aborigines; so that, whatever else in the way of
civilization may have been evolved on British ground, the art of
hollowing a tree, and launching it on the waves was foreign.
Now it is safe to say | 3,085.387555 |
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THE BISHOP’S APRON
THE BISHOP’S APRON
A STUDY IN THE ORIGINS
OF A GREAT FAMILY
BY
W. S. MAUGHAM
AUTHOR OF “LIZA OF LAMBETH,” “MRS. CRADDOCK,”
“THE MERRY-GO-ROUND”
LONDON
CHAPMAN AND HALL, LTD.
1906
THE BISHOP’S APRON
I
The world takes people very willingly at the estimate in which they hold
themselves. With a fashionable bias for expression in a foreign tongue
it calls modesty _mauvaise honte_; and the impudent are thought merely
to have a proper opinion of their merit. But Ponsonby was really an
imposing personage. His movements were measured and noiseless; and he
wore the sombre garb of a gentleman’s butler with impressive dignity. He
was a large man, flabby and corpulent, with a loose, smooth skin. His
face, undisturbed by the rapid play of expression, which he would have
thought indecorous, had a look of placid respectability; his eyes, with
their puffy lower lids, rested on surrounding objects heavily; and his
earnest, obsequious voice gave an impression of such overwhelming piety
that your glance, involuntarily, fell to his rotund calves for the
gaiters episcopal.
He looked gravely at the table set out for luncheon, while Alfred, the
footman, walked round it, placing bread in each napkin.
“Is Tommy Tiddler coming to-day, Mr. Ponsonby?” he asked.
“His lordship is expected,” returned the butler, with a frigid stare.
He emphasised the aspirate to mark his disapproval of the flippancy
wherewith his colleague referred to a person who was not only the
brother of his master | 3,085.486346 |
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A GRANDMOTHER'S RECOLLECTIONS.
BY ELLA RODMAN.
1851.
A GRANDMOTHER'S RECOLLECTIONS.
CHAPTER I.
The best bed-chamber, with its hangings of crimson moreen, was opened
and aired--a performance which always caused my eight little brothers
and sisters to place themselves in convenient positions for being
stumbled over, to the great annoyance of industrious damsels, who, armed
with broom and duster, endeavored to render their reign as arbitrary as
it was short. For some time past, the nursery-maids had invariably
silenced refractory children with "Fie, Miss Matilda! Your grandmother
will make you behave yourself--_she_ won't allow such doings, I'll be
bound!" or "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Master Clarence? What will
your grandmother say to that!" The nursery was in a state of uproar on
the day of my venerable relative's arrival; for the children almost
expected to see, in their grandmother, an ogress, both in features and
disposition.
My mother was the eldest of two children, and my grandmother, from the
period of my infancy, had resided in England with her youngest daughter;
and we were now all employed in wondering what sort of a person our
relative might be. Mamma informed us that the old lady was extremely
dignified, and exacted respect and attention from all around; she also
hinted, at the same time, that it would be well for me to lay aside a
little of my self-sufficiency, and accommodate myself to the humors of
my grandmother. This to me!--to _me_, whose temper was so inflammable
that the least inadvertent touch was sufficient to set it in a blaze--it
was too much! So, like a well-disposed young lady, I very properly
resolved that _mine_ should not be the arm to support the venerable Mrs.
Arlington in her daily walks; that should the children playfully
ornament the cushion of her easy-chair with pins, _I_ would not turn
informant; and should a conspiracy be on foot to burn the old lady's
best wig, I entertained serious thoughts of helping along myself.
In the meantime, like all selfish persons, I considered what demeanor I
should assume, in order to impress my grandmother with a conviction of
my own consequence. Of course, dignified and unbending I _would_ be; but
what if she chose to consider me a child, and treat me accordingly? The
idea was agonizing to my feelings; but then I proudly surveyed my five
feet two inches of height, and wondered how I could have thought of such
a thing! Still I had sense enough to know that such a supposition would
never have entered my head, had there not been sufficient grounds for
it; and, with no small trepidation, I prepared for my first appearance.
It went off as first appearances generally do. I _was_ to have been
seated in an attitude of great elegance, with my eyes fixed on the pages
of some wonderfully wise book, but my thoughts anywhere but in company
with my eyes; while, to give more dignity to a girlish figure, my hair
was to be turned up on the very top of my head with a huge shell comb,
borrowed for the occasion from mamma's drawer. Upon my grandmother's
entrance, I intended to rise and make her a very stiff courtesy, and
then deliver a series of womanish remarks. This, I say, _was_ to have
been my first appearance--but alas! fate ordered otherwise. I was caught
by my dignified relative indulging in a game of romps upon the balcony
with two or three little sisters in pinafores and pantalettes--myself as
much a child as any of them. My grandmother came rather suddenly upon me
as, with my long hair floating in wild confusion, I stooped to pick up
my comb; and while in this ungraceful position, one of the little
urchins playfully climbed upon my back, while the others held me down.
My three little sisters had never appeared to such disadvantage in my
eyes, as they did at the present moment; in vain I tried to shake them
off--they only clung the closer, from fright, on being told of their
grandmother's arrival.
At length, with crimsoned cheeks, and the hot tears starting to my eyes,
I rose and received, rather than returned the offered embrace, and found
myself in the capacious arms of one whom I should have taken for an old
dowager duchess. On glancing at my grandmother's portly figure and
consequential air, I experienced the uncomfortable sensation of utter
insignificance--I encountered the gaze of those full, piercing eyes, and
felt that I was conquered. Still I resolved to make some struggles for
my dignity yet, and not submit until defeat was no longer doubtful.
People in talking of "unrequited affection," speak of "the knell of
departed hopes," but no knell could sound more dreadful to the
ears of a girl in her teens--trembling for her scarcely-fledged
young-lady-hood--than did the voice of my grandmother, (and it was by no
means low), as she remarked:
"So this is Ella. Why, how the child has altered! I remember her only as
a little, screaming baby, that was forever holding its breath with
passion till it became black in the face. Many a thumping have I given
you, child, to make you come to, and sometimes I doubted if your face
ever would be straight again. Even now it can hardly be said to belong
to the meek and amiable order."
Here my grandmother drew forth her gold spectacles from a
richly-ornamented case, and deliberately scanned my indignant features,
while she observed: "Not much of the Bredforth style--quite an
Arlington." I drew myself up with all the offended dignity of sixteen,
but it was of no use; my grandmother turned me round, in much the same
manner that the giant might have been supposed to handle Tom Thumb, and
surveyed me from top to toe.
I was unable to discover the effect of her investigation, but I
immediately became convinced that my grandmother's opinion was one of
the greatest importance. She possessed that indescribable kind of manner
which places you under the conviction that you are continually doing,
saying, or thinking something wrong; and which makes you humbly obliged
to such a person for coinciding in any of your opinions. Instead of the
dignified part I had expected to play, I looked very like a naughty
child that has just been taken out of its corner. The impression left
upon my mind by my grandmother's appearance will never be effaced; her
whole _tout ensemble_ was peculiarly striking, with full dark eyes,
high Roman nose, mouth of great beauty and firmness of expression, and
teeth whose splendor I have never seen equalled--although she was then
past her fiftieth year. Add to this a tall, well-proportioned figure,
and a certain air of authority, and my grandmother stands before you.
As time somewhat diminished our awe, we gained the _entree_ of my
grandmother's apartment, and even ventured to express our curiosity
respecting the contents of various trunks, parcels, and curious-looking
boxes. To children, there is no greater pleasure than being permitted to
look over and arrange the articles contained in certain carefully-locked
up drawers, unopened boxes, and old-fashioned chests; stray jewels from
broken rings--two or three beads of a necklace--a sleeve or breadth of
somebody's wedding dress--locks of hair--gifts of schoolgirl
friendships--and all those little mementoes of the past, that lie
neglected and forgotten till a search after some mislaid article brings
them again to our view, and excites a burst of feeling that causes us to
look sadly back upon the long vista of departed years, with their
withered hopes, never-realized expectations, and fresh, joyous tone,
seared by disappointment and worldly wisdom. The reward of patient toil
and deep-laid schemes yields not half the pleasure that did the little
Indian cabinet, (which always stood so provokingly locked, and just
within reach), when during a period of convalescence, we were permitted
to examine its recesses--when floods of sunlight danced upon the wall of
the darkened room towards the close of day, and every one seemed _so_
kind!
My grandmother indulged our curiosity to the utmost; now a pair of
diamond ear-pendants would appear among the soft folds of perfumed
cotton, and flash and glow with all the brilliancy of former days--now a
rich brocaded petticoat called up phantoms of the past, when ladies wore
high-heeled shoes, and waists of no size at all--and gentlemen felt
magnificently attired in powdered curls and cues, and as many ruffles as
would fill a modern dressing gown. There were also fairy slippers,
curiously embroidered, with neatly covered heels; and anxious to adorn
myself with these relics of the olden time I attempted to draw one on.
But like the renowned glass-slipper, it would fit none but the owner,
and I found myself in the same predicament as Cinderella's sisters. In
vain I tugged and pulled; the more I tried, the more it wouldn't go
on--and my grandmother remarked with a sigh, that "people's feet were
not as small as they were in old times." I panted with vexation; for I
had always been proud of my foot, and now put it forward that my
grandmother might see how small it was. But no well-timed compliment
soothed my irritated feelings; and more dissatisfied with myself than
ever, I pursued my investigations.
My grandmother, as if talking to herself, murmured: "How little do we
know, when we set out in life, of the many disappointments before us!
How little can we deem that the heart which then is ours will change
with the fleeting sunshine! It is fearful to have the love of a
life-time thrown back as a worthless thing!"
"Fearful!" I chimed in. "Death were preferable!"
"You little goose!" exclaimed my grandmother, as she looked me full in
the face, "What can _you_ possibly know about the matter?"
I had nothing to do but bury my head down low in the trunk I was
exploring; it was my last attempt at sentiment. My grandmother took
occasion to give me some very good advice with respect to the behavior
of hardly-grown girls; she remarked that they should be careful not to
engross the conversation, and also, that quiet people were always more
interesting than loud talkers. I resolved to try my utmost to be quiet
and interesting, though at the same time it did occur to me as a little
strange that, being so great an admirer of the species, she was not
quiet and interesting herself. But being quiet was not my grandmother's
forte; and it is generally understood that people always admire what
they are not, or have not themselves.
CHAPTER II.
The old lady also possessed rather strict ideas of the respect and
deference due to parents and elders; and poor mamma, whose authority did
not stand very high, felt considerable relief in consequence of our,
(or, as I am tempted to say, _the children's_) improved behavior. I
remember being rather startled myself one day, when one of the
before-mentioned little sisters commenced a system of teazing for some | 3,085.58348 |
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BIBLIOTHEQUE
DES CHEFS-D'OEUVRE
DU ROMAN
CONTEMPORAIN
_KING OF CAMARGUE_
JEAN AICARD
PRINTED FOR SUBSCRIBERS ONLY BY
GEORGE BARRIE & SONS, PHILADELPHIA
COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY GEORGE BARRIE & SON
THIS EDITION OF
KING OF CAMARGUE
HAS BEEN COMPLETELY TRANSLATED
BY
GEORGE B. IVES
THE ETCHINGS ARE BY
LOUIS V. RUET
AND DRAWINGS BY
GEORGE ROUX
CHEFS-D'OEUVRE
DU
ROMAN CONTEMPORAIN
ROMANCISTS
THIS EDITION
DEDICATED TO THE HONOR OF THE
ACADEMIE FRANCAISE
IS LIMITED TO ONE THOUSAND NUMBERED AND REGISTERED
SETS, OF WHICH THIS IS
NUMBER 358
THE ROMANCISTS
JEAN AICARD
KING OF CAMARGUE
[Illustration: Chapter VI
_This woman had a way of looking at people that disconcerted
them. You would say that a sharp, threatening flame shot from
her eyes. It penetrated your being, searched your heart, and
you were powerless against it._]
TO EMILE TRELAT
My Very Dear Friend:
Permit me to dedicate this book to you, whose incomparable friendship
has been to the poet, obstinate in his idealism, of hourly assistance,
a constant proof of the reality of true generosity and kindness of
heart.
Jean Aicard.
_La Garde, near Toulon, April 11, 1890._
Contents
PAGE
I LIVETTE AND ZINZARA 3
II IN CAMARGUE 13
III THE DROVERS 21
IV THE SEDEN 27
V THE LOVERS 39
VI RAMPAL 51
VII THE MEETING 57
VIII ON THE BENCH 73
IX THE PRAYER 83
X THE TERRACE 91
XI THE HIDING-PLACE 99
XII A SORCERESS 121
XIII THE SNAKE-CHARMER 143
XIV JOUSTING 165
XV MONSIEUR LE CURE'S ARCHAEOLOGY 177
XVI ON THE ROOF OF THE CHURCH 205
XVII THE OLD WOMAN 219
XVIII THE BLESSED RELICS 231
XIX THE BRANDING 247
XX THE SNARE 261
XXI HERODIAS 279
XXII IN THE NEST 291
XXIII THE PURSUIT 303
XXIV IN THE GARGATE 323
XXV THE PHANTOM 331
NOTES 345
List of Illustrations
KING OF CAMARGUE
PAGE
RAMPAL AND THE GIPSY _Fronts._
RENAUD IN THE TOILS OF THE QUEEN 64
LIVETTE AND RENAUD 88
LIVETTE WATCHES ON THE CHURCH ROOF 216
THE GIPSY'S COUCH 312
KING OF CAMARGUE
I
LIVETTE AND ZINZARA
A shadow suddenly darkened the narrow window. Livette, who was running
hither and thither, setting the table for supper, in the lower room of
the farm-house of the Chateau d'Avignon, gave a little shriek of
terror, and looked up.
The girl had an instinctive feeling that it was neither father nor
grandmother, nor any of her dear ones, but some stranger, who sought
amusement by thus taking her by surprise.
Nor a stranger, either, for that matter,--it was hardly possible!--But
how was it that the dogs did not yelp? Ah! this Camargue is frequented
by bad people, especially at this season, toward the end of May, on
account of the festival of Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, which attracts,
like a fair, such a crowd of people, thieves and gulls, and so many
mischievous gipsies!
The figure that was leaning on the outside of the window-sill,
shutting out the light, looked to Livette like a black mass, sharply
outlined against the blue sky; but by the thick, curly hair,
surmounted by a tinsel crown, by the general contour of the bust, by
the huge ear-rings with an amulet hanging at the ends, Livette
recognized a certain gipsy woman who was universally known as the
Queen, and who, for nearly two weeks, had been suddenly appearing to
people at widely distant points on the island, always unexpectedly, as
if she rose out of the ditches or clumps of thorn-broom or the water
of the swamps, to say to the laborers, preferably the women: "Give me
this or that;" for the Queen, as a general rule, would not accept what
people chose to offer her, but only what she chose that they should
offer her.
"Give me a little oil in a bottle, Livette," said the young gipsy,
darting a dark, flashing glance at the pretty girl with the fair,
sun-flecked hair.
Livette, charitable as she was at every opportunity, at once felt that
she must be on her guard against this vagabond, who knew her name. Her
father and grandmother had gone to Arles, to see the notary, who would
soon have to be drawing up the papers for her marriage to Renaud, the
handsomest drover in all Camargue. She was alone in the house.
Distrust gave her strength to refuse.
"Our Camargue isn't an olive country," said she curtly, "oil is scarce
here. I haven't any."
"But I see some in the jar at the bottom of the cupboard, beside the
water-pitcher."
Livette turned hastily toward the cupboard. It was closed; but, in
truth, the stock of olive oil was there in a jar beside the | 3,085.585055 |
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WITH SACK AND STOCK IN ALASKA
PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON
WITH SACK AND STOCK
IN ALASKA
BY
GEORGE BROKE, A.C., F.R.G.S.
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16th STREET
1891
_All rights reserved_
Dedicated
TO THE MEMORY OF
A⸺ M⸺
KILLED ON THE DÜSSISTOCK
AUGUST 16, 1890
PREFACE
The publishing of these simple notes is due to the wishes of one who is
now no more. But for this they would probably have never seen the light,
and I feel therefore that less apology is needed for their crudeness and
‘diariness’ than would otherwise have been the case.
G. B.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
LONDON TO SITKA
The summons—Across the Atlantic in the ‘Polynesian’—A deceitful
car-conductor—The C.P.R.—At Victoria—On the ‘Ancon’—Fort
Wrangel—Juneau—Sitka 1
CHAPTER II
SITKA TO YAKUTAT
The town—Ascent of Sha-klokh—Expedition to Edgcumbe—Dick’s
dismissal—Enlisting recruits—Ascent of Verstovia—Arrival of
W.—On board the ‘Alpha’—Miserable weather—Run ashore at Yakutat 20
CHAPTER III
OPENING APPROACHES
Getting canoes and men—A false start—Icy Bay—Torrents of
rain—On march—The Yahkhtze-tah-heen—A wet camp—More wading—Our
forces—Camp on the glacier—Across the ice—The Chaix Hills 37
CHAPTER IV
AN ATTACK AND A COUNTERMARCH
A long lie—Men return to the beach—We make a
cache—Shifting camp—The Libbey Glacier—The south-east
face of St. Elias—Right-about-turn—Lake Castani—The Guyot
Glacier—Reappearance of the men—Wild-geese for supper 61
CHAPTER V
FURTHER ADVANCE AND MY RETREAT
Across the Tyndall Glacier—Ptarmigan—Another bear—The Daisy and
Coal Glaciers—A catastrophe—The others go on—Alone with Billy
and Jimmy—More geese—The blue bear—Marmot hunting 81
CHAPTER VI
BACK TO THE SHORE
Ptarmigan with a revolver—Back to Camp G—The others
return—Their narrative—The men turn up again—We start down—A
wasp’s nest—Mosquitoes—Wading extraordinary—We leave Icy Bay—A
luxurious breakfast 99
CHAPTER VII
LIFE AT YAKUTAT
Curio-hunting—Small plover—W. goes down on the ‘Active’—Siwash
dogs—A great potlatch—Cricket under difficulties—No signs of
the ‘Alpha’—I determine to go down in a canoe—The white men
accompany me 122
CHAPTER VIII
YAKUTAT TO SITKA
Farewells—A drunken skipper—Cape Fairweather—Loss of our
frying-pan—Mount Fairweather and its glaciers—Murphy’s
Cove—Stuck at Cape Spencer—Salmon and sour-dough bread—We reach
Cape Edwardes—The ‘Pinta’—Safe back—Height of St. Elias 137
_MAPS_
COAST OF PART OF SOUTH-EASTERN ALASKA, SHOWING THE ST. ELIAS
ALPS _To face p._ 1
THE SOUTHERN <DW72>s OF MOUNT ST. ELIAS 〃 61
[Illustration: COAST OF part of SOUTH-EASTERN ALASKA showing the ST.
ELIAS ALPS.
_Longmans, Green & Co., London & New York. F.S. Weller._]
WITH SACK AND STOCK IN ALASKA
CHAPTER I
LONDON TO SITKA
On the twenty-fifth of April, 1888, I was playing golf on our little
links at home, and had driven off for the Stile Hole, situated on the
lawn-tennis ground, when I observed the butler emerge from the house
with an orange envelope in his hand, and come towards me across the
lawn. Having with due deliberation played a neat approach shot over the
railings on to the green, I climbed over after it, putted out the hole,
and then went to meet him. The telegram proved to be from my friend
Harold T., with whom at Saas in the previous summer I had discussed
Seton-Karr’s book on Alaska, and we had both come to the conclusion that
we should much like to go there. Finding that I should have the summer
of ’88 at my disposal, I had written to him at the end of March to ask
about his plans and now got this telegram in reply. It was sent from
Victoria, B.C., and was an urgent appeal to join him and his brother at
once, as they meant to make an attempt on Mount St. Elias that summer,
and must start northward by the end of May. I retired to the smoking-room
to consider the situation, and finally came to the conclusion that such a
hurried departure might be managed.
I crossed over to Brussels, where I was then posted, packed up all my
goods and chattels, left masses of P.P.C. cards, and returned again
three days later. The afternoon of May 11 found me on board the Allan
liner ‘Polynesian’ at Liverpool. I was fortunate in making some very
charming acquaintances among the few saloon passengers on board, and
though the good ship did not bely her sobriquet of ‘Roly-poly,’ we had a
very pleasant crossing till the 17th, when we got into a horrible cold
wet fog, the temperature on deck not rising above 34° for two days,
while for about twelve hours we ran along the edge of, and occasionally
through, thin field-ice, all broken into very small pieces. About noon
on the 18th we sighted land to the north, covered with snow, and entered
the Gulf of St. Lawrence next day. We stopped off Rimouski to pick up
our pilot at lunch-time on Whit-Sunday, a lovely day but very cold, and
having left summer in England, we seemed to have returned suddenly into
winter. Next morning we awoke to find ourselves at Quebec.
As we had brought nine hundred emigrants, and the ‘Oregon’ and
‘Carthaginian’ came in at the same time, there was a mob of over two
thousand despairing passengers at the landing-stage station hunting
wildly for their luggage. I abandoned the conflict and went round the
town, calling at the Post Office, in hopes of hearing something from
H., but there was nothing, which was not very wonderful, as, though I
had telegraphed to say I was coming, I had not indicated my route in
any way. So I returned and collected my things, and after a successful
interview with the Customs officials got the greater part of them
checked to Vancouver, and conveyed the remainder to the railway station,
where I found my friends of the voyage. There was a train to Montreal
at half-past one, but it was very crowded, and we fell victims to the
blandishments of a parlour-car conductor, who represented to us that his
car would be attached to the emigrant special which would leave at three
o’clock and reach Montreal as soon, if not sooner, than the ordinary
train, as it would run right through. We fell into the snare, deposited
our properties in the car, and went off into the town again, returning
punctually at three. Alas there was no sign of the emigrant train, and
it did not leave till six, while its progress even then was of the most
contemptible character, stopping for long periods at benighted little
stations, so that we did not reach Montreal till three in the morning.
Fortunately we had furnished ourselves with biscuits, potted meat,
etc., including whisky, and so did not actually starve, but we were all
very cross, the ladies especially; and though the train was going to
continue its weird journey we declined to have anything more to do with
it, and hurried up to the big hotel, where we were soon wrapped in
dreamless slumbers, which lasted so long that we very nearly came under
the operation of a stern rule which decreed that no breakfasts should be
served after half-past ten.
After seeing as much of the city as we could during the day, we had
an excellent dinner, drove down in plenty of time to catch the 8.30
Pacific train, and ensconced ourselves in the recesses of a most
admirable sleeping-car, the name of which was, I fancy, the ‘Sydney.’ The
C.P.R. berths are most comfortable, and so wide that in many cases two
people are willing to share one, but the greater part of dressing and
undressing has to be done inside the berth, as in all Pullmans, which
is inconvenient till you get used to it. In this respect the gentlemen
are better off than the ladies, as we were able to make use of the
smoking-room which was next our lavatories, while I fancy the ladies’
accommodation was much more circumscribed.
The next day was very hot, and was spent in running past little lakes
and through marshy forest, called ‘muskeg’ or peat land. Early in the
morning we picked up an excellent dining-car in which we breakfasted,
lunched, and dined most luxuriously, the intervals of the day being
occupied with whist, tobacco, and light literature. On the following
morning we found ourselves skirting the northern edge of Lake Superior,
enjoying superb scenery as the line followed the curves of the rock-bound
shore. That day we had the best dining-car of the whole trip, which
unfortunately was taken off after lunch, and we had to content ourselves
with high tea at Savanne; but a far greater disaster awaited us next
morning, for, on inquiring for our breakfast at a fairly early hour,
we heard that an ill-mannered goods train had run into it in the night
as it was peaceably waiting for us, and had reduced it to a heap of
disintegrated fragments. This was a pretty state of things, but I had
been warned beforehand that such calamities were sometimes to be met
with, and so our party were prepared. Setting up an Etna inside a
biscuit-t | 3,085.586909 |
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http://gallica.bnf.fr)
THE
DIPLOMATIC CORRESPONDENCE
OF THE
AMERICAN REVOLUTION.
VOL. XI.
THE
DIPLOMATIC CORRESPONDENCE
OF THE
AMERICAN REVOLUTION;
BEING
THE LETTERS OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, SILAS DEANE, JOHN ADAMS, JOHN JAY,
ARTHUR LEE, WILLIAM LEE, RALPH IZARD, FRANCIS DANA, WILLIAM
CARMICHAEL, HENRY LAURENS, JOHN LAURENS, M. DE LAFAYETTE, M. DUMAS,
AND OTHERS, CONCERNING THE FOREIGN RELATIONS OF THE UNITED STATES
DURING THE WHOLE REVOLUTION;
TOGETHER WITH
THE LETTERS IN REPLY FROM THE SECRET COMMITTEE OF CONGRESS, AND THE
SECRETARY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS.
ALSO,
THE ENTIRE CORRESPONDENCE OF THE FRENCH MINISTERS, GERARD AND LUZERNE,
WITH CONGRESS.
Published under the Direction of the President of the United States,
from the original Manuscripts in the Department of State, conformably
to a Resolution of Congress, of March 27th, 1818.
EDITED
BY JARED SPARKS.
VOL. XI.
BOSTON:
NATHAN HALE AND GRAY & BOWEN;
G. & C. & H. CARVILL, NEW YORK; P. THOMPSON, WASHINGTON.
1830.
Steam Power Press--W. L. Lewis' Print.
No. 6, Congress Street, Boston.
CONTENTS
OF THE
ELEVENTH VOLUME.
LUZERNE'S CORRESPONDENCE,
CONTINUED.
Page.
To the President of Congress. Philadelphia, September 10th,
1781, 3
Communicating the commission of M. Holker, as Consul
General of France.
To the President of Congress. Philadelphia, September 18th,
1781, 4
Desires the appointment of a committee, to whom he may
communicate his despatches.
Communications of the French Minister to Congress. In
Congress, September 21st, 1781, 4
Proposed mediation of the Imperial Courts.--The French
Court requires the establishing of some preliminaries,
as to the admission of an American Minister to the
proposed Congress, and the character in which England
will treat the United States.--The British Court
requires the submission of its revolted subjects in
America.--Necessity of vigorous operations in
America.--Mr Dana's mission to St Petersburg.--The
accession of Maryland to the confederacy should be
followed by vigorous measures.--Mr Adams in
Holland.--Aids to America.--No further pecuniary
assistance can be furnished by the French Court.
To the President of Congress. Philadelphia, September 24th,
1781, 17
Transmitting the memorial of a Spanish subject.
Memorial of Don Francisco Rendon to the Minister of France, 17
Requesting the release of certain prisoners taken at
Pensacola by the Spanish forces, and afterwards captured
by an American vessel.
Congress to the Minister of France. Philadelphia, September
25th, 1781, 19
Relative to the preceding memorial.
From Congress to the King of France, 20
Returning thanks for aid.
The King of France to Congress, 21
Birth of the Dauphin.
Robert R. Livingston to M. de la Luzerne. Philadelphia,
October 24th, 1781, 21
Announces his appointment to the Department of Foreign
Affairs.
To Robert R. Livingston, Secretary of Foreign Affairs.
Philadelphia, October 25th, 1781, 22
Expressing his pleasure at Mr Livingston's appointment.
Robert R. Livingston to M. de la Luzerne. Office of Foreign
Affairs, November 2d, 1781, 23
Congress request permission to present to the Count de
Grasse two pieces of ordnance taken at York.
To George Washington. Philadelphia, November 4th, 1781, 24
Acknowledging the receipt of certain papers.
To the Secretary of Foreign Affairs. Philadelphia, November
4th, 1781, 25
Erection of a triumphal column at Yorktown.--The United
States are named before the King in the resolutions.
Robert R. Livingston to M. de la Luzerne. Office of Foreign
Affairs, November 6th, 1781, 26
The order in which the United States and France were
named, was accidental.
Robert R. Livingston to the President of Congress. Office of
Foreign Affairs, November 6th, 1781, 28
Proposes the giving France the precedence in any
subsequent acts, where the two countries are named.
Robert R. Livingston to M. de la Luzerne. Office of Foreign
Affairs, November 21st, 1781, 29
Complains of the proceedings of the Court of Admiralty
in the French islands.
Heads of a verbal Communication made to the Secretary of
Foreign Affairs by the Minister of France. In Congress,
November 23d, 1781, 30
Satisfaction of the King with the appointment of
Ministers for negotiating a peace.--Refusal to accede to
the mediation, unless the American Ministers were
acknowledged.--Necessity of exertion in America to
compel Britain to a peace.
The Answer of his Most Christian Majesty to the Articles
proposed by the two Mediating Courts, 33
The Answer of the Court of London to the Preliminary
Articles proposed by the Mediating Courts, 40
The verbal Answer of the King of Great Britain to the verbal
Observations made by the Count de Belgiojoso, Austrian
Ambassador in London, 43
Reply of the Mediators to the Belligerent Powers, 45
Answer of the Court of France to the Reply of the Mediators, 48
To Robert R. Livingston. Philadelphia, November 23d, 1781, 51
Congress to the King of France, 51
Congratulations on the successes of the French arms in
America.--Services of de Grasse, de Rochambeau, and de
Lafayette.
To Robert R. Livingston. Philadelphia, December 11th, 1781, 53
Enclosing papers.
To Count du Durat, Governor of Grenada. Philadelphia,
December 11th, 1781, 54
Relative to an English ship carried into Grenada by
American sailors.
Robert R. Livingston to M. de la Luzerne. Office of Foreign
Affairs, December 21st, 1781, 55
Relative to captures.
Robert R. Livingston to M. de la Luzerne. Office of Foreign
Affairs, January 19th, 1782, 55
Enclosing suspicious letters of Mr Deane.
To Robert R. Livingston. Philadelphia, January 20th, 1782, 56
Complains of the process in Massachusetts in regard to
effects libelled.
Robert R. Livingston to M. de la Luzerne. Office of Foreign
Affairs, January 24th, 1782, 57
Communicating certain resolutions.
To Robert R. Livingston. Philadelphia, January 25th, 1782, 57
Thanking him for the preceding.
To the President of Congress. Philadelphia, January 28th,
1782, 58
Propriety of instructing Mr Franklin, in relation to the
acts necessary to bind the United States in their
engagements with France on account of the loan raised in
Holland.
The Secretary of Foreign Affairs to the President of
Congress. Philadelphia, January 29th, 1782, 59
Communicating extracts from letters of Count de
Vergennes to the French Minister, expressing the desire
of France to procure the most advantageous terms for
America.--Indisposition of Great Britain to a
peace.--Neither Holland nor Russia are disposed to an
alliance with the United States.--France cannot furnish
additional supplies.
Count de Vergennes to Robert R. Livingston. Versailles,
January 31st, 1782, 62
On his appointment to the Department of Foreign Affairs.
To Robert R. Livingston. Philadelphia, February 1st, 1782, 62
Instructions to Dr Franklin. In Congress, February 5th,
1782, 63
Empowering him to enter into engagements on the part of
the United States to discharge the loan raised in
Holland.
Resolves of Congress respecting the Communications made by
the Minister of France. In Congress, February 8th, 1782, 64
Urging the necessity of further supplies from
France.--Empowering Dr Franklin to raise a loan of
twelve millions of livres.
To Robert R. Livingston. Philadelphia, February 18th, 1782, 66
Requesting the revision of a sentence of condemnation
against certain prizes.
The Marquis de Bouille to M. de la Luzerne. Without date, 67
Relative to the recapture of neutral ships trading to
Dominica by American privateers.
Memorial of the Council of Dominica, 69
Same subject.
Robert R. Livingston to M. de la Luzerne. Office of Foreign
Affairs, February 20th, 1782, 71
Case of the capture of the neutral ships trading to
Dominica.
To the President of Congress. Philadelphia, March 8th, 1782, 73
M. de Marbois will remain as _Charge d'Affaires_ during
his absence.
To Robert R. Livingston. Philadelphia, April 7th, 1782, 73
Requesting the settlement of the accounts of Baron de
Kalb and others.
To George Washington. Philadelphia, April 13th, 1782, 74
Warlike appearances in Europe.--Want of preparation in
America.--Requests information of the strength of the
forces.
Count de Rochambeau to M. de la Luzerne. Williamsburgh,
April 16th, 1782, 77
Plans and operations of the enemy.
To George Washington. Philadelphia, April 18th, 1782, 78
Recommending Count Beniowsky.
George Washington to M. de la Luzerne. Newburgh, April 28th,
1782, 79
Statement of his forces.--Enemy's force.
Communication of the French Minister to the Secretary of
Foreign Affairs. In Congress, May 1st, 1782, 84
Representing the necessity of vigorous exertion.--The
English intend to push operations with vigor.
Decree of the King's Council in France, 85
Relative to the exportation of merchandise taken from
prizes.
To Robert R. Livingston. Philadelphia, May 7th, 1782, 87
Appointment of M. d'Annemours, as French Consul for the
five Southern States.
Robert R. Livingston to M. de la Luzerne. Office of Foreign
Affairs, May 8th, 1782, 87
Accounts of Baron de Kalb and others.
To Robert R. Livingston. Philadelphia, May 9th, 1782, 88
Applications of bearers of loan certificates for the
repayment of their capital, or the payment of the
interest.
Robert R. Livingston to M. de la Luzerne. Office of Foreign
Affairs, May 9th, 1782, 89
Robert R. Livingston to M. de la Luzerne. Office of Foreign
Affairs, May 12th, 1782, 89
The address of Congress is, Gentlemen of the Congress.
To George Washington. Philadelphia, May 17th, 1782, 90
Reported actions in the West Indies.
Congress to the King of France, 90
Congratulations on the birth of the Dauphin.
To Robert R. Livingston. Philadelphia, May 25th, 1782, 92
Requests the execution of certain resolutions of
Congress in relation to Baron de Holzendorff.
Verbal Communication of the French Minister to the Secretary
of Foreign Affairs. In Congress, May 28th, 1782, 93
Attempts by the English to effect a | 3,085.682376 |
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[Illustration: Miss Fanny and others.]
[Illustration: RIVERDALE STORY BOOKS
DOLLY & I
Boston, Lee & Shepard.]
The Riverdale Books.
DOLLY AND I.
A STORY FOR LITTLE FOLKS.
BY
OLIVER OPTIC,
AUTHOR OF "THE BOAT CLUB," "ALL ABOARD," "NOW OR NEVER," "TRY
AGAIN," "POOR AND PROUD," "LITTLE BY LITTLE," &c.
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD,
(SUCCESSORS TO PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.)
1864
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.
DOLLY AND I.
I.
Do you know what _envy_ means? I hope you have never felt it, for it is
a very wicked feeling. It is being sorry when another has any good
thing. Perhaps you will know better what the word means when you have
read my story; and I hope it will help you to keep the feeling away from
your own heart.
Not far from Mr. Lee's house, in Riverdale, lived a man by the name of
Green. He was the agent of one of the factories in the village. Mr.
Green had two little girls and three sons. The boys have nothing to do
with my story, and for that reason I shall not say a great deal about
them.
Katy, Mr. Green's older daughter, was ten years old. She was a pretty
good girl, but she did not like to have others get good things, when she
did not have any herself. If any person gave one of her brothers an
apple, or an orange, she seemed to think she ought to have it.
When she was a baby, she used to cry for every thing she saw, and would
give her parents no peace till they gave it to her. I am sorry to say
they were sometimes very weak on this point, and gave her things which
she ought not to have had, just to quiet her.
Her father and mother hoped, when she grew older, she would not want
every thing that belonged to her brothers. If Charles had a plaything,
Katy wanted it, and would cry till she got it. Very often, just to make
her stop crying, her mother made poor Charley give up the thing.
But as Katy grew older, she seemed to want every thing that others had
just as much as ever. She was now ten years old, and still she did not
like to see others have any thing which she could not have. It is true
she did not always say so, but she felt it just as much, and was very
apt to be cross and sullen towards those whom she envied.
Nellie Green was not at all like her sister. She was only eight years
old, but there was not a bit of envy in her. She would give a part, and
often the whole, of her apples, oranges, candy, and playthings to her
sister, and to her brothers. She liked to see them happy, and when
Charley ate an apple, it tasted just as good to her as though she were
eating it herself.
She was not selfish. She would always divide her good things with her
friends. Did you ever see a little boy or a little girl eating an apple
or some candy, and another little boy or girl standing by, and looking
just as if he wanted some?
Nellie always gave her friends a part, and then she not only enjoyed
what she ate herself, but she enjoyed what they ate. This is the way to
make apples, oranges, and candy taste good.
One New Year's Day, Katy's aunt, after whom she was named, sent her a
beautiful wax doll. It was a very pretty doll, and the little girl was
the happiest child in Riverdale when the welcome present reached her.
There was another little girl in Riverdale who was almost if not quite
as happy; and that was Nellie, her sister. It is true, the doll was not
for her; she did not own any of it, and Katy would hardly let her touch
it; but for all this, N | 3,085.687405 |
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Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are noted with
underscores: _italics_.
The Story of a Confederate Boy in the Civil War
By
David E. Johnston
_of the 7th Virginia Infantry Regiment_
Author of "Middle New River Settlements"
With Introduction by
Rev. C. E. Cline, D.D.
A Methodist Minister and Chaplain of the
Military Order of the Loyal Legion, U.S.A.
COPYRIGHT, 1914
BY
DAVID E. JOHNSTON
PUBLISHED BY
GLASS & PR | 3,085.778738 |
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CONCERNING JUSTICE
BY
LUCILIUS A. EMERY
NEW HAVEN: YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
MDCCCCXIV
COPYRIGHT, 1914
BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
First printed August, 1914, 1000 copies
TO MY CHILDREN
HENRY CROSBY EMERY
ANNE CROSBY EMERY ALLINSON
THE ADDRESSES CONTAINED IN THIS BOOK WERE DELIVERED IN
THE WILLIAM L. STORRS LECTURE SERIES, 1914, BEFORE THE
LAW SCHOOL OF YALE UNIVERSITY, NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE PROBLEM STATED. THEORIES AS TO THE SOURCE OF
JUSTICE. DEFINITIONS OF JUSTICE 3
II. THE PROBLEM OF RIGHTS. DIFFERENT THEORIES AS TO THE
SOURCE OF RIGHTS 31
III. THE PROBLEM OF RIGHTS CONTINUED. THE NEED OF LIBERTY
OF ACTION FOR THE INDIVIDUAL 43
IV. JUSTICE THE EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN THE FREEDOM OF THE
INDIVIDUAL AND THE SAFETY OF SOCIETY 56
V. JUSTICE CAN BE SECURED ONLY THROUGH GOVERNMENTAL
ACTION. THE BEST FORM OF GOVERNMENT 77
VI. THE NECESSITY OF CONSTITUTIONAL LIMITATIONS UPON THE
POWERS OF THE GOVERNMENT. BILLS OF RIGHTS 95
VII. THE INTERPRETATION AND ENFORCEMENT OF CONSTITUTIONAL
LIMITATIONS NECESSARILY A FUNCTION OF THE JUDICIARY 110
VIII. AN INDEPENDENT AND IMPARTIAL JUDICIARY ESSENTIAL FOR
JUSTICE 121
IX. THE NECESSITY OF MAINTAINING UNDIMINISHED THE
CONSTITUTIONAL LIMITATIONS AND THE POWER OF THE
COURTS TO ENFORCE THEM.--CONCLUSION 146
CONCERNING JUSTICE
CHAPTER I
THE PROBLEM STATED. THEORIES AS TO THE SOURCE OF JUSTICE. DEFINITIONS
OF JUSTICE
For centuries now much has been written and proclaimed concerning
justice and today the word seems to be more than ever upon the lips of
men, more than ever used, but not always appositely, in arguments for
proposed political action. Hence it may not be inappropriate to the
time and occasion to venture, not answers to, but some observations
upon the questions, what is justice, and how can it be secured. It was
declared by the Roman jurist Ulpian, centuries ago, that students of
law should also be students of justice.
By way of prelude, however, and in the hope of accentuating the main
question and presenting the subject more vividly by comparison and
contrast, I would recall to your minds another and even more
fundamental question asked twenty centuries ago in a judicial
proceeding in distant Judea. It is related that when Jesus, upon his
accusation before Pilate, claimed in defense that he had "come into
the world to bear witness unto the truth," Pilate inquired of him
"What is truth?"; but it is further related that when Pilate "had said
this he went out again unto the Jews." Apparently he did not wait for
an answer. Perhaps he repented of his question as soon as asked and
went out to escape an answer. Men before and since Pilate have sought
to avoid hearing the truth.
Indeed, however grave the question, however essential the answer to
their well-being, there does not seem to be even now on the part of
the multitude an earnest desire for the truth. Their wishes and
emotions cloud their vision and they are reluctant to have those
clouds brushed aside lest the truth thus revealed be harsh and
condemnatory. The truth often causes pain. As said by the Preacher,
"He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." People generally
give much the greater welcome and heed to him who tells them that
their desires and schemes are righteous and can be realized, than to
him who tells them that their desires are selfish or that their
schemes are impracticable. It has always been the few who have sought
the truth, resolute to find it and declare it, whether pleasant or
unpleasant, in accord with the wishes of mankind or otherwise. Such
men have sometimes suffered martyrdom in the past, and often incur
hostility in the present, even when seeking that truth on which alone
justice can securely rest.
Nevertheless, so closely linked are truth and justice in the speech,
if not the minds, of men, there should be some consideration of
Pilate's question. Whether truth is absolute or only relative has been
perhaps the most actively discussed topic in the field of philosophy
for the last decade. Into this discussion, however, we need not enter,
for such discussion is really over the problem of determining the
proper criterion of truth. Wherever be this criterion, whether in some
quality of inherent rationality or in some utilitarian test of
practicability, the truth itself has some attributes so far
unquestioned and of which we may feel certain as being inherent,
necessary, and self-evident.
Truth is uncompromising. It is unadaptable; all else must be adapted
to it. It is not a matter of convention among men, is not established
even by their unanimous assent, and it does not change with changes of
opinion. It is identical throughout time and space. If it be true now
that since creation the earth has swung in an orbit round the sun, it
was true before the birth of Copernicus and Galileo. If it be true now
that the sum of the three angles of a triangle is equal to the sum of
two right angles, it was always true and always will be true, true at
the poles and at the equator, true among all peoples and in all
countries, true alike in monarchies, oligarchies, and democracies.
Truth is also single. There are no different kinds of truth, though
there may be innumerable kinds of propositions of which truth may or
may not be predicated. Whichever criterion the philosophers may
finally agree upon, it will hold in all propositions alike. The truth
of a proposition in mathematics is the same as the truth of a
proposition in any other science, physical, social, political, or
theological. It can be no more nor less true in each and all. Again,
in every science, social and political as well as others, and as to
every proposition in any science, the truth is to be discovered, not
assumed by mere convention; and men must discover it and discover it
fully at their peril. Failure even after the utmost effort will not be
forgiven. If the truth be found it will be a sure guide in life. If it
be not found the lives of men will so far go awry. That it may be
difficult to find, that we may never be sure we have found it, makes
no difference.
Are there any attributes of justice of which we can speak so
confidently as being necessary, inherent, and self-evident? That
justice ranks next to truth, if not with it, seems to have been, and
to be, the general judgment of mankind. It has engaged the thought and
fired the imagination of the greatest minds. A few quotations from
such, ranging from ancient to modern times, will illustrate this.
The Hebrew Psalmist gloried that "justice and judgment" were the
habitation of Jehovah's throne. Aristotle wrote, "political science is
the most excellent of all the arts and sciences, and the end sought
for in political science is the greatest good for man, which is
justice, for justice is the interest of all." Early in the 12th
century the jurist Irnerius, distinguished for his learning and
for his zeal in promoting the revival of the study of law and
jurisprudence, and also as the reputed founder of the famous Law
School at Bologna, imaged justice as "clothed with dignity ineffable,
shining with reason and equity, and supported by Religion, Loyalty,
Charity, Retribution, Reverence, and Truth."
Six centuries later Addison, famed as a clear thinker and writer,
thus wrote of justice: "There is no virtue so truly great and godlike
as justice.... Omniscience and omnipotence are requisites for the full
exercise of it." Almost in our own time Daniel Webster, called in his
day the great expounder and even now reckoned among the greatest of
men intellectually, in his eulogy upon Justice Story thus
apostrophized justice: "Justice is the great interest of man on earth.
It is the ligament which holds civilized beings and civilized nations
together. Wherever her temple stands and so long as it is duly
honored, there is a foundation for social security, general happiness,
and the improvement and progress of our race." Perhaps, however, none
of these laudations is so vividly impressive as is the pithy remark of
an old English judge that "injustice cuts to the bone."
But what is this justice, declared to be so great a virtue, so
ineffable, so supremely important? I have said we feel certain of some
attributes of truth. Do we know or can we know anything certain about
justice? Is it something above and apart from the will of men, or is
it simply a matter of convention among men? Is it immutable, or does
its nature change with changing times and conditions? If mutable, does
it change of itself or do men change it? Is it universal or local, the
same everywhere or is it different in different localities? Is it the
same for all men and races of men or does it differ according to
classes and races? Again, is it single or diverse in its nature? Is
there more than one kind of justice? We hear of natural justice,
social justice, industrial justice, political justice. What do they
who use those terms mean by them? Do nature, society, industry,
politics, each have a different criterion? Still again, and briefly,
is justice an inexorable law like the law of gravitation or can its
operation have exceptions? Is it simply a quality of action or
conduct, or, as stated by Ulpian, is it a disposition or state of
mind? Finally, is it a reality or, as Falstaff said of honor, is it
after all "a word," "a mere scutcheon?"
I am not so presumptuous as to venture an answer to any of these
questions except perhaps the last. As to that, I appeal to our
consciousness, to our innate conviction that there does exist
something, some virtue, some sentiment, however undefinable in terms,
holding men together in society despite their natural selfishness, and
without which they would fall apart. It is this virtue, this ligament
of society, that we call justice. We feel that the word is not a mere
word, but that it connotes a vital reality in human relationship. If
this reality be ignored, men cannot be held together in any society.
If justice be the greatest good, as so generally asserted, then its
negative, or injustice, must be the greatest evil. Hence error in
men's opinions of what is justice will work that greatest evil.
Society as a whole is liable to error in respect to justice; has often
been mistaken in the past and may be mistaken today. The individuals
composing society are seldom, if ever, wholly disinterested and
dispassionate in their judgments. Each individual is prone to believe
that what is apparently good for himself or his group or class, is in
accord with justice. Himself persuaded that he is battling for
justice, he does not see that he may be battling only for some
advantage over others, for some individual relief from common burdens,
for some privilege not to be accorded to others; does not see that
what he is battling for may cause injustice to others. Through
ignorance of the real nature of justice, the grant to one of his plea
for what he calls justice may work grievous injustice to others. So
when altruists, warm with sympathy, obtain the enactment of laws
intended for the betterment of the less fortunate, they may at times
do injustice to others and even to those they hoped to benefit.
History records many instances where laws intended to insure justice
had the contrary effect. Many a statute designed to prevent oppression
has itself proved oppressive in operation. Many a theory of justice
has been found to work injustice. A conspicuous and familiar instance
is found in the history of the French Revolution. The Jacobins
believed that their theories if given effect would usher in the reign
of justice in France. They obtained power and exploited their theories
only to bring in the Reign of Terror, that reign of terrible
injustice.
As mistakes and grievous mistakes have been made in the past as to
what is justice, so they will be made now and in the future, and can
be lessened only by greater wisdom and forethought, by greater effort
to consider justice apart by itself, with philosophical detachment,
with minds unclouded by pity, sympathy, charity, and other like
virtues, on the one hand, or by envy, hate, prejudice, and like evil
sentiments, on the other. True, men are more enlightened now and
education is more general, but society is more complex, with more
diverse and conflicting interests, than formerly. The social mechanism
is now so intricate that even a slight disturbance in one part may
disarrange the whole. Injustice to one may injure the many. Hence the
duty of ascertaining as completely as possible the real nature of
justice is as imperative today as ever. As declared by Ulpian, this
duty is especially incumbent upon those who have to do with the
framing or administration of the laws, since justice can be enforced
only by law.
In any inquiry into the nature of justice we get little help from the
wisdom of the ancients. They wrestled with the question but seem to
have been as puzzled as we of today. Indeed, Plato represents the sage
Socrates as frankly confessing his inability to answer satisfactorily
the persistent question "What is justice?" The question comes up for
discussion by Socrates and some friends at the home of Cephalus at the
Piraeus. Socrates criticizes and punctures the definitions advanced by
the others until Thrasymachus, apparently with some heat, challenges
Socrates to give an answer of his own to the question "what is
justice?" and not to content himself, nor to consume time, with merely
refuting others. After some further discussion of various aspects of
the question, Socrates finally says, "I have gone from one subject to
another without having discovered what I sought at first, the nature
of justice. I left the inquiry and turned away to consider whether
justice is virtue and wisdom, or evil and folly, and when there arose
a further question about the comparative advantages of justice and
injustice I could not refrain from passing on to that. The result of
the whole discussion has been that I know nothing at all. I know not
what justice is and therefore am not likely to know whether or not it
is a virtue, nor can I say whether the just man is happy or unhappy."
Granting that the confession may have been intended ironically, the
further discussion did not result in any practical solution, even if
in one possible in Plato's ideal, but impossible, state. Indeed, the
inquiry is not yet closed and will not be until the millennium.
Still, upon a question so old, so important, so persistent, so
ingrained in human society, and even now receiving such diverse and
conflicting answers, a brief consideration of the earlier beliefs and
theories may not be useless. As said by Bishop Stubbs, the historian,
"The roots of the present lie deep in the past and nothing in the past
is dead to him who would learn how the present came to be what it is."
The roots should be examined by him who would understand the tree.
In Homer we get a glimpse of a theory of his time, to wit, that each
separate decision given by the magistrate in any litigated controversy
was furnished to him by Zeus specially for that case. The Greek word
for such a decision was _themis_, and it was supposed that somewhere
in the Pantheon was a corresponding deity whose special function was
to furnish the appropriate themis for each case. This deity was
shadowily personified as the goddess Themis, the daughter of heaven
and earth, the companion and counselor of Zeus. It was she who
summoned gods and men to council and presided unseen over their
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BART KEENE'S
HUNTING DAYS
Or
The Darewell Chums
in a Winter Camp
BY
ALLEN CHAPMAN
AUTHOR OF "BART STIRLING'S ROAD TO SUCCESS," "WORKING
HARD TO WIN," "BOUND TO SUCCEED," "THE YOUNG
STOREKEEPER," "NAT BORDEN'S FIND," ETC.
[Illustration:
_The_
GOLDSMITH
_Publishing Co._
CLEVELAND OHIO
MADE IN U.S.A.]
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A MIDNIGHT EXPEDITION 1
II. THE MISSING DIAMOND BRACELET 8
III. A FRUITLESS SEARCH 24
IV. IN THE SHOOTING GALLERY 35
V. AN INITIATION 49
VI. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 57
VII. GETTING READY FOR CAMP 67
VIII. AN ODD LETTER 77
IX. OFF TO CAMP 84
X. A RAILROAD ACCIDENT 91
XI. PUTTING UP THE TENTS 97
XII. THE PLACE OF THE TURTLES 106
XIII. THE MUD VOLCANO 111
XIV. BART'S FIRST SHOT 119
XV. FENN FALLS IN 125
XVI. FRANK MAKES PANCAKES 132
XVII. TREED BY A WILDCAT 141
XVIII. THE MYSTERIOUS MAN AGAIN 153
XIX. LOST IN THE WOODS 160
XX. A NIGHT OF MISERY 167
XXI. UNEXPECTED HELP 173
XXII. CHRISTMAS IN CAMP 179
XXIII. FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW 187
XXIV. A SHOT IN TIME 193
XXV. NED'S RABBIT TRAP 200
XXVI. A VISIT TO TOWN 206
XXVII. THE MAN WITH THE TURTLE 212
XXVIII. THE PURSUIT 217
XXIX. BART'S BEST SHOT 227
XXX. THE DIAMOND BRACELET--CONCLUSION 232
BART KEENE'S HUNTING DAYS
CHAPTER I
A MIDNIGHT EXPEDITION
"Hold on there! Go easy, now, fellows," cautioned Bart Keene to his two
chums, as they stole softly along in the darkness. "What are you making
all that racket for, Ned?"
"It wasn't me; it was Frank."
"I couldn't help it," came from Frank Roscoe in a whisper. "I stumbled
on a stone."
"Well, don't do it again," retorted Bart. "First thing you know some one
will hear us, and the jig will be up."
"And then we can't play the joke on Stumpy," added Ned Wilding.
"Of course not," went on Bart. "Easy now. Come on. Keep behind me in a
line, and walk in the shadows as much as possible. We're almost there."
The three lads bent upon playing a peculiar trick on their chum, Fenn,
or "Stumpy" Masterson, kept on toward the Darewell High School, at which
they were students. The building set well back from the street, and the
campus in front was now flooded with brilliant moonlight. It was close
to midnight, and to approach the institution unobserved, to take from it
certain objects, and to steal away without having been noticed, was the
object of the three conspirators.
"Are you coming?" asked Bart, as he turned around to observe what
progress his companions were making. He saw Ned and Frank standing
still, crouched in the shadow of a leafless tree. "What's the matter?"
he continued, somewhat anxiously.
"Thought I heard a noise in the building," whispered Frank, hoarsely.
"You're dreaming," retorted Bart. "Come on. It's getting late, and we
want to finish."
"Yes, and it's as cold as Greenland," added Ned. The boys had on light
overcoats, for winter was near at hand.
Once more the two advanced, and joined Bart. The three were now in the
shadow of one of the wings of the school, and, as far as they knew, had
not been seen.
"Which way are you going in?" asked Ned, of Bart, who was leading this
midnight expedition.
"Through the side court, and in at the girls' door. That's most always
open, as Riggs, the janitor, lives on that side of the school, and he
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jonathan Ingram, Chjarles M. Bidwell
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS
The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Vol. 2 of 10)
_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Clorin _a shepherdess, having buried her Love in an Arbour._
Hail, holy Earth, whose cold Arms do imbrace
The truest man that ever fed his flocks
By the fat plains of fruitful _Thessaly_,
Thus I salute thy Grave, thus do I pay
My early vows, and tribute of mine eyes
To thy still loved ashes; thus I free
My self from all insuing heats and fires
Of love: all sports, delights and jolly games
That Shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.
Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt
With youthful Coronals, and lead the Dance;
No more the company of fresh fair Maids
And wanton Shepherds be to me delightful,
Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes
Under some shady dell, when the cool wind
Plays on the leaves: all be far away,
Since thou art far away; by whose dear side
How often have I sat Crown'd with fresh flowers
For summers Queen, whil'st every Shepherds Boy
Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook,
And hanging scrip of finest Cordevan.
But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee,
And all are dead but thy dear memorie;
That shall out-live thee, and shall ever spring
Whilest there are pipes, or jolly Shepherds sing.
And here will I in honour of thy love,
Dwell by thy Grave, forgeting all those joys,
That former times made precious to mine eyes,
Only remembring what my youth did gain
In the dark, hidden vertuous use of Herbs:
That will I practise, and as freely give
All my endeavours, as I gain'd them free.
Of all green wounds I know the remedies
In Men or Cattel, be they stung with Snakes,
Or charm'd with powerful words of wicked Art,
Or be they Love-sick, or through too much heat
Grown wild or Lunatick, their eyes or ears
Thickned with misty filme of dulling Rheum,
These I can Cure, such secret vertue lies
In Herbs applyed by a Virgins hand:
My meat shall be what these wild woods afford,
Berries, and Chesnuts, Plantanes, on whose Cheeks,
The Sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit
Pull'd from the fair head of the staight grown Pine;
On these I'le feed with free content and rest,
When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.
_Enter a_ Satyr.
_Satyr._ Through yon same bending plain
That flings his arms down to the main,
And through these thick woods have I run,
Whose bottom never kist the Sun
Since the lusty Spring began,
All to please my master _Pan,_
Have I trotted without rest
To get him Fruit; for at a Feast
He entertains this coming night
His Paramour, the _Syrinx_ bright:
But behold a fairer sight! [_He stands amazed._
By that Heavenly form of thine,
Brightest fair thou art divine,
Sprung from great immortal race
Of the gods, for in thy face
Shines more awful Majesty,
Than dull weak mortalitie
Dare with misty eyes behold,
And live: therefore on this mold
Lowly do I bend my knee,
In worship of thy Deitie;
Deign it Goddess from my hand,
To receive what e're this land
From her fertil Womb doth send
Of her choice Fruits: and but lend
Belief to that the Satyre tells,
Fairer by the famous wells,
To this present day ne're grew,
Never better nor more true.
Here be Grapes whose lusty bloud
Is the learned Poets good,
Sweeter yet did never crown
The head of _Bacchus_, Nuts more brown
Than the Squirrels Teeth that crack them;
Deign O fairest fair to take them.
For these black ey'd _Driope_
Hath oftentimes commanded me,
With my clasped knee to clime;
See how well the lusty time
Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red,
Such as on your lips is spred,
Here be Berries for a Queen,
Some be red, some be green,
These are of that luscious meat,
The great God _Pan_ himself doth eat:
All these, and what the woods can yield,
The hanging mountain or the field,
I freely offer, and ere long
Will bring you more, more sweet and strong,
Till when humbly leave I take,
Lest the great _Pan_ do awake,
That sleeping lies in a deep glade,
Under a broad Beeches shade,
I must go, I must run
Swifter than the fiery Sun. [_Exit_.
_Clo_. And all my fears go with thee.
What greatness or what private hidden power,
Is there in me to draw submission
From this rude man, and beast? sure I am mortal:
The Daughter of a Shepherd, he was mortal:
And she that bore me mortal: prick my hand
And it will bleed: a Feaver shakes me,
And the self same wind that makes the young Lambs shrink,
Makes me a cold: my fear says I am mortal:
Yet I have heard (my Mother told it me)
And now I do believe it, if I keep
My Virgin Flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair,
No Goblin, Wood-god, Fairy, Elfe, or Fiend,
Satyr or other power that haunts the Groves,
Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion
Draw me to wander after idle fires;
Or voyces calling me in dead of night,
To make me follow, and so tole me on
Through mire and standing pools, to find my ruine:
Else why should this rough thing, who never knew
Manners, nor smooth humanity, whose heats
Are rougher than himself, and more mishapen,
Thus mildly kneel to me? sure there is a power
In that great name of Virgin, that binds fast
All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites
That break their confines: then strong Chastity
Be thou my strongest guard, for here I'le dwell
In opposition against Fate and Hell.
_Enter an old_ Shepherd, _with him four couple of_ Shepherds
_and_ Shepherdesses.
_Old Shep_. Now we have done this holy Festival
In honour of our great God, and his rites
Perform'd, prepare your selves for chaste
And uncorrupted fires: that as the Priest,
With powerful hand shall sprinkle on [your] Brows
His pure and holy water, ye may be
From all hot flames of lust, and loose thoughts free.
Kneel Shepherds, kneel, here comes the Priest of _Pan_.
_Enter_ Priest.
_Priest_. Shepherds, thus I purge away,
Whatsoever this great day,
Or the past hours gave not good,
To corrupt your Maiden blood:
From the high rebellious heat
Of the Grapes, and strength of meat;
From the wanton quick desires,
They do kindle by their fires,
I do wash you with this water,
Be you pure and fair hereafter.
From your Liver and your Veins,
Thus I take away the stains.
All your thoughts be smooth and fair,
Be ye fresh and free as Air.
Never more let lustful heat
Through your purged conduits beat,
Or a plighted troth be broken,
Or a wanton verse be spoken
In a Shepherdesses ear;
Go your wayes, ye are all clear.
[_They rise and sing in praise of_ Pan.
The SONG.
_Sing his praises that doth keep
Our Flocks from harm,_
Pan _the Father of our Sheep,
And arm in arm
Tread we softly in a round,
Whilest the hollow neighbouring ground
Fills the Musick with her sound._
Pan, _O great God_ Pan, _to thee
Thus do we sing:
Thou that keep'st us chaste and free
As the young spring,
Ever be thy honour spoke,
From that place the morn is broke,
To that place Day doth unyoke._
[_Exeunt omnes but_ Perigot _and_ Amoret.
_Peri_. Stay gentle _Amoret_, thou fair brow'd Maid,
Thy Shepherd prays thee stay, that holds thee dear,
Equal with his souls good.
_Amo_. Speak; I give
Thee freedom Shepherd, and thy tongue be still
The same it ever was; as free from ill,
As he whose conversation never knew
The Court or City be thou ever true.
_Peri_. When I fall off from my affection,
Or mingle my clean thoughts with foul desires,
First let our great God cease to keep my flocks,
That being left alone without a guard,
The Wolf, or Winters rage, Summers great heat,
And want of Water, Rots; or what to us
Of ill is yet unknown, full speedily,
And in their general ruine let me feel.
_Amo_. I pray thee gentle Shepherd wish not so,
I do believe thee: 'tis as hard for me
To think thee false, and harder than for thee
To hold me foul.
_Peri_. O you are fairer far
Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star
That guides the wandring Sea-men through the deep,
Straighter than straightest Pine upon the steep
Head of an aged mountain, and more white
Than the new Milk we strip before day-light
From the full fraighted bags of our fair flocks:
Your hair more beauteous than those hanging locks
Of young _Apollo_.
_Amo_. Shepherd be not lost,
Y'are sail'd too far already from the Coast
Of our discourse.
_Peri_. Did you not tell me once
I should not love alone, I should not lose
Those many passions, vows, and holy Oaths,
I've sent to Heaven? did you not give your hand,
Even that fair hand in hostage? Do not then
Give back again those sweets to other men,
You your self vow'd were mine.
_Amo_. Shepherd, so far as Maidens modesty
May give assurance, I am once more thine,
Once more I give my hand; be ever free
From that great foe to faith, foul jealousie.
_Peri_. I take it as my best good, and desire
For stronger confirmation of our love,
To meet this happy night in that fair Grove,
Where all true Shepherds have rewarded been
For their long service: say sweet, shall it hold?
_Amo_. Dear friend, you must not blame me if I make
A doubt of what the silent night may do,
Coupled with this dayes heat to move your bloud:
Maids must be fearful; sure you have not been
Wash'd white enough; for yet I see a stain
Stick in your Liver, go and purge again.
_Peri_. O do not wrong my honest simple truth,
My self and my affections are as pure
As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine
Of the great _Dian_: only my intent
To draw you thither, was to plight our troths,
With enterchange of mutual chaste embraces,
And ceremonious tying of our selves:
For to that holy wood is consecrate
A vertuous well, about whose flowry banks,
The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds,
By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes
Their stolen Children, so to make them free
From dying flesh, and dull mortalitie;
By this fair Fount hath many a Shepherd sworn,
And given away his freedom, many a troth
Been plight, which neither envy, nor old time
Could ever break, with many a chaste kiss given,
In hope of coming happiness; by this
Fresh Fountain many a blushing Maid
Hath crown'd the head of her long loved Shepherd
With gaudy flowers, whilest he happy sung
Layes of his love and dear Captivitie;
There grows all Herbs fit to cool looser flames
Our sensual parts provoke, chiding our bloods,
And quenching by their power those hidden sparks
That else would break out, and provoke our sense
To open fires, so vertuous is that place:
Then gentle Shepherdess, believe and grant,
In troth it fits not with that face to scant
Your faithful Shepherd of those chaste desires
He ever aim'd at, and--
_Amo_. Thou hast prevail'd, farewel, this coming night
Shall crown thy chast hopes with long wish'd delight.
_Peri_. Our great god _Pan_ reward thee for that good
Thou hast given thy poor Shepherd: fairest Bud
Of Maiden Vertues, when I leave to be
The true Admirer of thy Chastitie,
Let me deserve the hot polluted Name
Of the wild Woodman, or affect: some Dame,
Whose often Prostitution hath begot
More foul Diseases, than ever yet the hot
Sun bred through his burnings, whilst the Dog
Pursues the raging Lion, throwing Fog,
And deadly Vapour from his angry Breath,
Filling the lower World with Plague and Death. [_Ex._ Am.
_Enter_ Amaryllis.
_Ama_. Shepherd, may I desire to be believ'd,
What I shall blushing tell?
_Peri_. Fair Maid, you may.
_Am_. Then softly thus, I love thee, _Perigot_,
And would be gladder to be lov'd again,
Than the cold Earth is in his frozen arms
To clip the wanton Spring: nay do not start,
Nor wonder that I woo thee, thou that art
The prime of our young Grooms, even the top
Of all our lusty Shepherds! what dull eye
That never was acquainted with desire,
Hath seen thee wrastle, run, or cast the Stone
With nimble strength and fair delivery,
And hath not sparkled fire, and speedily
Sent secret heat to all the neighbouring Veins?
Who ever heard thee sing, that brought again
That freedom back, was lent unto thy Voice;
Then do not blame me (Shepherd) if I be
One to be numbred in this Companie,
Since none that ever saw thee yet, were free.
_Peri_. Fair Shepherdess, much pity I can lend
To your Complaints: but sure I shall not love:
All that is mine, my self, and my best hopes
Are given already; do not love him then
That cannot love again: on other men
Bestow those heats more free, that may return
You fire for fire, and in one flame equal burn.
_Ama_. Shall I rewarded be so slenderly
For my affection, most unkind of men!
If I were old, or had agreed with Art
To give another Nature to my Cheeks,
Or were I common Mistress to the love
Of every Swain, or could I with such ease
Call back my Love, as many a Wanton doth;
Thou might'st refuse me, Shepherd; but to thee
I am only fixt and set, let it not be
A Sport, thou gentle Shepherd to abuse
The love of silly Maid.
_Peri_. Fair Soul, ye use
These words to little end: for know, I may
Better call back that time was Yesterday,
Or stay the coming Night, than bring my Love
Home to my self again, or recreant prove.
I will no longer hold you with delays,
This present night I have appointed been
To meet that chaste Fair (that enjoys my Soul)
In yonder Grove, there to make up our Loves.
Be not deceiv'd no longer, chuse again,
These neighbouring Plains have many a comely Swain,
Fresher, and freer far than I e'r was,
Bestow that love on them, and let me pass.
Farewel, be happy in a better Choice. [_Exit_.
_Ama_. Cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy Voice
Than if the angry Heavens with their quick flames
Had shot me through: I must not leave to love,
I cannot, no I must enjoy thee, Boy,
Though the great dangers 'twixt my hopes and that
Be infinite: there is a Shepherd dwells
Down by the Moor, whose life hath ever shown
More sullen Discontent than _Saturns_ Brow,
When he sits frowning on the Births of Men:
One that doth wear himself away in loneness;
And never joys unless it be in breaking
The holy plighted troths of mutual Souls:
One that lusts after [every] several Beauty,
But never yet was known to love or like,
Were the face fairer, or more full of truth,
Than _Phoebe_ in her fulness, or the youth
Of smooth _Lyaeus_; whose nigh starved flocks
Are always scabby, and infect all Sheep
They feed withal; whose Lambs are ever last,
And dye before their waining, and whose Dog
Looks like his Master, lean, and full of scurf,
Not caring for the Pipe or Whistle: this man may
(If he be well wrought) do a deed of wonder,
Forcing me passage to my long desires:
And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose,
As my quick thoughts could wish for.
_Enter_ Shepherd.
_Shep_. Fresh Beauty, let me not be thought uncivil,
Thus to be Partner of your loneness: 'twas
My Love (that ever working passion) drew
Me to this place to seek some remedy
For my sick Soul: be not unkind and fair,
For such the mighty Cupid in his doom
Hath sworn to be aveng'd on; then give room
To my consuming Fires, that so I may
Enjoy my long Desires, and so allay
Those flames that else would burn my life away.
_Ama_. Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were sound
As thy words seem to be, means might be found
To cure thee of thy long pains; for to me
That heavy youth-consuming Miserie
The love-sick Soul endures, never was pleasing;
I could be well content with the quick easing
Of thee, and thy hot fires, might it procure
Thy faith and farther service to be sure.
_Shep_. Name but that great work, danger, or what can
Be compass'd by the Wit or Art of Man,
And if I fail in my performance, may
I never more kneel to the rising Day.
_Ama_. Then thus I try thee, Shepherd, this same night,
That now comes stealing on, a gentle pair
Have promis'd equal Love, and do appoint
To make yon Wood the place where hands and hearts
Are to be ty'd for ever: break their meeting
And their strong Faith, and I am ever thine.
_Shep_. Tell me their Names, and if I do not move
(By my great power) the Centre of their Love
From his fixt being, let me never more
Warm me by those fair Eyes I thus adore.
_Ama_. Come, as we go, I'll tell thee what they are,
And give thee fit directions for thy work. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Cloe.
_Cloe_. How have I wrong'd the times, or men, that thus
After this holy Feast I pass unknown
And unsaluted? 'twas not wont to be
Thus frozen with the younger companie
Of jolly Shepherds; 'twas not then held good,
For lusty Grooms to mix their quicker blood
With that dull humour, most unfit to be
The friend of man, cold and dull Chastitie.
Sure I am held not fair, or am too old,
Or else not free enough, or from my fold
Drive not a flock sufficient great, to gain
The greedy eyes of wealth-alluring Swain:
Yet if I may believe what others say,
My face has soil enough; nor can they lay
Justly too strict a Coyness to my Charge;
My Flocks are many, and the Downs as large
They feed upon: then let it ever be
Their Coldness, not my Virgin Modestie
Makes me complain.
_Enter_ Thenot.
_The_. Was ever Man but I
Thus truly taken with uncertainty?
Where shall that Man be found that loves a mind
Made up in Constancy, and dare not find
His Love rewarded? here let all men know
A Wretch that lives to love his Mistress so.
_Clo_. Shepherd, I pray thee stay, where hast thou been?
Or whither go'st thou? here be Woods as green
As any, air likewise as fresh and sweet,
As where smooth _Zephyrus_ plays on the fleet
Face of the curled Streams, with Flowers as many
As the young Spring gives, and as choise as any;
Here be all new Delights, cool Streams and Wells,
Arbors o'rgrown with Woodbinds, Caves, and Dells,
Chase where thou wilt, whilst I sit by, and sing,
Or gather Rushes to make many a Ring
For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of Love,
How the pale _Phoebe_ hunting in a Grove,
First saw the Boy _Endymion_, from whose Eyes
She took eternal fire that never dyes;
How she convey'd him softly in a sleep,
His temples bound with poppy to the steep
Head of old _Latmus_, where she stoops each night,
Gilding the Mountain with her Brothers light,
To kiss her sweetest.
_The_. Far from me are these
Hot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease;
I have forgot what love and loving meant:
Rhimes, Songs, and merry Rounds, that oft are sent
To the soft Ears of Maids, are strange to me;
Only I live t' admire a Chastitie,
That neither pleasing Age, smooth tongue, or Gold,
Could ever break upon, so pure a Mold
Is that her Mind was cast in; 'tis to her
I only am reserv'd; she is my form I stir
By, breath and move, 'tis she and only she
Can make me happy, or give miserie.
_Clo_. Good Shepherd, may a Stranger crave to know
To whom this dear observance you do ow?
_The_. You may, and by her Vertue learn to square
And level out your Life; for to be fair
And nothing vertuous, only fits the Eye
Of gaudy Youth, and swelling Vanitie.
Then know, she's call'd the Virgin of the Grove,
She that hath long since bury'd her chaste Love,
And now lives by his Grave, for whose dear Soul
She hath vow'd her self into the holy Roll
Of strict Virginity; 'tis her I so admire,
Not any looser Blood, or new desire.
_Clo_. Farewel poor Swain, thou art not for my bend,
I must have quicker Souls, whose works may tend
To some free action: give me him dare love
At first encounter, and as soon dare prove.
The SONG.
_Come Shepherds, come,
Come away without delay
Whilst the gentle time dot[h] stay.
Green Woods are dumb,
And will never tell to any
Those dear Kisses, and those many
Sweet Embraces that are given
Dainty Pleasures that would even
Raise in coldest Age a fire,
And give Virgin Blood desire,
Then if ever,
Now or never,
Come and have it,
Think not I,
Dare deny,
If you crave it._
_Enter_ Daphnis.
Here comes another: better be my speed,
Thou god of Blood: but certain, if I read
Not false, this is that modest Shepherd, he
That only dare salute, but ne'r could be
Brought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing,
Whisper, or boldly ask that wished thing
We all are born for; one that makes loving Faces,
And could be well content to covet Graces,
Were they not got by boldness; in this thing
My hopes are frozen; and but Fate doth bring
Him hither, I would sooner chuse
A Man made out of Snow, and freer use
An Eunuch to my ends: but since he's here,
Thus I attempt him. Thou of men most dear,
Welcome to her, that only for thy sake,
Hath been content to live: here boldly take
My hand in pledg, this hand, that never yet
Was given away to any: and but sit
Down on this rushy Bank, whilst I go pull
Fresh Blossoms from the Boughs, or quickly cull
The choicest delicates from yonder Mead,
To make thee Chains, or Chaplets, or to spread
Under our fainting Bodies, when delight
Shall lock up all our senses. How the sight
Of those smooth rising Cheeks renew the story
Of young _Adonis_, when in Pride and Glory
He lay infolded 'twixt the beating arms
Of willing _Venus_: methinks stronger Charms
Dwell in those speaking eyes, and on that brow
More sweetness than the Painters can allow
To their best pieces: not _Narcissus_, he
That wept himself away in memorie
Of his own Beauty, nor _Silvanus_ Boy,
Nor the twice ravish'd Maid, for whom old _Troy_
Fell by the hand of _Pirrhus_, may to thee
Be otherwise compar'd, than some dead Tree
To a young fruitful Olive.
_Daph_. I can love,
But I am loth to say so, lest I prove
Too soon unhappy.
_Clo_. Happy thou would'st say,
My dearest _Daphnis_, blush not, if the day
To thee and thy soft heats be enemie,
Then take the coming Night, fair youth 'tis free
To all the World, Shepherd, I'll meet thee then
When darkness hath shut up the eyes of men,
In yonder Grove: speak, shall our Meeting hold?
Indeed you are too bashful, be more bold,
And tell me I.
_Daph_. I'm content to say so,
And would be glad to meet, might I but pray so
Much from your Fairness, that you would be true.
_Clo_. Shepherd, thou hast thy Wish.
_Daph_. Fresh Maid, adieu:
Yet one word more, since you have drawn me on
To come this Night, fear not to meet alone
That man that will not offer to be ill,
Though your bright self would ask it, for his fill
Of this Worlds goodness: do not fear him then,
But keep your 'pointed time; let other men
Set up their Bloods to sale, mine shall be ever
Fair as the Soul it carries, and unchast never. [_Exit_.
_Clo_. Yet am I poorer than I was before.
Is it not strange, among so many a score
Of lusty Bloods, I should pick out these things
Whose Veins like a dull River far from Springs,
Is still the same, slow, heavy, and unfit
For stream or motion, though the strong winds hit
With their continual power upon his sides?
O happy be your names that have been brides,
And tasted those rare sweets for which I pine:
And far more heavy be thy grief and time,
Thou lazie swain, that maist relieve my needs,
Than his, upon whose liver alwayes feeds
A hungry vultur.
_Enter_ Alexis.
_Ale_. Can such beauty be
Safe in his own guard, and not draw the eye
Of him that passeth on, to greedy gaze,
Or covetous desire, whilst in a maze
The better part contemplates, giving rein
And wished freedom to the labouring vein?
Fairest and whitest, may I crave to know
The cause of your retirement, why ye goe
Thus all alone? methinks the downs are sweeter,
And the young company of swains far meeter,
Than those forsaken and untroden places.
Give not your self to loneness, and those graces
Hid from the eyes of men, that were intended
To live amongst us swains.
_Cloe._ Thou art befriended,
Shepherd, in all my life I have not seen
A man in whom greater contents have been
Than thou thy self art: I could tell thee more,
Were there but any hope left to restore
My freedom lost. O lend me all thy red,
Thou shamefast morning, when from _Tithons_ bed
Thou risest ever maiden.
_Alex. _If for me,
Thou sweetest of all sweets, these flashes be,
Speak and be satisfied. O guide her tongue,
My better angel; force my name among
Her modest thoughts, that the first word may be--
_Cloe._ _Alexis_, when the sun shall kiss the Sea,
Taking his rest by the white _Thetis_ side,
Meet in the holy wood, where I'le abide
Thy coming, Shepherd.
_Alex._ If I stay behind,
An everlasting dulness, and the wind,
That as he passeth by shuts up the stream
Of _Rhine_ or _Volga_, whilst the suns hot beam
Beats back again, seise me, and let me turn
To coldness more than ice: oh how I burn
And rise in youth and fire! I dare not stay.
_Cloe._ My name shall be your word.
_Alex._ Fly, fly thou day. [_Exit._
_Cloe._ My grief is great if both these boyes should fail:
He that will use all winds must shift his sail. [_Exit._
_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima._
_Enter an old_ Shepherd, _with a bell ringing, and the Priest of Pan
following._
_Priest._ O Shepherds all, and maidens fair,
Fold your flocks up, for the Air
'Gins to thicken, and the sun
Already his great course hath run.
See the dew-drops how they kiss
Every little flower that is:
Hanging on their velvet heads,
Like a rope of crystal beads.
See the heavy clouds low falling,
And bright _Hesperus_ down calling
The dead night from under ground,
At whose rising mists unsound,
Damps, and vapours fly apace,
Hovering o're the wanton face
Of these pastures, where they come,
Striking dead both bud and bloom;
Therefore from such danger lock
Every one his loved flock,
And let your Dogs lye loose without,
Lest the Wolf come as a scout
From the mountain, and e're day
Bear a Lamb or kid away,
Or the crafty theevish Fox,
Break upon your simple flocks:
To secure your selves from these,
Be not too secure in ease;
Let one eye his watches keep,
Whilst the t'other eye doth sleep;
So you shall good Shepherds prove,
And for ever hold the love
Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers
And soft silence fall in numbers
On your eye-lids: so farewel,
Thus I end my evenings knel. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Clorin, _the_ Shepherdess, _sorting of herbs, and telling the
natures of them._
_Clor._ Now let me know what my best Art hath done,
Helpt by the great power of the vertuous moon
In her full light; O you sons of Earth,
You only brood, unto whose happy birth
Vertue was given, holding more of nature
Than man her first born and most perfect creature,
Let me adore you; you that only can
Help or kill nature, drawing out that span
Of life and breath even to the end of time;
You that these hands did crop, long before prime
Of day; give me your names, and next your hidden power.
This is the _Clote_ bearing a yellow flower,
And this black Horehound, both are very good
For sheep or Shepherd, bitten by a wood-
Dogs venom'd tooth; these Ramuns branches are,
Which stuck in entries, or about the bar
That holds the door fast, kill all inchantments, charms,
Were they _Medeas_ verses that doe harms
To men or cattel; these for frenzy be
A speedy and a soveraign remedie,
The bitter Wormwood, Sage, and Marigold,
Such sympathy with mans good they do hold;
This Tormentil, whose vertue is to part
All deadly killing poyson from the heart;
And here _Narcissus_ roots for swellings be:
Yellow _Lysimacus_, to give sweet rest
To the faint Shepherd, killing where it comes
All busie gnats, and every fly that hums:
For leprosie, Darnel, and Sellondine,
With Calamint, whose vertues do refine
The blood of man, making it free and fair
As the first hour it breath'd, or the best air.
Here other two, but your rebellious use
Is not for me, whose goodness is abuse;
Therefore foul Standergrass, from me and mine
I banish thee, with lustful Turpentine,
You that intice the veins and stir the heat
To civil mutiny, scaling the seat
Our reason moves in, and deluding it
With dreams and wanton fancies, till the fit
Of burning lust be quencht; by appetite,
Robbing the soul of blessedness and light:
And thou light _Varvin_ too, thou must go after,
Provoking easie souls to mirth and laughter;
No more shall I dip thee in water now,
And sprinkle every post, and every bough
With thy well pleasing juyce, to make the grooms
Swell with high mirth, as with joy all the rooms.
_Enter_ Thenot.
_The_. This is the Cabin where the best of all
Her Sex, that ever breath'd, or ever shall
Give heat or happiness to the Shepherds side,
Doth only to her worthy self abide.
Thou blessed star, I thank thee for thy light,
Thou by whose power the darkness of sad night
| 3,085.888927 |
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THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 33. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1841. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: CAHIR CASTLE, COUNTY OF TIPPERARY]
To a large portion of our readers it will be scarcely necessary to state,
that the little town of Cahir is in many respects the most interesting of
its size to be found in the province of Munster, we had almost said in
all Ireland; and that, though this interest is to a considerable extent
derived from the extreme beauty of its situation and surrounding scenery,
it is in an equal degree attributable to a rarer quality in our small
towns--the beauty of its public edifices, and the appearance of neatness,
cleanliness, and comfort, which pervades it generally, and indicates
the fostering protection of the noble family to whom it belongs, and to
whom it anciently gave title. Most of our small towns require brilliant
sunshine to give them even a semi-cheerful aspect: Cahir looks pleasant
even on one of our characteristic gloomy days. As it is not, however, our
present purpose to enter on any detailed account of the town itself, but
to confine our notice to one of its most attractive features--its ancient
castle--we shall only state that Cahir is a market and post town, in the
barony of Iffa and Offa West, county of Tipperary, and is situated on the
river Suir, at the junction of the mail-coach roads leading respectively
from Waterford to Limerick, and from Cork by way of Cashel to Dublin. It
is about eight miles W.N.W. from Clonmel, and the same distance S.W. from
Cashel, and contains about 3500 inhabitants.
The ancient and proper name of this town is _Cahir-duna-iascaigh_, or,
the circular stone fortress of the fish-abounding Dun, or fort; a name
which appears to be tautological, and which can only be accounted for by
the supposition that an earthen _Dun_, or fort, had originally occupied
the site on which a _Cahir_, or stone fort, was erected subsequently.
Examples of names formed in this way, of words having nearly synonymous
meanings, are very numerous in Ireland, as _Caislean-dun-more_, the
castle of the great fort, and as the Irish name of Cahir Castle
itself, which, after the erection of the present building, was called
_Caislean-na-caherach-duna-iascaigh_, an appellation in which three
distinct Irish names for military works of different classes and ages are
combined.
Be this, however, as it may, it is certain that a _Cahir_ or stone fort
occupied the site of the present castle in the most remote historic
times, as it is mentioned in the oldest books of the Brehon laws; and the
Book of Lecan records its destruction by Cuirreach, the brother-in-law
of Felemy Rechtmar, or the Lawgiver, as early as the third century, at
which time it is stated to have been the residence of a female named
Badamar. Whether this _Cahir_ was subsequently rebuilt or not, does not
appear in our histories as far as we have found; nor have we been able
to discover in any ancient document a record of the erection of the
present castle. It is stated indeed by Archdall, and from him again by
all subsequent Irish topographers, that Cahir Castle was erected prior
to the year 1142 by Conor-na-Catharach O’Brien, king of Thomond. But
this is altogether an error. No castle properly so called of this class
was erected in Ireland till a later period, and the assertion of Conor’s
having built a castle at Cahir is a mere assumption drawn from the
cognomen _na-Catharach_, or of the Cahir or Fort by which he was known,
and which we know from historical evidences was derived not from this
Cahir on the Suir, but from a Cahir which he built on an island in Lough
Derg, near Killaloe, and which still retains his name. The true name of
the founder of Cahir Castle, and date of its erection, must therefore
remain undecided till some record is found which will determine them; and
in the meantime we can only indulge in conjecture as to one or the other.
That it owes its origin, indeed, to some one of the original Anglo-Norman
settlers in Ireland, there can be little doubt, and its high antiquity
seems unquestionable. As early as the fourteenth century, it appears to
have been the residence of James _Galdie_ (or the Anglified) Butler, son
of James, the third Earl of Ormond, by Catherine, daughter of Gerald,
Earl of Desmond--whose descendant Thomas Butler, ancestor to the present
Earl of Glengal, was advanced to the peerage by letters patent, dated at
Dublin the 10th November 1543 (34 Henry VIII.) by the title of Baron of
Cahir.
In the subsequent reigns of Elizabeth and the unfortunate Charles I,
Cahir Castle appears as a frequent and important scene in the melancholy
dramas of which Ireland was the stage, and its history becomes a portion
not only of that of our country generally, but even in some degree of
that of England.
It will be remembered, that, when by the battle of the Blackwater in
1598 the English power in Ireland was reduced to the lowest state, and
the queen felt it necessary to send Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex,
with an | 3,085.979234 |
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the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: The dance of the magicians lasted fully a quarter of
an hour.]
Colonial Series
ON THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC
OR
THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO
BY
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
Author of "With Washington in the West," "Lost on the Orinoco," "Two Young
Lumbermen," "American Boys' Life of William McKinley," "Old Glory Series,"
"Ship and Shore Series," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. SHUTE
PREFACE
"On the Trail of Pontiac" is a complete story in itself, but forms the
fourth volume of a line known by the general title of "Colonial Series."
The first volume, entitled "With Washington in the West," related the
adventures of Dave Morris, a young pioneer of Will's Creek, now Cumberland,
Va. Dave became acquainted with George Washington at the time the latter
was a surveyor, and served under the youthful officer during the fateful
Braddock expedition against Fort Duquesne.
The Braddock defeat left the frontier at the mercy of the French and the
Indians, and in the second volume of the series, called "Marching on
Niagara," are given the particulars of General Forbes' campaign against
Fort Duquesne and the advance of Generals Prideaux and Johnson against Fort
Niagara, in which not only Dave Morris, but likewise his cousin Henry, do
their duty well as young soldiers.
The signal victory at Niagara gave to the English control of all that vast
territory lying between the great Lakes and what was called the Louisiana
Territory. But war with France was not yet at an end, and in the third
volume of the series, entitled "At the Fall of Montreal," I have related
the particulars of the last campaign against the French, including General
Wolfe's memorable scaling of the Heights of Quebec, the battle on the
Plains of Abraham, and lastly the fall of Montreal itself, which brought
this long-drawn war to a conclusion, and was the means of placing Canada
where it remains to-day, in the hands of England.
With the conclusion of the War with France, the settlers in America
imagined that they would be able to go back unmolested to their homesteads
on the frontier. But such was not to be. The Indians who had assisted
France during the war were enraged to see the English occupying what they
considered their own personal hunting grounds, and, aroused by the cunning | 3,131.898996 |
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Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 57918-h.htm or 57918-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/pirateofjasperpe00meig
THE PIRATE OF JASPER PEAK
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., Limited
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
TORONTO
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Close to the hearth a big chair had been drawn and in
this some one was sitting.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE PIRATE OF JASPER PEAK
by
ADAIR ALDON
Author of “The Island of Appledore,” etc.
With Frontispiece
New York
The Macmillan Company
1918
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1918
By the Macmillan Company
Set up and electrotyped.
Published, September, 1918
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
I. A Stranger in a Strange Land
II. The Brown Bear’s Skin
III. Laughing Mary
IV. The Heart of the Forest
V. Oscar Dansk
VI. The Promised Land
VII. Whither Away?
VIII. A Night’s Lodging
IX. Peril at the Bridge
X. First Blood to the Pirate
XI. The White Flag
XII. A Highway through the Hills
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE PIRATE OF JASPER PEAK
CHAPTER I
A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND
The long Pullman train, an hour late and greatly begrudging the time for
a special stop, came sliding into the tiny station of Rudolm and
deposited a solitary passenger upon the platform. The porter set Hugh
Arnold’s suitcase on the ground and accepted his proffered coin, all in
one expert gesture, and said genially:
“We’re way behind time on this run, but we come through on the down trip
at six in the morning, sharp. You-all will be going back with us
to-morrow, I reckon.”
“No,” replied Hugh, as he came down from the car step and gathered up
his belongings. “No, I’m going to stay.”
“Stay?” repeated the porter. “Oh—a week, I suppose. No one really stays
at Rudolm except them that are born there and can’t get away.”
Hugh shook his head.
“I am going to stay all winter,” he said.
“The whole winter! Say, do you know what winter _is_ up here?” the man
exclaimed. “For the love of—”
A violent jolt of the train was the engineer’s reminder that friendly
converse was not in order when there was time to be made up.
“All right, sah, good-by. I hope you like staying, only remember—we go
through every day at six in the morning less’n we’re late. _Good_-by.”
The train swept away, leaving Hugh to look after it for a moment before
he turned to take his first survey of Rudolm and the wide sheet of blue
water upon whose shore it stood.
Red Lake, when he and his father had first looked it up on the map,
seemed a queer, crooked place, full of harbors and headlands and hidden
coves, the wider stretches extending here and there to fifteen, twenty,
twenty-five miles of open water, again narrowing to mere winding
channels choked with islands. Hugh would have liked to say afterward
that he knew even from the map that this was a region promising
adventures, that down the lake’s winding tributaries he was going to be
carried to strange discoveries, but, as a matter of fact, he had no such
foreknowledge.
Indeed, it was his father who observed that the lake looked like a
proper haunt for pirates and Hugh who reminded him that pirates were not
ever to be found so far north. All the books he had seen, pictured them
as burying treasure on warm, sunny, sandy beaches, or flying in pursuit
of their prey on the wings of the South Sea winds. Pirates in the wooded
regions to the north of the Mississippi Valley, pirates where the snow
lay so deep and the lake was frozen for nearly half the year, where only
through a short summer could the waters be plied by “a low, raking,
black hulk” such as all pirates sail—it was not to be thought of! Even
now, when Hugh stood on the station platform and caught his first
glimpse of the real Red Lake, saw the wide blue waters flecked with
sunny whitecaps, the hundred pine-covered islands and the long miles of
wooded shore, even then he had no thought of how different he was to
find this place from any other he had ever seen. Both lake and town
seemed to him to promise little.
For Rudolm, set in its narrow valley between the Minnesota hills, looked
as though it had been dropped from some child’s box of toys, so small
and square were the houses and so hit-or-miss was the order in which
they stood along the one wide, crooked street. There were no trees
growing beside the rough wooden sidewalks, the street was dusty and the
sun, even although it was October, seemed to him to shine with a
pitiless glare. He walked slowly along the platform, wondering why Dick
Edmonds had not come to meet him, thinking that Rudolm seemed the
dullest and most uninteresting town in America and trying to stifle the
rising wish that he had never come.
A soft pad, pad on the boards behind him made him turn his head as a man
walked swiftly past. Hugh saw that his shapeless black hat had a
speckled feather stuck into the band and that he wore, instead of shoes,
soft rounded moccasins edged with a gay embroidery of beads. Plainly the
man was an Indian. At the thought the boy’s heart beat a little faster.
He had not known there would be Indians!
His own being in Rudolm was simple enough, although somewhat unexpected.
Hugh’s father was a doctor, enrolled in the Medical Reserve since the
beginning of the war but not until this month ordered away to France.
The problem of where Hugh should live during his absence was a difficult
one since Hugh had no mother and there were no immediate relatives to
whom he could go. He had finished school but had been judged rather too
young for college, and, so his father maintained in spite of frantic
pleading, much too young to enlist.
“I’m sixteen,” was the boy’s insistent argument, but—
“Wait until you have been sixteen more than two days,” was his father’s
answer.
“I could go with the medical unit, I know enough from helping you to be
some use as a hospital orderly,” Hugh begged, “I would do anything just
to go to France.”
“They need men in France, not boys just on the edge of being men,” Dr.
Arnold replied, “when you have had one or two years’ worth of experience
and judgment, then you will be some help to them over there. But not
now.”
“The war will be over by then,” wailed Hugh.
“Don’t fear,” his father observed grimly, “there is going to be enough
of it for all of us to have our share.”
So there the discussion ended and the question of what Hugh was to do
came up for settlement. There was a distant cousin of his father’s in
New York—but this suggestion was never allowed to get very far. Hugh had
never met the cousin and did not relish the idea of going to live with
him, “sight unseen” as he put it, on such short notice. It was his own
plan to go to Rudolm where lived the two Edmonds brothers, John, cashier
of the bank there and a great friend of his father’s, and Dick, a boy
four years older than himself, whom he had met but once yet knew that he
liked immensely. Several times John Edmonds had written to Dr. Arnold—
“If Hugh ever wants to spend any time ‘on his own’ we could find him a
job here in Rudolm, I know. It is a queer little place, just a mining
and lumbering town full of Swedes, but he might like the hunting and the
country and find it interesting for a while.”
It was the idea of spending the time “on his own” that made Hugh feel
that thus the period of his father’s absence might chance to seem a
little shorter and the soreness of missing him might grow a little less.
John Edmonds had answered their letters most cordially and had said that
all could be arranged and Hugh need only telegraph the day of his
arrival. The final preparations had been hastened by the coming of Dr.
Arnold’s sailing orders; the two had bidden each other good-by and good
luck with resolute cheerfulness and Hugh had set forth on his long
journey northward. He had never seen the Great Lakes nor the busy inland
shipping ports with their giant freighters lying at the docks, nor the
rising hills of the Iron Range through which his way must lead, but he
noticed them very little. His thoughts were very far away and fixed on
other things. Even now, as he walked slowly up Rudolm’s one street he
was not dwelling so much on his forlorn wonder why he did not see his
friends, but was thinking of a great transport that must, almost at that
hour, be nosing her way out of “an Atlantic port,” of the swift
destroyers gathering to convoy her, of the salt sea breezes blowing
across her deck, blowing sharp from the east, from over the sea—from
France. For he was certain, from all that he could gather, that his
father was sailing to-day and was launching upon his new venture at
almost the same time that Hugh was entering upon his own.
Somewhat disconsolately the boy trudged on up the hot empty highway,
seeing ahead of him the big, ramshackle building that must be the hotel
and beyond that, at the end of the road, the shining blue of the lake.
He was vaguely conscious that, at every cottage window, white-headed
children of all sizes and ages bobbed up to stare at him and ducked
shyly out of sight again when they caught his eye. Between two houses he
looked down to a sunny field where a woman with a three-cornered yellow
kerchief on her head was helping some men at work. She did not look like
an American woman at all, Hugh thought as he stopped to watch her, but
walked on abashed when even she paused to look at him, leaning on her
rake and shading her eyes with her hand. He rather liked her looks,
somehow, even at that distance, she seemed so strong, in spite of her
slenderness and she handled her rake with such vigorous sunburned arms.
He raised his eyes to the circle of hills that hemmed in the little town
rising steeply from beyond the last row of houses and the irregular
patchwork of little fields. They were oddly shaped hills, rolling range
beyond range, higher and higher until, far in the distance there loomed
the jagged mass of one big enough to be called a mountain. The nearer
<DW72>s were covered with heavy woods of pine and birch, the dense trees
broken here and there by great masses of rock, black, gray or, more
often, strange clear shades of red.
“Red Lake derives its name,” so the atlas had stated in its
matter-of-fact fashion, “from the peculiar color of the jasper rock that
appears in such quantity along its shores.”
Hugh had never seen anything quite like that clear vermilion shade that
glowed dully against the black-green of the pines. Across the <DW72> of
the nearest hill, showing clear like a clean-cut scar, there stretched a
steep white road that wound sharply up to the summit and disappeared. He
began to feel vaguely that although the town attracted him little, the
road might lead to something of greater promise.
There were some men lounging before the door of the hotel when he
reached it, miners or lumberjacks wearing high boots and mackinaw coats.
They were talking in low tones and eyeing Hugh with open curiosity. Just
as he came to the steps, two figures shuffled silently past him, one,
the Indian he had seen at the station, the other, a broad-shouldered,
broad-waisted woman stooping under the heavy burden she carried on her
back. The man, erect and unimpeded, strode quickly forward, but she
stopped a moment to readjust the deerskin strap which passed over her
forehead and supported the heavy weight of her pack. She turned her
swarthy face toward Hugh and greeted him with a broad, friendly smile,
then bowed her head once more and trudged on after her master. The boy,
not used to the ways of Indian husbands and their wives, stood staring
after the two in shocked astonishment.
“That’s Kaniska, the best guide around here, and his squaw,” he heard
one of the men say to another. “She’s the only Indian hereabouts the
only one I ever heard of, really, that smiles at every one she meets.
They are all of them queer ducks; no matter how well you know them you
never can tell what they are thinking about. I believe she is the very
queerest of them all. The Swedes here call her Laughing Mary.”
The two dark figures slipped out of sight around a corner and Hugh went
up the steps into the hotel. The big, untidy room was apparently empty
except for a bluebottle fly buzzing against the window. A faint snore,
however, made Hugh aware that he was not alone and drew his attention to
the office clerk, sitting behind the high desk, his head back, his heels
up, sound asleep. The men outside had ceased talking, the entire village
was so quiet that Hugh could actually hear a katydid singing its last
summer song loudly and manfully down in the field.
“I never saw such a town before,” he thought bitterly, “the whole place
is either dead or asleep!”
He rapped sharply on the desk to arouse the clerk and was delighted to
see him awake with a guilty jump.
“Can you tell me where I can find—” he began, but a voice at his elbow
interrupted him.
Turning, he saw that the woman he had noticed in the field had left her
work to come hurrying after him, and now stood, a little breathless, at
his side. She had very kindly blue eyes, he observed, and a rather heavy
Swedish face that lit up wonderfully when she smiled.
“You are Hugh Arnold, is it not so?” she said. “John Edmonds has told me
that you would be here.”
“Oh, yes,” cried Hugh with relief, “I was just asking for him. Can you
tell me where he is?”
The clerk, a sandy-haired, freckled youth, leaned over the desk and
spoke eagerly.
“Why, haven’t you heard—?” he said, but the woman cut him short.
“I will tell the boy of that,” she announced with decision, then added
to Hugh, “The two Edmonds are not here now, and it is best that you
should come to stay at my house until they come again. This hotel is no
fit place for you.”
To this last frank statement the clerk agreed with surprising warmth.
“We have some queer customers here at times,” he admitted, “and I won’t
deny there’s a sight of them is ugly ones. There’s that fellow from
Jasper Peak blew in last evening and kept me up all night. When he and
his friends are here there’s always something doing.”
“Do not begin to talk of them, Jethro Brown,” the woman said a little
impatiently, “or you will keep us here all day, and this boy is wanting
his dinner, I make no doubt.”
The clerk laughed a little, although without much merriment.
“I guess you are right, Linda,” he replied, “and talk of that gang is
only words wasted. You’d better go along home with Mrs. Ingmarsson,
sonny, you couldn’t be in better hands.”
Much nettled at being called “sonny” by this person so little older than
himself, Hugh merely nodded stiffly, took up his suitcase and followed
Linda Ingmarsson to the door. Jethro, however, stopped them before they
could get outside.
“How about your baggage,” he inquired, “got a trunk or anything at the
station?”
Hugh was not certain whether his trunk had arrived with him or not, so
the clerk volunteered to telephone and find out. While he was doing so,
Hugh stood waiting in the doorway, looking idly down the street and at
the hills beyond. He noticed again the line of white highway that
fascinated him curiously as it slanted upward through the dense woods.
He turned to his companion who stood so silent beside him and ventured a
question.
“What is that road, please?” he asked; “where does it go?”
Linda Ingmarsson looked up quickly toward the hill, while her face took
on a new expression, wistful, sad, but somehow proud as well.
“That is my young brother Oscar’s road,” she said; “now it goes nowhere
but some day—some day it will go far.”
Hugh could not make very much out of this answer, but did not have time
to ponder it long. Jethro announced that all was well with the baggage,
so Hugh and Linda went out together. It was a relief to him to think
that he was with a person who knew at least who he was and why he had
come.
“You are very good,” he began shyly as they came out on the steps; “you
should not—” but the rest of his sentence was never spoken.
The hot sleepy silence was broken suddenly by a shrill steam whistle,
followed by another and another. A strident siren joined them; then came
a deep blast from some steamer on the lake; then a loud clanging of
bells added their voices to the tumult. For full five minutes the
deafening noise continued until Hugh’s ears beat with it and his head
rang. The street had become alive with people, women with aprons over
their heads, men in overalls, scores of children, as though each of the
little houses had sent forth a dozen inhabitants. Down at a far corner
Hugh saw the two Indians come into view again, the man with his head up,
listening, like a deer, the woman with a pleading hand laid upon his
arm. He brushed her aside roughly, and disappeared beyond the turn, she
following meekly after. No one noticed them except himself, Hugh felt
certain, since every face was turned northward to the wooded rocky hill
that overhung the town. Puffs of white steam rose here and there among
the trees, showing the mine buildings or the lumber mills from which the
whistling came.
This was no ordinary blowing of signals to mark the noon hour: the
excitement, the anxious faces, the hideous insistence | 3,131.957713 |
2023-11-16 19:09:19.6261840 | 3,182 | 8 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
WHERE YOUR TREASURE IS
Being the Personal Narrative of Ross Sidney, Diver
By Holman Day
New York And London: Harper Brothers
1917
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0010]
[Illustration: 0011]
WHERE YOUR TREASURE IS
I--BEING THE STRUGGLE OP AN AMATEUR AUTHOR TO GET A FAIR START
SPEAKING of money--and it’s a mighty popular topic--the investment of
the first twenty-five cents I ever earned, all at a crack, ought to
have directed my feet, my thoughts, and my future along the straight and
narrow way. Ten minutes after I had galloped gleefully home with that
quarter-dollar from Judge Kingsley’s hay-field, my good mother led me
down to Old Maid Branscombe’s little book-store and obliged me to buy a
catechism.
I earned that money by hauling a drag-rake for a whole day around behind
a hay-cart, barefoot and kicking against the vicious stubbles of the
shaven field. I honestly felt that I did not deserve the extra penance
of the catechism. However, that first day’s work gave me my earliest
respect for money--earned money. And I also remember that Judge
Kingsley, when he paid me, sniffed and said I hadn’t done enough to earn
twenty-five cents.
I hated to walk up to him and ask for my pay, because Celene Kingsley
was within hearing; she had come down to the field to fetch him home in
her pony-chaise. That’s right! You’ve guessed it! I’ll waste no words.
It was only another of the old familiar cases. Barefooted, folks poor,
keeping my face toward her, as a sunflower fronts the sun (though the
sunflower has other reasons than hiding patches), I was in the shamed,
secret, hopeless, heartaching agonies of a fifteen-year-old passion. Of
course, I don’t mean that I had loved her for all that time--I’m giving
my age and hers.
Yes, I hated to walk up. And the judge gave me the quarter only because
he did not have any smaller change.
And really, for the times, it was considerable of a coin for a single
juvenile job.
The services of youngsters in those days in Levant were paid for on a
narrower scale--ten cents for lawns and a nickel for shoveling snow, and
so on. And tin-peddlers were mighty stingy in their dickerings for old
rubbers and junk. To get rags one had to steal ’em--our folks made
rugs and guarded old remnants carefully.
So much for my first financial adventure of real moment--for the biggest
coin I had ever clutched; and right now I lay down my pen for a moment
and spread out two human paws which have juggled three million dollars’
worth of gold ingots as carelessly as one scruffles jackstraws. That was
maverick treasure. But there’s a big difference between earned money and
maverick money. If you don’t know what maverick means I’ll save you the
trouble of looking the word up in the dictionary. Once on a time, in
Texas, old Sam Maverick wouldn’t brand his cattle. Therefore, a maverick
was a cow or steer unbranded. And to-day it means any kind of property
at large which a bold man or a dishonest man may grab if he can beat
other thieves to it.
I had an early taste of maverick money, and the taste was so sweet that
I never have lost my hankering for more.
In the fall of that “year of the catechism” the line gale blew down
the chimney which had stood after the old Pratt house was burned. I was
there before the dust settled, for all the boys knew that there were
wrought-iron clamps high up in the bricks. But I left the clamps to
the next comers and picked up a dented tin box, rusty and dusty and
soot-blackened; I shook it; it rattled and I ran away into the woods.
When I had knocked the box open and looked in and spied coins I had the
heart-thrilling conviction that money worries were over for me in this
life. My first thought was that I would marry Celene Kingsley and settle
down and live happy ever after. If there had been in the box what I
thought at first there was, I could wipe my pen and close my story.
I dove both hands into the box and brought them up brimming--coins
scattering and clattering back over my trembling fingers. They were big
coins--and I had read much about the days of the bold pirates.
“Pieces of eight!” I whispered.
But they were not. When I had winked the mist out of my eyes I found
that they were old-fashioned coppers--bung-downs they used to be called.
Mixed in with them were a few copper tokens, a Pine Tree shilling, a
sprinkling of Speed The Plow cents, and the only coin of any account at
all was a Mexican dollar with a hole in it.
It wasn’t in my nature to bury that treasure. I knew it was pretty
worthless junk, but I had a hankering to carry it about with me, to feel
its drag in my pockets, to reach in and chink it when no one could hear.
I walked around weighted with it as afterward I have been weighted with
the leaden chunks of my diver’s dress. As early as that in my life I
found that money was a burden as well as a vexation. I didn’t dare to
frisk and frolic with the boys at school; I was not exploiting my new
wealth; I had grounds for caution because there were plenty of Pratts
left in Levant. At home I moved about so quietly that my folks thought,
I reckon, that I was entering an early decline. My mother used to look
at my tongue quite often and made me drink hardhack tea.
But there is one impulse in the male animal which is not easily
controlled by prudence; it’s that cursed itch to make a show in front
of the female of the species--in front of the special one, the selected
one, the beloved one. Some sort of a jimcrack-peddler came into the
school-yard one noon, and Celene Kingsley, daughter of a plutocrat,
tendered a big, shiny silver dollar and the man could not change it for
her. I walked up, trembling with both pride and panic, and said, trying
my best to act the part of a matter-of-fact bank on two legs, “Let me
handle it for you!” It was the first time I had ever spoken to her, and
my voice was only a weak squawk.
When she turned to me and opened her big, blue eyes, I was nigh to
running away.
The boys and girls came crowding around, and I couldn’t blame them for
showing interest; the sight of a Levant Sidney with money on him was a
new one in town.
I had separated from the coppers the aristocrats of my hoard, the Pine
Tree shilling and the Mexican dollar, by wrapping them in a wisp of
paper. I brought them out first.
“I don’t know exactly what they are worth in real money,” I told her.
“But you can have ’em at half price.”
She had been considerably surprised before, but now she was plain
dumfounded. That system of changing a dollar was brand new.
Then I dredged a trousers pocket and produced a handful of the bung-down
coppers. I began to count them down on a corner of the school-house
steps.
“Somebody get a wheelbarrow,” advised one of the boys. “That’s the only
way she’ll ever tug-a-lug her change home.”
“Really, you needn’t bother,” she said, stammering a little. “No, don’t
trouble yourself. I have changed my mind about buying anything.”
They all laughed.
“That isn’t money,” said the jimcrack man. “I’d never take that stuff
for my goods.”
A girl ran up and grabbed into the coppers I had been, heaping on the
stone. She was a Pratt.
“Ross Sidney, you stole that money,” she squealed. “It was in my
granny’s notion-box. We couldn’t find it after she died. You stole it!”
“I didn’t steal it--I found it,” I told her. But all the courage had
gone out of me.
“You ain’t the first thief to lie about your stealings.”
“But I did find it--I found it after the chimney blew down.”
“You knew it was ours. You didn’t bring it to us--that’s stealing.”
“It might have been put there before--”
“It was my granny’s money. Don’t you suppose I know? She saved old
coppers.” She spread down her handkerchief and began to pile the coins
upon it.
There did not seem to be any room for argument. In my shame I fell
to wondering how I had ever convinced myself that this money was
treasure-trove. I dug down and gave her the rest of it. Instead of
proudly showing myself a person of means before Celene Kingsley I was.
barely escaping the suspicion of being a thief.
“If it belongs to the Pratts you’re welcome to it,” I said. “I don’t
want anything which belongs to somebody else.”
“You’d better remember as much the next time you find money,” snapped
the Pratt girl. “Your conscience will be easier when you die.”
They say that dying men live over their lives in a. flash--that’s so!
When I was dying in black darkness, five fathoms deep under the waters
of the Pacific, with a bar of gold in either hand, I remembered what
that Pratt girl said to me that day in the glory of the autumn sunshine,
my face as red as a frost-touched leaf; it was the day of my bitterest
humiliation; I slunk off without daring to look at Celene Kingsley.
I think I know what my main mistake was in my first attempts at writing
this tale; I tried to tell the story as if it had happened to somebody
else and the thing was stiffer than a mud-caked tug-line and squealed
like a rusty windlass. Of course, I hate to be saying “I” here, there,
and everywhere--but there’ll come a place in my tale--you’ll think of
it if ever you get as far as that--where there’d be nothing to the story
unless you could see with my eyes and feel with my hands. So, bear with
me and I’ll reel off the yarn as best I know how, making no apologies
after this confession.
Oh, about that first maverick money I ran afoul of! I never saw that
money again, of course.
But I did happen to meet Ben Pratt right in front of Judge Kingsley’s
house. I’ll not say how big Ben Pratt was, because you’ll think this is
only a bragging story. He called me a thief and I decided it was about
time to show Levant that the name was not a popular one with me.
I licked him:
Judge Kingsley rushed out with a horsewhip and lashed us apart just as I
was finishing Ben up.
“Young Sidney, you’re a cheeky, tough, brazen character,” said the
judge. I did not answer him.
It is my nature to take a big lot from all women, considerable from some
men, and devilish little from most men. I had nothing at all to say
to Celene Kingsley’s father, even though I was rubbing half a dozen
swelling welts where his whip had connected with the back of my neck.
“You come of a tough family,” stated the judge.
Right then my uncle Deck arrived at the party; he had been watching the
thing from the tavern porch.
“What’s that you say about our family?” he asked the judge.
“I don’t care to stand here and quarrel with you, Decker Sidney.”
“When you horsewhip my dead brother’s boy in the main street you’ll
come pretty nigh to having a quarrel with me, seeing that his own father
can’t protect him.”
“I merely came out here and stopped a fight which was disgracing our
village.”
“It’s a nice thing for one of the ‘forty thieves’ to talk about
disgracing a village,” said my uncle.
As young as I was I knew what was meant when folks called Judge Kinglsey
one of the forty thieves. He belonged to the syndicate that had grabbed
the State’s principal railroad away from the original shareholders;
there was political shenanigan and a good deal of foreclosure trickery.
I never understood the details, but the fact remained that the syndicate
got the railroad.
“A cheap slur from a cheap man,” said the judge, walking away.
I can’t say that I resented that remark very deeply, though I suppose
family loyalty should have prompted me to do so. I never in my life came
close to my uncle Deck when he did not have the smell of liquor on his
breath: On each side of his nose there was a patch of perfectly lurid
crimson. He was a horse-trader and he made considerable money.
“That slur of _yours_ is a high-priced one,” my uncle shouted. “I have
my eye on you, you old hypocrite. There’ll come a day when that slur
will cost you more than you can afford to pay. That’s how high-priced it
is, Judge Kingsley.”
I didn’t know what my uncle meant then.
It was a wicked time for me when I did find out, a long while afterward.
II--ENDING WITH A MEETING ON PURGATORY HILL
MY mother was a good woman--a thrifty, kindly, helpful woman, a good
neighbor, in spite of her poverty.
My short temper, my cheeky disposition, my generally ready impulse to
grab in on short notice, all belong to the Sidney side, I guess. All we
know of the family has come down by word of mouth, and I suspect that
the first rovers who came over in the old days when New England was
really new were pretty tough characters who had plenty of original nerve
to start with and then developed more as occasion required. Well, some
of that sort had to come on ahead and smooth things with the ax and
crowbar--yes, and with the musket, so that the country could get a good
running start | 3,135.646224 |
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