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Produced by the Mormon Texts Project. See
http://mormontextsproject.org/ for a complete list of
Mormon texts available on Project Gutenberg, to help
proofread similar books, or to report typos. Special thanks
to Diane Evans for proofreading.
A NEW WITNESS FOR GOD.
* * * *
BY
ELDER B. H. ROBERTS
AUTHOR OF
"THE GOSPEL," "THE LIFE OF JOHN TAYLOR," "OUTLINES OF ECCLESIASTICAL
HISTORY," "SUCCESSION IN THE PRESIDENCY OF THE CHURCH," ETC., ETC.
* * * *
"Some millions must be wrong, that's pretty clear. * * * * 'Tis time
that some new prophet should appear."
* * * *
PUBLISHED BY GEORGE Q. CANNON & SONS COMPANY, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH.
1895.
PREFACE.
Three quarters of a century have passed away since Joseph Smith
first declared that he had received a revelation from God. From that
revelation and others that followed there has sprung into existence
what men call a new religion--"Mormonism;" and a new church, the
institution commonly known as the "Mormon Church," the proper name of
which, however, is THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS.
Though it may seem a small matter, the reader should know that
"Mormonism" is not a new religion. Those who accept it do not so regard
it; it makes no such pretentions. The institution commonly called the
"Mormon Church," is not a new church; it makes no such pretensions, as
will be seen by its very name--the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day
Saints. This of itself discloses what "The Mormon Church" claims to
be--the Church of Jesus Christ; and to distinguish it from the Church
of Jesus Christ that existed in former days, the phrase "of Latter-day
Saints" is added. "Mormonism," I repeat, is not a new religion; it is
the Old Religion, the Everlasting Gospel, restored again to the earth
through the revelations received by Joseph Smith.
At a glance the reader will observe that these claims in behalf of
"Mormonism" pre-suppose the destruction of the primitive Christian
Church, a complete apostasy from the Christian religion; and hence,
from the standpoint of a believer, "Mormonism" is the Gospel of Jesus
Christ restored; and the institution which grows out of it--the
church--is the Church of Jesus Christ re-established among men.
During the three quarters of a century that have elapsed since the
first revelation was announced by Joseph Smith, the world has been
flooded with all manner of rumors concerning the origin of "Mormonism,"
its doctrines, its organization, its purposes, its history. Books
enough to make a respectable library, as to size, have been written on
these subjects, but the books, in the main, are the works of avowed
enemies, or of sensational writers who chose "Mormonism" for a subject
because in it they supposed they had a theme that would be agreeable to
their own vicious tastes and perverted talents, and give satisfactory
returns in money for their labor. This latter class of writers have
not only written without regard to truth, but without shame. They are
ghouls who have preyed upon the misfortunes of an unpopular people
solely for the money or notoriety they could make out of the enterprise.
That I may not be thought to overstate the unreliability of anti-Mormon
literature, I make an excerpt from a book written by Mr. Phil
Robinson, called _Sinners and Saints_. [1] Mr. Robinson came to Utah
in 1882 as a special correspondent of _The New York World,_ and stayed
in Utah some five or six months, making "Mormonism" and the Latter-day
Saints a special study. On the untrustworthiness of the literature in
question, he says:
"Whence have the public derived their opinions about Mormonism? From
anti-Mormons only. I have ransacked the literature of the subject,
and yet I really could not tell anyone where to go for an impartial
book about Mormonism later in date than Burton's 'City of the Saints,'
published in 1862. * * * But put Burton on one side, and I think I
can defy any one to name another book about the Mormons worthy of
honest respect. From that truly _awful_ book, 'The History of the
Saints,' published by one Bennett (even an anti-Mormon has styled him
'the greatest rascal that ever came to the West,') in 1842, down to
Stenhouse's in 1873, there is not to my knowledge a single Gentile work
before the public that is not utterly unreliable from its distortion of
facts. Yet it is from these books--for there are no others--that the
American public has acquired nearly all its ideas about the people of
Utah."
It may be asked why have not the Saints themselves written books
refuting the misrepresentations of their detractors, and giving correct
information about themselves and their religion. To that inquiry there
are several answers. One is that they _have_ made the attempt. Perhaps
not on a sufficiently extensive scale. They may not have appreciated
fully the importance of doing so; but chiefly the reason they have
not published more books in their own defense, and have not been more
solicitous about refuting slanders published against them, is because
of the utter impossibility of getting a hearing. The people to whom
they appealed were hopelessly prejudiced against them. Their case was
prejudged and they themselves condemned before a hearing could be had.
These were the disadvantages under which they labored; and how serious
such disadvantages are, only those know who have felt the cruel tyranny
of prejudice.
Now, however, there seems to be a change in the tide of their
affairs. Prejudice has somewhat subsided. There is in various
quarters indications of a willingness to hear what accredited
representatives of the "Mormon" faith may have to say in its behalf.
It is this circumstance that has induced the author to present for the
consideration of his fellow-men this work, which is written, however,
not with a view of defending the character of the Latter-day Saints,
but to set forth the message that "Mormonism" has to proclaim to the
world, and point out the evidences of divine inspiration in him through
whom that message was delivered.
The author has chosen for his work the title, "A NEW WITNESS FOR GOD,"
because that is the relation Joseph Smith, the great modern prophet,
sustains to this generation; and it is the author's purpose to prove,
first, that the world stands in need of such a witness; and, second,
that Joseph Smith is that witness.
The subject is treated under four THESES.
I.
_The world needs a New Witness for God._
II.
_The Church of Christ was destroyed; there has been an apostasy from
the Christian religion so complete and universal as to make necessary a
New Dispensation of the Gospel;_
III.
_The Scriptures declare that the Gospel of Jesus Christ in the last
days--in the hour of God's judgment--will be restored to the earth by a
re-opening of the heavens, and giving a New Dispensation thereof to the
children of men._
IV.
_Joseph Smith is the New Witness for God; a prophet divinely authorized
to preach the Gospel and re-establish the Church of Jesus Christ on
earth._
How well the writer has succeeded in sustaining these propositions, the
reader will judge for himself; he only asks that his treatment of the
subjects be considered with candor.
To guard against error or inaccuracy in doctrine the writer applied to
the First Presidency of the Church for a committee of brethren well
known for their soundness in the faith, and broad knowledge of the
doctrines of the Church, to hear read the manuscript of this book.
Whereupon Elder Franklin D. Richards, one of the Twelve Apostles of the
New Dispensation, and Church Historian; Elder George Reynolds, one of
the author's fellow-Presidents in the First Council of the Seventies;
and Elder John Jaques, Assistant Church Historian, were appointed as
such committee; and to these brethren, for their patient labor in
reading the manuscript, and for their suggestions and corrections, the
writer is under lasting obligations.
THE AUTHOR.
Footnotes
1. p. 245.
CONTENTS
* * * *
THESIS I.
THE WORLD NEEDS A NEW WITNESS FOR GOD.
CHAPTER I.
The Necessity of a New Witness
* * * *
THESIS II.
THE CHURCH OF CHRIST WAS DESTROYED; THERE HAS BEEN AN APOSTASY FROM THE
CHRISTIAN RELIGION, SO COMPLETE AND UNIVERSAL AS TO MAKE NECESSARY A
NEW DISPENSATION OF THE GOSPEL.
CHAPTER II.
The Effect of Pagan Persecution on the Christian Church
CHAPTER III.
The Effect of Peace, Wealth and Luxury on Christianity
CHAPTER IV.
Changes in the Form and Spirit of Church Government--Corruption of the
Popes
CHAPTER V.
Change in Public Worship--In the Ordinances of the Gospel
CHAPTER VI.
The Testimony of Prophecy to the Apostasy
CHAPTER VII.
Catholic Arguments--Protestant Admissions
* * * *
THESIS III.
THE SCRIPTURES DECLARE THAT THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST IN THE LAST
DAYS--IN THE HOUR OF GOD'S JUDGMENT--WILL BE RESTORED TO THE EARTH BY A
RE-OPENING OF THE HEAVENS, AND GIVING A NEW DISPENSATION THEREOF TO THE
CHILDREN OF MEN.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Necessity of a New Revelation--The Arguments of Modern Christians
Against it Considered
CHAPTER IX.
Prophetic History of the Church--The Restoration of the Gospel by an
Angel
* * * *
THESIS IV.
JOSEPH SMITH IS THE NEW WITNESS FOR GOD; A PROPHET DIVINELY AUTHORIZED
TO TEACH THE GOSPEL, AND RE-ESTABLISH THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST ON
EARTH.
CHAPTER X.
The New Witness Introduced
CHAPTER XI.
A New Dispensation of the Gospel
CHAPTER XII.
Objections to the New Witness Considered
CHAPTER XIII.
The Character of the New Witness
CHAPTER XIV.
Fitness in the Development of the New Dispensation
CHAPTER XV.
The Evidence of Scriptural and Perfect Doctrine
CHAPTER XVI.
Manner of the Prophet's Teaching
CHAPTER XVII.
The testimony of Toil and Suffering--Exertion and Danger--A Christian
Argument Applied
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Testimony of Miracles--The Evidence of Fulfilled Promises
[By an error Chapter XIX. was numbered XX., hence the apparent
omission.]
CHAPTER XX.
The Evidence of Prophecy
CHAPTER XXI.
The Evidence of Prophecy--Continued
CHAPTER XXII.
The Evidence of Prophecy--Contin | 3,344.560859 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scans provided by the Internet Archive,
https://archive.org/details/delawareorruined01jame
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
EDINBURGH
PRINTED BY M. AITKEN, 1, ST JAMES's SQUARE.
DELAWARE;
OR
THE RUINED FAMILY.
A TALE.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR ROBERT CADELL, EDINBURGH | 3,344.619891 |
2023-11-16 19:12:48.6341900 | 954 | 101 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the Web Archive
A SECRET OF THE SEA.
Transcriber's Notes (Volume 3):
1. Page scan source: Web Archive
https://archive.org/details/secretofseanovel03spei
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
A SECRET OF THE SEA.
A Novel.
By T. W. SPEIGHT,
AUTHOR OF
"IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT," "UNDER LOCK AND KEY," ETC., ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON.
1876.
(_All Rights Reserved_.)
CONTENTS OF VOL. III.
CHAPTER
I. ELEANOR'S RESOLVE.
II. POD'S STRATAGEM.
III. VAN DUREN'S DREAM.
IV. PRINGLE'S DISCOVERY.
V. A FOUND LETTER.
VI. VAN DUREN IN WALES.
VII. THE MESSAGE TO STAMMARS.
VIII. WINGED WORDS.
IX. VAN DUREN'S FLIGHT.
X. TOLD AT LAST.
XI. "AND YOU SHALL STILL BE LADY CLARE."
XII. THE STRONG-ROOM.
XIII. CONCLUSION.
A SECRET OF THE SEA.
CHAPTER I.
ELEANOR'S RESOLVE.
"I'm in no particular hurry, doctor, to get back to London," Sir
Thomas Dudgeon had quietly hinted to his medical man. "I daresay the
House can get on without me quite as well as with me, so you needn't
hurry yourself to say I'm fit for harness again till you feel quite
sure in your own mind that I am so."
Dr. Welstead was not slow to take the hint, and he kept on calling at
Stammars two or three times a week, and sending one innocuous draught
after another, which draughts Sir Thomas conscientiously poured into
the ash-pan when his wife was not looking, till the baronet's holiday
had extended itself to the beginning of May. But by this time Sir
Thomas looked so well and rosy, and was in possession of such a hearty
appetite, that a vague suspicion that she was being duped began to
haunt her ladyship's mind. She said nothing to her husband, but made
her preparations in silence. Then, one morning at the breakfast-table,
the shell exploded.
"To-day is Wednesday, dear," she said, "and I have made all
arrangements for our going up to town on Saturday morning. Dr.
Welstead seems quite at a loss how to treat you: indeed, country
practitioners, as a rule, are not competent to deal with anything
beyond a simple case of measles; so on Saturday afternoon I will
myself drive you to see Sir Knox Timpany, and wait for you while you
consult that eminent authority, who, I doubt not, will make you as
well as ever you were, in the course of a very few days."
Sir Thomas fumed and fretted, but her ladyship was inexorable. Go he
must; and when he saw there was no help for it, he made a merit of
necessity; but at the same time he registered a silent vow that not
all the wives in England should drag him to the door of Sir Knox
Timpany.
At the last moment, however, the baronet and Gerald started for London
alone. Late on Friday, Lady Dudgeon received a telegram. Her only
sister was very ill, and it was needful that she should hurry off
without an hour's delay. "Considering all that I have done for
Caroline, it is really very ungrateful of her to be ill at a time like
this," she grumbled to her husband. "She knew how anxious I was to get
back to town, and she might have doctored herself up for another month
or two. I hope to goodness she won't die till the season is over. I
can't bear myself in mourning."
"Your only sister, my dear," remarked Sir Thomas, soothingly. "I
wouldn't leave her, if I were you, while there's the least danger.
Your conscience might prick you afterwards, you know."
"Stuff!" was her ladyship's rejoinder. "Of | 3,344.65423 |
2023-11-16 19:12:48.7999450 | 1,190 | 13 |
Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
[Illustration:
ANDY HELPS THE INDIAN SQUAW TO CONSTRUCT THE WIGWAM.--_Page_ 225.]
CEDAR CREEK
_FROM THE SHANTY TO THE SETTLEMENT_
A Tale of Canadian Life
BY THE AUTHOR OF
'GOLDEN HILLS, A TALE OF THE IRISH FAMINE'
'THE FOSTER-BROTHERS OF DOON,' ETC.
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56 PATERNOSTER ROW, 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
AND 164 PICCADILLY
MORRISON AND GIBB, EDINBURGH,
PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. WHY ROBERT WYNN EMIGRATED, 7
II. CROSSING THE 'FERRY,' 22
III. UP THE ST. LAWRENCE, 35
IV. WOODEN-NESS, 44
V. DEBARKATION, 52
VI. CONCERNING AN INCUBUS, 63
VII. THE RIVER HIGHWAY, 70
VIII. 'JEAN BAPTISTE' AT HOME, 78
IX. 'FROM MUD TO MARBLE,' 86
X. CORDUROY, 96
XI. THE BATTLE WITH THE WILDERNESS BEGINS, 105
XII. CAMPING IN THE BUSH, 115
XIII. THE YANKEE STOREKEEPER, 123
XIV. THE 'CORNER,' 133
XV. ANDY TREES A 'BASTE,' 138
XVI. LOST IN THE WOODS, 145
XVII. BACK TO CEDAR CREEK, 154
XVIII. GIANT TWO-SHOES, 166
XIX. A MEDLEY, 171
XX. THE ICE-SLEDGE, 180
XXI. THE FOREST-MAN, 186
XXII. SILVER SLEIGH-BELLS, 196
XXIII. STILL-HUNTING, 202
XXIV. LUMBERERS, 214
XXV. CHILDREN OF THE FOREST, 220
XXVI. ON A SWEET SUBJECT, 229
XXVII. A BUSY BEE, 235
XXVIII. OLD FACES UPON NEW NEIGHBOURS, 244
XXIX. ONE DAY IN JULY, 250
XXX. VISITORS AND VISITED, 259
XXXI. SUNDAY IN THE FOREST, 260
XXXII. HOW THE CAPTAIN CLEARED HIS BUSH, 274
XXXIII. THE FOREST ON FIRE, 280
XXXIV. TRITON AMONG MINNOWS, 291
XXXV. THE PINK MIST, 298
XXXVI. BELOW ZERO, 309
XXXVII. A CUT, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES, 315
XXXVIII. JACK-OF-ALL-TRADES, 324
XXXIX. SETTLER THE SECOND, 329
XL. AN UNWELCOME SUITOR, 338
XLI. THE MILL-PRIVILEGE, 343
XLII. UNDER THE NORTHERN LIGHTS, 351
XLIII. A BUSH-FLITTING, 359
XLIV. SHOVING OF THE ICE, 370
XLV. EXEUNT OMNES, 378
CEDAR CREEK.
CHAPTER I.
WHY ROBERT WYNN EMIGRATED.
A night train drew up slowly alongside the platform at the Euston Square
terminus. Immediately the long inanimate line of rail-carriages burst
into busy life: a few minutes of apparently frantic confusion, and the
individual items of the human freight were speeding towards all parts of
the compass, to be absorbed in the leviathan metropolis, as drops of a
shower in a boundless sea.
One of the cabs pursuing each other along the lamplit streets, and
finally diverging among the almost infinite ramifications of London
thoroughfares, contains a young man, who sits gazing through the window
at the rapidly passing range of houses and shops with curiously fixed
vision. The face, as momentarily revealed by the beaming of a brilliant
gaslight, is chiefly remarkable for clear dark eyes rather deeply set,
and a firm closure of the lips. He scarcely alters his posture during
the miles of driving through wildernesses of brick and stone: some
thoughts are at work beneath that broad short brow, which keep him thus
still. He has never been in London before. He has come now on an errand
of hope and endeavour, for he wants to push himself into the army of the
world's workers, somewhere. Prosaically, he wants to earn his bread,
and, if possible, butter wherewith to flavour | 3,344.819985 |
2023-11-16 19:12:48.8340890 | 1,932 | 11 |
Produced by Holly Astle, Mormon Texts Project Intern
(http://mormontextsproject.org/)
HELPFUL VISIONS.
THE FOURTEENTH BOOK OF THE FAITH-PROMOTING SERIES.
Intended for the Instruction and Encouragement of Young Latter-day
Saints.
JUVENILE INSTRUCTOR OFFICE,
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH.
1887.
COMBINED FAITH-PROMOTING SERIES,
Nos. 1-5, $1.35,
Nos. 6-10, $1.25.
CONTENTS.
A TERRIBLE ORDEAL.
CHAPTER I.
Remarkable Spiritual Manifestations--Thrilling Experience of Elder
David P. Kimball, as Narrated by himself.
CHAPTER II.
Account of Patten Kimball and Others, Regarding the Search for and
Finding of his Father.
BRIANT S. STEVENS.
CHAPTER I.
Briant Stringham Stevens Becomes a Missionary to His Associates and
Brings Four Boys to Belief and Baptism--A Good Child who Passed Amidst
the Daily Temptations of Life Unscathed.
CHAPTER II.
Accidents to Briant--He is Ordained to the Priesthood--Patient
Endurance of His Sufferings--He is Blessed to be an Elder and then
Slumbers in Death.
CHAPTER III.
A "Helpful Vision" to Briant's Stricken Father--the Comforter Brings
the Peace which Passes All Understanding--The Funeral of the Little
Missionary--His Work Lives after Him.
FINDING COMFORT.
CHAPTER I.
Called to Australasia--The Modern Imitators of Job's Friends--Our
"Special Instruction" is to "Build up the Kingdom of God in those
Lands"--A Disappointment ends in a Blessing--Promises by an Apostle
which were Literally Fulfilled--We Reach Sydney, I am Separated From my
Companion.
CHAPTER II.
Labor which Brought Little Compensation--A Mysterious Call to
New Zealand--Attacked by an Evil Spirit--The Visitation Thrice
Repeated--Meeting the Brother of a Friend--On Board the _Wakatipu_
Bound for New Zealand.
CHAPTER III.
An Irreverent Company of Passengers--Sickness and a Horror of Life
Fall Upon Me--A "Helpful Vision"--"Only be True"--Invoking the
Name of Christ--A Jolly Singer and a Jolly Song--Landing at Port
Littleton--Strange Recognition of Brother Nordstrand--His Dream
Concerning Me.
CHAPTER IV.
Reason for my Sudden Call to Leave Sydney--The Little Old Lady of the
_Wakatipu_--She had Waited a Generation to Renew her Covenants--Another
"Helpful Vision"--A Mysterious Half-Sovereign--Saved from Death in a
Swift River.
CHAPTER V.
Some Old Members of the Church--The Spirit Prompts Promises to Them
which are Literally Fulfilled--Help from a Catholic Who is Suddenly
Converted and Who as Suddenly Apostatizes--A Spontaneous Prophecy--The
Journey Home--A Careful Observer--Safe in Zion.
TRAITORS.
Solemn Warnings--A Traitor can Never be Anything but
Despicable--Examples of the Past.
PREFACE.
The very encouraging reports we are constantly receiving from various
parts of the country concerning the vast amount of good accomplished by
these small publications, induces us to issue the fourteenth book, with
the sincere hope that it may not be less interesting or instructive
than those which have preceded it.
The Visions here recorded will again prove that truth is stranger than
fiction, and we trust that a perusal of these manifestations will lead
our young people to seek for the guidance of the Lord in all things,
and make Him their constant friend. The article on traitors is very
appropriate reading matter for the present season, and will, it is
hoped, cause everyone to look upon the men of this class with the
contempt they so justly merit, and sustain everyone in shunning as they
would poison, any traitorous act.
Our great desire is that this little book may assist in the education
and elevation of the young people and others who may peruse it.
THE PUBLISHERS.
A TERRIBLE ORDEAL.
BY O. F. WHITNEY.
CHAPTER I.
REMARKABLE SPIRITUAL MANIFESTATIONS--THRILLING EXPERIENCE OF ELDER
DAVID P. KIMBALL, AS NARRATED BY HIMSELF.
The following narrative of the experience of the late David Patten
Kimball, who was lost on the Salt River desert, Arizona, in the latter
part of November, 1881, is taken by permission from a letter written
by him to his sister, Helen Mar Whitney, of this city, on the 8th of
January, 1882. Brother Kimball was then a resident of Jonesville,
or Lehi, three miles from Mesa, where the letter was written. The
events described took place while he was returning home from a trip to
Prescott, the capital of that Territory.
The experience related was of so remarkable a character as to meet with
dubiety on the part of some, especially those inclined to be skeptical
regarding spiritual manifestations. Some went so far as to ascribe the
sights and scenes through which the narrator claimed to have passed,
to the fevered fancy of a mind disordered by strong drink. That such
should have been supposed, particularly by those who are ignorant of
spiritual things, is not surprising, when it is remembered that even
the Apostles of Christ, on the day of Pentecost, were accused of being
"drunken with new wine," when the power of the Spirit fell upon them
and they "spake with tongues and prophesied."
What is here presented is the plain and simple testimony of an honest
man, who adhered to it till the day of his death, which occurred within
two years from the date of his letter, and was in literal fulfillment
of certain things which he said were shown him in vision, and of which
he frequently testified while living.
For the benefit of such as may not have known Brother David P. Kimball,
we will state that he was the fourth son of the late President Heber C.
Kimball, whose wonderful encounter with evil spirits, on the opening
of the British Mission in 1837, has become a matter of Church history.
Here is the excerpt from David's letter:
"On the 4th of November, I took a very severe cold in a snow storm at
Prescott, being clad in light clothing, which brought on pneumonia
or lung fever. I resorted to Jamaica ginger and pepper tea to obtain
relief and keep up my strength till I could reach home and receive
proper care. On the 13th I camped in a canyon ten miles west of
Prescott, my son Patten being with me. We had a team of eight horses
and two wagons. That night I suffered more than death. The next night
we camped at Mr. McIntyre's, about twenty miles farther on. I stopped
there two nights and one day, during which time I took nothing to drink
but pepper tea. On the 16th we drove to Black's ranch, twenty-eight
miles nearer home, and were very comfortably located in Mr. Black's
house.
"About 11 p. m., I awoke and to my surprise saw some six or eight men
standing around my bed. I had no dread of them but felt that they were
my friends. At the same time I heard a voice which seemed to come from
an eight square (octagon) clock on the opposite side of the house.
It commenced talking and blackguarding, which drew my attention,
when I was told to pay no attention to it. At this point I heard the
most beautiful singing I ever listened to in all my life. These were
the words, repeated three times by a choir: 'God bless Brother David
Kimball.' I at once distinguished among them the voice of my second
wife, Julia Merrill, who in life was a good singer. This, of course,
astonished me. Just then my father commenced talking to me, the voice
seeming to come from a long distance. He commenced by telling me of
his associations with President Young, the Prophet Joseph, and others
in the spirit world, then enquired about his children, and seemed to
regret that his family were so scattered, and said there would be a
great reformation in his family inside of two years. He also told me
where I should live, also yourself and others, and a great many other
things. I conversed freely with father, and my words were repeated
three times by as many different persons, exactly as I spoke them,
until they reached him, and then his words to me were handed down in a
like manner.
"After all this I gave way to doubt, thinking it might be only a dream,
and to convince myself that I was awake, I | 3,344.854129 |
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Produced by KD Weeks, Brownfox and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
The original footnotes were sequenced using the alphabet, cycling
repeatedly from a to z. They have been resequenced numerically for
uniqueness. The notes have been moved to follow the paragraphs in which
they are referenced.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.
Paragraph descriptors (marginal notes) appear either before the
paragraph which they introduce, or in-line for those in mid-paragraph,
and are enclosed here in square brackets.
A HISTORY
OF THE
IRISH POOR LAW,
IN CONNEXION WITH
THE CONDITION OF THE PEOPLE.
BY SIR GEORGE NICHOLLS, K.C.B.,
LATE POOR LAW COMMISSIONER, AND SECRETARY TO THE POOR LAW BOARD.
------------------
“Let every man be occupied, and occupied in the highest
employment of which his nature is capable, and die with the
consciousness that he has done his best.”—SYDNEY SMITH
------------------
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
KNIGHT & Co., 90, FLEET STREET.
1856.
----------------------------------------------------------------
LONDON · PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET,
AND CHARING CROSS.
DEDICATION.
To the Ex-officio and Elected Members of the Boards
of Guardians in Ireland, in the hope that it may be
of use to them in the performance of their important
Duties, this History of the Irish Poor Law is
dedicated,
By their faithful servant,
THE AUTHOR.
_November 1856._
PREFACE.
------------------
The Irish Poor Law was in its origin no more than a branch or offshoot
of the English law, but it is a measure of so much importance, and has
so close a bearing upon the social well-being of the Irish people, that
it seems to be entitled to a separate consideration. The severe trials
moreover to which the law has been exposed, and the changes that have
been made in its organization and executive, have given to it a new and
distinctive character, on which account also a separate description of
its progress and the incidents connected with it appears to be
necessary. Hence therefore the intention which I at first entertained of
combining the history of the Irish Poor Law with that of its English
parent has been abandoned, and it is now published as a separate and
independent work.
Notwithstanding the separate publication of the histories however, it
must always be remembered that the English and the Irish laws are
similar in principle, and identical in their objects. The end sought to
be attained by each is, to relieve the community from the demoralization
as well as from the danger consequent on the prevalence of extensive and
unmitigated destitution, and to do this in such a way as shall have the
least possible tendency to create the evil which it is sought to guard
against. This is the legitimate object of a Poor Law, and the facts and
reasonings on which such a law is founded, are not limited to Ireland or
England or Scotland, but are in their nature universal. I hardly need
say that this object is distinct from charity, in the ordinary sense of
the term, although it is undoubtedly charity in its largest acceptation,
embracing the whole community—It is in truth the charity of the
statesman and the philanthropist, seeking to secure the largest amount
of good for his fellow men, with the smallest amount of accompanying
evil.
The part that was assigned to me, first in the framing of the Irish Poor
Law, and then in its introduction, seems to render any apology for my
undertaking to write its history unnecessary. Although failing health
and advancing years had compelled me to retire from the public service,
I thought that I might still be usefully employed in recording the
circumstances under which the law was established, and the events
attending its administration; and I am most thankful for having been
enabled to undertake the task, and for being permitted to bring it to a
conclusion.
It is true that for the last nine years I have not been immediately
connected with the Irish Poor Law, but I have nevertheless continued to
watch its progress with the greatest solicitude, and have spared no
pains to obtain information as to its working. I could indeed hardly
have failed to do this, after the part I had taken in the framing of the
measure, even without reference to the heavy trials through which the
Irish people have passed, and which obtained for them universal sympathy
and commiseration. If such was the general feeling with regard to
Ireland in its season of trial, it will readily be believed that mine
could not have formed an exception; and in the authorship of the present
work, I may therefore I trust venture to claim credit, not only on
account of my connexion with the origin and introduction of the law, but
also for having attended to its subsequent progress, and acquired such a
knowledge of its operation and results as to warrant the undertaking.
A history of the Irish Poor Law, explaining its origin and the
principles on which it was founded, together with an account of its
progress and the effects of its application would, it might reasonably
be supposed, afford information that must be generally useful—that it
would be useful to the administrators of the law, can hardly admit of
doubt. Such a history would place before them in a complete and regular
series, all that it would be necessary for them to know, and all that
ought to be borne in mind, in order that the examples of the past may
prepare them for promptly dealing with the present, or for anticipating
the future. The following work has been framed chiefly with this view;
and I can only say that I have earnestly endeavoured to make it
sufficient for the purpose, without any other wish or object than that
it should prove useful in a cause to which during several years my best
energies were devoted, and to the furtherance of which I could no longer
contribute in any other way.
G. N.
_November 1856._
CONTENTS.
PREFACE Page v
CHAPTER I.
State of Ireland before the conquest—Its subjection by Henry
II.—Spenser’s account of the state of the country—Plantation
of Ulster—Progress of population—Legislation previous to the
accession of Anne—Dublin and Cork Workhouse Acts—Hiring and
wages—Apprenticeship—Provision for foundling and deserted
children—Licensed beggars—Arthur Young’s account of the state
of Ireland 1
CHAPTER II.
Rebellion of 1798—The Union—Acts of the Imperial Parliament:
respecting dispensaries, hospitals, and
infirmaries—Examination of bogs—Fever hospitals—Officers of
health—Lunatic asylums—Employment of the poor—Deserted
children—Report of 1804 respecting the poor—Dublin House of
Industry and Foundling Hospital—Reports of 1819 and 1823 on
the state of disease and condition of the labouring
poor—Report of 1830 on the state of the poorer classes—Report
of the Committee on Education—Mr. Secretary Stanley’s letter
to the Duke of Leinster—Board of National Education—First and
second Reports of commissioners for inquiring into the
condition of the poorer classes—The author’s ‘Suggestions’—The
commissioners’ third Report—Reasons for and against a
voluntary system of relief—Mr. Bicheno’s 'Remarks on the
Evidence'—Mr. G. C. Lewis’s ‘Remarks on the Third Report’ 67
CHAPTER III.
Recommendation in the king’s speech—Motions and other
proceedings in the House of Commons—Lord John Russell’s
instructions to the author—The author’s first Report—Lord John
Russell’s speech on introducing a bill founded on its
recommendations—Progress of the bill interrupted by the death
of the king—Author’s second Report—Bill reintroduced and
passed the Commons—Author’s third Report—Bill passes the
lords, and becomes law 153
CHAPTER IV.
Summary of the 'Act for the more effectual Relief of the Poor in
Ireland,' and of the ‘Amendment Act’—Arrangements for bringing
the Act into operation—First and second Reports of
proceedings—Dublin and Cork unions—Distress in the western
districts—Third, fourth, fifth, and sixth Reports—Summary of
the Act for the further amendment of the Law—Seventh
Report—Cost of relief, and numbers relieved—Issue of amended
orders 222
CHAPTER V.
Eighth Report of proceedings—Failure of the potato—A fourth
commissioner appointed—Ninth Report—Potato disease in
1846—Public Works Act—Distress in autumn 1846—Labour-rate
Act—Relief-works—Temporary Relief Act—Pressure upon
workhouses—Emigration—Financial state of unions—First Annual
Report of Poor-Law Commissioners for Ireland—Extension Act—Act
for Punishment of Vagrants—Act to provide for execution of
Poor Laws—General import of the new Acts—Change of the
commission—Dissolution of boards of guardians—Report of
Temporary Relief Act Commissioners—British Association—Second
Annual Report of Poor-Law Commissioners—Recurrence of potato
disease—Cholera—Rate-in-Aid Act—Further dissolution of boards
of guardians—Boundary Commission—Select committee on Irish
Poor Laws—Expenditure, and numbers relieved 303
CHAPTER VI.
Third Annual Report of Poor-Law Commissioners—Further Amendment
Act—Fourth Annual Report—New unions and electoral
divisions—Consolidated Debts Act—Rates in aid—Fifth Annual
Report—Annuities under Consolidated Debts Act—Treasury
minute—Act to amend Acts relating to payment of
advances—Medical charities—Medical Charities Act—First Report
of Medical Charity Commissioners—Census of
1851—Retrospection—Sixth Annual Report—Rate of
wages—Expenditure, and numbers relieved—Changes in Poor-Law
executive—New order of accounts—Author’s letter to Lord John
Russell, 1853—Present state and future prospects of Ireland 364
INDEX 405
------------------------------------------------------------------------
HISTORY
OF
THE IRISH POOR LAW,
IN CONNEXION WITH
THE CONDITION OF THE PEOPLE.
------------------------------------
CHAPTER I.
State of Ireland before the conquest—Its subjection by Henry
II.—Spenser’s account of the state of the country—Plantation of
Ulster—Progress of population—Legislation previous to the
accession of Anne—Dublin and Cork Workhouse Acts—Hiring and
wages—Apprenticeship—Provision for foundling and deserted
children—Licensed beggars—Arthur Young’s account of the state of
Ireland.
After Strongbow’s expedition to Ireland in the year 1170, which was
followed by that of Henry the Second and the general submission of the
chieftains of the several clans in 1172, the history of Ireland becomes
closely connected with and may be said to form a portion of that of
England. The accounts we have of the state of the country anterior to
Strongbow’s invasion are vague and uncertain, although there are grounds
for believing that some degree of civilization had prevailed, and that
intercourse with the East had been to some extent maintained, at a very
early period. It has been said that “The Gauls or Celtes from the
north-west parts of Britain, and certain tribes from the north-west
parts of Spain peopled Ireland, either originally or by subduing the
Phœnician colonies which had been established there;” and that the
Irish, and their kinsmen the Highlanders of Scotland, are supposed to be
“the remains of a people who in ancient times had occupied not only
Britain, but a considerable part of Gaul and Spain.”[1] The Irish were
no doubt commonly known by the name of Scots, and the proximity of the
two countries, irrespective of all other considerations, renders the
identity of origin highly probable.
-----
[1]
See the ‘Liber Munerum publicorum Hibernie,’ the first and following
chapters on the Establishments of Ireland, supplementary to the
History of England, by Rowley Lascelles, of the Middle Temple, printed
by authority in 1824. This work has been chiefly relied upon for
historical reference. It bears evidence of great research, and is on
every account entitled to much weight in the conflicting testimonies
with regard to the early events of Irish history.
-----
The Romans never extended their conquests to Ireland, and it was
protected by its insular position from the irruption of barbarians which
burst upon the Roman provinces in the fifth and sixth centuries, and
caused the dismemberment of the western empire. In that age, we are
told, “Irish missionaries taught the Anglo-Saxons of the north, who also
resorted to Ireland for instruction.” Lingard says that “when learning
was almost extinguished on the continent of Europe, a faint light was
emitted from the shores of Erin; and that strangers from Britain, from
Gaul, and from Germany, resorted to the Irish schools.” It is probable
however that the light was partial as well as faint, and that the
Christian monasteries with their learned men which constituted the
“schools,” existed in only a few places in Ireland, each establishment
forming as it were a speck of civilization, like an oasis in the desert
of barbarism. It is certain that the Irish of that day paid no Peter’s
pence, and acknowledged no supremacy in the see of Rome; and there is
reason to believe that the Irish Church was derived rather from the
Greek than the Latin hierarchy.[2] Whatever glimmering of civilization
prevailed in Ireland at this early period, must have been damped and
prevented from expanding “by the rude influence of the native
institutions, and it was nearly if not quite extinguished by the
irruptions of the Northmen, or Danes, who annually made incursions into
Ireland from the middle of the eighth to the end of the tenth century.”
The ancient division of the country into the four provinces of Munster,
Connaught, Leinster, and Ulster, which must be referred to this early
period, seems to have been for ecclesiastical purposes. The division
into counties, of which there are thirty-two, took place long after.
-----
[2]
See ‘The Handbook of Architecture,’ a recent publication in which the
ingenious author supports this conclusion by showing the similarity of
the religious buildings erected in the East and in Ireland, which in
both differ materially from what is seen in Italy and the other
countries of Europe.
-----
The Conqueror is said to have at one time entertained the project of
bringing Ireland under subjection, but notwithstanding its proximity to
England, and the obvious advantages that would result from uniting the
two islands under one government, neither he nor his three immediate
successors made any effort to accomplish this object. In the reign of
Henry the Second however, a circumstance occurred which drew the
attention of the English sovereign to the state of Ireland, and led to
consequences most important to both countries. In the year 1169 Dermod,
king of Leinster, who had been expelled by O'Connor, king of Connaught,
sought the protection of Henry, who accepted the tendered allegiance,
and permitted his subjects to assist the Irish chief. [Sidenote: 1172.
Subjection of Ireland by Henry II.]Earl Strigul (or Strongbow) took
advantage of this permission, and in 1170 embarked for Ireland with a
few armed retainers. He was followed two years afterwards by the king
himself, with a considerable force. Henry was everywhere received as a
conqueror, the Irish princes and chiefs submitting without opposition;
and at a council assembled at Lismore, the laws of England are said to
have been gratefully accepted by all, and established under the sanction
of a solemn oath.
The chieftains who had however, so readily submitted to become Henry’s
vassals, as readily withdrew their allegiance on his quitting Ireland,
which he was compelled to do at the end of little more than six months,
in consequence of Becket’s murder, and the rebellion of his own sons.
Thenceforward for the long period of 400 years, the country was
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_STANDARD LITERATURE SERIES_
THE SPY
BY
J. FENIMORE COOPER
CONDENSED FOR USE IN SCHOOLS
_WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND EXPLANATORY NOTES_
NEW YORK AND NEW ORLEANS
UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING CO.
1898
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY
UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING CO.
Press of J. J. Little & Co.
Astor Place, New York
INTRODUCTION.
James Fenimore Cooper was born in Burlington, N. J., in 1789--the year
in which George Washington was inaugurated first President of the
United States. His boyhood was passed at Cooperstown, N. Y., a village
founded by his father. After completing his studies at Yale, young
Cooper entered the American navy as midshipman, subsequently obtaining
the rank of lieutenant. He also made some voyages in a merchant
vessel, and in this service acquired that knowledge of sea life of
which he made good use in many of his novels.
Cooper has been styled the Walter Scott of America. It is hardly an
exaggeration to rank him so high, for he has done for America what
Scott did for Scotland: he has illustrated and popularized much of its
history and many of its olden traditions in stories that will have
appreciative readers so long as the English language is spoken. As a
recent writer observes, he "wrote for men and women as well as for
boys and girls," and the best of his stories are "purely American,
native born, and native bred."
Another distinction must be assigned to Cooper, and it is a mark of
high merit: he was the first American novelist who became widely known
and esteemed in foreign countries. "The Spy" appeared in 1821--a time
when American literature was in its infancy. Though but the second of
the author's works, it immediately became popular on both sides of the
Atlantic. It was translated into several European languages, and may
even, we are told, be read in the Persian tongue.
Other stories quickly followed. "The Pioneer" was published in 1822.
This and "The Deerslayer," "The Pathfinder," "The Last of the
Mohicans," and "The Prairie" belong to the series known as the
Leatherstocking Tales, so called from Leatherstocking Natty, the most
celebrated of the characters introduced. These deal with life and
adventure among the Indians, in description of which Cooper surpassed
all other writers. The sea tales include "The Pilot," published in
1823; "The Red Rover," in 1827; "The Waterwitch," in 1830; "The Two
Admirals," in 1842, and "The Sea Lions," in 1849. Altogether, Cooper
wrote thirty-three novels, many of them universally recognized as
entitled to first rank in that field of literature, and all full of
interest to the lover of romance.
In 1826 Cooper visited Europe, and remained for several years,
continuing his literary work and producing, in addition to novels,
some volumes of sketches of European society. He returned to America
in 1833. His last book, "The Ways of the Hour," which deals with
abuses of trial by jury, was published in 1850. He died on the 14th
of September the following year at Cooperstown.
HISTORICAL NOTE.
The events of the patriot Revolution afforded ample and excellent
subject-matter for the genius of Cooper; and in "The Spy" he treats
his material in a manner which has made the work a favorite with all
lovers of fiction. The scene of the story is laid chiefly in that part
of New York State lying immediately north and northeast of Manhattan
Island. At the period referred to New York was held by the British,
under command of Sir Henry Clinton, having been taken after the defeat
of the Americans at the Battle of Long Island on August 27, 1776. At
the same time the Americans possessed nearly all the rest of the
State. The district lying between the British and the American lines,
and extending over the greater part of Westchester County, was known
as the "neutral ground." Here the principal events of the story are
placed.
This district having then practically no government, the inhabitants
suffered much, not only through the military operations of the hostile
forces, but from bands of marauders known as "cowboys" and "skinners."
The latter, professing to be supporters of the American cause, roamed
over the neutral ground, robbing Tories (friends of the British) and
others who refused to take an oath of fidelity to the new republic,
while those consenting to take the oath were attacked and plundered by
the cowboys, who carried on their depredations as British partisans.
The hero of "The Spy" is not altogether a fictitious character. In the
introduction to one of the editions of the book the author tells us
that he took the idea of Harvey Birch from a real person who was
actually engaged in the secret service of the American Committee of
Safety--a committee appointed by Congress to discover and defeat the
various schemes projected by the Tories in conjunction with the
British to aid the latter against the republican government. Spies
were, of course, employed on both sides during the struggle, and it
may readily be believed that among the patriot Americans there were
many who were willing, without desire of earthly reward, not only to
encounter hardships and danger to life for their country's cause, but
to risk even loss of reputation, as Harvey Birch did.
THE SPY.
CHAPTER I.
A RURAL SCENE IN 1780.
It was near the close of the year 1780 that a solitary traveller was
seen pursuing his way through one of the numerous little valleys of
Westchester. The county of Westchester, after the British had obtained
possession of the island of New York, became common ground, in which
both parties continued to act for the remainder of the War of the
Revolution. A large portion of its inhabitants, either restrained by
their attachments or influenced by their fears, affected a neutrality
they did not feel. The lower towns were, of course, more particularly
under the domain of the crown, while the upper, finding a security
from the vicinity of the Continental[1] troops, were bold in asserting
their revolutionary opinions and their right to govern themselves.
Great numbers, however, wore masks, which even to this day have not
been thrown aside; and many an individual has gone down to the tomb
stigmatized as a foe to the rights of his countrymen, while, in
secret, he has been the useful agent of the leaders of the Revolution;
and, on the other hand, could the hidden repositories of divers
flaming patriots have been opened to the light of day, royal
protections would have been discovered concealed under piles of
British gold.
[Footnote 1: The term "Continental" was applied to the army
of the Colonies, to their Congress, to the money issued by
Congress, etc.]
The passage of a stranger, with an appearance of somewhat doubtful
character, and mounted on an animal which, although unfurnished with
any of the ordinary trappings of war, partook largely of the bold and
upright carriage that distinguished his rider, gave rise to many
surmises[2] among the gazing inmates of the different habitations; and
in some instances, where conscience was more than ordinarily awake, to
a little alarm.
[Footnote 2: guesses.]
Tired with the exercise of a day of unusual fatigue, and anxious to
obtain a speedy shelter from the increasing violence of the storm,
that now began to change its character to large drops of driving rain,
the traveller determined, as a matter of necessity, to make an
application for admission to the next dwelling that offered.
Sufficient light yet remained to enable the traveller to distinguish
the improvements which had been made in the cultivation and in the
general appearance of the grounds around the building to which he was
now approaching. The house was of stone, long, low, and with a low
wing at each extremity. A piazza, extending along the front, with
neatly turned pillars of wood, together with the good order and
preservation of the fences and out-buildings, gave the place an air
altogether superior to the common farm-houses of the country. After
leading his horse behind an angle of the wall, where it was in some
degree protected from the wind and rain, the traveller threw his
valise over his arm, and knocked loudly at the entrance of the
building for admission. An aged black soon appeared, and without
seeming to think it necessary, under the circumstances, to consult
his superiors, first taking one prying look at the applicant by the
light of the candle in his hand, he acceded to the request for
accommodations. The traveller was shown into an extremely neat parlor,
where a fire had been lighted to cheer the dulness of an easterly
storm and an October evening. After giving the valise into the keeping
of his civil attendant, and politely repeating the request to the old
gentleman who rose to receive him, and paying his compliments to the
three ladies who were seated at work with their needles, the stranger
commenced laying aside some of the outer garments which he had worn in
his ride.
After handing a glass of excellent Madeira to his guest, Mr. Wharton,
for so was the owner of this retired estate called, resumed his seat
by the fire, with another in his own hand. For a moment he paused, as
if debating with his politeness, but at length he threw an inquiring
glance on the stranger, as he inquired:
"To whose health am I to have the honor of drinking?"
The young ladies had again taken their seats beside the work-stand,
while their aunt, Miss Jeanette Peyton, withdrew to superintend the
preparations necessary to appease the hunger of their unexpected
visitor.
The traveller had also seated himself, and he sat unconsciously gazing
on the fire while Mr. Wharton spoke; turning his eyes slowly on his
host with a look of close observation, he replied, while a faint tinge
gathered on his features:
"Mr. Harper."
"Mr. Harper," resumed the other, with the formal precision of that
day, "I have the honor to drink your health, and to hope you will
sustain no injury from the rain to which you have been exposed."
Mr. Harper bowed in silence to the compliment, and he soon resumed the
meditations from which he had been interrupted, and for which the long
ride he had that day made, in the wind, might seem a very natural
apology.
Mr. Wharton had in vain endeavored to pierce the disguise of his
guest's political feelings. He arose and led the way into another room
and to the supper-table. Mr. Harper offered his hand to Sarah Wharton,
and they entered the room together; while Frances followed, greatly at
a loss to know whether she had not wounded the feelings of her
father's inmate.
The storm began to rage in greater violence without, when a loud
summons at the outer door again called the faithful black to the
portal. In a minute the servant returned, and informed his master that
another traveller, overtaken by the storm, desired to be admitted to
the house for shelter through the night.
Some of the dishes were replaced by the orders of Miss Peyton, and
the weather-beaten intruder was invited to partake of the remains of
the repast, from which the party had just risen. Throwing aside a
rough great-coat, he very composedly took the offered chair, and
unceremoniously proceeded to allay the cravings of an appetite which
appeared by no means delicate. But at every mouthful he would turn an
unquiet eye on Harper, who studied his appearance with a closeness of
investigation that was very embarrassing to its subject. At length,
pouring out a glass of wine, the newcomer nodded significantly to
his examiner, previously to swallowing the liquor, and said, with
something of bitterness in his manner:
"I drink to our better acquaintance, sir; I believe this is the first
time we have met, though your attention would seem to say otherwise."
"I think we have never met before, sir," replied Harper, with a slight
smile on his features, rising and desiring to be shown to his place of
rest. A small boy was directed to guide him to his room; and, wishing
a courteous good-night to the whole party, the traveller withdrew. The
knife and fork fell from the hands of the unwelcome intruder as the
door closed on the retiring figure of Harper; he rose slowly from
his seat; listening attentively, he approached the door of the room,
opened it, seemed to attend to the retreating footsteps of the other,
and, amidst the panic and astonishment of his companions, he closed it
again. In an instant the red wig which concealed his black locks, the
large patch which hid half his face from observation, the stoop that
had made him appear fifty years of age, disappeared.
"My father, my dear father!" cried the handsome young man; "and you,
my dearest sisters and aunt!--have I at last met you again?"
"Heaven bless you, my Henry, my son!" exclaimed the astonished but
delighted parent; while his sisters sunk on his shoulders, dissolved
in tears.
CHAPTER II.
THE PEDDLER.
A storm below the highlands of the Hudson, if it be introduced with
an easterly wind, seldom lasts less than two days. Accordingly, the
inmates of the Locusts assembled on the following morning around
their early breakfast, as the driving rain, seen to strike in nearly
horizontal lines against the windows of the building, forbade the idea
of exposing either man or beast to the tempest. Harper was the last to
appear; after taking a view of the state of the weather, he apologized
to Mr. Wharton for the necessity that existed for his trespassing on
his goodness for a longer time. Henry Wharton had resumed his disguise
with a reluctance amounting to disgust, but in obedience to the
commands of his parent. No communications passed between him and the
stranger after the first salutations of the morning.
While seated at the table, Caesar entered, and laying a small parcel in
silence by the side of his master, modestly retired behind his chair,
where, placing one hand on its back, he continued, in an attitude half
familiar, half respectful, a listener.
"What is this, Caesar?" | 3,344.922201 |
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FOMA GORDYEFF
(The Man Who Was Afraid)
By Maxim Gorky
Translated by Herman Bernstein
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
OUT of the darkest depths of life, where vice and crime and misery
abound, comes the Byron of the twentieth century, the poet of the
vagabond and the proletariat, Maxim Gorky. Not like the beggar, humbly
imploring for a crust in the name of the Lord, nor like the jeweller
displaying his precious stones to dazzle and tempt the eye, he comes to
the world,--nay, in accents of Tyrtaeus this commoner of Nizhni Novgorod
spurs on his troops of freedom-loving heroes to conquer, as it were,
the placid, self-satisfied literatures of to-day, and bring new life to
pale, bloodless frames.
Like Byron's impassioned utterances, "borne on the tones of a wild and
quite artless melody," is Gorky's mad, unbridled, powerful voice, as he
sings of the "madness of the brave," of the barefooted dreamers, who are
proud of their idleness, who possess nothing and fear nothing, who are
gay in their misery, though miserable in their joy.
Gorky's voice is not the calm, cultivated, well-balanced voice
of Chekhov, the Russian De Maupassant, nor even the apostolic,
well-meaning, but comparatively faint voice of Tolstoy, the preacher: it
is the roaring of a lion, the crash of thunder. In its elementary power
is the heart rending cry of a sincere but suffering soul that saw the
brutality of life in all its horrors, and now flings its experiences
into the face of the world with unequalled sympathy and the courage of a
giant.
For Gorky, above all, has courage; he dares to say that he finds the
vagabond, the outcast of society, more sublime and significant than
society itself.
His Bosyak, the symbolic incarnation of the Over-man, is as naive and
as bold as a child--or as a genius. In the vehement passions of the
magnanimous, compassionate hero in tatters, in the aristocracy of his
soul, and in his constant thirst for Freedom, Gorky sees the rebellious
and irreconcilable spirit of man, of future man,--in these he sees
something beautiful, something powerful, something monumental, and is
carried away by their strange psychology. For the barefooted dreamer's
life is Gorky's life, his ideals are Gorky's ideals, his pleasures and
pains, Gorky's pleasures and pains.
And Gorky, though broken in health now, buffeted by the storms of fate,
bruised and wounded in the battle-field of life, still like Byron and
like Lermontov,
"--seeks the storm
As though the storm contained repose."
And in a leonine voice he cries defiantly:
"Let the storm rage with greater force and fury!"
HERMAN BERNSTEIN.
September 20, 1901.
FOMA GORDYEEF
Dedicated to
ANTON P. CHEKHOV
By
Maxim Gorky
CHAPTER I
ABOUT sixty years ago, when fortunes of millions had been made on the
Volga with fairy-tale rapidity, Ignat Gordyeeff, a young fellow, was
working as water-pumper on one of the barges of the wealthy merchant
Zayev.
Built like a giant, handsome and not at all stupid, he was one of those
people whom luck always follows everywhere--not because they are gifted
and industrious, but rather because, having an enormous stock of energy
at their command, they cannot stop to think over the choice of means
when on their way toward their aims, and, excepting their own will,
they know no law. Sometimes they speak of their conscience with fear,
sometimes they really torture themselves struggling with it, but
conscience is an unconquerable power to the faint-hearted only; the
strong master it quickly and make it a slave to their desires, for
they unconsciously feel that, given room and freedom, conscience would
fracture life. They sacrifice days to it; and if it should happen
that conscience conquered their souls, they are never wrecked, even in
defeat--they are just as healthy and strong under its sway as when they
lived without conscience.
At the age of forty Ignat Gordyeeff was himself the owner of three
steamers and ten barges. On the Volga he was respected as a rich and
clever man, but was nicknamed "Frantic," because his life did not flow
along a straight channel, like that of other people of his kind, but
now and again, boiling up turbulently, ran out of its rut, away from
gain--the prime aim of his existence. It looked as though there were
three Gordyeeffs in him, or as though there were three souls in Ignat's
body. One of them, the mightiest, was only greedy, and when Ignat lived
according to its commands, he was merely a man seized with untamable
passion for work. This passion burned in him by day and by night, he
was completely absorbed by it, and, grabbing everywhere hundreds and
thousands of roubles, it seemed as if he could never have enough of
the jingle and sound of money. He worked about up and down the Volga,
building and fastening nets in which he caught gold: he bought up grain
in the villages, floated it to Rybinsk on his barges; he plundered,
cheated, sometimes not noticing it, sometimes noticing, and, triumphant,
be openly laughed at by his victims; and in the senselessness of his
thirst for money, he rose to the heights of poetry. But, giving up so
much strength to this hunt after the rouble, he was not greedy in
the narrow sense, and sometimes he even betrayed an inconceivable but
sincere indifference to his property. Once, when the ice was drifting
down the Volga, he stood on the shore, and, seeing that the ice was
breaking his new barge, having crushed it against the bluff shore, he
ejaculated:
"That's it. Again. Crush it! Now, once more! Try!"
"Well, Ignat," asked his friend Mayakin, coming up to him, "the ice is
crushing about ten thousand out of your purse, eh?"
"That's nothing! I'll make another hundred. But look how the Volga is
working! Eh? Fine? She can split the whole world, like curd, with a
knife. Look, look! There you have my 'Boyarinya!' She floated but once.
Well, we'll have mass said for the dead."
The barge was crushed into splinters. Ignat and the godfather, sitting
in the tavern on the shore, drank vodka and looked out of the window,
watching the fragments of the "Boyarinya" drifting down the river
together with the ice.
"Are you sorry for the vessel, Ignat?" asked Mayakin.
"Why should I be sorry for it? The Volga gave it to me, and the Volga
has taken it back. It did not tear off my hand."
"Nevertheless."
"What--nevertheless? It is good at least that I saw how it was all done.
It's a lesson for the future. But when my 'Volgar' was burned--I was
really sorry--I didn't see it. How beautiful it must have looked when
such a woodpile was blazing on the water in the dark night! Eh? It was
an enormous steamer."
"Weren't you sorry for that either?"
"For the steamer? It is true, I did feel sorry for the steamer. But
then it is mere foolishness to feel sorry! What's the use? I might have
cried; tears cannot extinguish fire. Let the steamers burn. And even
though everything be burned down, I'd spit upon it! If the soul is but
burning to work, everything will be erected anew. Isn't it so?"
"Yes," said Mayakin, smiling. "These are strong words you say. And
whoever speaks that way, even though he loses all, will nevertheless be
rich."
Regarding losses of thousands of roubles so philosophically, Ignat knew
the value of every kopeika; he gave to the poor very seldom, and only to
those that were altogether unable to work. When a more or less healthy
man asked him for alms, Ignat would say, sternly:
"Get away! You can work yet. Go to my dvornik and help him to remove the
dung. I'll pay you for it."
Whenever he had been carried away by his work he regarded people
morosely and piteously, nor did he give himself rest while hunting for
roubles. And suddenly--it usually happened in spring, when everything on
earth became so bewitchingly beautiful and something reproachfully wild
was breathed down into the soul from the clear sky--Ignat Gordyeeff
would feel that he was not the master of his business, but its low
slave. He would lose himself in thought and, inquisitively looking about
himself from under his thick, knitted eyebrows, walk about for days,
angry and morose, as though silently asking something, which he feared
to ask aloud. They awakened his other soul, the turbulent and lustful
soul of a hungry beast. Insolent and cynical, he drank, led a depraved
life, and made drunkards of other people. He went into ecstasy, and
something like a volcano of filth boiled within him. It looked as though
he was madly tearing the chains which he himself had forged and carried,
and was not strong enough to tear them. Excited and very dirty, his face
swollen from drunkenness and sleeplessness, his eyes wandering madly,
and roaring in a hoarse voice, he tramped about the town from one tavern
to another, threw away money without counting it, cried and danced
to the sad tunes of the folk songs, or fought, but found no rest
anywhere--in anything.
It happened one day that a degraded priest, a short, stout little
bald-headed man in a torn cassock, chanced on Ignat, and stuck to him,
just as a piece of mud will stick to a shoe. An impersonal, deformed and
nasty creature, he played the part of a buffoon: they smeared his
bald head with mustard, made him go upon all-fours, drink mixtures of
different brandies and dance comical dances; he did all this in silence,
an idiotic smile on his wrinkled face, and having done what he was told
to do, he invariably said, outstretching his hand with his palm upward:
"Give me a rouble."
They laughed at him and sometimes gave him twenty kopeiks, sometimes
g | 3,346.311435 |
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THE LAST AMERICAN FRONTIER
Stories from American History
* * * * * *
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
* * * * * *
[Illustration]
THE LAST AMERICAN FRONTIER
by
FREDERIC LOGAN PAXSON
Junior Professor of American History in the University of Michigan
Illustrated
New York
The Macmillan Company
1910
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1910,
By the Macmillan Company.
Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1910.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
PREFACE
I have told here the story of the last frontier within the United
States, trying at once to preserve the picturesque atmosphere which
has given to the "Far West" a definite and well-understood meaning,
and to indicate those forces which have shaped the history of the
country beyond the Mississippi. In doing it I have had to rely largely
upon my own investigations among sources little used and relatively
inaccessible. The exact citations of authority, with which I might have
crowded my pages, would have been out of place in a book not primarily
intended for the use of scholars. But I hope, before many years, to
exploit in a larger and more elaborate form the mass of detailed
information upon which this sketch is based.
My greatest debts are to the owners of the originals from which the
illustrations for this book have been made; to Claude H. Van Tyne, who
has repeatedly aided me with his friendly criticism; and to my wife,
whose careful readings have saved me from many blunders in my text.
FREDERIC L. PAXSON.
ANN ARBOR, August 7, 1909.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE WESTWARD MOVEMENT 1
CHAPTER II
THE INDIAN FRONTIER 14
CHAPTER III
IOWA AND THE NEW NORTHWEST 33
CHAPTER IV
THE SANTA FE TRAIL 53
CHAPTER V
THE OREGON TRAIL 70
CHAPTER VI
OVERLAND WITH THE MORMONS 86
CHAPTER VII
CALIFORNIA AND THE FORTY-NINERS 104
CHAPTER VIII
KANSAS AND THE INDIAN FRONTIER 119
CHAPTER IX
"PIKE'S PEAK OR BUST!" 138
CHAPTER X
FROM ARIZONA TO MONTANA 156
CHAPTER XI
THE OVERLAND MAIL 174
CHAPTER XII
THE ENGINEERS' FRONTIER 192
CHAPTER XIII
THE UNION PACIFIC RAILROAD 211
CHAPTER XIV
THE PLAINS IN THE CIVIL WAR 225
CHAPTER XV
THE CHEYENNE WAR 243
CHAPTER XVI
THE SIOUX WAR 264
CHAPTER XVII
THE PEACE COMMISSION AND THE OPEN WAY 284
CHAPTER XVIII
BLACK KETTLE'S LAST RAID 304
CHAPTER XIX
THE FIRST OF THE RAILWAYS 324
CHAPTER XX
THE NEW INDIAN POLICY 340
CHAPTER XXI
THE LAST STAND: CHIEF JOSEPH AND SITTING BULL 358
CHAPTER XXII
LETTING IN THE POPULATION 372
CHAPTER XXIII
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 387
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
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"CLEAR THE TRACK!"
(FREIE BAHN)
_A STORY OF TO-DAY_
BY
E. WERNER
_Author of "The Alpine Fay," "Banned and Blessed," "Danira,"
"Vineta," "At a High Price," etc. etc_.
TRANSLATED BY MARY STUART SMITH
THE TRADE SUPPLIED BY
THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS COMPANY
LONDON LEIPSIC
Copyright, 1893.
BY
ERNST KEIL'S NACHFOLGER
* * *
[_All rights reserved_]
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
1. The Feast of Flowers at Nice
2. In Council
3. "See the Path is Clear to a Grand Career"
4. Odensburg Manor
5. A Victory <DW77>
6. In Which More Than One Charmer Charms
7. Cecilia Visits Radefeld
8. A Bough of Apple-Blossoms
9. The Cross on the Whitestone
10. Maia's Choice
11. A Secret Foe and Open Enemy
12. The Goal in Sight
13. Runeck leaves Odensburg
14. How an Old Bachelor makes Love
15. A Wedding Day
16. Scenes at the "Golden Lamb"
17. Election Times
18. Fortune Smiles on Victor Eckardstein
19. "Off With the Old Love, On With the New"
20. Maia Must be Saved
21. From Heights of Bliss to Depths of Woe
22. His Sin had found Him out
23. A Lover's Tryst
24. A Deed that Wipes Out Old Scores
25. 'Twixt Life and Death
26. How Forces that Are Opposed May Blend
CLEAR THE TRACK!
CHAPTER I.
THE FEAST OF FLOWERS AT NICE.
A spring day at the South! Sky and sea are radiant in their deep blue,
flooded with light and splendor, the waves breaking gently upon the
shores of the Riviera, to which spring had already come in all its
glory, while, at the North, snow-storms are still raging.
Here rests golden sunshine upon the white houses and villas of the
town, that embraces the shore within the radius of a vast semicircle,
adorned by lofty palms, and embowered in the green of the laurel and
myrtle. Among thousands of shrubs, the camellia is conspicuous from its
wealth of bloom, in every stage of perfection, its colors ranging from
pure white to richest crimson; and could anything excel the richness of
its glistening foliage? From the adjacent hills hoary monasteries look
down, and modern churches surrounded by tall cypress trees; friendly
orchards stand out from pine and olive groves, and in the distance the
blue Alps, with their snow-crowned summits, are half hidden in sunny
mist.
Nice was celebrating one of its spring-and-flower festivals, and the
whole city and its environs had turned out in gala-attire, whether
stranger or native-born. Gayly-decked equipages passed by in endless
procession, every window and balcony being filled with spectators, and
on the sidewalks, under the palms, thronged a merry multitude, the
brown and picturesque forms of fishermen and peasants being everywhere
conspicuous.
The battle of flowers on the Corso was in full swing, the sweet
missiles being constantly shot through the air, here hitting their
mark, there missing it: blossoms, that are treasured at the North as
rare and expensive, were here scattered heedlessly and lavishly. Added
to this, there were everywhere waving handkerchiefs, shouts of joy,
bands of music playing, and the intoxicating perfume of violets,--the
whole of this enchantingly beautiful picture being enhanced by the
golden sunshine of spring with which heaven and earth was filled.
Upon the terrace of one of the fashionable hotels stood a small group
of gentlemen, evidently foreigners, who had chanced to meet here, for
they conversed in the German language. The lively interest with which
the two younger men gazed upon the entrancing scene betrayed the fact
that it was new to them; while the third, a man of riper years, looked
rather listlessly upon what was going on.
"I must go now," said he, with a glance at his watch. "One soon gets
tired of all this hubbub and confusion, and longs after a quiet spot.
You, gentlemen, it seems, want to stay a while longer?"
His companions certainly seemed to have that intention, and one of
them, a handsome man, with slender figure, evidently an officer in
civilian's dress, answered laughingly:
"Of course we do, Herr von Stettin. We feel no need for rest whatever.
The scene has a fairy-like aspect for us Northmen, has it not,
Wittenau?--Ah! there come the Wildenrods! That is what I call taste;
one can hardly see the carriage for the flowers, and the lovely Cecilia
looks the very impersonation of Spring."
The carriage that was just driving by was indeed remarkable through its
peculiarly rich ornamentation of flowers. Everywhere appeared
camellias, the coachman and outriders wore bunches of them in their
hats, and even the horses were decked with them.
On the front seat were a gentleman of proud and noble bearing, and a
young lady in a changeable silk dress of reddish hue, her dark hair
surmounted by a dainty little white hat trimmed with roses. Upon the
back seat a young man had taken his place, who exerted himself to take
care of the heaps of flowers that were fairly showered upon this
particular equipage. Among them were the costliest bouquets, evidently
given in compliment to the beautiful girl, who sat smiling in the midst
of all her floral treasures, and looking with great, beaming eyes upon
the festive scene around her.
The officer, also, had taken a bunch of violets, and dexterously flung
it into the carriage, but instead of the lady, her escort caught it,
and carelessly added it to the pile of floral offerings heaped up on
the seat beside him.
"That was not exactly meant for Herr Dernburg," said the dispenser of
flowers rather irritably. "There he is again in the Wildenrod carriage.
He is never to be seen but when dancing attendance upon them."
"Yes, since this Dernburg has put in his appearance, the attentions of
all other men seem superfluous," chimed in Wittenau, sending a dark
look after the carriage.
"Have your observations, too, carried you so far already?" said the
young officer tauntingly. "Yes, millionaires; alas! are always to the
fore, and I believe Herr von Wildenrod knows how to appreciate this
quality in his friends, for I hear that luck sometimes deserts him over
yonder at Monaco."
"You must be mistaken; there can be no talk of any such thing as that,"
replied Wittenau, almost indignantly. "The Baron produces the
impression that he is a perfect gentleman, and associates here with our
very first people."
The other laughingly shrugged his shoulders.
"That is not saying much, dear Wittenau. Just here, at Nice, the line
separating the _elite_ from the world of adventurers is strangely lost
sight of. One never rightly knows where the one ceases and the other
begins, and there is some mystery about this Wildenrod. As to whether
his claim to nobility is altogether genuine----"
"Undoubtedly genuine, I can certify as to that," said Stettin, who had
hitherto been a silent listener, but now came forward and joined in the
conversation.
"Ah, you are acquainted with the family, are you?"
"Years ago, I used to visit at the house of the old Baron, who has died
since, and there I also met his son. I cannot pretend to have any
particular acquaintance with the latter, but he has a full right to the
name and title that he bears."
"So much the better," said the officer, lightly. "As for the rest, it
is only a traveling acquaintance, and no obligation is incurred."
"Assuredly not, if one lays aside such relations as easily as they are
assumed," remarked Stettin with a peculiar intonation. "But I must be
off now--I hope to meet you soon again, gentlemen!"
"I am going with you," said Wittenau, who seemed suddenly to have lost
his appetite for sight-seeing. "The rows of carriages begin to thin out
already. Nevertheless, it will be a hard matter to get through."
They took leave of their comrade, who was not thinking of departure
yet, and had just supplied himself with flowers again, and together
left the terrace. It was certainly no easy thing to make one's way
through the densely-packed throng, and quite a while elapsed ere they
left noise and stir behind them. Gradually, however, their way grew
clearer, while the shouts of the multitude died away in the distance.
The talk between the two gentlemen was rather monosyllabic. The younger
one, particularly, appeared to be either out of sorts or absent-minded,
and suddenly remarked, quite irrelevantly:
"It seems that you know all about the Wildenrods, and yet mention it
to-day for the first time. And, moreover, you have had nothing to do
with them."
"No," said Herr von Stettin coolly, "and I should have preferred other
associates for you. I several times intimated as much to you, but you
would not understand my hints."
"I was introduced to them by a fellow-countryman, and you said nothing
decided----"
"Because I know nothing decided. The associations of which I told you,
a while ago, date twelve years back, and many changes have taken place
since then. Your friend is right, the line of demarcation between the
Bohemian and man of society gets strangely confused, and I am afraid
that Wildenrod is on the wrong side of the barrier."
"You do not believe him to be wealthy, then?" asked Wittenau, with some
emotion. "He lives with his sister, in high style, being apparently in
the easiest circumstances, and, at all events, has command of abundant
means, for the present."
Stettin significantly shrugged his shoulders.
"Inquire at the faro-bank of Monaco; he is a regular guest there, and
is said, too, to have good luck in play, for the most part--so long as
it lasts! One hears, too, occasionally of other things, that are yet
more significant. I have not felt disposed to renew the former
acquaintance, although our intercourse had been rather frequent, for
what used to be the Wildenrod possessions lay in the immediate
neighborhood of our family property, that is now in my hands."
"What used to be?" asked the young man. "Those possessions have been
sold, then? I perceive, however, that you do not like to speak on the
subject."
"To strangers, most assuredly not. I shall give what information I have
to you, though, because you have a real interest in the matter.
Remember, however, that what I say is strictly confidential!"
"My word upon it, that nothing you tell me shall go any farther."
"Well, then," said Stettin gravely, "it is a brief, melancholy, but,
alas! not an unusual story. Although the estate had long been heavily
encumbered with debt, the establishment was maintained upon a most
expensive scale. The old Baron had contracted a second marriage, in
later life, long after his son was a grown man. He could not thwart his
young wife in a single wish, and her wants were many, very many. The
son, who was in the diplomatic service, was also accustomed to high
living; various other losses ensued, and finally came the catastrophe.
The Baron suddenly died of a stroke of apoplexy--at least so it was
said."
"Did he lay violent hands on himself?" asked Wittenau in a whisper.
"Probably. It has not been ascertained for certain, but it is supposed
that he was not willing to survive the misery and disgrace of his ruin.
Disgrace was certainly averted, for the family still holds the most
honorable position. The Wildenrods rank with the highest nobility in
the land, and the name was to be shielded at any price. The castle and
lands adjacent became a royal domain, so that the creditors could be
pacified at least, and, by the general public, the sale was deemed a
voluntary one. The widow with her little daughter would have been given
over to utter poverty if, by the king's grace, she had not been allowed
a home in the castle and had an annuity settled upon her. As for the
rest, she died soon afterwards."
"And the son? The young Baron?"
"Of course he resigned his position, had to do so, under the
circumstances, for he could not be _attache_ of affairs without some
fortune of his own. It must have been a severe blow upon the proud,
ambitious man, who had, most likely, been kept in utter ignorance of
the state of his father's affairs, and, now, all of a sudden, found
himself stopped short in his career. To be sure, many another honorable
calling stood open to him; friends would doubtless have secured some
situation for him, but this would have necessitated descent from the
sphere in which he had hitherto played a chief part; necessitated
sober, unremitting toil in an obscure station, and those were things
that Oscar Von Wildenrod could not brook. He rejected all offers of
employment, left the country, and was no more heard of in his native
place. Now, after the lapse of twelve years, I meet him here at Nice
with his young sister, who, meanwhile, has come to woman's estate, but
we prefer, it seems, on both sides, to treat each other as strangers."
While this narration was being made, 'Wittenau became very thoughtful,
but made no comment whatever. Noticing this, his friend laid his hand
upon his arm, and said gently:
"You should not have given young Dernburg such angry glances, for it
has been his appearance upon the scene, I fancy, that has saved you
from committing a folly--a great folly."
A glowing blush suffused the young man's face at this intimation, and
he was evidently much embarrassed.
"Herr von Stettin, I----"
"Now, do not understand me as reproaching you on account of looking too
deeply into a pair of fine eyes," interposed Stettin. "That is so
natural at your age; but in this case, it might have been fatal. Ask
yourself, whether a girl thus brought up, who has grown up amid such
influences and surroundings, would make a good farmer's wife, or be
happy in a country neighborhood. As for the rest, you would hardly have
found acceptance as Cecilia Wildenrod's suitor, because her brother
will give the decisive voice, and he wants a millionaire for a
brother-in-law."
"And Dernburg is heir to several millions, people say," remarked
Wittenau with undisguised bitterness. "So, he will be the one upon whom
this honor is to be bestowed."
"It is not mere say so, it is fact. The great Dernburg iron and steel
works are the most important in all Germany, and admirably conducted.
Their present chief is such a man as one rarely meets. I speak from
personal knowledge, having accidentally made his acquaintance a few
years ago. But see, there are the Wildenrods coming back again."
There, indeed, was the Baron's equipage, which had left the Corso a
little while ago, and was now on its way back to their hotel. The fiery
horses, which had with difficulty been curbed in, so as to keep step
with a procession, were now going at full speed, and rushed past the
two gentlemen, who had stepped aside, and looked upon the cloud of dust
that had been raised.
"I am sorry about that Oscar Wildenrod," said Stettin earnestly. "He
does not belong to the ordinary herd of mankind, and might perhaps have
accomplished great things, if fate had not so suddenly and rudely
snatched him away from the sphere for which he had been born and
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Produced by Darleen Dove, Roger Frank, Mary Meehan and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE RECLAIMERS
BY MARGARET HILL McCARTER
_Author of_ "VANGUARDS OF THE PLAINS"
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Reclaimers
Copyright, 1918, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
Published October, 1918
TO
MAY BELLEVILLE BROWN
CRITIC, COUNSELLOR, COMFORTER
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
PART I
JERRY
I. THE HEIR APPARENT
II. UNCLE CORNIE'S THROW
III. HITCHING THE WAGON TO A STAR
IV. BETWEEN EDENS
V. NEW EDEN'S PROBLEM
VI. PARADISE LOST
PART II
JERRY AND JOE
VII. UNHITCHING THE WAGON FROM A STAR
VIII. IF A MAN WENT RIGHT WITH HIMSELF
IX. IF A WOMAN WENT RIGHT WITH HERSELF
X. THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER
XI. AN INTERLUDE IN "EDEN"
XII. THIS SIDE OF THE RUBICON
PART III
JERRY AND EUGENE--AND JOE
XIII. HOW A GOOD MOTHER LIVES ON
XIV. JIM SWAIM'S WISH
XV. DRAWING OUT LEVIATHAN WITH A HOOK
XVI. A POSTLUDE IN "EDEN"
XVII. THE FLESH-POTS OF THE WINNWOC
XVIII. THE LORD HATH HIS WAY IN THE STORM
XIX. RECLAIMED
THE RECLAIMERS
I
JERRY
I
THE HEIR APPARENT
Only the good little snakes were permitted to enter the "Eden" that
belonged to Aunt Jerry and Uncle Cornie Darby. "Eden," it should be
explained, was the country estate of Mrs. Jerusha Darby--a wealthy
Philadelphian--and her husband, Cornelius Darby, a relative by marriage,
so to speak, whose sole business on earth was to guard his wife's wealth
for six hours of the day in the city, and to practise discus-throwing
out at "Eden" for two hours every evening.
Of course these two were never familiarly "Aunt" and "Uncle" to this
country neighborhood, nor to any other community. Far, oh, far from
that! They were Aunt and Uncle only to Jerry Swaim, the orphaned and
only child of Mrs. Darby's brother Jim, whose charming girlish presence
made the whole community, wherever she might chance to be. They were
cousin, however, to Eugene Wellington, a young artist of more than
ordinary merit, also orphaned and alone, except for a sort of cousinship
with Uncle Cornelius.
"Eden" was a beautifully located and handsomely appointed estate of two
hundred acres, offering large facilities to any photographer seeking
magazine illustrations of country life in America. Indeed, the place
was, as Aunt Jerry Darby declared, "summer and winter, all shot up by
camera-toters and dabbed over with canvas-stretchers' paints," much to
the owner's disgust, to whom all camera-toters and artists, except
Cousin Eugene Wellington, were useless idlers. The rustic little railway
station, hidden by maple-trees, was only three or four good
discus-throws from the house. But the railroad itself very properly
dropped from view into a wooded valley on either side of the station.
There was nothing of cindery ugliness to mar the spot where the dwellers
in "Eden" could take the early morning train for the city, or drop off
in the cool of the afternoon into a delightful pastoral retreat. Beyond
the lawns and buildings, gardens and orchards, the land billowed away
into meadow and pasture and grain-field, with an insert of leafy grove
where song-birds builded an Eden all their own. The entire freehold of
Aunt Jerry Darby and Uncle Cornie, set down in the middle of a Western
ranch, would have been a day's journey from its borders. And yet in it
country life was done into poetry, combining city luxuries and
conveniences with the dehorned, dethorned comfort and freedom of idyllic
nature. What more need be said for this "Eden" into which only the good
little snakes were permitted to enter?
In the late afternoon Aunt Jerry sat in the rose-arbor with her Japanese
work-basket beside her, and a pearl tatting-shuttle between her thumb
and fingers. One could read in a thoughtful glance all there was to know
of Mrs. Darby. Her alert air and busy hands bespoke the habit of
everlasting industry fastened down upon her, no doubt, in a far-off
childhood. She was luxurious in her tastes. The satin gown, the diamond
fastening the little cap to her gray hair, the elegant lace at her
throat and wrists, the flashing jewels on her thin fingers, all
proclaimed a desire for display and the means wherewith to pamper it.
The rest of her story was written on her wrinkled face, where the strong
traits of a self-willed youth were deeply graven. Something in the
narrow, restless eyes suggested the discontented lover of wealth. The
lines of the mouth hinted at selfishness and prejudice. The square chin
told of a stubborn will, and the stern cast of features indicated no
sense of humor whereby the hardest face is softened. That Jerusha Darby
was rich, intolerant, determined, unimaginative, self-centered,
unforgiving, and unhappy the student of character might gather at a
glance. Where these traits abide a second glance is unnecessary.
Outside, the arbor was aglow with early June roses; within, the
cushioned willow seats invite to restful enjoyment. But Jerusha Darby
was not there for pleasure. While her pearl shuttle darted in and out
among her fingers like a tiny, iridescent bird, her mind and tongue were
busy with important matters.
Opposite to her was her husband, Cornelius. It was only important
matters that called him away from his business in the city at so early
an hour in the afternoon. And it was only on business matters that he
and his wife ever really conferred, either in the rose-arbor or
elsewhere. The appealing beauty of the place indirectly meant nothing to
these two owners of all this beauty.
The most to be said of Cornelius Darby was that he was born the son of a
rich man and he died the husband of a rich woman. His life, like his
face, was colorless. He fitted into the landscape and his presence was
never detected. He had no opinions of his own. His father had given him
all that he needed to think about until he was married. "Was married" is
well said. He never courted nor married anybody. He was never courted,
but he was married by Jerusha Swaim. But that is all dried stuff now.
Let it be said, however, that not all the mummies are in Egyptian tombs
and Smithsonian Institutions. Some of them sit in banking-houses all day
long, and go discus-throwing in lovely "Edens" on soft June evenings.
And one of them once, just once, broke the ancient linen wrappings from
his glazed jaws and spoke. For half an hour his voice was heard; and
then the bandages slipped back, and the mummy was all mummy again. It
was Jerry Swaim who wrought that miracle. But then there is little in
the earth, or the waters under the earth, that a pretty girl cannot work
upon.
"You say you have the report on the Swaim estate that the Macpherson
Mortgage Company of New Eden, Kansas, is taking care of for us?" Mrs.
Darby asked.
"The complete report. York Macpherson hasn't left out a detail. Shall I
read you his description?" her husband replied.
"No, no; don't tell me a thing about it, not a thing. I don't want to
know any more about Kansas than I know already. I hate the very name of
Kansas. You can understand why, when you remember my brother. I've known
York Macpherson all his life, him and his sister Laura, too. And I never
could understand why he went so far West, nor why he dragged that lame
sister of his out with him to that Sage Brush country."
"That's because you won't let me tell you anything about the West. But
as a matter of business you ought | 3,347.066656 |
2023-11-16 19:12:51.1359720 | 1,714 | 6 |
E-text prepared by Chuck Greif and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://www.archive.org/details/grandeenovel00palaiala
[Illustration: book cover]
Heinemann's International Library
Edited by Edmund Gosse
THE GRANDEE
ARMANDO PALACIO VALDES
THE GRANDEE
* * * * * *
_Heinemann's International Library._
Edited by EDMUND GOSSE.
_Crown 8vo, in paper covers, 2s. 6d., or cloth limp, 3s. 6d._
1. _IN GOD'S WAY._ From the Norwegian of
BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON
2. _PIERRE AND JEAN._ From the French of
GUY DE MAUPASSANT.
3. _THE CHIEF JUSTICE._ From the German
of KARL EMIL FRANZOS.
4. _WORK WHILE YE HAVE THE LIGHT._
From the Russian of COUNT LYOF TOLSTOI.
5. _FANTASY._ From the Italian of MATILDE
SERAO.
6. _FROTH._ From the Spanish of DON ARMANDO
PALACIO VALDES.
7. _FOOTSTEPS OF FATE._ From the Dutch
of LOUIS COUPERUS.
8. _PEPITA JIMENEZ._ From the Spanish of
JUAN VALERA.
9. _THE COMMODORE'S DAUGHTERS._ From
the Norwegian of JONAS LIE.
10. _THE HERITAGE OF THE KURTS._ From
the Norwegian of BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON.
11. _LOU._ From the German of BARON VON
ROBERTS.
12. _DONA LUZ._ From the Spanish of JUAN
VALERA.
13. _THE JEW._ From the Polish of JOSEPH I.
KRASZEWSKI.
14. _UNDER THE YOKE._ From the Bulgarian
of IVAN VAZOFF.
15. _FAREWELL LOVE!_ From the Italian of
MATILDE SERAO.
16. _THE GRANDEE._ From the Spanish of DON
ARMANDO PALACIO VALDES.
_In preparation._
_A COMMON STORY._ From the Russian of
GONCHAROF.
_NIOBE._ From the Norwegian of JONAS LIE.
_Each Volume contains a specially written Introduction by the Editor._
LONDON: W. HEINEMANN, 21 BEDFORD ST., W.C.
* * * * * *
THE GRANDEE
A Novel
by
ARMANDO PALACIO VALDES
Translated from the Spanish by Rachel Challice
[Illustration: logo]
London
William Heinemann
1894
[_All rights reserved_]
INTRODUCTION
According to the Spanish critics, the novel has flourished in Spain
during only two epochs--the golden age of Cervantes and the period in
which we are still living. That unbroken line of romance-writing which
has existed for so long a time in France and in England, is not to be
looked for in the Peninsula. The novel in Spain is a re-creation of our
own days; but it has made, since the middle of the nineteenth century,
two or three fresh starts. The first modern Spanish novelists were what
are called the _walter-scottistas_, although they were inspired as much
by George Sand as by the author of _Waverley_. These writers were of a
romantic order, and Fernan Caballero, whose earliest novel dates from
1849, was at their head. The Revolution of September, 1868, marked an
advance in Spanish fiction, and Valera came forward as the leader of a
more national and more healthily vitalised species of imaginative work.
The pure and exquisite style of Valera is, doubtless, only to be
appreciated by a Castilian. Something of its charm may be divined,
however, even in the English translation of his masterpiece, _Pepita
Jimenez_. The mystical and aristocratic genius of Valera appealed to a
small audience; he has confided to the world that when all were praising
but few were buying his books.
Far greater fecundity and a more directly successful appeal to the
public, were, somewhat later, the characteristics of Perez y Galdos,
whose vigorous novels, spoiled a little for a foreign reader by their
didactic diffuseness, are well-known in this country. In the hands of
Galdos, a further step was taken by Spanish fiction towards the
rejection of romantic optimism and the adoption of a modified realism.
In Pereda, so the Spanish critics tell us, a still more valiant champion
of naturalism was found, whose studies of local manners in the province
of Santander recall to mind the paintings of Teniers. About 1875 was the
date when the struggle commenced in good earnest between the schools of
romanticism and realism. In 1881 Galdos definitely joined the ranks of
the realists with his _La Desheredada_. An eminent Spanish writer,
Emilio Pardo Bazan, thus described the position some six years ago: "It
is true that the battle is not a noisy one, and excites no great warlike
ardour. The question is not taken up amongst us with the same heat as in
France, and this from several causes. In the first place, the idealists
with us do not walk in the clouds so much as they do in France, nor do
the realists load their palette so heavily. Neither school exaggerates
in order to distinguish itself from the other. Perhaps our public is
indifferent to literature, especially to printed literature, for what is
represented on the stage produces more impression."
This indifference of the Spanish reading public, which has led a living
novelist to declare that a person of good position in Madrid would
rather spend his money on fireworks or on oranges than on a book, has at
length been in a measure dissipated by a writer who is not merely
admired and distinguished, but positively popular, and who, without
sacrificing style, has conquered the unwilling Spanish public. This is
Armando Palacio Valdes, who was born on the 4th of October 1853, in a
hamlet in the mountains of Asturias, called Entralgo, where his family
possessed a country-house. The family spent only the summer there; the
remainder of the year they passed in Aviles, the maritime town which
Valdes describes under the name of Nieva in his novel _Marta y Maria_.
He began his education at Oviedo, the capital of Asturias. From this
city he went, in 1870, up to Madrid to study the law as a profession.
But even in the lawyer's office, his dream was to become a man of
letters. His ambition took the form of obtaining at some university a
chair of political economy, to which science he had, or fancied himself
to have, at that time a great proclivity.
Before terminating his legal studies, the young man published several
articles in the _Revista Europea_ on philosophical and religious
questions. These articles attracted the attention of the proprietor of
that review, and Valdes presently joined the staff. In 1874 he became
editor. He was at the head of the _Revista Europea_, at that time the
most important periodical in Spain from a scientific point of view, for
several years. During that time he published the main part of those
articles of literary criticism, particularly on contemporary poets and
novelists, which have since been collected in several volumes--_Los
Or | 3,347.156012 |
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A MASTER OF DECEPTION
[Illustration: "'You see, uncle--this one; as it were, death reduced
to its lowest possible denomination'" (_see page_ 99).]
A MASTER
OF DECEPTION
By
Richard Marsh
Author of "Twin Sisters," "The Lovely Mrs. Blake,"
"The Interrupted Kiss," etc., etc.
With a Frontispiece by
DUDLEY TENNANT
CASSELL | 3,347.875337 |
2023-11-16 19:12:52.1377670 | 2,450 | 15 |
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: He met the hot-mouthed, vicious brute, his rude spear
clasped in both hands]
----------------------------------------------------------------------
FAR PAST THE FRONTIER
By
JAMES A. BRADEN
Illustrated by
W. H. FRY
C
Akron, Ohio
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.
New York--Chicago
MADE IN U. S. A.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1902
By
The Saalfield Publishing Company
----------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I The Flight of Big Pete Ellis. 5
II A Bound Boy's Story. 19
III The Beginning of a Perilous Journey. 32
IV The Man Under the Bed. 47
V A Mysterious Shot in the Darkness. 62
VI On Lonely Mountain Roads. 76
VII On Into the Wilderness. 91
VIII Friends or Foes? 105
IX The Scalp at Big Buffalo's Belt. 121
X A Night With the Indians. 134
XI Again a Hidden Enemy. 150
XII Building a Cabin. 164
XIII The Strange Story of Arthur Bridges. 179
XIV Treed by Wolves. 192
XV A Maple Sugar Camp in the Wilderness. 206
XVI The Hatred of Big Buffalo. 219
XVII Danger. 232
----------------------------------------------------------------------
FAR PAST THE FRONTIER.
CHAPTER I.
The Flight of Big Pete Ellis.
"Look out thar!"
A young, red-bearded man of herculean frame fiercely jerked the words
between his teeth as he leaped between two boys who were about to enter
the country store, from the door of which he sprang.
Diving aside, but quickly turning, the lads saw the cause of their sudden
movement bound into a wagon standing near, and with a furious cry to the
horses, whip them to such instant, rapid speed that the strap with which
the animals were tied, snapped like a bit of string. With a clatter and
rumbling roar the team and wagon dashed around a corner, the clumsy
vehicle all but upsetting, as the wheels on one side flew clear of the
ground.
Running forward, the boys were in time to see, fast disappearing down the
road toward where the September sun was setting, the reckless driver
bending over, lashing the horses to a frantic gallop. The wagon swayed
and jolted over the ruts and holes, threatening momentarily to throw the
fellow headlong. An empty barrel in the box bounced up and down and from
side to side like a thing alive.
"Something has happened! Big Pete isn't doing that for fun!" the larger
of the boys exclaimed.
"Run for Dr. Cartwright, quick! Big Pete has killed Jim Huson, I'm
afraid!"
The speaker was Marvel Rice, proprietor of the store in which Huson was a
clerk. "Tell him to hurry--hurry!" the merchant cried again, as without a
second's hesitation the two boys sped away along the tan-bark path.
"Are you coming, Ree?" asked the more slender lad, glancing over his
shoulder with a droll smile. He was a wiry chap of sixteen and ran like a
grey hound, easily taking the lead.
His companion made no reply, but his spirit fired by the sarcastic
question, he forged ahead, and the other found it necessary to waste no
more breath in humor.
An admirer of youthful strength and development would have clapped his
hands with delight to have seen the boys' close race. Return Kingdom,
whom the slender lad had called "Ree," was a tall, strongly built,
muscular fellow of seventeen. His fine black hair waved under the brim of
a dilapidated beaver as he ran. His brown eyes were serious and keen and
his mouth and chin emphasized the determination expressed in them. Though
his clothes were of rough home-spun stuff, and his feet were encased in
coarse boots, an observing person would have seen that he was possessed
of the decision and strength in both mind and body which go to make
leaders among men.
The smaller boy was John Jerome--quick, vigorous, brown-haired,
blue-eyed, freckled, and his attire was like that of his companion whose
follower he was in everything save foot-racing. In that he would give way
to no one, not excluding the trained Indian runners who sometimes came to
the neighboring village.
"Easy, easy!" Dr. Cartwright sang out, the boys nearly colliding with him
as he was driving from his dooryard. "Somebody dying?" he asked as the
runners halted.
"Jim Huson's been hurt; they want you at the store, quick," Ree Kingdom
breathlessly explained.
"Badly?" asked the doctor with provoking deliberation, drawing on his
gloves.
"Pretty nigh killed, I guess; Big Pete Ellis did it," put in John Jerome,
amazed that the physician did not at once drive off at lightning speed.
"And they want me to finish the job do they?" smiled Dr. Cartwright, who
was never known to become excited. "Well, I'll see what I can do. Daisy,
get up."
The latter words were for the faithful mare that had drawn the doctor's
chaise, or two-wheeled carriage, summer and winter for so many years that
she was as well known as the physician himself. The horse set off at a
leisurely jog, but the master's second "Get up Daisy," though drawled out
as if haste were the last thing to be thought of, quickened the animal's
speed to a lively trot.
The boys started back at a walk, speculating on what could have provoked
Big Pete's assault and how serious Jim Huson's injury might be.
"It upsets all our plans," said John; "for Jim was just the fellow to
tell us the price of everything and just what western emigrants should
take along. We can't talk to Mr. Rice about our going, as we could talk
to Jim."
"Mr. Rice is so excitable he may have thought Huson worse hurt than he
is," Ree answered. "Anyway, we are not to start for three weeks, and Jim
may be up and around long before we go. So don't be blue. There is more
than one way to skin a cat. If we can't have Jim's advice we can talk
with some one else, or use our own judgment as to what we must buy. In
the end we will have to depend entirely on ourselves as to what we should
or should not do, anyway; but come what may, three weeks from this very
Monday, we shall go, if we live and have our health."
"Bully for you, Ree! In three weeks our faces will be turned toward the
setting sun!"
"Our backs will be toward the rising sun in three weeks, less one day,"
Ree answered. "But scamper along; let's get back to the store and find
out first how Jim was hurt and how badly. It will be a sorry job for Pete
Ellis, if they catch him."
The assault on the clerk at the Corners' store had aroused the
neighborhood. Coming at the hour of sundown when the day's work was
nearly over, it found people with leisure to hurry to the scene to learn
all about the affair. A dozen men and boys and a few women and children
were gathered near when Return Kingdom and John Jerome arrived. The boys
found that their injured friend had been carried to the inn across the
street, where Dr. Cartwright was attending him, and all were anxiously
waiting that good man's opinion.
The story of the assault as it was told, over and over again, as the
crowd about the store increased, was that Big Pete had attempted to pass
counterfeit money on Jim Huson. The latter refused it, accusing Ellis of
having brought spurious coin to him at other times as well, and
threatening to cause his arrest. Without warning Big Pete seized a heavy
butter firkin and threw it squarely at the clerk's head.
Huson dropped unconscious to the floor, and Mr. Rice, who ran to his aid,
received a similar blow. Ellis lost no time in dashing through the open
door, then adding to his other crimes the theft of horses and wagon to
assist in his escape.
"Well, there is no great loss without some small gain," said one man. "We
are quit of Big Pete, that's certain, and it is a good riddance of bad
rubbish. He was the worst man in this bailiwick, and I am thinking that
more than one job of pilfering might safely be laid at his door."
It was, indeed, true. Big Pete was not looked upon as a desirable
citizen. So bad had his name become that he could scarcely find
employment where he was known. The honest people of old Connecticut had
little liking for dishonesty, notwithstanding the stories of the
money-making ingenuity of that state's inhabitants.
Leaning against a post, apart from the other men, Ree Kingdom presently
noticed an aged farmer, alternately wringing his hands and burying his
face in them. He was the owner of the team which had been stolen, and,
heedless of all else idly lamented his loss, complaining that no one went
in pursuit of the thief to secure his horses, but wholly forgetful of the
best of scriptural proverbs that God helps those who help themselves. The
boy was about to speak to him, when two men dashed up on horseback.
"There's the constable," John Jerome exclaimed--"The constable and his
brother, and they are going after Big Pete."
Before Ree could answer, the officer called for volunteers to assist in
his undertaking, for Ellis was known to be a dangerous man.
"Here, some of you young bucks that can ride bare-back, strip the harness
off my team an' help ketch that murderous heathen! Only wish't I wasn't
all crippled up with rheumatics, I'd show him!"
The speaker was Captain William Bowen, who had fought in the
Revolutionary War, ending seven years earlier, (1783) and was proud of
it; and who, though really sadly crippled by rheumatism, was still a sure
shot and not the man to be trifled with by law-breakers. He would permit
no one to call him anything but "Captain." His old rifle was always
within reach and two big pistols were ever his companions.
For a minute no one made a move to accept the captain's offer, and then
with: "Come on, John," Ree Kingdom waited no longer. In a twinkling the
boys unharnessed the horses, leaving only the bridles on them, and were
mounted. Tom Huson, the blacksmith and Peter Piper, a half-breed Indian,
a sort of roustabout in the neighborhood, had also hurriedly prepared to
join in the chase.
"Take my twins, lads, they bite as hard | 3,348.157807 |
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_to the_
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Young Tom Bowling
The Boys of the British Navy
By J.C. Hutcheson
________________________________________________________________________
This book fills a gap about just how boy seamen were trained at the end
of the nineteenth century. From first to last it is very credible, and
also very readable. It was not very easy to transcribe, because the
boys we meet come from a variety of country places, and hence have a
variety of dialects. In particular one of the boys has a strong Irish
brogue, and another has an equally strong west Hampshire accent. It is
this boy, `Ugly', that comes to a very sad and noble end.
Our hero, Tom, is trained for a little over a year in "Saint Vincent",
after which he moves on to various postings in the Fleet. There is an
interesting period during which he is serving in a vessel that is taking
part in the British efforts to capture and punish slave-traders on the
African east coast.
It all rings true to me, because your reviewer has been in the Royal
Navy himself, and knows the way the Navy works.
________________________________________________________________________
YOUNG TOM BOWLING
THE BOYS OF THE BRITISH NAVY
BY J.C. HUTCHESON
CHAPTER ONE.
FATHER AND I "ARGUE THE POINT."
"Hullo, father!" I sang out, when we had got a little way out from the
pontoon and opened the mouth of the harbour, noticing, as I looked over
my shoulder to see how we were steering, a string of flags being run up
aboard the old _Saint Vincent_. "They're signalling away like mad this
morning all over the shop! First, atop of the dockyard semaphore; and
then the flagship and the old _Victory_, both of 'em, blaze out in
bunting; while now the _Saint Vincent_ joins in at the game of `follow-
my-leader.' I wonder what's up?"
"Lor' bless you, Tom!" rejoined father, still steadily tugging on at his
stroke oar as we pursued our course towards the middle of the stream, so
that we might take advantage of the last of the flood, and allow the
gradually slackening tide, which was nearly at the turn, to drift us
down alongside the old _Victory_, whither we were bound to pick up a
fare for the shore--"nothing in pertickler's up anyways uncommon that I
sees, sonny; and as for the buntin' that you're making sich a fuss
about, why, they've hauled all that down, and pretty near unbent all the
signal flags, too, and stowed 'em away in their lockers by this time!"
"But, father," I persisted, "they don't always go on like this for
nothing, I know!"
"In coorse they don't, stoopid!" said he, giving the water an angry
splash as he reached forwards, the blade of his oar sending up a tidy
sprinkle across my face. "Why, where's your wits, Tom, this mornin'?"
"Where you put them, father," I replied with a laugh; "you know I'm your
son, and mother says I'm `a chip of the old block' whenever she's a bit
put out with me."
"None o' your imporence, Tom," said he, laughing too; for he and I were
the best of friends, and I don't think we ever had a serious difference
about anything since first I was able to toddle down to the Hard, a
little mite of four or five, to see him put off in his wherry, and
sometimes go out for a sail with him on the sly when mother wasn't
watching us, up to the time, as now, when I could help him with an oar.
"None o' your imporence, you young jackanapes. But touching that there
signallin', I'm surprised, sonny, you don't know by this time that when
the commander-in-chief up at Admiralty House, in the dockyard, wishes
for to communicate to some ship out at Spithead, he telegraphs from his
office to the semaphore, which h'ists his orders, and then every ship in
port's bound to repeat the signal till the craft he means it for runs up
her answering pennant, for to show us how she's took the signal in and
underconstubled it."
"Oh yes, father, I know that," said I, leading him on purposely. "But
what is the signal they've been so busy about this morning? I can't
make it out at all."
Father snorted indignantly.
"Tom Bowling, junior, I'm right down ashamed on you for a son o' mine!"
he said, digging away at his oar savagely, as if trying to dredge up
some of the silt from the bottom of the harbour. "You, turned fifteen
year old, and been back'ard and forrud 'twixt Hardway and the Gosport
shore for a matter of five years or more, and not for to know and read a
common signal like that, which you must 'a seed run up at the semaphore
or on board the _Dook_ a hundred times at least. Lor'! I'm jest
'shamed of you, that's what I be!"
"But that ain't telling me, father," I retorted, "what _is_ the signal.
You needn't make such a blooming mystery of it, like that chap we saw
t'other night at the theayeter!"
In return for my `cheek' he splashed the water over me again.
"Well, if you don't know it, sonny, which I can hardly believe on, and
wants for to know to improve your mind, which needs a lot of
improvement, as I knows, that theer signal, Tom, was that cruiser we saw
out at Spithead yesterday a-trying her speed at the measured mile, the
_Mercury_, I thinks she is, axin' the port-admiral if she might have her
sailin' orders; and look there, sonny, the `affirmative''s now run up
at the mizzen aboard the _Dook_, over yonder!"
"Yes, father," said I, playing him artfully, like the wily old fish he
was, with an object which you will soon learn--"and what does that
mean?"
"What does that mean? You blessed young h'ignoramus! Why, Tommy, your
brains be all wool-gathered this mornin'! Can't you see that old Sir
Ommaney is tellin' the cruiser to `carry on' as soon as she likes, and
bid adoo to Spithead when she's weighed her anchor? See, too, sonny,
the old _Vict'ry_ and the _Saint Vincent_ be now a-repeatin' the signal
arter the _Dook_, the same as they did that first h'ist, jest now!"
"That is, father," said I innocently like--"the port-admiral gives that
cruiser outside permission to go to sea?"
"Aye, Tom," he answered, without suspecting what my inquiry was leading
up to--"that's just it. You've reckoned it up to a nicety, my hearty."
Now came the opportunity for which I had been waiting.
"The old port-admiral may be a martinet, as they say, in the dockyard,"
I said; "but he's a kinder chap than you are, father."
"The admiral kinder than me, sonny," he repeated, in a surprised
tone--"why, how's that, Tom?"
"Because he gives leave when he's asked for a fellow to go to sea."
We were just then about midway between the _Saint Vincent_ and the old
_Victory_; and, startled by my thus unexpectedly broaching my masked
battery, father dropped his oar and let the wherry drift along the
almost motionless tideway towards the stern of Nelson's whilom flagship,
which was slowly swinging round nearer us on the bosom of the stream,
thus showing that the ebb was setting in, or, rather, out.
"You owdacious young monkey!" he cried, slewing his head round on his
shoulders, even as the old _Victory's_ hull slewed with the tide, so
that he could look me full in the face. "So, my joker, that's the
little rig you're a-tryin' to try on with me, Master Tommy, is it?"
"It ain't no rig, father," said I sturdily, sticking to my guns, now
that the cat was out of the bag. "I can't see why you won't let me go
to sea. I'm sure I've asked you often enough."
"Aye; and I'm sure I've had to refuse you jest as often."
"Why, father?"
"For your own good, sonny."
"I can't see it, father," I rejoined. "Look at them _Saint Vincent_
boys in that cutter a-crossing our bows now. How jolly they all seems
working at their proper calling, just as I'd like to be!"
"Aye, mebbe," said father, in his sententious way, cocking his eye as
the cutter sped on its way towards the training-ship. "But jest you
look at me, Tom, and see what forty years' sailorin', man and boy, have
done for one o' the same kidney as them boys, jolly though they seems
now. Poor young beggars, they all has their troubles afore 'em!"
"Most of us have our troubles, father," I replied to this bit of moral
philosophy of his, speaking just in his own manner. "So our old parson
said on Sunday last, when mother and Jenny and I went to church. We are
all bound to have them, he said, whether on sea or on land; and I can't
say as how a sailor has the worst chance."
"Ship my rullocks, Tom, can't ye? Jest you look at me!"
"Why, father?" I asked. "What's the use of that?"
"None o' your imporence, Master Tommy; jest you look at me!"
"All right, father," said I. "I am a-looking at you now!"
"Very good, Tom--one dog one bone! Well, what d'ye see?"
"I see a brave sailor and a gallant defender of his country," I
answered, giving the bow oar I was pulling a vicious dig into the water
as I spoke, like as if I were tackling one of the Queen's enemies; "I
see a man who has got no cause to be ashamed of his past life, though he
might be getting on in years--you are that, father, you know; and one
who has won his medal with four clasps for hard fighting. In real wars,
mind you, not your twopenny ha'penny Bombardment of Alexandria
business!--aye, I see one who ought to wear the Victoria Cross if he had
his rights. That's what I see, father."
"Bosh, Tom, none o' your flummery," said he, grinning as he always does
at the mention of the Egyptian affair which they made such a fuss about,
just when I was a little nipper learning to run about, and that old men-
o'-warsmen thought all the more ridiculous from its contrast to Admiral
Hornby's rushing the British fleet through the Dardanelles, and stopping
the Russians in their march to victory at the very gates of
Constantinople, shortly before, in the days of `old Dizzy'--which was
really a deed to boast of, if any one wanted to talk of the British Lion
showing his teeth and waggling his tail, as he did when he `meant
business' in the good old days of Nelson! Aye, that _was_ `something
like,' father says; and worth all the `bronze stars' in the Khedive's
collection of leather medals! "None o' your flummery, Tom; you only
wants to put me off my course, you rascal, so as to make me forget what
I were a-talking about. But I don't forget, sonny! Look at me, I says,
and see what I've come to, with my forty year o' sailorin' all about the
world an' furrin parts--a poor rhumenaticky chap as is half a <DW36>,
forced to eke out his miserable pension of a bob an' a tanner a day by
pulling a rotten old tub of a boat back'ards and forruds, up and down
Porchm'uth Harbo'r, a-tryin' to gain an honest livin', an' jest only
arnin' bread an' cheese at that!"
"Oh, father!" said I. "How about that rabbit smothered in onions we had
yesterday for dinner, and the `tidy little sum' you told me you and
mother had in the Savings Bank? Besides that, we've bought the freehold
of our little house at Bonfire Corner, I know, father, and there's the
bird-shop and all the stock!"
"You knows too much, Master Tom, I'm a-thinking," he rejoined,
scratching his head again, as he always did, as now, when he was in a
quandary about anything, especially when any one had got the better of
him in an argument, or, as he said, `weathered' on him, and he wasn't
quite prepared with an answer, reaching over the sternsheets of the
wherry and dipping the blade of his oar, ready to make a stroke. "But,
look out, my lad! I think we'd better be a-going alongside now. Ain't
that a jolly there, signalling to us from the entry-port o' the old
_Victory_?"
"Aye, father," said I, for I had seen the marine holding up his hand to
summon us before he spoke. "The court-martial must be over sooner than
was expected."
"Not a bit of it, Tom," he replied, as he and I bent our backs and made
the boat spin along towards the old flagship, fetching the gangway at
the foot of the accommodation ladder on the starboard side in half a
dozen strokes. "The ship's corporal told me it'd last all day. It's
only them lawyer chaps wanting to get ashore to their lunch, that's all.
Those landsharks be as hungry arter their vittles as they is for their
fees, Tom; they be rare hands, them lawyers, for keeping their weather
eyes open, and is all on the look-out for whatsomedever they can pick
up. They be all fur grabbin' an' grabbin', that they be, or I'm a
Dutchman!"
"Really, father?" I said innocently, as I stood up in the bows of the
wherry and hung on by a boathook to one of the ringbolts in the side of
the old three-decker that towered up above our heads, waiting to help in
a couple of gentlemen who came hurrying down the accommodation ladder to
take passage with us. "Why, I thought you and mother wanted me to go
into a lawyer's office and become one of those very same sort of chaps!"
"I'd rayther see you an honest sailor, like your father an' grandfather
afore | 3,349.354154 |
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THE CROWN | 3,349.643702 |
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THE VIZIER OF THE TWO-HORNED ALEXANDER
BY
FRANK R. STOCKTON
1899
PREFATORY NOTE
The story told in this book is based upon legendary history, and the
statements on which it is founded appear in the chronicles of Abou-djafar
Mohammed Tabari. This historian was the first Mussulman to write a general
history of the world. He was born in the year 244 of the Hejira
(838-839 A.D.), and passed a great part of his life in Bagdad, where he
studied and taught theology and jurisprudence. His chronicles embrace the
history of the world, according to his lights, from the creation to the
year 302 of the Hejira.
In these chronicles Tabari relates some of the startling experiences of
El Khoudr, or El Kroudhr, then Vizier of that great monarch, the
Two-Horned Alexander, and these experiences furnish the motive for
those subsequent adventures which are now related in this book.
Some writers have confounded the Two-Horned Alexander with Alexander the
Great, but this is an inexcusable error. References in ancient histories
to the Two-Horned Alexander describe him as a great and powerful
potentate, and place him in the time of Abraham. Mr. S. Baring-Gould, in
his "Legends of the Patriarchs and Prophets," states that, after a careful
examination, he has come to the conclusion that some of the most generally
known legends which have come down to us through the ages are based on
incidents which occurred in the reign of this monarch.
The hero of this story now deems it safe to speak out plainly without
fear of evil consequences to himself, and his confidence in our high
civilization is a compliment to the age.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
I lent large sums to the noble knights
"Don't you do it"
| 3,349.954155 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE WOMAN IN THE ALCOVE
By Jennette Lee
Illustrated by A. I. Keller And Arthur E. Becher
Charles Scribner’s Sons | 3,350.154529 |
2023-11-16 19:12:54.1366310 | 1,026 | 8 |
Produced by David Reed
HISTORY OF THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE
Edward Gibbon, Esq.
With notes by the Rev. H. H. Milman
VOLUME ONE
Introduction
Preface By The Editor.
The great work of Gibbon is indispensable to the student of history. The
literature of Europe offers no substitute for "The Decline and Fall of
the Roman Empire." It has obtained undisputed possession, as rightful
occupant, of the vast period which it comprehends. However some
subjects, which it embraces, may have undergone more complete
investigation, on the general view of the whole period, this history
is the sole undisputed authority to which all defer, and from which
few appeal to the original writers, or to more modern compilers. The
inherent interest of the subject, the inexhaustible labor employed upon
it; the immense condensation of matter; the luminous arrangement; the
general accuracy; the style, which, however monotonous from its
uniform stateliness, and sometimes wearisome from its elaborate ar.,
is throughout vigorous, animated, often picturesque always commands
attention, always conveys its meaning with emphatic energy, describes
with singular breadth and fidelity, and generalizes with unrivalled
felicity of expression; all these high qualifications have secured, and
seem likely to secure, its permanent place in historic literature.
This vast design of Gibbon, the magnificent whole into which he has cast
the decay and ruin of the ancient civilization, the formation and birth
of the new order of things, will of itself, independent of the laborious
execution of his immense plan, render "The Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire" an unapproachable subject to the future historian: [101] in the
eloquent language of his recent French editor, M. Guizot:--
[Footnote 101: A considerable portion of this preface has already appeared
before us public in the Quarterly Review.]
"The gradual decline of the most extraordinary dominion which has
ever invaded and oppressed the world; the fall of that immense empire,
erected on the ruins of so many kingdoms, republics, and states both
barbarous and civilized; and forming in its turn, by its dismemberment,
a multitude of states, republics, and kingdoms; the annihilation of the
religion of Greece and Rome; the birth and the progress of the two new
religions which have shared the most beautiful regions of the earth; the
decrepitude of the ancient world, the spectacle of its expiring glory
and degenerate manners; the infancy of the modern world, the picture of
its first progress, of the new direction given to the mind and character
of man--such a subject must necessarily fix the attention and excite
the interest of men, who cannot behold with indifference those memorable
epochs, during which, in the fine language of Corneille--
'Un grand destin commence, un grand destin s'acheve.'"
This extent and harmony of design is unquestionably that which
distinguishes the work of Gibbon from all other great historical
compositions. He has first bridged the abyss between ancient and modern
times, and connected together the two great worlds of history. The great
advantage which the classical historians possess over those of modern
times is in unity of plan, of course greatly facilitated by the narrower
sphere to which their researches were confined. Except Herodotus, the
great historians of Greece--we exclude the more modern compilers, like
Diodorus Siculus--limited themselves to a single period, or at 'east to
the contracted sphere of Grecian affairs. As far as the Barbarians
trespassed within the Grecian boundary, or were necessarily mingled up
with Grecian politics, they were admitted into the pale of Grecian
history; but to Thucydides and to Xenophon, excepting in the Persian
inroad of the latter, Greece was the world. Natural unity confined their
narrative almost to chronological order, the episodes were of rare
occurrence and extremely brief. To the Roman historians the course was
equally clear and defined. Rome was their centre of unity; and the
uniformity with which the circle of the Roman dominion spread around,
the regularity with which their civil polity expanded, forced, as it
were, upon the Roman historian that plan which Polybius announces as the
subject of his history, the means and the manner by which the whole
world became subject to the Roman sway. How different the complicated
politics of the European kingdoms! Every national history, to be
complete, must, in a certain sense, be the history of Europe; there is
no knowing to how remote a quarter it may be necessary to trace our most
domestic | 3,350.156671 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ernest Schaal, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team | 3,350.254423 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
RUTH HALL:
A
DOMESTIC TALE
OF
THE PRESENT TIME.
BY
FANNY FERN.
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY MASON BROTHERS.
1855.
ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854,
BY MASON BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District
of New York.
STEREOTYPED BY
THOMAS B. SMITH,
216 William St., N. Y.
PRINTED BY
JOHN A. GRAY,
95 & 97 Cliff St.
PREFACE.
TO THE READER.
I present you with my first continuous story. I do not dignify it by the
name of "A novel." I am aware that it is entirely at variance with all
set rules for novel-writing. There is no intricate plot; there are no
startling developments, no hair-breadth escapes. I have compressed into
one volume what I might have expanded into two or three. I have avoided
long introductions and descriptions, and have entered unceremoniously
and unannounced, into people's houses, without stopping to ring the
bell. Whether you will fancy this primitive mode of calling, whether you
will like the company to which it introduces you, or--whether you will
like the book at all, I cannot tell. Still, I cherish the hope that,
somewhere in the length and breadth of the land, it may fan into a
flame, in some tried heart, the fading embers of hope, well-nigh
extinguished by wintry fortune and summer friends.
FANNY FERN.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE EVE BEFORE THE BRIDAL--RUTH'S LITTLE ROOM--A RETROSPECTIVE
REVERIE 15
CHAPTER II.
THE WEDDING--A GLIMPSE OF THE CHARACTER OF RUTH'S BROTHER
HYACINTH 23
CHAPTER III.
THE NEW HOME--SOLILOQUY OF THE MOTHER-IN-LAW 25
CHAPTER IV.
THE FIRST INTERVIEW WITH THE MOTHER-IN-LAW 28
CHAPTER V.
RUTH'S REFLECTIONS ON THE INTERVIEW 32
CHAPTER VI.
A BIT OF FAMILY HISTORY 34
CHAPTER VII.
THE FIRST-BORN 39
CHAPTER VIII.
THE NURSE 41
CHAPTER IX.
FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS OF THE MOTHER-IN-LAW'S CHARACTER 44
CHAPTER X.
RUTH'S COUNTRY HOME 47
CHAPTER XI.
RUTH AND DAISY 50
CHAPTER XII.
THE OLD FOLKS FOLLOW THE YOUNG COUPLE--AN ENTERTAINING
DIALOGUE 52
CHAPTER XIII.
THE OLD LADY'S SURREPTITIOUS VISIT TO RUTH'S, AND HER
ENCOUNTER WITH DINAH 55
CHAPTER XIV.
THE OLD LADY SEARCHES THE HOUSE--WHAT SHE FINDS 59
CHAPTER XV.
THE OLD DOCTOR MEDDLES WITH HARRY'S FARMING ARRANGEMENTS 63
CHAPTER XVI.
LITTLE DAISY'S REVERIE--HER STRANGE PLAYFELLOW 65
CHAPTER XVII.
"PAT" MUTINIES 67
CHAPTER XVIII.
A GROWL FROM THE OLD LADY 69
CHAPTER XIX.
DAISY'S GLEE AT THE FIRST SLEIGH-RIDE 72
CHAPTER XX.
DAISY'S ILLNESS--THE OLD DOCTOR REFUSES TO COME 74
CHAPTER XXI.
DINAH'S WARNING--HARRY GOES AGAIN FOR THE DOCTOR 78
CHAPTER XXII.
THE OLD DOCTOR ARRIVES TOO LATE 81
CHAPTER XXIII.
"THE GLEN" | 3,350.26084 |
2023-11-16 19:12:54.3396140 | 409 | 45 |
Produced by the Mormon Texts Project. See
http://mormontextsproject.org/ for a complete list of
Mormon texts available on Project Gutenberg, to help
proofread similar books, or to report typos. Special thanks
to Diane Evans for proofreading.
A NEW WITNESS FOR GOD.
* * * *
BY
ELDER B. H. ROBERTS
AUTHOR OF
"THE GOSPEL," "THE LIFE OF JOHN TAYLOR," "OUTLINES OF ECCLESIASTICAL
HISTORY," "SUCCESSION IN THE PRESIDENCY OF THE CHURCH," ETC., ETC.
* * * *
"Some millions must be wrong, that's pretty clear. * * * * 'Tis time
that some new prophet should appear."
* * * *
PUBLISHED BY GEORGE Q. CANNON & SONS COMPANY, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH.
1895.
PREFACE.
Three quarters of a century have passed away since Joseph Smith
first declared that he had received a revelation from God. From that
revelation and others that followed there has sprung into existence
what men call a new religion--"Mormonism;" and a new church, the
institution commonly known as the "Mormon Church," the proper name of
which, however, is THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS.
Though it may seem a small matter, the reader should know that
"Mormonism" is not a new religion. Those who accept it do not so regard
it; it makes no such pretentions. The institution commonly called the
"Mormon Church," is not a new church; it makes no such pretensions, as
will be seen by its very name--the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day
Saints. This of itself discloses what "The Mormon Church | 3,350.359654 |
2023-11-16 19:12:54.3411620 | 1,652 | 10 |
Produced by Jarrod Newton
THE CRUSHED FLOWER AND OTHER STORIES
By Leonid Andreyev
Translated by Herman Bernstein
CONTENTS
The Crushed Flower
A Story Which Will Never Be Finished
On the Day of the Crucifixion
The Serpent's Story
Love, Faith and Hope
The Ocean
Judas Iscariot and Others
"The Man Who Found the Truth"
THE CRUSHED FLOWER
CHAPTER I
His name was Yura.
He was six years old, and the world was to him enormous, alive and
bewitchingly mysterious. He knew the sky quite well. He knew its deep
azure by day, and the white-breasted, half silvery, half golden clouds
slowly floating by. He often watched them as he lay on his back upon the
grass or upon the roof. But he did not know the stars so well, for he
went to bed early. He knew well and remembered only one star--the green,
bright and very attentive star that rises in the pale sky just before
you go to bed, and that seemed to be the only star so large in the whole
sky.
But best of all, he knew the earth in the yard, in the street and in the
garden, with all its inexhaustible wealth of stones, of velvety grass,
of hot sand and of that wonderfully varied, mysterious and delightful
dust which grown people did not notice at all from the height of their
enormous size. And in falling asleep, as the last bright image of the
passing day, he took along to his dreams a bit of hot, rubbed off stone
bathed in sunshine or a thick layer of tenderly tickling, burning dust.
When he went with his mother to the centre of the city along the large
streets, he remembered best of all, upon his return, the wide, flat
stones upon which his steps and his feet seemed terribly small, like
two little boats. And even the multitude of revolving wheels and horses'
heads did not impress themselves so clearly upon his memory as this new
and unusually interesting appearance of the ground.
Everything was enormous to him--the fences, the dogs and the people--but
that did not at all surprise or frighten him; that only made everything
particularly interesting; that transformed life into an uninterrupted
miracle. According to his measures, various objects seemed to him as
follows:
His father--ten yards tall.
His mother--three yards.
The neighbour's angry dog--thirty yards.
Their own dog--ten yards, like papa.
Their house of one story was very, very tall--a mile.
The distance between one side of the street and the other--two miles.
Their garden and the trees in their garden seemed immense, infinitely
tall.
The city--a million--just how much he did not know.
And everything else appeared to him in the same way. He knew many
people, large and small, but he knew and appreciated better the little
ones with whom he could speak of everything. The grown people behaved
so foolishly and asked such absurd, dull questions about things that
everybody knew, that it was necessary for him also to make believe that
he was foolish. He had to lisp and give nonsensical answers; and, of
course, he felt like running away from them as soon as possible.
But there were over him and around him and within him two entirely
extraordinary persons, at once big and small, wise and foolish, at once
his own and strangers--his father and mother.
They must have been very good people, otherwise they could not have been
his father and mother; at any rate, they were charming and unlike other
people. He could say with certainty that his father was very great,
terribly wise, that he possessed immense power, which made him a person
to be feared somewhat, and it was interesting to talk with him about
unusual things, placing his hand in father's large, strong, warm hand
for safety's sake.
Mamma was not so large, and sometimes she was even very small; she was
very kind hearted, she kissed tenderly; she understood very well how he
felt when he had a pain in his little stomach, and only with her could
he relieve his heart when he grew tired of life, of his games or when he
was the victim of some cruel injustice. And if it was unpleasant to cry
in father's presence, and even dangerous to be capricious, his tears
had an unusually pleasant taste in mother's presence and filled his soul
with a peculiar serene sadness, which he could find neither in his games
nor in laughter, nor even in the reading of the most terrible fairy
tales.
It should be added that mamma was a beautiful woman and that everybody
was in love with her. That was good, for he felt proud of it, but that
was also bad--for he feared that she might be taken away. And every time
one of the men, one of those enormous, invariably inimical men who were
busy with themselves, looked at mamma fixedly for a long time, Yura felt
bored and uneasy. He felt like stationing himself between him and mamma,
and no matter where he went to attend to his own affairs, something was
drawing him back.
Sometimes mamma would utter a bad, terrifying phrase:
"Why are you forever staying around here? Go and play in your own room."
There was nothing left for him to do but to go away. He would take a
book along or he would sit down to draw, but that did not always help
him. Sometimes mamma would praise him for reading but sometimes she
would say again:
"You had better go to your own room, Yurochka. You see, you've spilt
water on the tablecloth again; you always do some mischief with your
drawing."
And then she would reproach him for being perverse. But he felt worst of
all when a dangerous and suspicious guest would come when Yura had to
go to bed. But when he lay down in his bed a sense of easiness came
over him and he felt as though all was ended; the lights went out, life
stopped; everything slept.
In all such cases with suspicious men Yura felt vaguely but very
strongly that he was replacing father in some way. And that made him
somewhat like a grown man--he was in a bad frame of mind, like a grown
person, but, therefore, he was unusually calculating, wise and serious.
Of course, he said nothing about this to any one, for no one would
understand him; but, by the manner in which he caressed father when he
arrived and sat down on his knees patronisingly, one could see in the
boy a man who fulfilled his duty to the end. At times father could not
understand him and would simply send him away to play or to sleep--Yura
never felt offended and went away with a feeling of great satisfaction.
He did not feel the need of being understood; he even feared it. At
times he would not tell under any circumstances why he was crying; at
times he would make believe that he was absent minded, that he heard
nothing, that he was occupied with his own affairs, but he heard and
understood.
And he had a terrible secret. He had noticed that these extraordinary
and charming people, father and mother, were sometimes unhappy and
were hiding this from everybody. Therefore he was also concealing his
discovery, and gave everybody the impression that all was well. Many
times he found mamma crying somewhere in a corner in the drawing room,
or in the bedroom--his own room was next to her bedroom--and one night,
very late, almost at dawn | 3,350.361202 |
2023-11-16 19:12:54.5341510 | 44 | 10 | I***
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Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
LORD'S LECTURES
BEACON LIGHTS OF HISTORY, | 3,350.554191 |
2023-11-16 19:12:54.6349260 | 63 | 14 |
Produced by Al Haines
HEBREW HEROES:
A TALE
FOUNDED ON JEWISH HISTORY.
By
A. L. O. E.,
_Author of "The Triumph over Midian," "Rescued from Egypt,"
"Exiles in Babylon," | 3,350.654966 |
2023-11-16 19:12:54.7799390 | 114 | 14 |
This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.
[Picture: Frontispiece]
HOPES AND FEARS
OR
SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A SPINSTER
BY
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
[Picture: Title picture]
_ILLUSTRATED BY HERBERT GANDY_
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1899
_All rights reserved_
LIST | 3,350.799979 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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Internet Archive)
CONNECTICUT
WIDE-AWAKE
SONGSTER.
EDITED BY
JOHN W. HUTCHINSON,
OF THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY OF SINGERS;
ASSISTED BY
BENJAMIN JEPSON.
“Lincoln and Liberty.”
NEW YORK:
O. HUTCHINSON, PUBLISHER,
272 GREENWICH STREET.
1860.
PURCHASING AGENCY.
FOR the accommodation of my numerous friends in various parts of the
country who prefer not to be at the expense of frequent visits to New
York, I have made arrangements with some of the most reliable houses in
the city to supply those who may favor me with their orders for
BOOKS, STATIONERY,
Hats and Caps, Dry-Goods,
DRUGS, HARDWARE, FURNITURE,
CARPETS, WALL-PAPERS, GROCERIES,
ETC., ETC.,
on such terms as can not but be satisfactory to the purchasers.
The disposition on the part of many merchants to overreach their
customers when they have an opportunity of doing so, renders it almost
as necessary for merchants to give references to their customers as
for customers to give references of their standing to the merchants;
hence I have been careful to make arrangements only with honorable and
responsible houses who can be fully relied on.
As my trade with those houses will be large in the aggregate, they can
afford to allow me a trifling commission and still supply my customers
at their _lowest rates_, which I will engage shall be as low as any
regular houses will supply them.
My friends and others are requested to try the experiment by forwarding
me orders for anything they may chance to want, and if not satisfied, I
will not ask them to repeat the experiment.
Those visiting the city are invited to give me a call before making
their purchases, and test the prices of the houses to whom I can with
confidence introduce them.
Bills for small lots of goods, if sent by express, can be paid for on
delivery, or arrangements can be made for supplying responsible parties
on time.
Address,
=O. HUTCHINSON, New York=.
CONNECTICUT
WIDE-AWAKE
SONGSTER.
EDITED BY
JOHN W. HUTCHINSON,
OF THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY OF SINGERS;
ASSISTED BY
BENJAMIN JEPSON.
“Lincoln and Liberty.”
NEW YORK:
O. HUTCHINSON, PUBLISHER,
272 GREENWICH STREET.
1860.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
JOHN W. HUTCHINSON,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
DAVIES & KENT,
STEREOTYPERS AND ELECTROTYPERS,
_113 Nassau Street, N. Y._
Contents.
PAGE
The Republican Platform 5
Lincoln and Victory 9
Strike for the Right 10
Hurrah Chorus 11
Hurrah for Abe Lincoln 12
Lincoln and Liberty 14
The People’s Nominee 15
Flag of the Brave 17
Come On! 18
Abe of Illinois 19
Our Country’s Call 20
The Grand Rally 21
Lincoln Going to Washington 22
For Freedom and Reform 24
Lincoln and Hamlin 25
Campaign Song 26
Ridden by the Slave Power 27
“Vive La Honest Abe” 29
The Gathering of the Republican Army 30
Lincoln’s Nomination 31
Freedom’s Call 32
Hope for the Slave 33
Freemen Win when Lincoln Leads 34
Uncle Sam’s Farm 35
Song of Freedom 37
The “Neb-Rascality.” 38
Free Soil Chorus 40
The Bay State Hurrah 42
For Liberty 43
Voice of Freedom 44
The Cause of Liberty 45
Lincoln, the Pride of the Nation 46
Rallying Song 47
Abe Lincoln is the Man 48
The Fate of a Fowler 49
Rallying Song of Rocky Mountain Club 51
The Liberty Army 52
Have You Heard the Loud Alarm? 53
Hark! ye Freemen 55
From Bad to Worse 56
The March of the Free 57
Our Flag is There 58
Lincoln and Victory 59
“Wide Awake” 61
We’ll Send Buchanan Home 62
Rallying Song 64
Lincoln 65
Song 66
Campaign Song 68
Freemen, Banish All Your Fears 69
“Wide-Awake Club” Song 70
A Jolly Good Crew We’ll Have 71
THE
REPUBLICAN PLATFORM.
_Resolved_, That we, the delegated representatives of the Republican
electors of the United States, in convention assembled, in the
discharge of the duty we owe to our constituents and our country, unite
in the following declarations:
_First_—That the history of the nation, during the last four years, has
fully established the propriety and necessity of the organization and
perpetuation of the Republican party, and that the causes which called
it into existence are | 3,350.855332 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE MENTOR 1918.07.01, No. 158,
The Cradle of Liberty
LEARN ONE THING
EVERY DAY
JULY 1 1918 SERIAL NO. 158
THE
MENTOR
THE CRADLE OF
LIBERTY
By ALBERT BUSHNELL HART
Professor of Government
Harvard University
DEPARTMENT OF VOLUME 6
HISTORY NUMBER 10
TWENTY CENTS A COPY
LIBERTY
Liberty is older than Law, older than Government, older than the State.
Liberty goes back to the Garden of Eden, where first was taught the
bitter lesson that where Liberty is uncontrolled, society breaks down.
The word is a splendid one, coined by the Romans, “With a great price
obtained I this freedom,” said the Roman centurion; “But I was free
born,” replied St. Paul. Liberty was in the hearts of the English
colonists; Liberty rang out from the Bell of Independence Hall; Liberty
is stamped upon our state and federal | 3,350.855521 |
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Produced by Elaine Laizure from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.
THE COZY LION
FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT
The Cozy Lion
As told by Queen Crosspatch
By
Frances Hodgson Burnett
Author of "Little Lord Fauntleroy"
With Illustrations by Harrison Cady
The Century Co.
New York
Copyright, 1907, by
THE CENTURY CO.
Published October, 1907
Printed in U. S. A.
I AM very fond of this story of the Cozy Lion because I consider
it a great credit to me. I reformed that Lion and taught him how
to behave himself. The grown-up person who reads this story aloud
to children MUST know how to Roar.
THE COZY LION
I SHALL never forget the scolding I gave him to begin with. One
of the advantages of being a Fairy even quite a common one is
that Lions can't bite you. A Fairy is too little and too light | 3,350.957596 |
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Produced by Donald Lainson
CRESSY
By Bret Harte
CRESSY
CHAPTER I.
As the master of the Indian Spring school emerged from the pine woods
into the little clearing before the schoolhouse, he stopped whistling,
put his hat less jauntily on his head, threw away some wild flowers he
had gathered on his way, and otherwise assumed the severe demeanor of
his profession and his mature age--which was at least twenty. Not that
he usually felt this an assumption; it was a firm conviction of his
serious nature that he impressed others, as he did himself, with the
blended austerity and ennui of deep and exhausted experience.
The building which was assigned to him and his flock by the Board of
Education of Tuolumne County, California, had been originally a church.
It still bore a faded odor of sanctity, mingled, however, with a later
and slightly alcoholic breath of political discussion, the result of its
weekly occupation under the authority of the Board as a Tribune for the
| 3,351.334973 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, 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)
STORIES OF USEFUL INVENTIONS
[Illustration:
Guglielmo Marconi
Benjamin Franklin
Thomas Edison
Sir Henry Bessemer
Robert Fulton
Alexander Graham Bell
Hudson Maxim
A GROUP OF INVENTORS]
STORIES OF
USEFUL INVENTIONS
BY
S. E. FORMAN
AUTHOR OF "A HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES,"
"ADVANCED CIVICS," ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1911
Copyright, 1911, by
THE CENTURY CO.
_Published September, 1911_
PREFACE
In this little book I have given the history of those inventions which
are most useful to man in his daily life. | 3,351.575759 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh, S.D., and the Online
D | 3,351.597423 |
2023-11-16 19:12:55.8344400 | 222 | 6 |
Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines.
Under Fire
The Story of a Squad
By
Henri Barbusse
(1874-1935)
Translated by Fitzwater Wray
To
the memory of
the comrades who fell by my side
at Crouy and on Hill 119
January, May, and September 1915
Contents
I. The Vision
II. In the Earth
III. The Return
IV. Volpatte and Fouillade
V. Sanctuary
VI. Habits
VII. Entraining
VIII. On Leave
IX. The Anger of Volpatte
X. Argoval
XI. The Dog
XII. The Doorway
XIII. The Big Words
XIV. Of Burdens
XV. The Egg
XVI. An Idyll
XVII. | 3,351.85448 |
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Produced by David Widger
SHIP'S COMPANY
By W.W. Jacobs
DUAL CONTROL
"Never say 'die,' Bert," said Mr. Culpepper, kindly; "I like you, and so
do most other people who know what's good for 'em; and if Florrie don't
like you she can keep single till she does."
Mr. Albert Sharp thanked him.
"Come in more oftener," said Mr. Culpepper. "If she don't know a steady
young man when she sees him, it's her mistake."
"Nobody could be steadier than what I am," sighed Mr. Sharp.
Mr. Culpepper nodded. "The worst of it is, girls don't like steady young
men," he said, rumpling his thin grey hair; "that's the silly part of
it."
"But you was always steady, and Mrs. Culpepper married you," said the
young man.
Mr. Culpepper nodded again. "She thought I was, and that came to the
same thing," he said, composedly. "And it ain't for me to say, but she
had an idea that I was very good-looking in them days. I had chestnutty
hair | 3,351.882016 |
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Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.
Notes from the Underground | 3,351.967771 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE BEAUX-STRATAGEM
By George Farquhar
'He was a delightful writer, and one to whom
I should sooner recur for relaxation and
entertainment and without after-cloying and disgust,
than any of the school of which he may be said
to have been the last The Beaux-Stratagem
reads quite as well as it acts: it has life,
movement, wit, humour, sweet nature and sweet
temper from beginning to end.'
CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE
PREFACE
_The Author_. 'It is surprising,' says Mr. Percy Fitzgerald,
'how much English Comedy owes to Irishmen.' Nearly fifty
years ago Calcraft enumerated eighty-seven Irish dramatists in
a by no means exhaustive list, including Congreve, Southerne,
Steele, Kelly, Macklin, and Farquhar--the really Irish
representative amongst the dramatists of the Restoration, the true
prototype of Goldsmith and Sheridan. Thoroughly Irish by
birth and education, Captain George Farquhar (1677-1707)
had delighted the town with a succession of bright, rattling
comedies--Love and a Bottle (1698), The Constant Couple
(1699), Sir Harry Wildair (1701), The Inconstant (1702),
The Twin Rivals (1702), The Recruiting Officer (1706). In
an unlucky moment, when hard pressed by his debts, he sold
out of the army on the strength of a promise by the Duke of
Ormond to gain him some preferment, which never came. In
his misery and poverty, with a wife and two helpless girls to
support, Farquhar was not forsaken by his one true friend,
Robert Wilks. Seeking out the dramatist in his wretched
garret in St Martin's Lane, the actor advised him no longer to
trust to great men's promises, but to look only to his pen for
support, and urged him to write another play. 'Write!' said
Farquhar, starting from his chair; 'is it possible that a man
can write with common-sense who is heartless and has not a
shilling in his pockets?' 'Come, come, George,' said Wilks,
'banish melancholy, draw up your drama, and bring your sketch
with you to-morrow, for I expect you to dine with me. But as
an empty purse may cramp your genius, I desire you to accept
my mite; here is twenty guineas.' Farquhar set to work, and
brought the plot of his play to Wilks the next day; the later
approved the design, and urged him to proceed without
delay. Mostly written in bed, the whole was begun, finished,
and acted within six weeks. The author designed to dedicate
it to Lord Cadogan, but his lordship, for reasons unknown,
declined the honour; he gave the dramatist a handsome present,
however. Thus was _The Beaux-Stratagem_ written. Farquhar
is said to have felt the approaches of death ere he finished the
second act. On the night of the first performance Wilks
came to tell him of his great success, but mentioned that
Mrs. Oldfield wished that he could have thought of some more
legitimate divorce in order to secure the honour of Mrs. Sullen.
'Oh,' said Farquhar, 'I will, if she pleases, solve that
immediately, by getting a real divorce; marrying her myself, and
giving her my bond that she shall be a widow in less than a
fortnight' Subsequent events practically fulfilled this prediction,
for Farquhar died during the run of the play: on the
day of his extra benefit, Tuesday, 29th April 1707, the plaudits
of the audience resounding in his ears, the destitute,
broken-hearted dramatist passed to that bourne where stratagems
avail not any longer.
_Criticism of The Beaux-Stratagem_. Each play that
Farquhar produced was an improvement on its predecessors,
and all critics have been unanimous in pronouncing _The Beaux-Stratagem_
his best, both in the study and on the stage, of which
it retained possession much the longest. Except _The Recruiting
Officer_ and _The Inconstant_, revived at Covent Garden in 1825,
and also by Daly in America in 1885, non of Farquhar's other
plays has been put on the stage for upwards of a century.
Hallam says: 'Never has Congreve equalled _The Beaux-Stratagem_
in vivacity, in originality of contrivance, or in clear
and rapid development of intrigue'; and Hazlitt considers it
'sprightly lively, bustling, and full of point and interest:
the assumed disguise of Archer and Aimwell is a perpetual
amusement to the mind.' The action--which commences,
remarkably briskly, in the evening and ends about midnight
the next day--never flags for an instant. The well-contrived
plot is original and simple (all Farquhar's plots are excellent),
giving rise to a rapid succession of amusing and sensational
incidents; though by no means extravagant or improbable, save
possibly the mutual separation of Squire Sullen and his wife in
the last scene--the weak point of the whole. Farquhar was a
master in stage-effect. Aimwell's stratagem of passing himself
off as the wealthy nobleman, his brother (a device previously
adopted by Vanbrugh in _The Relapse_ and subsequently by
Sheridan in his _Trip to Scarborough_), may perhaps be a
covert allusion to the romantic story of the dramatist's own
deception by the penniless lady who gave herself out to be
possessed of a large fortune, and who thus induced him to
marry her.
The style adopted is highly dramatic, the dialogue being
natural and flowing; trenchant and sprightly, but not too witty
for a truthful reflex of actual conversation. The humour is
genial and unforced; there is no smell of the lamp about it,
no premeditated effort at dragging in jests, as in Congreve.
As typical examples of Farquhar's _vis comica_ I Would cite the
description of Squire Sullen's home-coming, and his 'pot of
ale' speech, Aimwell's speech respecting conduct at church, the
scene between Cherry and Archer about the L2000, and the
final separation scene--which affords a curious view of the
marriage tie and on which Leigh Hunt has founded an argument
for divorce. This play contains several examples of Farquhar's
curious habit of breaking out into a kind of broken blank verse
occasionally for a few lines in the more serious passages.
Partaking as it does of the elements of both comedy and force,
it is the prototype of Goldsmith's _She Stoops to Conquer_, which
it resembles in many respects. It will be remembered that
Miss Hardcastle compares herself to Cherry (Act III.), and
young Marlow and Hastings much resemble Archer and
Aimwell. Goldsmith was a great admirer of the works of his
fellow-countryman, especially _The Beaux-Stratagem_, and refers
to them several times (Citizen of the World, letter 93; History
of England, letter 16; Vicar of Wakefield, ch. 18), and in the
Literary Magazine for 1758 he drew up a curious poetical scale
in which he classes the Restoration dramatists thus:--
Congreve--Genius 15, Judgment 16, Learning 14, Versification 14;
Vanbrugh--14, 15,14,10; Farquhar--15, 15, 10, io. Unlike
Goldsmith, unhappily, Farquhar's moral tone is not high;
sensuality is confounded with love, ribaldry mistaken for wit
The best that can be said of him that he contrasts favourably
with his contemporary dramatists; Virtue is not _always_
uninteresting in his pages. He is free from their heartlessness,
malignity, and cruelty. The plot of _The Beaux-Stratagem_ is
comparatively inoffensive, and the moral of the whole is
healthy. Although a wit rather than a thinker, Farquhar in
this play shows himself capable of serious feelings. It is
remarkable how much Farquhar repeats himself. Hardly an
allusion or idea occurs in this play that is not to be found
elsewhere in his works. In the Notes I have pointed out many of
these coincidences.
_The Characters_. This play has added several distinct
original personages to our stock of comedy characters, and it
affords an excellent and lifelike picture of a peculiar and
perishing phase of the manners of the time, especially those
obtaining in the country house, and the village inn frequented
by highwaymen. The sly, rascally landlord, Boniface (who
has given his name to the class), is said to have been drawn
from life, and his portrait, we are told, was still to be seen
at Lichfield in 1775. The inimitable 'brother Scrub,' that
'indispensable appendage to a country gentleman's kitchen'
(Hazlitt), with his ignorance and shrewd eye to the main
chance, is likewise said to have been a well-known personage
who survived till 1759, one Thomas Bond, servant to Sir
Theophilus Biddulph; others say he died at Salisbury in 1744.
Although Farquhar, like Goldsmith, undoubtedly drew his
incidents and personages from his own daily associations,
there is probably no more | 3,352.160168 |
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E-text prepared by Greg Bergquist, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team) from page images generously made available
by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/southseaidyls00stodrich
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
Text enclosed by tilde characters was printed widely-spaced
or "gesperrt" (~gesperrt~).
SOUTH-SEA IDYLS.
by
CHARLES WARREN STODDARD.
[Illustration: (Printer's logo)]
Boston:
James R. Osgood and Company,
Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co.
1873.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873,
by Charles Warren Stoddard,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
University Press: Welch, Bigelow, & Co.,
Cambridge.
[Decoration]
CONTENTS.
PAGE
IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP 7
CHUMMING WITH A SAVAGE.
I. KANA-ANA 25
II. HOW I CONVERTED MY CANNIBAL 43
III. BARBARIAN DAYS 57
TABOO.--A FETE-DAY IN TAHITI 80
JOE OF LAHAINA 112
THE NIGHT-DANCERS OF WAIPIO 128
PEARL-HUNTING IN THE POMOTOUS 146
THE LAST OF THE GREAT NAVIGATOR 169
A CANOE-CRUISE IN THE CORAL SEA 184
UNDER A GRASS ROOF 197
MY SOUTH-SEA SHOW 202
THE HOUSE OF THE SUN 221
THE CHAPEL OF THE PALMS 240
KAHELE 259
LOVE-LIFE IN A LANAI 283
IN A TRANSPORT 300
A PRODIGAL IN TAHITI 324
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
_TO MY DEAR FRIEND ANTON ROMAN._
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
THE COCOA-TREE.
Cast on the water by a careless hand,
Day after day the winds persuaded me:
Onward I drifted till a coral tree
Stayed me among its branches, where the sand
Gathered about me, and I slowly grew,
Fed by the constant sun and the inconstant dew.
The sea-birds build their nests against my root,
And eye my slender body's horny case.
Widowed within this solitary place
Into the thankless sea I cast my fruit;
Joyless I thrive, for no man may partake
Of all the store I bear and harvest for his sake.
No more I heed the kisses of the morn;
The harsh winds rob me of the life they gave;
I watch my tattered shadow in the wave,
And hourly droop and nod my crest forlorn,
While all my fibres stiffen and grow numb
Beck'ning the tardy ships, the ships that never come!
[Decoration]
[Decoration]
SOUTH-SEA IDYLS.
IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP.
Forty days in the great desert of the sea,--forty nights camped under
cloud-canopies, with the salt dust of the waves drifting over us.
Sometimes a Bedouin sail flashed for an hour upon the distant horizon,
and then faded, and we were alone again; sometimes the west, at sunset,
looked like a city with towers, and we bore down upon its glorified
walls, seeking a haven; but a cold gray morning dispelled the illusion,
and our hearts sank back into the illimitable sea, breathing a long
prayer for deliverance.
Once a green oasis blossomed before us,--a garden in perfect bloom,
girded about with creaming waves; within its coral cincture pendulous
boughs trailed in the glassy waters; from its hidden bowers spiced airs
stole down upon us; above all, the triumphant palm-trees clashed their
melodious branches like a chorus with cymbals; yet from the very gates
of this paradise a changeful current swept us onward, and the happy
isle was buried in night and distance.
In many volumes of adventure I had read of sea-perils: I was at last to
learn the full interpretation of their picturesque horrors. Our little
craft, the Petrel, had buffeted the boisterous waves for five long
weeks. Fortunately, the bulk of her cargo was edible: we feared neither
famine nor thirst. Moreover, in spite of the continuous gale that swept
us out of our reckoning, the Petrel was in excellent condition, and, as
far as we could judge, we had no reason to lose confidence in her. It
was the gray weather that tried our patience and found us wanting; it
was the unparalleled pitching of the ninety-ton schooner that
disheartened and almost dismembered us. And then it was wasting time at
sea. Why were we not long before at our journey's end? Why were we not
threading the vales of some savage island, and reaping our rich reward
of ferns and shells and gorgeous butterflies?
The sea rang its monotonous changes,--fair weather and foul, days like
death itself, followed by days full of the revelations of new life, but
mostly days of deadly dulness, when the sea was as unpoetical as an
eternity of cold suds and blueing.
I cannot always understand the logical fitness of things, or, rather, I
am at a loss to know why some things in life are so unfit and illogical.
Of course, in our darkest hour, when we were gathered in the confines
of the Petrel's diminutive cabin, it was our duty to sing psalms of hope
and cheer, but we didn't. It was a time for mutual encouragement: very
few of us were self-sustaining, and what was to be gained by our
combining in unanimous despair?
Our weather-beaten skipper,--a thing of clay that seemed utterly
incapable of any expression whatever, save in the slight facial
contortion consequent to the mechanical movement of his lower jaw,--the
skipper sat, with barometer in hand, eying the fatal finger that pointed
to our doom; the rest of us were lashed to the legs of the centre-table,
glad of any object to fix our eyes upon, and nervously awaiting a turn
in the state of affairs, that was then by no means encouraging.
I happened to remember that there were some sealed letters to be read
from time to time on the passage out, and it occurred to me that one of
the times had come--perhaps the last and only--wherein I might break the
remaining seals and receive a sort of parting visit from the fortunate
friends on shore.
I opened one letter and read these prophetic lines: "Dear child,"--she
was twice my age, and privileged to make a pet of me,--"dear child, I
have a presentiment that we shall never meet again in the flesh."
That dear girl's intuition came near to being the death of me. I
shuddered where I sat, overcome with remorse. It was enough that I had
turned my back on her and sought consolation in the treacherous bosom of
the ocean; that, having failed to find the spring of immortal life in
human affection, I had packed up and emigrated, content to fly the ills
I had in search of change; but that parting shot, below the water-line
as it were,--that was more than I asked for, and something more than I
could stomach. I returned to watch with the rest of our little company,
who clung about the table with a pitiful sense of momentary security,
and an expression of pathetic condolence on every countenance, as though
each was sitting out the last hours of the others.
Our particular bane that night was a crusty old sea-dog whose memory of
wrecks and marine disasters of every conceivable nature was as complete
as an encyclopaedia. This "old man of the sea" spun his tempestuous yarn
with fascinating composure, and the whole company was awed into silence
with the haggard realism of his narrative. The cabin must have been
air-tight,--it was as close as possible,--yet we heard the shrieking of
the wind as it tore through the rigging, and the long hiss of the waves
rushing past us with lightning speed. Sometimes an avalanche of foam
buried us for a moment, and the Petrel trembled like a living thing
stricken with sudden fear; we seemed to be hanging on the crust of a
great bubble that was, sooner or later, certain to burst, and let us
drop into its vast, black chasm, where, in Cimmerian darkness, we should
be entombed forever.
The scenic effect, as I then considered, was unnecessarily vivid; as I
now recall it, it seems to me strictly in keeping and thoroughly
dramatic. At any rate, you might have told us a dreadful story with
almost fatal success.
I had still one letter left, one bearing this suggestive legend: "To be
read in the saddest hour." Now, if there is a sadder hour in all time
than the hour of hopeless and friendless death, I care not to know of
it. I broke the seal of my letter, feeling that something charitable and
cheering would give me strength. A few dried leaves were stored within
it. The faint fragrance of summer bowers reassured me: somewhere in the
blank world of waters there was land, and there Nature was kind and
fruitful; out over the fearful deluge this leaf was born to me in the
return of the invisible dove my heart had sent forth in its extremity. A
song was written therein, perhaps a song of triumph. I could now silence
the clamorous tongue of our sea-monster, who was glutting us with tales
of horror, for a jubilee was at hand, and here was the first note of its
trumpets.
I read:--
"Beyond the parting and the meeting
I shall be soon;
Beyond the farewell and the greeting,
Beyond the pulse's fever-beating,
I shall be soon."
I paused. A night black with croaking ravens, brooding over a slimy
hulk, through whose warped timbers the sea oozed,--that was the sort of
picture that rose before me. I looked further for a crumb of comfort:--
"Beyond the gathering and the strewing,
I shall be soon;
Beyond the ebbing and the flowing,
Beyond the coming and the going,
I shall be soon."
A tide of ice-water seemed rippling up and down my spinal column; the
marrow congealed within my bones. But I recovered. When a man has supped
full of horror and there is no immediate climax, he can collect himself
and be comparatively brave. A reaction restored my soul.
Once more the melancholy chronicler of the ill-fated Petrel resumed his
lugubrious narrative. I resolved to listen, while the skipper eyed the
barometer, and we all rocked back and forth in search of the centre of
gravity, looking like a troupe of mechanical blockheads nodding in
idiotic unison. All this time the little craft drifted helplessly, "hove
to" in the teeth of the gale.
The sea-dog's yarn was something like this: He once knew a lonesome man
who floated about in a waterlogged hulk for three months; who saw all
his comrades starve and die, one after another, and at last kept watch
alone, craving and beseeching death. It was the stanch French brig
Mouette, bound south into the equatorial seas. She had seen rough
weather from the first: day after day the winds increased, and finally a
cyclone burst upon her with insupportable fury. The brig was thrown upon
her beam-ends, and began to fill rapidly. With much difficulty her masts
were cut away, she righted, and lay in the trough of the sea rolling
like a log. Gradually the gale subsided, but the hull of the brig was
swept continually by the tremendous swell, and the men were driven into
the foretop cross-trees, where they rigged a tent for shelter and
gathered what few stores were left them from the wreck. A dozen wretched
souls lay in their stormy nest for three whole days in silence and
despair. By this time their scanty stores were exhausted, and not a drop
of water remained; then their tongues were loosened, and they railed at
the Almighty. Some wept like children, some cursed their fate. One man
alone was speechless,--a Spaniard, with a wicked light in his eye, and a
repulsive manner that had made trouble in the forecastle more than once.
When hunger had driven them nearly to madness they were fed in an almost
miraculous manner. Several enormous sharks had been swimming about the
brig for some hours, and the hungry sailors were planning various
projects for the capture of them. Tough as a shark is, they would
willingly have risked life for a few raw mouthfuls of the same.
Somehow, though the sea was still and the wind light, the brig gave a
sudden lurch and dipped up one of the monsters, who was quite secure in
the shallow aquarium between the gunwales. He was soon despatched, and
divided equally among the crew. Some ate a little, and reserved the rest
for another day; some ate till they were sick, and had little left for
the next meal. The Spaniard with the evil eye greedily devoured his
portion, and then grew moody again, refusing to speak with the others,
who were striving to be cheerful, though it was sad enough work.
When the food was all gone save a few mouthfuls that one meagre eater
had hoarded to the last, the Spaniard resolved to secure a morsel at the
risk of his life. It had been a point of honor with the men to observe
sacredly the right of ownership, and any breach of confidence would have
been considered unpardonable. At night, when the watch was sleeping, the
Spaniard cautiously removed the last mouthful of shark hidden in the
pocket of his mate, but was immediately detected and accused of theft.
He at once grew desperate, struck at the poor wretch whom he had robbed,
missed his blow, and fell headlong from the narrow platform in the
foretop, and was lost in the sea. It was the first scene in the mournful
tragedy about to be enacted on that limited stage.
There was less disturbance after the disappearance of the Spaniard. The
spirits of the doomed sailors seemed broken; in fact, the captain was
the only one whose courage was noteworthy, and it was his indomitable
will that ultimately saved him.
One by one the minds of the miserable men gave way; they became peevish
or delirious, and then died horribly. Two, who had been mates for many
voyages in the seas north and south, vanished mysteriously in the night;
no one could tell where they went or in what manner, though they seemed
to have gone together.
Somehow, these famishing sailors seemed to feel assured that their
captain would be saved; they were | 3,352.160191 |
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*The Riverside Biographical Series*
NUMBER 5
THOMAS JEFFERSON
BY
HENRY CHILDS MERWIN
[Illustration: Th. Jefferson]
THOMAS JEFFERSON
BY
HENRY | 3,352.160253 |
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Produced by David Widger
ROUGHING IT
by Mark Twain
1880
Part 2.
CHAPTER XI.
And sure enough, two or three years afterward, we did hear him again.
News came to the Pacific coast that the Vigilance Committee in Montana
(whither Slade had removed from Rocky Ridge) had hanged him. I find an
account of the affair in the thrilling little book I quoted a paragraph
from in the last chapter--"The Vigilantes of Montana; being a Reliable
Account of the Capture, Trial and Execution of Henry Plummer's Notorious
Road Agent Band: By Prof. Thos. J. Dimsdale, Virginia City, M.T."
Mr. Dimsdale's chapter is well worth reading, as a specimen of how the
people of the frontier deal with criminals when the courts of law prove
inefficient. Mr. Dimsdale makes two remarks about Slade, both of which
are accurately descriptive, and one of which is exceedingly picturesque:
"Those who saw him in his natural state only, would pronounce him to be a
kind husband, a most hospitable host and a courteous gentleman; on the
contrary, those who met him when maddened with liquor and surrounded by a
gang of armed roughs, would pronounce him a fiend incarnate." And this:
"From Fort Kearney, west, he was feared a great deal more than the
almighty." For compactness, simplicity and vigor of expression, I will
"back" that sentence against anything in literature. Mr. Dimsdale's
narrative is as follows. In all places where italics occur, they are
mine:
After the execution of the five men on the 14th of January, the
Vigilantes considered that their work was nearly ended. They had
freed the country of highwaymen and murderers to a great extent, and
they determined that in the absence of the regular civil authority
they would establish a People's Court where all offenders should be
tried by judge and jury. This was the nearest approach to social
order that the circumstances permitted, and, though strict legal
authority was wanting, yet the people were firmly determined to
maintain its efficiency, and to enforce its decrees. It may here be
mentioned that the overt act which was the last round on the fatal
ladder leading to the scaffold on which Slade perished, was the
tearing in pieces and stamping upon a writ of this court, followed
by his arrest of the Judge Alex. Davis, by authority of a presented
Derringer, and with his own hands.
J. A. Slade was himself, we have been informed, a Vigilante; he
openly boasted of it, and said he knew all that they knew. He was
never accused, or even suspected, of either murder or robbery,
committed in this Territory (the latter crime was never laid to his
charge, in any place); but that he had killed several men in other
localities was notorious, and his bad reputation in this respect was
a most powerful argument in determining his fate, when he was
finally arrested for the offence above mentioned. On returning from
Milk River he became more and more addicted to drinking, until at
last it was a common feat for him and his friends to "take the
town." He and a couple of his dependents might often be seen on one
horse, galloping through the streets, shouting and yelling, firing
revolvers, etc. On many occasions he would ride his horse into
stores, break up bars, toss the scales out of doors and use most
insulting language to parties present. Just previous to the day of
his arrest, he had given a fearful beating to one of his followers;
but such was his influence over them that the man wept bitterly at
the gallows, and begged for his life with all his power. It had
become quite common, when Slade was on a spree, for the shop-keepers
and citizens to close the stores and put out all the lights; being
fearful of some outrage at his hands. For his wanton destruction of
goods and furniture, he was always ready to pay, when sober, if he
had money; but there were not a few who regarded payment as small
satisfaction for the outrage, and these men were his personal
enemies.
From time to time Slade received warnings from men that he well knew
would not deceive him, of the certain end of his conduct. There was
not a moment, for weeks previous to his arrest, in which the public
did not expect to hear of some bloody outrage. The dread of his
very name, and the presence of the armed band of hangers-on who
followed him alone prevented a resistance which must certainly have
ended in the instant murder or mutilation of the opposing party.
Slade was frequently arrested by order of the court whose
organization we have described, and had treated it with respect by
paying one or two fines and promising to pay the rest when he had
money; but in the transaction that occurred at this crisis, he
forgot even this caution, and goaded by passion and the hatred of
restraint, he sprang into the embrace of death.
Slade had been drunk and "cutting up" all night. He and his
companions had made the town a perfect hell. In the morning, J. M.
Fox, the sheriff, met him, arrested him, took him into court and
commenced reading a warrant that he had for his arrest, by way of
arraignment. He became uncontrollably furious, and seizing the
writ, he tore it up, threw it on the ground and stamped upon it.
The clicking of the locks of his companions' revolvers was instantly
heard, and a crisis was expected. The sheriff did not attempt his
retention; but being at least as prudent as he was valiant, he
succumbed, leaving Slade the master of the situation and the
conqueror and ruler of the courts, law and law-makers. This was a
declaration of war, and was so accepted. The Vigilance Committee
now felt that the question of social order and the preponderance of
the law-abiding citizens had then and there to be decided. They
knew the character of Slade, and they were well aware that they must
submit to his rule without murmur, or else that he must be dealt
with in such fashion as would prevent his being able to wreak his
vengeance on the committee, who could never have hoped to live in
the Territory secure from outrage or death, and who could never
leave it without encountering his friend, whom his victory would
have emboldened and stimulated to a pitch that would have rendered
them reckless of consequences. The day previous he had ridden into
Dorris's store, and on being requested to leave, he drew his
revolver and threatened to kill the gentleman who spoke to him.
Another saloon he had led his horse into, and buying a bottle of
wine, he tried to make the animal drink it. This was not considered
an uncommon performance, as he had often entered saloons and
commenced firing at the lamps, causing a wild stampede.
A leading member of the committee met Slade, and informed him in the
quiet, earnest manner of one who feels the importance of what he is
saying: "Slade, get your horse at once, and go home, or there will
be ---- to pay." Slade started and took a long look, with his dark
and piercing eyes, at the gentleman. "What do you mean?" said he.
"You have no right to ask me what I mean," was the quiet reply, "get
your horse at once, and remember what I tell you." After a short
pause he promised to do so, and actually got into the saddle; but,
being still intoxicated, he began calling aloud to one after another
of his friends, and at last seemed to have forgotten the warning he
had received and became again uproarious, shouting the name of a
well-known courtezan in company with those of two men whom he
considered heads of the committee, as a sort of challenge; perhaps,
however, as a simple act of bravado. It seems probable that the
intimation of personal danger he had received had not been forgotten
entirely; though fatally for him, he took a foolish way of showing
his remembrance of it. He sought out Alexander Davis, the Judge of
the Court, and drawing a cocked Derringer, he presented it at his
head, and told him that he should hold him as a hostage for his own
safety. As the judge stood perfectly quiet, and offered no
resistance to his captor, no further outrage followed on this score.
Previous to this, on account of the critical state of affairs, the
committee had met, and at last resolved to arrest him. His
execution had not been agreed upon, and, at that time, would have
been negatived, most assuredly. A messenger rode down to Nevada to
inform the leading men of what was on hand, as it was desirable to
show that there was a feeling of unanimity on the subject, all along
the gulch.
The miners turned out almost en masse, leaving their work and
forming in solid column about six hundred strong, armed to the
teeth, they marched up to Virginia. The leader of the body | 3,352.256319 |
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[Illustration: _The Fairy Violet's introduction to the Fire-King._]
HOW THE FAIRY VIOLET
LOST AND WON
HER WINGS.
BY MARIANNE L. B. KER.
_Author of "Eva's Victory," "Sybil Grey," &c._
ILLUSTRATED BY J. A. MARTIN.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD.
1872.
HOW THE FAIRY VIOLET
LOST AND WON HER WINGS.
The Fairy Violet lived in the heart of a beautiful forest, where,
through the glad spring months, the sun shone softly, and the bright
flowers bloomed, and now and then the gentle rain fell in silver drops
that made every green thing on which they rested fresher and more
beautiful still. At the foot of a stately oak nestled a clump of
violets, and it was there the wee fairy made her home. She wore a robe
of deep violet, and her wings, which were of the most delicate gauze,
glistened like dew-drops in the sun. All day long she was busy at work
tending her flowers, bathing them in the fresh morning dew, painting
them anew with her delicate fairy brush, or loosening the clay when it
pressed too heavily upon their fragile roots; and at night she joined
the elves in their merry dance upon the greensward. She was not alone in
the great forest; near her were many of her sister fairies, all old
friends and playmates. There was the Fairy Primrose in a gown of pale
yellow, and Cowslip, who wore a robe of the same colour, but of a deeper
shade. There was the graceful Bluebell, and the wild Anemone, the
delicate Woodsorrel, and the Yellow Kingcup. The Fairy Bluebell wore a
robe the colour of the sky on a calm summer's day, Anemone and
Woodsorrel were clad in pure white, while Kingcup wore a gown of bright
amber. One day, as the Fairy Violet was resting from the noonday heat on
the open leaves of her favourite flower, a noisy troop of boys, just set
free from school, came dashing at full speed through the forest. "Hallo!
there is a nest in that tree," cried one, and he trod ruthlessly on the
violets as he sprang up the trunk of the ancient oak. The Fairy Violet
was thrown to the ground, with a shock that left her for a time stunned
and motionless. When she recovered, the boys were gone, and the flower
in which she had been resting lay crushed and dying on the ground.
Filled with tender pity at the sight, Fairy Violet hastened to tend her
wounded charge, taking no thought for her own injuries. "Dear Violet, be
comforted," she whispered softly, as she raised the drooping flower from
the ground; "I will try to make you well." Then she took her fairy
goblet and fetched a few drops of dew from a shady place which the sun
had not yet reached, to revive the fainting flower, and bound up the
broken stem with a single thread of her golden hair. But it was all in
vain, and the fairy, after wrapping an acorn in soft moss, and placing
it for a pillow beneath the head of the fast fading Violet, left it to
try her skill on the other flowers. A faint fragrance from the dying
flower thanked her, as she turned sadly away to pursue her labour of
love. It was not till she had raised and comforted all the drooping
flowers and bound up their wounds, that the Fairy Violet thought of
herself. Then she discovered that her delicate gossamer wings were
gone! Evidently they had been caught on a crooked stick as she fell to
the ground and torn violently off, for there the remnants now hung,
shrivelled and useless, flapping in the breeze. At this sight the
hapless fairy threw herself by the side of the now withered Violet, and
wept bitterly. When spring and the spring flowers were gone, and their
work was ended, Violet and her sister fairies had been wont to spread
their wings and fly back to fairy-land, to report to the Queen what they
had done, and to receive from her reward or blame, according as they had
performed their task well or ill. Now this | 3,352.354343 |
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http://www.pgdpcanada.net
MY
LITTLE BOY
_by
CARL EWALD_
TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH
BY
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS
MY LITTLE BOY
COPYRIGHT 1906 BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
SOLE AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION
REPRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PUBLISHERS. NO PART OF THIS
WORK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
_MY LITTLE BOY_
I
My little boy is beginning to live.
Carefully, stumbling now and then on his little knock-kneed legs, he
makes his way over the paving-stones, looks at everything that there is
to look at and bites at every apple, both those which are his due and
those which are forbidden him.
He is not a pretty child and is the more likely to grow into a fine lad.
But he is charming.
His face can light up suddenly and become radiant; he can look at you
with quite cold eyes. He has a strong intuition and he is incorruptible.
He has never yet bartered a kiss for barley-sugar. There are people whom
he likes and people whom he dislikes. There is one who has long courted
his favour indefatigably and in vain; and, the other day, he formed a
close friendship with another who had not so much as said "Good day" to
him before he had crept into her lap and nestled there with glowing
resolution.
He has a habit which I love.
When we are walking together and there is anything that impresses him,
he lets go my hand for a moment. Then, when he has investigated the
phenomenon and arrived at a result, I feel his little fist in mine
again.
He has bad habits too.
He is apt, for instance, suddenly and without the slightest reason, to
go up to people whom he meets in the street and hit them with his little
stick. What is in his mind, when he does so, I do not know; and, so long
as he does not hit me, it remains a matter between himself and the
people concerned.
He has an odd trick of seizing big words in a grown-up conversation,
storing them up for a while and then asking me for an explanation:
"Father," he says, "what is life?"
I give him a tap in his little stomach, roll him over on the carpet and
conceal my emotion under a mighty romp. Then, when we sit breathless and
tired, I answer, gravely:
"Life is delightful, my little boy. Don't you be afraid of it!"
II
Today my little boy gave me my first lesson.
It was in the garden.
I was writing in the shade of the big chestnut-tree, close to where the
brook flows past. He was sitting a little way off, on the grass, in the
sun, with Hans Christian Andersen in his lap.
Of course, he does not know how to read, but he lets you read to him,
likes to hear the same tales over and over again. The better he knows
them, the better he is pleased. He follows the story page by page, knows
exactly where everything comes and catches you up immediately should you
skip a line.
There are two tales which he loves more than anything in the world.
These are Grimm's _Faithful John_ and Andersen's _The Little Mermaid_.
When anyone comes whom he likes, he fetches the big Grimm, with those
heaps of pictures, and asks for _Faithful John_. Then, if the reader
stops, because it is so terribly sad, with all those little dead
children, a bright smile lights up his small, long face and he says,
reassuringly and pleased at "knowing better":
"Yes, but they come to life again."
Today, however, it is _The Little Mermaid_.
"Is that the sort of stories you write?" he asks.
"Yes," I say, "but I am afraid mine will not be so pretty."
"You must take pains," he says.
And I promise.
For a time he makes no sound. I go on writing and forget about him.
"Is there a little mermaid down there, in the water?" he asks.
"Yes, she swims up to the top in the summer."
He nods and looks out across the brook, which ripples so softly and
smoothly that one can hardly see the water flow. On the opposite side,
the rushes grow green and thick and there is also a bird, hidden | 3,352.355427 |
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Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger
THE END OF THE TETHER
By Joseph Conrad
I
For a long time after the course of the steamer _Sofala_ had been
altered for the land, the low swampy coast had retained its appearance
of a mere smudge of darkness beyond a belt of glitter. The sunrays
seemed to fall violently upon the calm sea--seemed to shatter themselves
upon an adamantine surface into sparkling dust, into a dazzling vapor
of light that blinded the eye and wearied the brain with its unsteady
brightness.
Captain Whalley did not look at it. When his Serang, approaching the
roomy cane arm-chair which he filled capably, had informed him in a low
voice that the course was to be altered, he had risen at once and had
remained on his feet, face forward, while the head of his ship swung
through a quarter of a circle. He had not uttered a single word, not
even the word to steady the helm. It was the Serang, an elderly, alert,
little Malay, with a very dark skin, who murmured the order to the
helmsman. And then slowly Captain Whalley sat down again in the
arm-chair on the bridge and fixed his eyes on the deck between his feet.
He could not hope to see anything new upon this lane of the sea. He had
been on these coasts for the last three years. From Low Cape to Malantan
the distance was fifty miles, six hours' steaming for the old ship with
the tide, or seven against. Then you steered straight for the land, and
by-and-by three palms would appear on the sky, tall and slim, and with
their disheveled heads in a bunch, as if in confidential criticism of
the dark mangroves. The Sofala would be headed towards the somber
strip of the coast, which at a given moment, | 3,352.55434 |
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
MY LORD DUKE
BY E. W. HORNUNG
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1897
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
CONTENTS
I. THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY 1
II. "HAPPY JACK" 16
III. A CHANCE LOST 31
IV. NOT IN THE PROGRAMME 44
V. WITH THE ELECT 63
VI. A NEW LEAF 77
VII. THE DUKE'S PROGRESS 90
VIII. THE OLD ADAM 105
IX. AN ANONYMOUS LETTER 122
X. "DEAD NUTS" 137
XI. THE NIGHT OF THE TWENTIETH 151
XII. THE WRONG MAN 163
XIII. THE INTERREGNUM 180
XIV. JACK AND HIS MASTER 189
XV. END OF THE INTERREGNUM 199
XVI. "LOVE THE GIFT" 215
XVII. AN ANTI-TOXINE 223
XVIII. HECKLING A MINISTER 233
XIX. THE CAT AND THE MOUSE 244
XX. "LOVE THE DEBT" 257
XXI. THE BAR SINISTER 266
XXII. DE MORTUIS 282
MY LORD DUKE
CHAPTER I
THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY
The Home Secretary leant his golf-clubs against a chair. His was the
longest face of all.
"I am only sorry it should have come now," said Claude apologetically.
"Just as we were starting for the links! Our first day, too!" muttered
the Home Secretary.
"_I_ think of Claude," remarked his wife. "I can never tell you, Claude,
how much I feel for you! We shall miss you dreadfully, of course; but we
couldn't expect to enjoy ourselves after this; and I think, in the
circumstances, that you are quite right to go up to town at once."
"Why?" cried the Home Secretary warmly. "What good can he do in the
Easter holidays? Everybody will be away; he'd much better come with me
and fill his lungs with fresh air."
"I can never tell you how much I feel for you," repeated Lady Caroline
to Claude Lafont.
"Nor I," said Olivia. "It's too horrible! I don't believe it. To think
of their finding him after all! I don't believe they _have_ found him.
You've made some mistake, Claude. You've forgotten your code; the cable
really means that they've _not_ found him, and are giving up the
search!"
Claude Lafont shook his head.
"There may be something in what Olivia says," remarked the Home
Secretary. "The mistake may have been made at the other end. It would
bear talking over on the links."
Claude shook his head again.
"We have no reason to suppose there has been a mistake at all, Mr.
Sellwood. Cripps is not the kind of man to make mistakes; and I can
swear to my code. The word means, 'Duke found--I sail with him at
once.'"
"An Australian Duke!" exclaimed Olivia.
"A blackamoor, no doubt," said Lady Caroline with conviction.
"Your kinsman, in any case," said Claude Lafont, laughing; "and my
cousin; and the head of the family from this day forth."
"It was madness!" cried Lady Caroline softly. "Simple madness--but then
all you poets _are_ mad! Excuse me, Claude, but you remind me of the
Lafont blood in my own veins--you make it boil. I feel as if I never
could forgive you! To turn up your nose at one of the oldest titles in
the three kingdoms; to think twice about a purely hypothetical heir at
the antipodes; and actually to send out your solicitor to hunt him up!
If that was not Quixotic lunacy, I should like to know what is?"
The Right Honourable George Sellwood took a new golf-ball from his
pocket, and bowed his white head mournfully as he stripped off the
tissue paper.
"My dear Lady Caroline, _noblesse oblige_--and a man must do his obvious
duty," he heard Claude saying, in his slightly pedantic fashion.
"Besides, I should have cut a very sorry figure had I jumped at the
throne, as it were, and sat there until I was turned out. One knew there
_had_ been an heir in Australia; the only thing was to find out if he
was still alive; and Cripps has done so. I'm bound to say I had given
him up. Cripps has written quite hopelessly of late. He must have found
the scent and followed it up during the last six weeks; but in another
six he will be here to tell us all about it--and we shall see the Duke.
Meanwhile, pray don't waste your sympathies upon _me_. To be perfectly
frank, this is in many ways a relief to me--I am only sorry it has come
now. You know my tastes; but I have hitherto found it expedient to make
a little secret of my opinions. Now, however, there can be no harm in my
saying that they are not entirely in harmony with the hereditary
principle. You hold up your hands, dear Lady Caroline, but I assure you
that my seat in the Upper Chamber would have been a seat of
conscientious thorns. In fact I have been in a difficulty, ever since my
grandfather's death, which I am very thankful to have removed. On the
other hand, I love my--may I say my art? And luckily I have enough to
cultivate the muse on, at all events, the best of oatmeal; so I am not
to be pitied. A good quatrain, Olivia, is more to me than coronets; and
the society of my literary friends is dearer to my heart than that of
all the peers in Christendom."
Claude was a poet; when he forgot this fact he was also an excellent
fellow. His affectations ended with his talk. In appearance he was
distinctly desirable. He had long, clean limbs, a handsome, shaven,
mild-eyed face, and dark hair as short as another's. He would have made
an admirable Duke.
Mr. Sellwood looked up a little sharply from his dazzling new golf-ball.
"Why go to town at all?" said he.
"Well, the truth is, I have been in a false position all these months,"
replied Claude, forgetting his poetry and becoming natural at once. "I
want to get out of it without a day's unnecessary delay. This thing must
be made public."
The statesman considered.
"I suppose it must," said he, judicially.
"Undoubtedly," said Lady Caroline, looking from Olivia to Claude. "The
sooner the better."
"Not at all," said the Home Secretary. "It has kept nearly a year.
Surely it can keep another week? Look here, my good fellow. I come down
here expressly to play golf with you, and you want to bunker me in the
very house! I take it for the week for nothing else, and you want to
desert me the very first morning. You shan't do either, so that's all
about it."
"You're a perfect tyrant!" cried Lady Caroline. "I'm ashamed of you,
George; and I hope Claude will do exactly as he likes. _I_ shall be
sorry enough to lose him, goodness knows!"
"So shall I," said Olivia simply.
Lady Caroline shuddered.
"Look at the day!" cried Mr. Sellwood, jumping up with his pink face
glowing beneath his virile silver hair. "Look at the sea! Look at the
sand! Look at the sea-breeze lifting the very carpet under our feet! Was
there ever such a day for golf?"
Claude wavered visibly.
"Come on," said Mr. Sellwood, catching up his clubs. "I'm awfully sorry
for you, my boy. But come on!"
"You will have to give in, Claude," said Olivia, who loved her father.
Lady Caroline shrugged her shoulders.
"Of course," said she, "I hope he will; still I don't think our own
selfish considerations should detain him against his better judgment."
"I am eager to see Cripps's partners," said Claude vacillating. "They
may know more about it."
"And solicitors are such trying people," remarked Lady Caroline
sympathetically; "one always does want to see them personally, to know
what they really mean."
"That's what I feel," said Claude.
"But what on earth has he to | 3,352.560415 |
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Produced by Al Haines
THE ATONEMENT
AND
THE MODERN MIND
BY
JAMES DENNEY, D.D.
PROFESSOR OF NEW TESTAMENT LANGUAGE, LITERATURE, AND THEOLOGY
UNITED FREE CHURCH COLLEGE, GLASGOW
_WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
THE DEATH OF CHRIST
STUDIES IN THEOLOGY
THE EPISTLES TO THE THESSALONIANS
THE SECOND EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS
GOSPEL QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
LONDON
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
27 PATERNOSTER ROW
MCMIII
PREFACE
The three chapters which follow have already appeared in _The
Expositor_, and may be regarded as a supplement to the writer's work | 3,352.66304 |
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THE
HISTORY OF PERU,
BY HENRY S. BEEBE.
PERU, ILLS.
J.F. LINTON, PRINTER AND PUBLISHER.
1858.
ERRATA.
On page 7, it is mentioned, incidentally to the main fact--that H. P.
Woodworth received 528 votes for the Legislature--that he was elected.
This is an error. He was defeated, notwithstanding the large and almost
unanimous vote he received in Peru.
On mature reflection the writer concludes that he will mitigate his
statement concerning the "breadth" of that cake of ice described on page
39. For "length and breadth" the reader will please substitute
"extent"--this is positively all the abatement that can be made.
On line 5, page 64, the word "upon" and on line 17, page 77, the word,
"but" have intruded themselves very mysteriously. Please to consider
them as omitted.
With these emendations he commits his first-born to the waters of public
approval or condemnation, begging for it all the indulgence which
conscious incapacity can justly claim.
INTRODUCTORY.
It can hardly be said that a town of a population of three thousand six
hundred and fifty-two souls, dating back but about twenty years to its
first rude tenement and solitary family, can have any history. The
events of any public interest are so few, and their importance so small,
that no reasonable hope can be entertained that their recital will be
any thing but a matter of indifference to others than the present or
former residents, or those connected with them by ties of consanguinity,
or having an interest in its advancement and prosperity. It is true that
at some future time, the record may be useful to the historian, if it
should be so fortunate as to survive. The statistics have been collected
with care and considerable labor, and are believed to be correct and
reliable. Beyond this the writer claims no merit for the work. The
anecdotes and events related, not strictly statistical, have all
transpired under his personal observation and knowledge, during a
residence dating back to the embryo town.
Most persons who have had the temerity to undertake the relation of
cotemporary events, and to speak of cotemporary actors, have received
more kicks than coppers for their pains. How far the writer will escape
their general fate remains to be seen. Knowing the dangerous ground
whereon he was treading, he has endeavored to confine himself to the
simple relation of undisputed facts, abstaining from all comments and
speculation thereon. He has not set himself up as a public censor or a
public eulogist. It is not to be supposed that he has been without
partisan and prejudiced views of public questions. These he has
endeavored to suppress and to "render unto Caesar the things which are
Caesars." Nor has he undertaken to draw a rose picture for the
benefit of Eastern Capitalists, or those seeking a home in the west--to
throw bait to Gudgeons.--In fact, it will be admitted, that his picture
is of the soberest and dullest kind of grey. Would that it could be here
and there touched with lighter and more cheerful hues; but truth is
inexorable, and demands the strictest loyalty from those who worship at
her shrine.
The people of Peru may be a little curious to know why a person, whose
pursuits in life have been hitherto very far removed from those of a
writer for the public eye, should have undertaken a task for which
previous practice and experience have so little qualified him. He begs
to assure them that it was entirely an accident--no literary ambition
prompted him at all. To be sure he had heard that
"'Tis pleasant sure to see one's name in print,
And a book's a book although there's nothing in't,"
but that was not it. Having a little leisure, he had undertaken to
gather and condense some statistics of the town for the publisher of a
Directory of La Salle County. Having commenced the task he became
interested therein, and extended his researches and remarks to a length
quite too formidable for their original purpose. But he resolved not to
hide his light under a bushel--hence the present infliction which he
hopes will be borne with commendable fortitude.
HISTORY OF PERU.
CHAPTER I.
Situation of the City--Its early Settlement and Settlers--
Passage of the Internal Improvement Act and Commencement of
work on the Central Rail Road--Election of H. P. Woodworth
to the Legislature--Election for Organization under the
Borough Act--First Census--First Election of Trustees--First
Religious Meeting.
The City of Peru is situated in the Westerly part of La Salle County,
Illinois, on the Northern bank of the Illinois River, at the head of
Navigation, and at the Junction of the Illinois and Michigan Canal.
Distance from Chicago 100 miles, and from Saint Louis 230. The territory
embraced within the corporated limits, is Sec. 16 and 17, and all those
fractional parts of 20 and 21, which lie north of the river, Town 33,
Range 1, East of the Third Principal Meridian, comprising an area of
1462 Acres.
The settlement of the site occupied by this City was commenced in the
Spring of 1836, shortly after the passage of the act incorporating the
Illinois and Michigan Central, which was to terminate at or near the
mouth of the Little Vermilion, on land owned by the State. It was
probably the most eligible site on lands owned by individuals. The
Southwest quarter of Sec. 16 was laid out and sold by the School
Commissioners in 1834, and called Peru. Ninawa Addition, located on the
South East quarter of Sec. 17, and the North East fractional part of 20,
upon which the most business part of Peru is at present situated, was
owned originally by Lyman D. Brewster, who died in the fall of 1835. It
was plated and recorded in 1836, by Theron D. Brewster, at present a
leading and influential citizen.
In 1835 the only residents of that portion of territory now occupied by
the cities of Peru and La Salle were Lyman D. Brewster, his nephew T. D.
BREWSTER, JOHN HAYS and family, PELTIAH and CALVIN BREWSTER, SAMUEL
LAPSLEY and BURTON AYRES. In the Spring of 1835, the first building--a
store--was erected in Peru by ULYSSES SPAULDING and H. L. KINNEY, late
of Central American notoriety. On the 4th July 1836, the first shovel
full of earth was excavated upon the Canal. No considerable population
was attracted to the town until 1837. Among the people who made this
place their home in that and the following years, were WM. RICHARDSON,
J. P. JUDSON, S. LISLE SMITH and his brother DOCTOR SMITH, FLETCHER
WEBSTER, DANIEL TOWNSEND, P. HALL, JAMES MULFORD, JAMES MYERS, WM. and
CHAS. DRESSER, HARVEY WOOD, N. B. BULLOCK, JESSE PUGSLEY, EZRA MCKINZIE,
NATHANIEL and ISAAC ABRAHAM, J. P. THOMPSON, JOHN HOFFMAN, C. H.
CHARLES, ASA MANN, LUCIUS RUMRILL, CORNELIUS CAHILL, CORNELIUS COKELEY,
DAVID DANA, ZIMRI LEWIS, DANIEL MCGIN, S. W. RAYMOND, GEO. B. MARTIN,
WM. H. DAVIS, GEO. W. HOLLEY, GEO. LOW, M. MOTT, F. LEBEAU, A. HYATT,
WARD B. BURNETT, O. C. MOTLEY, WM. PAUL, H. P. WOODWORTH, H. S. BEEBE,
HARVEY LEONARD, &c.
At the Session of the Legislature of 1836, the Internal Improvement act
was passed, incorporating the Central Rail Road, which was subsequently
located upon the same general route as is followed by the present
Illinois Central Rail Road, crossing the river at Peru. Operations were
commenced on both sides of the river in 1838. During this season very
extensive improvements were made, large accessions of population took
place, and the settlement began to assume the appearance of a town. In
1839 the whole country was on the top wave of prosperity. Large forces
were employed upon both the Canal and Rail Road--numerous other works
being contemplated, all terminating at Peru, of course--and the
disbursements were large. The town shared the general prosperity. In
this year H. P. WOODWORTH was elected [Transcriber's Note: Error, he was
defeated, see Errata.] to the Legislature from La Salle County, which
then embraced the present territory of Kendall and Grundy, receiving in
Peru 528 votes, being the largest vote ever polled in the precinct,
before or since.
On the 6th of December 1838 the inhabitants assembled at the tavern of
ZIMRI LEWIS, and organised a meeting by the appointment of | 3,352.765726 |
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DICK MERRIWELL ABROAD
Or
The Ban of the Terrible Ten
by
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the celebrated "Merriwell" stories, which are
the favorite reading of over half a million up-to-date
American boys. Catalogue sent free upon request.
Street & Smith, Publishers
79-89 Seventh Ave., New York City
Copyright, 1904 and 1905
By Street & Smith
Dick Merriwell Abroad
All rights reserved, including that of translation
into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.
CONTENTS
I. THE STORY OF QUEEN MARY.
II. THE MEETING AT THE CASTLE.
III. AT BEN CLEUCH INN.
IV. BUDTHORNE'S STRUGGLE.
V. LIKE A BIRD OF EVIL OMEN.
VI. BUNOL'S PLOT.
VII. DONE BENEATH THE STARS.
VIII. BUNOL MAKES HIS DEMAND.
IX. THE FIGHT IN THE CASTLE.
X. THE HAUNTS OF ROBIN HOOD.
XI. THE SPANIARD AGAIN.
XII. THE STRUGGLE.
XIII. PROFESSOR GUNN'S WILD RIDE.
XIV. AN EXCITING CHASE.
XV. THE HAUNTED MILL.
XVI. SUNSET ON THE GRAND CANAL.
XVII. THE RING OF IRON.
XVIII. WHEN STEEL MEETS STEEL.
XIX. THE BURSTING OF THE DOOR.
XX. THE OATH OF TERESA.
XXI. THE LAST STROKE.
XXII. BEFORE THE PARTHENON.
XXIII. FIGHTING BLOOD OF AMERICA.
XXIV. MARO AND TYRUS.
XXV. TWO ENGLISHMEN.
XXVI. WAS IT A MISTAKE?
XXVII. THE PURSUIT.
XXVIII. DONATUS, THE SULIOTE.
XXIX. IN THE CAVE.
XXX. OUT OF THE TOILS.
DICK MERRIWELL ABROAD.
CHAPTER I.
THE STORY OF QUEEN MARY.
"Well, here we are, boys, in Scotland, the land of feuds, of clans, of
Wallace, Bruce, Scott, Burns, and of limitless thrilling stories and
legends."
Professor Zenas Gunn was the speaker. With Dick Merriwell and Brad
Buckhart, Merriwell's friend and former roommate at the Fardale Military
Academy, as his traveling companions, he had landed at Leith the
previous day, having come by steamer from London. The three were now in
Edinburgh, strolling down High Street on their way to visit Holyrood
Castle.
It was nipping cold. There had been a light fall of snow; but the sun
was shining, and the clear air, in strong contrast to the heavy, smoky
atmosphere of London, gave them a feeling of lightness and exhilaration.
Perhaps it is not quite true to say it gave them all such a feeling, for
there was an expression of disappointment on the face of the boy from
Texas, a slight cloud of gloom that nothing seemed to dispel.
The old professor, however, was in high spirits.
"While we're here, boys," he said, "we'll visit as many of the
interesting places as possible. Already we have seen Scott's monument,
and to-morrow we will make an excursion to Melrose, and visit Melrose
Abbey and Abbotsford. Later on, perhaps, we'll run over to Loch Lomond
and see Rob Roy's prison and the cottage where Helen MacGregor, Rob
Roy's wife, was born. At Stirling we'll feast our eyes on the Wallace
Monument, which stands on the spot where the great hero defeated
England's army of invasion. Think what it will mean to stand on the
field of Bannockburn!
"The English army, my boys, numbered one hundred thousand, while the
Scots were less than forty thousand. But Scotland had not forgotten the
terrible death of Wallace, who had been captured, carried to London,
condemned to die, hanged, cut down while yet alive, to have portions of
his body burned, and at last to be decapitated, his head being afterward
placed on a pole on London Bridge. The Scottish army of forty thousand
was led by the successor and avenger of Wallace, Robert Bruce, who
achieved the marvelous object of driving the invaders from the country,
fighting on until nowhere did an English foot crush the heather of
Scotland.
"Ah! boys, these tales of heroism are the things to stir one's blood,
and make him feel that he might do great, and noble, and heroic things
should the opportunity present itself. But in these prosaic, modern
times men have little chance to become heroes. Now I feel that I, Zenas
Gunn--had I been given the opportunity--might have become a great leader,
a great hero, and my name might have lived in history. I've always
regretted the fact that I was born too late to take part in any of the
great struggles for human liberty. I am naturally a fighter. I think
that old rascal, Barnaby Gooch, found out that I possessed the courage
of a lion and the ability to fight like blazes. When we return to
Fardale, boys, he'll find out something else, I promise you that. Yes,
sir, he'll find out that he's not the whole thing at that academy."
"I hope so," muttered Brad. "I certain hope he'll get all that's coming
to him."
"Leave it to me," nodded Zenas. "I'll attend to that in due time. In the
meantime, boys, we'll travel and enjoy the things we see while we are
educating ourselves at the same time. Ha! there is Holyrood Palace, once
the home of that loveliest of women, Mary, Queen of Scots. And there is
the chapel in which she was married to Lord Darnley."
The grim old castle stood before them, its turrets and towers rising
against the bleak mountain background in impressive grandeur. There was
snow on the mountains, and this made the outlines of the castle stand
out sharply and distinctly.
"Stand here a few minutes boys," invited the old professor. "Before we
enter the castle, which will open to admit visitors at eleven o'clock,
let's brush up a little on the romantic and pathetic history of Queen
Mary. I've always taken the liveliest interest in the story of her
career. You know that first she was married to Francis II. and lived in
France. After Francis died she returned to Scotland where she was
immediately surrounded by a throng of royal suitors. Out of them all she
selected that handsome, egotistical, vain, selfish young reprobate, Lord
Darnley, which was a frightful mistake, for in a short time he began to
treat her with discourtesy and absolute brutality, drinking to excess
and behaving in a manner that made him generally detested at court."
"But I have read that Queen Mary transferred her affection to an Italian
musician named Rizzio," said Dick.
"Hum! haw! Haw! hum!" coughed the professor. "A slander invented by the
scheming noblemen about her who wished to rob her of her power in order
to advance their own selfish ends. It is doubtful if they made Darnley
himself believe it, but they told him it would advance him, and he fell
into the trap."
"But historians say Rizzio was very handsome."
"Some do, and some say he was very plain and uncomely. It is impossible
to tell which story is true; but beyond doubt he was a splendid singer.
It was his voice that first attracted Mary. One winter's day, while at
mass, she heard a rich, sonorous voice of great sweetness and power
ringing through the aisles. In answer to her inquiries concerning the
singer, they told her it was Rizzio, private secretary to the ambassador
from Savoy. Mary's taste in music was of the finest, and she became
greatly interested. There is a famous painting by David Neil, which
shows the queen standing on the palace steps and regarding Rizzio, who
has fallen asleep, mandolin by his side, near at hand. In this picture
he is represented as being very handsome; but artists, like poets, take
license with facts."
"Is there any question as to the great friendliness that sprang up
between them?" asked Dick.
"Oh, undoubtedly they became friends," nodded Gunn; "and in this
friendship the scheming noblemen who surrounded the queen saw their
opportunity. They did their best to arouse the jealousy of Darnley,
filling his ears with lies. Darnley was still little more than a boy,
and he easily became a tool in the hands of the schemers, who planned to
murder Rizzio in Mary's presence, hoping perhaps that the terrible
spectacle and the shock might kill her, which would leave Darnley in
apparent power, but really powerless in the hands of the scoundrels who
controlled him."
"Fine business for the countrymen of Wallace and Bruce!" growled
Buckhart.
"In those times the nobility seemed very corrupt, in Scotland, as well
as other countries. This band of reprobates carried out their bloody
plot. They hid in Mary's bedroom, where they awaited their time. Mary
was at supper with three friends in her library. One of the three was
Rizzio. In the midst of it Darnley entered | 3,352.857069 |
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by plus signs is Greek transliteration (+semnotes+).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
* * * * *
[Illustration: titlepage]
The Potter and the
Clay
By the
Right Rev.
Arthur F. Winnington Ingram, D.D.
Lord Bishop of London
The Young Churchman Co.
484 Milwaukee Street
Milwaukee, Wis.
Contents
I.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE POTTER'S VESSEL 3
II. THE SPLENDOUR OF GOD 15
III. GOD THE KING OF THE WORLD 27
IV. MISSIONARY WORK THE ONLY FINAL CURE FOR WAR 40
V. GOD THE CHAMPION OF RIGHTEOUSNESS 57
VI. THE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR 75
VII. IMMORTALITY 91
VIII. THE PEACE OF JERUSALEM 108
II.--TO THE CLERGY
I. MESSENGERS 123
II. PHYSICIANS 145
III. FISHERS OF MEN 160
III.--TO GIRLS
WHAT A GIRL CAN DO IN A DAY OF GOD 179
IV.--TO BOYS
THE EFFECT OF THE HOLY GHOST ON HUMAN CHARACTER 199
V.
THE WAR AND RELIGION 213
PREFACE
Another year, and we are still at War! But we must not mind, for we
must see this thing through to the end. As Mr. Oliver said in his
letter on "What we are fighting for," published this week: "We are
fighting for Restitution, Reparation, and Security, and the greatest
of these is Security." He means security that this horror shall not
happen again, and that these crimes shall not again be committed;
and he adds: "To get this security _we must destroy the power of the
system which did these things_."
Now it is clear that this power is not yet destroyed, and to make
peace while it lasts is to betray our dead, and to leave it to the
children still in the cradle to do the work over again, if, indeed,
it will be possible for them to do it if we in our generation fail.
This book, then, is an answer to the question asked me very often
during the past two years, and very pointedly from the trenches this
very Christmas Day: "How can you reconcile your belief in a good
GOD, who is also powerful, with the continuance of this desolating
War? How can we still believe the Christian message of Peace on
earth with War all around?"
It is with the hope that this book may comfort some mourning hearts,
and bring some light to doubting minds, that I send forth "The
Potter and the Clay."
A. F. LONDON.
_Feast of the Epiphany_, 1917.
I
I
THE POTTER'S VESSEL[1]
[1] Preached at St. Giles's, Cripplegate. The argument in this
sermon, stated shortly during dinner-hour in a City church, is
developed at length in the lecture which comes last in this book.
"Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will
cause thee to hear My words. Then I went down to the potter's
house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels. And the
vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the
potter: so he made it again another vessel, as seemed good to
the potter to make it."--JER. xviii. 2-4.
I suppose there is no metaphor in Holy Scripture that has been so
much misunderstood and led to more mischief than this metaphor of
the potter and the clay. Do not you know how, if any of us dared to
vindicate the ways of GOD to men, again and again we were referred
to the words of St. Paul: "Who art thou that repliest against GOD?
Shall the thing formed say to Him that formed it: Why hast Thou
made me thus? Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same
lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?"
And so the offended human conscience was silenced but not
satisfied. There is no doubt that the monstrous misrepresentation
of Christianity which we call Calvinism arose chiefly from this
metaphor; and few things have done more harm to the religion of the
world than Calvinism. Those who believe that GOD is an arbitrary
tyrant who simply works as a potter is supposed to work on clay,
irrespective of character or any plea for mercy--how can such a
person love GOD, or care for GOD, or wish to go to church or even
pray? You cannot do it!
Thus there sprang up in some men's minds just such a picture of GOD
as is described by that wonderful genius, Browning. Some of you
may have read the poem called "Caliban on Setebos," in which the
half-savage Caliban pictures to himself what sort of a person GOD
is. He had never been instructed, he knew nothing; but he imagined
that GOD would act towards mankind as he acted towards the animals
and the living creatures on his island; and this is a quotation from
that poem:
"Thinketh, such shows nor right nor wrong in Him.
Nor kind, nor cruel: He is strong and Lord.
Am strong myself compared to yonder crabs
That march now from the mountain to the sea;
Let twenty pass, and stone the twenty-first,
Loving not, hating not, just choosing so.
Say the first straggler that boasts purple spots
Shall join the file, one pincer twisted off?
Say, this bruised fellow shall receive a worm,
And two worms he whose nippers end in red;
As it likes me each time, so I do: so He."
In other words, his picture of GOD was that of an arbitrary tyrant
who rejoiced in his power, who did what he liked, who enjoyed
tormenting, who would have looked down in glee upon the pictures
that have so touched us in the paper of a woman, as she taught a
Bible-class, killed by a Zeppelin bomb; and most touching of all of
the little child who, with the stump of his arm, ran in and said:
"They've killed daddy and done this to me." These things stir our
deepest feelings; but such a GOD as Caliban pictured his Setebos to
be would have rejoiced at them and laughed to see them.
No wonder that this picture of GOD which has grown up in some
minds produces absolute despair. People say, "If GOD is like that,
what is the good of my doing anything? GOD will do what He likes,
irrespective of what I do." Or, again, it produces a spirit of
fatalism: "I'm made like that! It's not my fault." Like Aaron when
reproached about the golden calf--"I cast the gold they gave me into
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THE MAN
WHOM THE TREES LOVED
ALGERNON BLACKWOOD
1912
~I~
He painted trees as by some special divining instinct of their essential
qualities. He understood them. He knew why | 3,353.154239 |
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THE BOYHOOD OF JESUS
[Illustration]
PUBLISHED BY
DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING COMPANY
Factory and Shipping Rooms, Elgin, Illinois
Try to be like Jesus.
The Bible tells of Jesus,
So gentle and so meek;
I’ll try to be like Jesus
In ev’ry word I speak.
For Jesus, too, was loving,
His words were always kind;
I’ll try to be like Jesus
In thought and word and mind.
I long to be like Jesus,
Who said “I am the Truth;”
Then I will give my heart to him,
Now, in my early youth.
—_Lillian Payson._
COPYRIGHT, 1905,
BY DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING COMPANY.
[Illustration: THE BABY JESUS.]
The Little Lord Jesus.
Away in a manger,
No crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus
Laid down his sweet head.
The stars in the sky
Looked down where he lay—
The little Lord Jesus
Asleep on the hay.
The cattle are lowing,
The poor baby wakes,
But little Lord Jesus
No crying he makes.
I love thee, Lord Jesus;
Look down from the sky,
And stay by my cradle
To watch Lullaby.
—_Luther’s Cradle Hymn._
The Child Promised.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THERE was once a time when there was no Christmas at all. There were
no beautiful Christmas trees and happy songs and stockings filled with
presents. No one shouted “Merry Christmas!” or “Christmas Gift!” No
one told the sweet story of Jesus, because Jesus had not come into
the world and so there was no Christmas. You see Christmas is Jesus’
birthday, and before he came, of course people could not keep his
birthday. You have heard of how wicked and unhappy the people were long
ago. Although God loved them and tried to make them do right, they
forgot about him and did so many naughty, disobedient things that they
were very miserable. Then God sent a wonderful message to them. He told
them that some day he would send them his own Son, who should be their
King and teach them how to do right. He said that his Son would come as
a little child to grow up among them to love and help them. God even
told them what they should call this baby who was to be their King. God
said that Christ would be like a beautiful light showing them where to
go. It would be as though some people stumbling sorrowfully along a
dark street should suddenly see a bright light shining ahead of them,
making everything cheerful and pleasant. They would be joyful like
people who gather in the harvest. Jesus makes his children happy, and
he wants them to shine out and make others happy. These people who were
so unhappy before Jesus came, were very glad to know that some day he
would come. They talked about him and waited a long, long time before
he came and brought Christmas light into the world.
[Illustration: THE BABE IN BETHLEHEM.]
The Coming of Jesus.
LONG ago there lived a good man named Joseph, a carpenter of Nazareth,
who built houses and made many useful things for people. He also loved
to read God’s Gift Book, and tried to obey its rules. One day the king
of the land where Joseph lived ordered everyone to write his name in a
book, and pay a tax, in his own city. So Joseph and Mary his wife got
ready to take a long journey to their old home, Bethlehem. There were
no cars for them to ride in, so they must either walk or ride a donkey.
As the fashion was there, Mary wore a long, white veil which covered
her beautiful face.
The streets were full of people, walking, or traveling on mules,
donkeys, or camels—all going to be taxed. It was winter, but in a warm
country, and they went through valleys of figs, olives, dates, oranges
and other good things.
[Illustration]
They must have been very tired when they reached Bethlehem’s gates,
for they had come a long distance, and the dust of the road, the
bustle of traveling, and the strangeness of it all, seemed to add
to their trials. The people of Bethlehem had opened their homes and
welcomed the strangers, until every house was full, and still the
people kept coming. They could scarcely go up the steep hill, they were
so weary, and Joseph tried to get a place to rest, but there was no
kind invitation, no welcome in any house for them, and the inns were
crowded. The inns were not like our hotels for travelers; they were
flat-roofed stone buildings, without windows. There were no warm rooms
with carpets, and soft beds for tired travelers to lie on. There were
only bare floors, and everyone had to bring his own bed and food. The
courtyard was full of animals—donkeys, mules, camels, sheep and cows.
After Joseph had tried and failed to get a resting place, as there
was no room anywhere, some kind friend told him of a cave on the
hillside which was used as a stable, and to this they gladly went.
Sweet-smelling hay was all around, and the floor was covered with
straw; possibly mild-eyed cows and gentle sheep were sleeping in their
stalls. Along the walls were mangers, or boxes to hold the grain and
hay when the animals were fed. Here Mary and Joseph found a shelter
and a sleeping place; indeed, they were thankful to be led there to
rest upon the hay. In the night a wonderful thing took place: God sent
the baby Gift Child into the world. This gift had been promised long
before to Adam and Eve, and now it had come—the most beautiful and
dearest Baby ever held in a mother’s arms. The night grew dark, the
house-lights went out one by one, and the people in Bethlehem slept.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE ANGELS’ SONG.]
The Angels’ Joy.
THE happiest song that was ever sung was sung on the first and best
Christmas of all. There was a time when there was no Christmas. Can you
think how glad you would be if you had no Christmas, and then one day
all at once you had the first and best one of all?
This song was sung and the first Christmas came one night long years
ago, far over the sea, near a little town called Bethlehem. It did not
come first to kings and great people, but to some shepherds who were
sitting up all night watching their sheep.
Outside of the city were beautiful sloping green fields where the
shepherds let their sheep run about and eat the grass. The weather
there is very pleasant at Christmas time; not at all like our weather.
The shepherds can sit out on the grass all night, watching their sheep.
[Illustration]
Did you ever see a sheep or a lamb? Do you know that your mittens and
jackets and nice warm dresses are made of the wool which the sheep have
to spare for us? The shepherds have to stay out with the sheep all
night because they are very gentle and timid animals. They cannot fight
for themselves, and if they were left alone the wolves would catch them.
One night about 1900 years ago some shepherds were watching their sheep
in those fields. Very likely the shepherds were some of the people who
were hoping that Jesus would soon come; perhaps they were talking about
him, and wondering how they would know if he did come.
All at once a bright light shone about them, and they saw an angel and
heard him speak to them. Very kind and beautiful the angel looked, but
the shepherds were frightened.
The angel said to them, “Fear not; for behold, I bring you good tidings
of great joy, which shall be to all people; for unto you is born this
day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this
shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe, wrapped in swaddling
clothes, lying in a manger.”
[Illustration]
As the angel was speaking, the shepherds saw with him a great number of
beautiful, shining angels. Then was sung for the first time this grand
song, for Christmas had come. I do not know the tune, but the very
words are in the Bible: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth
peace, good-will toward men.” Glory to God, for the greatest gift that
ever came; peace on earth, for all who love this Savior.
As soon as the angels finished the song they went back to heaven, and
left the shepherds alone.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE SHEPHERDS VISIT JESUS.]
The Shepherds Visit Jesus.
WHAT would you do if you had been one of those shepherds to whom the
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A TATTER OF SCARLET
A TATTER OF
SCARLET
ADVENTUROUS EPISODES OF THE
COMMUNE IN THE MIDI
1871
BY
S. R. CROCKETT
SECOND EDITION
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
_Printed in 1913_
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
HOW THE TRICOLOUR CAME DOWN 1
CHAPTER II
KITH AND KIN 9
CHAPTER III
THE LAUNDRY DOOR 13
CHAPTER IV
THROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINES 21
CHAPTER V
THE DEVENTER GIRLS 30
CHAPTER VI
AN OLD MAN MASTERFUL 34
CHAPTER VII
OUR FIRST COMMUNARD 44
CHAPTER VIII
I SEE THE SCARLET TATTER NEAR AT HAND 50
CHAPTER IX
A REUNION OF THE REDS 57
CHAPTER X
JEANNE'S VELVET EYES 65
CHAPTER XI
HOW MEN SEE RED 73
CHAPTER XII
"GOOD-BYE, RHODA POLLY" 78
CHAPTER XIII
WE SEEK GARIBALDI 84
CHAPTER XIV
"THE CHILDREN" 96
CHAPTER XV
FIRST BLOOD 101
CHAPTER XVI
THE COMING OF ALIDA 107
CHAPTER XVII
A DESERT PRINCESS 117
CHAPTER XVIII
THE PRINCESS COMMANDS 126
CHAPTER XIX
KELLER BEY COMES TO ARAMON 132
CHAPTER XX
I PLAY "THREE'S COMPANY" 138
CHAPTER XXI
THE GOLDEN HEART OF RHODA POLLY 145
CHAPTER XXII
IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 149
CHAPTER XXIII
THE MISGIVINGS OF ALIDA 156
CHAPTER XXIV
PEACE BEFORE STORM 169
CHAPTER XXV
THE PROCLAMATION 175
CHAPTER XXVI
KELLER BEY, INSURGENT 185
CHAPTER XXVII
UNDER WHICH KING, BEZONIAN? 199
CHAPTER XXVIII
STORM GATHERING 208
CHAPTER XXIX
WITHIN THE PALE 216
CHAPTER XXX
DEVIL'S TALK 226
CHAPTER XXXI
THE BLACK BAND 233
CHAPTER XXXII
"READY!" 239
CHAPTER XXXIII
"HELL UPSIDE DOWN!" 251
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE PASSING OF KELLER BEY 259
CHAPTER XXXV
A CAPTAIN OF BRIGANDS 266
CHAPTER XXXVI
LEFT-HANDED MATTHEW 273
CHAPTER XXXVII
LOOT 284
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE LAST ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK BAND 291
CHAPTER XXXIX
THE CONVERSION OF CHANOT 306
CHAPTER XL
THE LAST OF THE "TATTER OF SCARLET" 312
A TATTER OF SCARLET
CHAPTER I
HOW THE TRICOLOUR CAME DOWN
Deventer and I leaned on the parapet and watched the curious things
which were happening in Aramon across the river. We were the biggest
boys in the school and kept even the Seniors in awe, being "Les Anglais"
to them--and so familiar with the "boxe"--though Deventer was an
Irishman, and I, Angus Cawdor, a Scot of the Scots.
We had explained the difference to them many times by arguments which
may have temporarily persuaded some, but without in the least affecting
the fixed French notion that all English-speaking people are of English
race.
Behind us circulated the usual menagerie-promenade of the "Grands,"
gabbling and whispering tremendous secrets in files of two and three.
Hugh Deventer was a great hulk of a fellow who would take half a dozen
French Seniors and rub their heads together if I told him, laughing
loudly at their protestations as to loss of honour. He had been
challenged several times to fight duels with small swords, but the
Frenchmen had given that up now. For Deventer spat on his palms and
pursued the seconds who came with the challenge round and round the
playground till he caught and smacked them. Whereat he laughed again.
His father was chief of the Small Arms Factory, which of late years had
been added to the arsenal works of New Aramon opposite to us on the left
bank of the Rhone.
My own father was a clergyman, who for the sake of his health had
retired to the dry sunny Rhone valley, and had settled in a green and
white villa at Aramon because of the famous _lycee_ which was perched up
on the heights of Aramon le Vieux.
There was not much to distinguish Aramon the Old from Aramon the New,
that is, from a distance. Both glowed out startingly white and
delicately creamy between the burnished river and the flawless sapphire
of the Provencal sky. It was still winter time by the calendar, but the
sun beat on our bowed shoulders as we bent over the solid masonry of the
breastwork, and the stones were hotter than in English dog-days as we
plucked away our hands from it.
Deventer and I looked across at the greater New Aramon where his father
lived. It was the Aramon of shops and hotels and factories, while Aramon
le Vieux, over which our great _lycee_ throned it like a glorified
barracks, was a place of crumbling walls, ancient arcaded streets,
twelfth-century palaces let as tenements, and all the interesting
_debris_ of a historical city on the verges of Languedoc.
Our French _lyceens_ were too used to all this beauty and antiquity to
care anything about it, but we English did. We were left pretty much to
ourselves on our rare days of liberty, and as the professors, and
especially the _proviseur_, knew that we were to be trusted, we were
allowed to poke about the old Languedocian outpost much as we pleased.
It was the month of January, 1871. France was invaded, beaten, but not
conquered; but here in the far South, though tongues wagged fiercely, in
his heart the good bourgeois was glad to be out of it all.
At any rate, the _lycee_ was carried on just as usual. Punishments were
dealt out and tasks exacted. _Pions_ watched constantly over our
unstable morals, and occasionally reported misdemeanours of a milder
kind, not daring to make their position worse by revealing anything that
really mattered.
But, generally speaking, Aramon le Vieux dreamed away the hours,
blinking in the sunshine. The war did not touch it save in the fierce
clatter of _cafe_ dispute. Only in the forts that rose about the arsenal
of the newer city opposite to us a feeble guard of artillery and
linesmen lingered as a protection for the Small Arms Factory.
For the new Paris Government was still far from stable, and some feared
a renewal of the White Terror of 1815, and others the Red of the Commune
of 1848. The workmen of the arsenal, hastily gathered from all quarters,
were mostly sealed to the "Internationale," but it was supposed that the
field-pieces in Fort St. Andre could easily account for any number of
these hot-heads.
Besides Hugh Deventer and I there were several other English boys, but
they were still screeching like seagulls somewhere in the Lower School
and so did not count, except when an anxious mamma besought us with
tears in her voice to look after her darling, abandoned all day to his
fate among these horrid French.
To "look after" them Deventer and I could not do, but we gathered them
into a sort of fives team, and organised a poor feckless game in the
windowless angle of the refectory. We also got hockey sticks and
bastinadoed their legs for their souls' good to the great marvel of the
natives. Deventer had even been responsible for a trial of lacrosse, but
good missionaries though we were, we made no French converts.
The Juniors squealed like driven piglings when the ball came their way,
while the Seniors preferred walking up and down their paved cattle-pen,
interminably talking with linked arms and lips close to the ear of a
chosen friend.
Always one or two read as they walked alone, memorising fiercely against
next Saturday's examination.
The pariah _pion_ or outcast usher, a most unhappy out-at-elbows youth,
was expected to keep us all under his eye, but we saw to it early that
that eye passed leniently over Deventer and myself. Otherwise he counted
for nothing.
The War--the War--nothing but talk of the War came to our ears from the
murmuring throng behind us. How "France has been betrayed." "How the new
armies of the Third Republic would liberate Paris and sweep the
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Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_), and text
enclosed by equal signs is in bold (=bold=).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
The History Teacher’s Magazine
Volume I.
Number 2.
PHILADELPHIA, OCTOBER, 1909.
$1.00 a year
15 cents a copy
CONTENTS.
PAGE
GAIN, LOSS AND PROBLEM IN RECENT HISTORY TEACHING, by Prof.
William MacDonald 23
TRAINING THE HISTORY TEACHER IN THE ORGANIZATION OF HIS FIELD
OF STUDY, by Prof. N. M. Trenholme 24
INSTRUCTION IN AMERICAN GOVERNMENT | 3,353.867372 |
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COLONIAL REPORTS--MISCELLANEOUS.
No. 54.
NEWFOUNDLAND.
REPORT BY THE GOVERNOR ON A VISIT TO
THE MICMAC INDIANS AT BAY D'ESPOIR.
Presented to both Houses of Parliament by Command of His Majesty.
_September, 1908._
[Illustration]
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR HIS MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE,
BY DARLING & SON, LTD., 34-40, BACON STREET, E.
And to be purchased, either directly or through any Bookseller, from
WYMAN AND SONS, LTD., FETTER LANE, E.C., and
32, ABINGDON STREET, WESTMINSTER, S.W.; or
OLIVER & BOYD, TWEEDDALE COURT, EDINBURGH; or
E. PONSONBY, 116, GRAFTON STREET, DUBLIN.
1908.
[Cd. 4197.] _Price 2d._
No. 54.
NEWFOUNDLAND.
REPORT BY THE GOVERNOR ON A VISIT TO THE MICMAC INDIANS AT BAY
D'ESPOIR.
THE GOVERNOR TO THE SECRETARY OF STATE.
Government House,
St. John's,
8th July, 1908.
MY LORD,
I have the honour to inform you that I left St. John's on the 28th May
to visit the settlement of the Micmac Indians at Bay d'Espoir, on the
south coast of this Island.
Bay d'Espoir is a long inlet of the sea, extending up country over a
score of miles. The district is hilly, and is covered by a forest of
rather small trees, spruce and birch, but further inland the hills are
generally bare. There are comparatively few European residents in this
bay.
2. The | 3,354.062452 |
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THE WRECK
ON
THE ANDAMANS:
BEING
A NARRATIVE OF THE VERY REMARKABLE PRESERVATION,
AND ULTIMATE DELIVERANCE, OF THE SOLDIERS
AND SEAMEN, WHO FORMED THE SHIPS' COMPANIES OF
THE RUNNYMEDE AND BRITON TROOP-SHIPS, BOTH
WRECKED ON THE MORNING OF THE 12TH OF NOVEMBER,
1844, UPON ONE OF THE ANDAMAN ISLANDS, IN
THE BAY OF BENGAL.
_TAKEN FROM AUTHENTIC DOCUMENTS_
BY
JOSEPH DARVALL, Esq.
_At the request of_
CAPT. CHARLES INGRAM, AND CAPT. HENRY JOHN HALL,
_Owners of the Runnymede._
"The dangers of the sea,
All the cares and all the fears,
When the stormy winds do blow."
(_Song._)
LONDON: PELHAM RICHARDSON, 23, CORNHILL.
1845.
PELHAM RICHARDSON, PRINTER, 23, CORNHILL.
PREFACE.
The Author, owing to circumstances, has had access to authentic
documents and facts, relating to one of the most remarkable shipwrecks
which have ever happened, that of the troop-ships Runnymede and
Briton, on the morning of the 12th of November, 1844, upon one of the
Andaman Islands.
In reading these, it struck him forcibly, that the circumstances, if
thrown into the shape of a narrative, would form not only an
interesting publication, but would serve as a monument of the cool
intrepidity and judicious presence of mind of British officers,
soldiers, and seamen, in a time of remarkable trial.
They also tend to illustrate in a very striking manner the correctness
of the classic and poetical description of the "dangers of the sea,"
contained in that passage of Scripture, which the Author has often
observed to be listened to with great interest, when read in its
course, in the churches of our seaports, and which, on that account,
he makes no apology for quoting in a work, not professedly religious.
"They that go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business in
great waters; these men see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in
the deep. For at his word the stormy wind ariseth, which lifteth up
the waves thereof. They are carried up to the heaven, and down again
to the deep: their soul melteth away because of the trouble. They reel
to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man: and are at their wits'
end. So when they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, he delivereth
them out of their distress. For he maketh the storm to cease: so that
the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they are at
rest; and so he bringeth them unto the haven where they would be."[A]
[A] Psalm cvii., v. 23-30, Com. Pr. Book.
If this little work should answer the author's intention by proving
entertaining as well as instructive, he will feel that he has been
rewarded for the pains he has taken in compiling it.
_Reading,_
_July, 1845._
THE
WRECK ON THE ANDAMANS.
THE DEPARTURE.
"O'er the smooth bosom of the faithless tides,
Propelled by gentle gales, the vessel glides."
_Falconer._
The gallant Barque the Runnymede, of 507 tons burthen, commanded by
Captain William Clement Doutty, an experienced seaman, and the property
of Messrs. Hall & Co. and Ingram of Riches-court, Lime-street, London,
being a remarkably staunch river-built vessel of the A 1 or first class,
left Gravesend on the 20th of June, 1844, bound for Calcutta. She had
on board a general cargo and a crew of twenty-eight persons, including
officers. She also carried out, on account of the Honourable East India
Company, thirty-eight soldiers, with two women and one child, belonging
to Her Majesty's 10th Regiment of Foot, and also Captain Stapleton,
Ensigns Venables, Du Vernett, and Purcell, and one hundred and five
soldiers, ten women, and thirteen children, belonging to Her Majesty's
50th Regiment of Foot. The whole of the military were under the command
of Captain Stapleton; the medical officer was Mr. Bell, the surgeon of
the vessel.
Every thing proceeded in the same manner as is usual on voyages in the
same course, till they arrived south of the Tropics. The only casualty
they met with was the death of William Bryant, a private of the 10th,
on the 12th of July. He had suffered from sea-sickness ever since his
embarkation. His body was committed to the deep the same evening, with
the customary ceremonies. The principal amusements of the officers and
crew were fishing, shark-catching, booby and pigeon shooting, and
playing at backgammon. There were also on board the ship, books
provided for the use of those who were disposed to read. The hour of
dinner was four o'clock.
On arriving south of the Tropics, the wind, instead of backing to
the westward, blew almost constantly from the north-east and
east-north-east; and when it occasionally got to the westward of
north, it always fell light, contrary to the usual course; and so it
continued until it got to the westward, and then it freshened. In
consequence of the delay occasioned by this state of things, and
the near approach of the north-east monsoon, the captain, on the
21st of October, resolved to call at Penang, for the purpose of
taking in an additional supply of water and other necessaries. They
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Early Western Travels
1748-1846
Volume XXVIII
Early Western Travels
1748-1846
A Series of Annotated Reprints of some of the best
| 3,354.780912 |
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THE UNKNOWN LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST
The Original Text of Nicolas Notovitch's 1887 Discovery
by
NICOLAS NOTOVITCH
Translated by J. H. Connelly and L. Landsberg
Printed in the United States of America
New York: R.F. Fenno. 1890.
Table of Contents
_Preface_ vi
_A Journey in Thibet_ 1
_Ladak_ | 3,354.795059 |
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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 & PRUDHOMME COMPANY
PORTLAND, OREGON
Preface
Some twenty-eight years ago I wrote and published a small book
recounting my personal experiences in the Civil War, but this book is
long out of print, and the publication exhausted. At the urgent request
of some of my old comrades who still survive, and of friends and my own
family, I have undertaken the task of rewriting and publishing this
story.
As stated in the preface to the former volume, the principal object of
this work is to record, largely from memory, and after the lapse of
many years (now nearly half a century) since the termination of the
war between the states of the Federal Union, the history, conduct,
character and deeds of the men who composed Company D, Seventh regiment
of Virginia infantry, and the part they bore in that memorable
conflict.
The chief motive which inspires this undertaking is to give some meager
idea of the Confederate soldier in the ranks, and of his individual
deeds of heroism, particularly of that patriotic, self-sacrificing,
brave company of men with whose fortunes and destiny my own were linked
for four long years of blood and carnage, and to whom during that
period I was bound by ties stronger than hooks of steel; whose
confidence and friendship I fully shared, and as fully reciprocated.
To the surviving members of that company, to the widows and children,
broken-hearted mothers, and to gray-haired, disconsolate fathers (if
such still live) of those who fell amidst the battle and beneath its
thunders, or perished from wounds or disease, this work is dedicated.
The character of the men who composed that company, and their deeds of
valor and heroism, will ever live, and in the hearts of our people will
be enshrined the names of the gallant dead as well as of the living, as
the champions of constitutional liberty. They will be held in grateful
remembrance by their own countrymen, appreciated and recognized by all
people of all lands, who admire brave deeds, true courage, and devotion
of American soldiers to cause and country.
For some of the dates and material I am indebted to comrades. I also
found considerable information from letters written by myself during
the war to a friend, not in the army, and not subject to military duty,
on account of sex; who, as I write, sits by me, having now (February,
1914), for a period of more than forty-six years been the sharer of my
joys, burdens and sorrows; whose only brother, George Daniel Pearis, a
boy of seventeen years, and a member of Bryan's Virginia battery, fell
mortally wounded in the battle of Cloyd's Farm, May 9, 1864.
DAVID E. JOHNSTON.
Portland, Oregon, May, 1914.
Introduction
The author of this book is my neighbor. He was a Confederate, and I a
Union soldier. Virginia born, he worked hard in youth. A country
lawyer, a member of the Senate of West Virginia, Representative in
Congress, and Circuit Judge, his life has been one of activity and
achievement. Blessed with a face and manner which disarm suspicion,
inspire confidence and good will, he makes new friends, and retains old
ones.
Judge Johnston (having through life practiced the virtues of a good
Baptist), is, therefore, morally sound to the core. He has succeeded,
not by luck or chance, but because of what he is. Withal, he has
cultivated the faculty for hard work; in fact, through life he has
liked nothing so well as hard work.
A vast good nature, running easily into jocular talk, with interesting
stories, in which he excels, he is able to meet every kind of man in
every rank of society, catching with unerring instinct the temper of
every individual and company where he is.
He is thoroughly American, and though having traveled extensively in
Europe and the East, he is not spoiled with aping foreigners, nor
"rattled" by their frivolous accomplishments. He is likewise an
experienced writer, being the author of the history of "Middle New
River Settlements, and Contiguous Territory," in Virginia and West
Virginia, a work of great value, which cost the author years of
persistent research.
This volume, "The Story of a Confederate Boy," is written from the
heart, with all his might, and all his honesty, and is characterized
throughout by fertility, sympathy, and magnanimity, in recording his
own personal experiences, and what he saw.
C. E. CLINE.
Portland, Oregon.
Contents
Chapter. Page.
I. Pre-election Statement as to Mr. Lincoln.--The | 3,354.854126 |
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PAUL PATOFF
by
F. MARION CRAWFORD
Author of "A Roman Singer," "To Leeward," "An American
Politician," "Saracinesca," Etc.
New York
The MacMillan Company
London: MacMillan & Co., Ltd.
1911
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1887,
by F. Marion Crawford.
Copyright, 1892,
by F. Marion Crawford.
First published elsewhere. Reprinted with corrections, April,
1893; June, 1894; June, 1899; July, 1906; January, 1912.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
PAUL PATOFF.
My dear lady--my dear friend--you have asked me to tell you a story, and
I am going to try, because there is not anything I would not try if you
asked it of me. I do not yet know what it will be about, but it is
impossible that I should disappoint you; and if the proverb says, "Needs
must when the devil drives," I can mend the proverb into a show of
grace, and say, The most barren earth must needs bear flowers when an
angel sows the seed.
When you asked for the story I could only find a dry tale of my own
doings, which I detailed to you somewhat at length, as we cantered down
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THE WAY OF INITIATION
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
INITIATION AND ITS RESULTS
a sequel to the
"WAY OF INITIATION"
By
RUDOLF STEINER, Ph.D.
Translated from the German by Clifford Bax
CONTENTS
A FOREWORD
I. THE ASTRAL CENTERS (CHAKRAS)
II. THE CONSTITUTION OF THE ETHERIC BODY
III. DREAM LIFE
IV. THE THREE STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS
V. THE DISSOCIATION OF HUMAN PERSONALITY DURING INITIATION
VI. THE FIRST GUARDIAN OF THE THRESHOLD
VII. THE SECOND GUARDIAN OF THE THRESHOLD
SELECTED LIST OF OCCULT WORKS
In same clear print and rich binding as this book
PRICE $1.00 PREPAID
THE WAY OF INITIATION
OR
HOW TO ATTAIN KNOWLEDGE OF THE HIGHER WORLDS
BY RUDOLF STEINER, Ph.D.
FROM THE GERMAN
BY
~MAX GYSI~
WITH SOME BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES OF THE AUTHOR BY
~EDOUARD SCHURE~
FIRST AMERICANIZED EDITION
MACOY PUBLISHING AND MASONIC SUPPLY CO.
NEW YORK, U.S.A.
Copyright 1910
BY
MACOY PUBLISHING
AND
MASONIC SUPPLY CO.
45-47-49 JOHN ST.
New York, U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
The Personality of Rudolf Steiner and His Development 7
I. The Superphysical World and Its Gnosis 33
II. How to Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds 50
III. The Path of Discipleship 65
IV. Probation 81
V. Enlightenment 93
VI. Initiation 117
VII. The Higher Education of the Soul 135
VIII. The Conditions of Discipleship 149
List of Occult and Kindred Books 165
Transcriber's Note: Words printed in bold are noted with tildes;
~bold~. There is no corresponding anchor for footnote number 5.
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.
(FOR THE ENGLISH EDITION.)
Being deeply interested in Dr. Steiner's work and teachings, and
desirous of sharing with my English-speaking friends the many
invaluable glimpses of Truth which are to be found therein, I decided
upon the translation of the present volume. It is due to the kind
co-operation of several friends who prefer to be anonymous that this
task has been accomplished, and I wish to express my hearty thanks for
the literary assistance rendered by them--also to thank Dr. Peipers of
Munich for permission to reproduce his excellent photograph of the
author.
The special value of this volume consists, I think, in the fact that
no advice is given and no statement made which is not based on the
personal experience of the author, who is, in the truest sense, both
a mystic and an occultist.
If the present volume should meet with a reception justifying a further
venture, we propose translating and issuing during the coming year a
further series of articles by Dr. Steiner in continuation of the same
subject, and a third volume will consist of the articles now appearing
in the pages of The Theosophist, entitled "The Education of Children."
MAX GYSI.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE.
While the pleasant German vernacular is still discernable in the text
of this work, we wish to state that it has been Americanized in
spelling, phraseology, and definition, to make plainer to the Western
mind the wonderful truths experienced by its distinguished author.
The readers, especially Occult, Theosophic, Masonic, and New Thought
students, we believe, will appreciate the clearness with which his
teachings lead to the simple rich Harmony of Life.
MACOY PUB. & MASONIC SUP. CO.
THE PERSONALITY OF RUDOLF STEINER AND HIS DEVELOPMENT
BY EDOUARD SCHURE[1]
Many of even the most cultivated men of our time have a very mistaken
idea of what is a true mystic and a true occultist. They know these two
forms of human mentality only by their imperfect or degenerate types,
of which recent times have afforded but too many examples. To the
intellectual man of the day, the mystic is a kind of fool and visionary
who takes his fancies for facts; the occultist is a dreamer or a
charlatan who abuses public credulity in order to boast of an imaginary
science and of pretended powers. Be it remarked, to begin with, that
this definition of mysticism, though deserved by some, would be as
unjust as erroneous if one sought to apply it to such personalities as
Joachim del Fiore of the thirteenth century, Jacob Boehme of the
sixteenth, or St. Martin, who is called "the unknown philosopher," of
the eighteenth century. No less unjust and false would be the current
definition of the occultist if one saw in it the slightest connection
with such earnest seekers as Paracelsus, Mesmer, or Fabre d'Olivet in
the past, as William Crookes, de Rochat, or Camille Flammarion in the
present. Think what we may of these bold investigators, it is
undeniable that they have opened out regions unknown to science, and
furnished the mind with new ideas.
[1] Translated by kind permission of the author from the
introduction to _Le Mystere Chretien et les Mysteres
Antiques_. Traduit de l'allemand par Edouard Schure,
Librairie academique, Perrin & Co., 1908, Paris.
No, these fanciful definitions can at most satisfy that scientific
dilettantism which hides its feebleness under a supercilious mask to
screen its indolence, or the worldly scepticism which ridicules all
that threatens to upset its indifference. But enough of these
superficial opinions. Let us study history, the sacred and profane
books of all nations, and the last results of experimental science; let
us subject all these facts to impartial criticism, inferring similar
effects from identical causes, and we shall be forced to give quite
another definition of the mystic and the occultist.
The true mystic is a man who enters into full possession of his inner
life, and who, having become cognizant of his sub-consciousness, finds
in it, through concentrated meditation and steady discipline, new
faculties and enlightenment. These new faculties and this enlightenment
instruct him as to the innermost nature of his soul and his relations
with that impalpable element which underlies all, with that eternal and
supreme reality which religion calls God, and poetry the Divine. The
occultist, akin to the mystic, but differing from him as a younger from
an elder brother, is a man endowed with intuition and with synthesis,
who seeks to penetrate the hidden depths and foundations of Nature by
the methods of science and philosophy: that is to say, by observation
and reason, methods invariable in principle, but modified in
application by being adapted to the descending kingdoms of Spirit or
the ascending kingdoms of Nature, according to the vast hierarchy of
beings and the alchemy of the creative Word.
The mystic, then, is one who seeks for truth and the Divine directly
within himself, by a gradual detachment and a veritable birth of his
higher soul. If he attains it after prolonged effort, he plunges into
his own glowing centre. Then he immerses himself, and identifies
himself with that ocean of life which is the primordial Force.
The occultist, on the other hand, discovers, studies, and contemplates
this same Divine outpouring given forth in diverse portions, endowed
with force, and multiplied to infinity in Nature and in Humanity.
According to the profound saying of Paracelsus: _he sees in all beings
the letters of an alphabet, which, united in man, form the complete and
conscious Word of life_. The detailed analysis that he makes of them,
the syntheses that he constructs with them, are to him as so many
images and forecastings of this central Divine, of this Sun of Beauty,
of Truth and of Life, which he sees not, but which is reflected and
bursts upon his vision in countless mirrors.
The weapons of the mystic are concentration and inner vision; the
weapons of the occultist are intuition and synthesis. Each corresponds
to the other; they complete and presuppose each other.
These two human types are blended in the Adept, in the higher Initiate.
No doubt one or the other, and often both, are met with in the founders
of great religions and the loftiest philosophies. No doubt also they
are to be found again, in a less, but still very remarkable degree,
among a certain number of personages who have played a great part in
history as reformers, thinkers, poets, artists, statesmen.
Why, then, should these two types of mind, which represent the highest
human faculties, and were formerly the object of universal veneration,
usually appear to us now as merely deformed and travestied? Why have
they become obliterated? Why should they have fallen into such
discredit?
That is the result of a profound cause existing in an inevitable
necessity of human evolution.
During the last two thousand years, but especially since the sixteenth
century, humanity has achieved a tremendous work, namely, the conquest
of the globe | 3,354.892395 |
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Produced by Judith Boss
DREAMS & DUST
POEMS BY DON MARQUIS
TO
MY MOTHER
VIRGINIA WHITMORE MARQUIS
CONTENTS
PROEM
DAYLIGHT HUMORS
THIS IS ANOTHER DAY
APRIL SONG
THE EARTH, IT IS ALSO A STAR
THE NAME
THE BIRTH
A MOOD OF PAVLOWA
THE POOL
"THEY HAD NO POET"
NEW YORK
A HYMN
THE SINGER
WORDS ARE NOT GUNS
WITH THE SUBMARINES
NICHOLAS OF MONTENEGRO
DICKENS
A POLITICIAN
THE BAYONET
THE BUTCHERS AT PRAYER
SHADOWS
HAUNTED
A NIGHTMARE
THE MOTHER
IN THE BAYOU
THE SAILOR'S WIFE SPEAKS
HUNTED
A DREAM CHILD
ACROSS THE NIGHT
SEA CHANGES
THE TAVERN OF DESPAIR
COLORS AND SURFACES
A GOLDEN LAD
THE SAGE AND THE WOMAN
NEWS FROM BABYLON
A RHYME OF THE ROADS
THE LAND OF YESTERDAY
OCTOBER
CHANT OF THE CHANGING HOURS
DREAMS AND DUST
SELVES
THE WAGES
IN MARS, WHAT AVATAR?
THE GOD-MAKER, MAN
UNREST
THE PILTDOWN SKULL
THE SEEKER
THE AWAKENING
A SONG OF MEN
THE NOBLER LESSON
AT LAST
LYRICS
"KING PANDION, HE IS DEAD"
DAVID TO BATHSHEBA
THE JESTERS
"MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY"
THE TRIOLET
FROM THE BRIDGE
"PALADINS, PALADINS, YOUTH NOBLE-HEARTED"
"MY LANDS, NOT THINE"
TO A DANCING DOLL
LOWER NEW YORK--A STORM
AT SUNSET
A CHRISTMAS GIFT
SILVIA
THE EXPLORERS
EARLY AUTUMN
"TIME STEALS FROM LOVE"
THE RONDEAU
VISITORS
THE PARTING
AN OPEN FIRE
REALITIES
REALITIES
THE STRUGGLE
THE REBEL
THE CHILD AND THE MILL
"SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI"
THE COMRADE
ENVOI
PROEM
"SO LET THEM PASS, THESE SONGS OF MINE"
So let them pass, these songs of mine,
Into oblivion, nor repine;
Abandoned ruins of large schemes,
Dimmed lights adrift from nobler dreams,
Weak wings I sped on quests divine,
So let them pass, these songs of mine.
They soar, or sink ephemeral--
I care not greatly which befall!
For if no song I e'er had wrought,
Still have I loved and laughed and fought;
So let them pass, these songs of mine;
I sting too hot with life to whine!
Still shall I struggle, fail, aspire,
Lose God, and find Gods in the mire,
And drink dream-deep life's heady wine--
So let them pass, these songs of mine.
DAYLIGHT HUMORS
THIS IS ANOTHER DAY
I AM mine own priest, and I shrive myself
Of all my wasted yesterdays. Though sin
And sloth and foolishness, and all ill weeds
Of error, evil, and neglect grow rank
And ugly there, I dare forgive myself
That error, sin, and sloth and foolishness.
God knows that yesterday I played the fool;
God knows that yesterday I played the knave;
But shall I therefore cloud this new dawn o'er
With fog of futile sighs and vain regrets?
This is another day! And flushed Hope walks
Adown the sunward <DW72>s with golden shoon.
This is another day; and its young strength
Is laid upon the quivering hills until,
Like Egypt's Memnon, they grow quick with song.
This is another day, and the bold world
Leaps up and grasps its light, and laughs, as leapt
Prometheus up and wrenched the fire from Zeus.
This is another day--are its eyes blurred
With maudlin grief for any wasted past?
A thousand thousand failures shall not daunt!
Let dust clasp dust; death, death--I am alive!
And out of all the dust and death of mine
Old selves I dare to lift a singing heart
And living faith; my spirit dares drink deep
Of the red mirth mantling in the cup of morn.
APRIL SONG
FLEET across the grasses
Flash the feet of Spring,
Piping, as he passes
Fleet across the grasses,
"Follow, lads and lasses!
Sing, world, sing!"
Fleet across the grasses
Flash the feet of Spring!
_Idle winds deliver
Rumors through the town,
Tales of reeds that quiver,
Idle winds deliver,
Where the rapid river
Drags the willows down--
Idle winds deliver
Rumors through the town._
In the country places
By the silver brooks
April airs her graces;
In the country places
Wayward April paces,
Laughter in her looks;
In the country places
By the silver brooks.
_Hints of alien glamor
Even reach the town;
Urban muses stammer
Hints of alien glamor,
But the city's clamor
Beats the voices down;
Hints of alien glamor
Even reach the town._
THIS EARTH, IT IS ALSO A STAR
WHERE the singers of Saturn find tongue,
Where the Galaxy's lovers embrace,
Our world and its beauty are sung!
They lean from their casements to trace
If our planet still spins in its place;
Faith fables the thing that we are,
And Fantasy laughs and gives chase:
This earth, it is also a star!
Round the sun, that is fixed, and hung
For a lamp in the darkness of space
We are whirled, we are swirled, we are flung;
Singing and shining we race
And our light on the uplifted face
Of dreamer or prophet afar
May fall as a symbol of grace:
This earth, it is also a star!
Looking out where our planet is swung
Doubt loses his writhen grimace,
Dry hearts drink the gleams and are young;--
Where agony's boughs interlace
His Garden some Jesus may pace,
Lifting, the wan avatar,
His soul to this light as a vase!
This earth, it is also a star!
Great spirits in sorrowful case
Yearn to us through the vapors that bar:
Canst think of that, soul, and be base?--
This earth, it is also a star!
THE NAME
IT shifts and shifts from form to form,
It drifts and darkles, gleams and glows;
It is the passion of the storm,
The poignance of the rose;
Through changing shapes, through devious
ways,
By noon or night, through cloud or flame,
My heart has followed all my days
Something I cannot name.
In sunlight on some woman's hair,
Or starlight in some woman's eyne,
Or in low laughter smothered where
Her red lips wedded mine,
My heart hath known, and thrilled to know,
This unnamed presence that it sought;
And when my heart hath found it so,
_"Love is the name,"_ I thought.
Sometimes when sudden afterglows
In futile glory storm the skies
Within their transient gold and rose
The secret stirs and dies;
Or when the trampling morn walks o'er
The troubled seas, with feet of flame,
My awed heart whispers, _"Ask no more,
For Beauty is the name!"_
Or dreaming in old chapels where
The dim aisles pulse with murmurings
That part are music, part are prayer--
(Or rush of hidden wings)
Sometimes I lift a startled head
To some saint's carven countenance,
Half fancying that the lips have said,
_All names mean God, perchance!"_
THE BIRTH
THERE is a legend that the love of God
So quickened under Mary's heart it wrought
Her very maidenhood to holier stuff....
However that may be, the birth befell
Upon a night when all the Syrian stars
Swayed tremulous before one lordlier orb
That rose in gradual splendor,
Paused,
Flooding the firmament with mystic light,
And dropped upon the breathing hills
A sudden music
Like a distillation from its gleams;
A rain of spirit and a dew of song!
A MOOD OF PAVLOWA
THE soul of the Spring through its body of earth
Bursts in a bloom of fire,
And the crocuses come in a rainbow riot of mirth....
They flutter, they burn, they take wing, they
aspire....
Wings, motion and music and flame,
Flower, woman and laughter, and all these the
same!
She is light and first love and the youth of the
world,
She is sandaled with joy... she is lifted and
whirled,
She is flung, she is swirled, she is driven along
By the carnival winds that have torn her away
From the coronal bloom on the brow of the
May....
She is youth, she is foam, she is flame, she is
visible Song!
THE POOL
REACH over, my Undine, and clutch me a reed--
Nymph of mine idleness, notch me a pipe--
For I am fulfilled of the silence, and long
For to utter the sense of the silence in song.
Down-stream all the rapids are troubled with pebbles
That fetter and fret what the water would utter,
And it rushes and splashes in tremulous trebles;
It makes haste through the shallows, its soul is
aflutter;
But here all the sound is serene and outspread
In the murmurous moods of a slow-swirling pool;
Here all the sounds are unhurried and cool;
Every silence is kith to a sound; they are wed,
They are mated, are mingled, are tangled, are
bound;
Every hush is in love with a sound, every sound
By the law of its life to some silence is bound.
Then here will we hide; idle here and abide,
In the covert here, close by the waterside--
Here, where the slim flattered reeds are aquiver
With the exquisite hints of the reticent river,
Here, where the lips of this pool are the lips
Of all pools, let us listen and question and wait;
Let us hark to the whispers of love and of death,
Let us hark to the lispings of life and of fate--
In this place where pale silences flower into sound
Let us strive for some secret of all the profound
Deep and calm Silence that meshes men 'round!
There's as much of God hinted in one ripple's
plashes--
There's as much of Truth glints in yon
dragon-fly's flight--
There's as much Purpose gleams where yonder
trout flashes
As in--any book else!--could we read things
aright.
Then nymph of mine indolence, here let us hide,
Learn, listen, and question; idle here and abide
Where the rushes and lilies lean low to the tide.
"THEY HAD NO POET..."
"Vain was the chief's, the sage's pride!
They had no poet and they died."--POPE.
By Tigris, or the streams of Ind,
Ere Colchis rose, or Babylon,
Forgotten empires dreamed and sinned,
Setting tall towns against the dawn,
Which, when the proud Sun smote upon,
Flashed fire for fire and pride for pride;
Their names were... Ask oblivion!...
_"They had no poet, and they died."_
Queens, dusk of hair and tawny-skinned,
That loll where fellow leopards fawn...
Their hearts are dust before the wind,
Their loves, that shook the world, are wan!
Passion is mighty... but, anon,
Strong Death has Romance for his bride;
Their legends... Ask oblivion!...
_"They had no poet, and they died."_
Heroes, the braggart trumps that dinned
Their futile triumphs, monarch, pawn,
Wild tribesmen, kingdoms disciplined,
Passed like a whirlwind and were gone;
They built with bronze and gold and brawn,
The inner Vision still denied;
Their conquests... Ask oblivion!...
_"They had no poet, and they died."_
Dumb oracles, and priests withdrawn,
Was it but flesh they deified?
Their gods were... Ask oblivion!...
_"They had no poet, and they died."_
NEW YORK
SHE is hot to the sea that crouches beside,
Human and hot to the cool stars peering down,
My passionate city, my quivering town,
And her dark blood, tide upon purple tide,
With throbs as of thunder beats,
With leaping rhythms and vast, is swirled
Through the shaken lengths of her veined streets...
She pulses, the heart of a world!
I have thrilled with her ecstasy, agony, woe--
Hath she a mood that I do not know?
The winds of her music tumultuous have seized
me and swayed me,
Have lifted, have swung me around
In their whorls as of cyclonic sound;
Her passions have torn me and tossed me and
brayed me;
Drunken and tranced and dazzled with visions
and gleams,
I have spun with her dervish priests;
I have searched to the souls of her hunted beasts
And found love sleeping there;
I have soared on the wings of her flashing dreams;
I have sunk with her dull despair;
I have sweat with her travails and cursed with
her pains;
I have swelled with her foolish pride;
I have raged through a thick red mist at one
with her branded Cains,
With her broken Christs have died.
O beautiful half-god city of visions and love!
O hideous half-brute city of hate!
O wholly human and baffled and passionate town!
The throes of thy burgeoning, stress of thy fight,
Thy bitter, blind struggle to gain for thy body a
soul,
I have known, I have felt, and been shaken
thereby!
Wakened and shaken and broken,
For I hear in thy thunders terrific that throb
through thy rapid veins
The beat of the heart of a world.
A HYMN
(1914)
CLOTHED on with thunder and with steel
And black against the dawn
The whirling armies clash and reel....
A wind, and they are gone
Like mists withdrawn,
Like mists withdrawn!
Like clouds withdrawn, like driven sands,
Earth's body vanisheth:
One solid thing unconquered stands,
The ghost that humbles death.
All else is breath,
All else is breath!
Man rose from out the stinging slime,
Half brute, and sought a soul,
And up the starrier ways of time,
Half god, unto his goal,
He still must climb,
He still must climb!
What though worlds stagger, and the suns
Seem shaken in their place,
Trust thou the leaping love that runs
Creative over space:
Take heart of grace,
Take heart of grace!
What though great kingdoms fall on death
Before the stabbing blade,
Their brazen might was only breath,
Their substance but a shade--
Be not dismayed,
Be not dismayed!
Man's dream which conquered brute and clod
Shall fail not, but endure,
Shall rise, though beaten to the sod,
Shall hold its vantage sure--
As sure as God,
As sure as God!
THE SINGER
A LITTLE while, with love and youth,
He wandered, singing:--
He felt life's pulses hot and strong
Beat all his rapid veins along;
He wrought life's rhythms into song:
He laughed, he sang the Dawn!
So close, so close to life he dwelt
That at rare times and rapt he felt
The fleshly barriers yield and melt;
He trembled, looking on
Creation at her miracles;
His soul-sight pierced the earthly shells
And saw the spirit weave its spells,
The veil of clay withdrawn;--
A little while, with love and youth,
He wandered, singing!
A little while, with age and death,
He wanders, dreaming;--
No more the thunder and the urge
Of earth's full tides that storm the verge
Of heaven with their sweep and surge
Shall lift, shall bear him on;
Where is the golden hope that led
Him comrade with the mighty dead?
The love that aureoled his head?--
The glory is withdrawn!
How shall one soar with broken wings?
The leagued might of futile things
Wars with the heart that dares and sings;--
It is not always Dawn!
A little while, with age and death,
He wanders, dreaming.
WORDS ARE NOT GUNS
_Put by the sword_ (a dreamer saith),
_The years of peace draw nigh!
Already the millennial dawn
Makes red the eastern sky!_
Be not deceived. It comes not yet!
The ancient passions keep
Alive beneath their changing masks.
They are not dead. They sleep.
Surely peace comes. As sure as Man
Rose from primeval slime.
That was not yesterday. There's still
A weary height to climb!
And we can dwell too long with dreams
And play too much with words,
Forgetting our inheritance
Was bought and held with swords.
_But Truth_ (you say) _makes tyrants quail--
Beats down embattled Wrong?_
If truth be armed! Be not deceived.
The strife is to the strong.
Words are not guns. Words are not ships.
And ships and guns prevail.
Our liberties, that blood has gained,
Are guarded, or they fail.
Truth does not triumph without blows,
Error not tamely yields.
But falsehood closes with quick faith,
Fierce, on a thousand fields.
And surely, somewhat of that faith
Our fathers fought for clings!
Which called this freedom's hemisphere,
Despite Earth's leagued kings.
Great creeds grow thews, or else they die.
Thought clothed in deed is lord.
What are thy gods? Thy gods brought love?
They also brought a sword.
Unchallenged, shall we always stand,
Secure, apart, aloof?
Be not deceived. That hour shall come
Which puts us to the proof.
Then, that we hold the trust we have
Safeguarded for our sons,
Let us cease dreaming! Let us have
More ships, more troops, more guns!
WITH THE SUBMARINES
ABOVE, the baffled twilight fails; beneath, the
blind snakes creep;
Beside us glides the charnel shark, our pilot
through the deep;
And, lurking where low headlands shield from
cruising scout and spy,
We bide the signal through the gloom that bids
us slay or die.
All watchful, mute, the crouching guns that guard
the strait sea lanes--
Watchful and hawklike, plumed with hate, the
desperate aeroplanes--
And still as death and swift as fate, above the
darkling coasts,
The spying Wireless sows the night with troops
of stealthy ghosts,
While hushed through all her huddled streets the
tide-walled city waits
The drumming thunders that announce brute
battle at her gates.
Southward a hundred windy leagues, through
storms that blind and bar,
Our cheated cruisers search the waves, our captains
seek the war;
But here the port of peril is; the foeman's
dreadnoughts ride
Sullen and black against the moon, upon a sullen
tide.
And only we to launch ourselves against their
stark advance--
To guide uncertain lightnings through these
treacherous seas of chance!
. . . . . .
And now a wheeling searchlight paints a signal on
the night;
And now the bellowing guns are loud with the
wild lust of fight.
. . . . . .
And now, her flanks | 3,355.157676 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, David Garcia, Gerard Arthus
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcribers Note: The typesetting in the book was poor, all errors
have been retained as printed.
[Illustration: G. L. Brown. S. Schoff.
LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS AT PLIMOUTH 11th. DEC. 1620.]
THE
SIN AND DANGER
OF
SELF-LOVE
DESCRIBED,
IN A
SERMON
PREACHED
AT PLYMOUTH, IN NEW-ENGLAND, 1621,
BY
ROBERT CUSHMAN.
WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.
| 3,355.356868 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Gary Houston and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ENGLAND IN AMERICA
1580-1652
By
Lyon Gardiner Tyler, LL.D.
J. & J. Harper Editions
Harper & Row, Publishers
New York and Evanston
1904 by Harper & Brothers.
[Illustration: SIR WALTER RALEIGH (1552-1618). From an engraving by
Robinson after a painting by Zucchero.]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION xiii
AUTHOR'S PREFACE xix
I. GENESIS OF ENGLISH COLONIZATION (1492-1579) 3
II. GILBERT AND RALEIGH COLONIES (1583-1602) 18
III. FOUNDING OF VIRGINIA (1602-1608) 34
IV. GLOOM IN VIRGINIA (1608-1617) 55
V. TRANSITION OF VIRGINIA (1617-1640) 76
VI. SOCIAL AND ECONOMIC CONDITIONS OF VIRGINIA (1634-1652) 100
VII. FOUNDING OF MARYLAND (1632-1650) 118
VIII. CONTENTIONS IN MARYLAND (1633-1652) 134
IX. FOUNDING OF PLYMOUTH (1608-1630) 149
X. DEVELOPMENT OF NEW PLYMOUTH (1621-1643) 163
XI. GENESIS OF MASSACHUSETTS (1628-1630) 183
XII. FOUNDING OF MASSACHUSETTS (1630-1642) 196
XIII. RELIGION AND GOVERNMENT IN MASSACHUSETTS (1631-1638) 210
XIV. NARRAGANSETT AND CONNECTICUT SETTLEMENTS (1635-1637) 229
XV. FOUNDING OF CONNECTICUT AND NEW HAVEN (1637-1652) 251
XVI. NEW HAMPSHIRE AND MAINE (1653-1658) 266
XVII. COLONIAL NEIGHBORS (1643-1652) 282
XVIII. THE NEW ENGLAND CONFEDERATION (1643-1654) 297
XIX. EARLY NEW ENGLAND LIFE 318
XX. CRITICAL ESSAY ON AUTHORITIES 328
INDEX 341
MAPS
ROANOKE ISLAND, JAMESTOWN, AND ST. MARY'S
(1584-1632) _facing_ 34
CHART OF VIRGINIA, SHOWING INDIAN AND
EARLY ENGLISH SETTLEMENTS IN 1632 76
VIRGINIA IN 1652 99
MARYLAND IN 1652 133
NEW ENGLAND (1652) _facing_ 196
MAINE IN 1652 265
NEW SWEDEN AND NEW NETHERLAND 296
[Transcriber's Note: This text retains original spellings. Also,
superscripted abbreviations or contractions are indicated by the
use of a caret (^), such as w^th (with).]
EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION
Some space has already been given in this series to the English and
their relation to the New World, especially the latter half of
Cheyney's _European Background of American History_, which deals with
the religious, social, and political institutions which the English
colonists brought with them; and chapter v. of Bourne's _Spain in
America_, describing the Cabot voyages. This volume begins a detailed
story of the English settlement, and its title indicates the
conception of the author that during the first half-century the
American colonies were simply outlying portions of the English nation,
but that owing to disturbances culminating in civil war they had the
opportunity to develop on lines not suggested by the home government.
The first two chapters deal with the unsuccessful attempts to plant
English colonies, especially by Gilbert and Raleigh. These beginnings
are important because they proved the difficulty of planting colonies
through individual enterprise. At the same time the author brings out
clearly the various motives for | 3,355.415564 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Martin Pettit and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE LAST STROKE
_A DETECTIVE STORY_
BY LAWRENCE L. LYNCH
(E. MURDOCH VAN DEVENTER)
_Author of_ "_No Proof_," "_Moina_," _&c., &c._
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED,
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
SOMETHING WRONG 1
CHAPTER II.
FOUND 12
CHAPTER III.
NEMESIS 28
CHAPTER IV.
FERRARS 39
CHAPTER V.
IN CONSULTATION 52
CHAPTER VI.
"WHICH?" 64
CHAPTER VII.
RENUNCIATION 75
CHAPTER VIII.
TRICKERY 90
CHAPTER IX.
A LETTER 101
CHAPTER X.
THIS HELPS ME 117
CHAPTER XI.
DETAILS 127
CHAPTER XII.
"FERRISS-GRANT" 135
CHAPTER XIII.
THE "LAKE COUNTY HERALD" 148
CHAPTER XIV.
A GHOST 157
CHAPTER XV.
REBELLION 175
CHAPTER XVI.
"OUT OF REACH" 185
CHAPTER XVII.
RUTH GLIDDEN 196
CHAPTER XVIII.
SUDDEN FLITTINGS 208
CHAPTER XIX.
THROUGH THE MAIL 221
CHAPTER XX.
A WOMAN'S HEART 237
CHAPTER XXI.
"QUARRELSOME HARRY" 250
CHAPTER XXII.
IN NUMBER NINE 269
CHAPTER XXIII.
TWO INTERVIEWS 279
CHAPTER XXIV.
MRS. GASTON LATHAM 292
CHAPTER XXV.
THE LAST STROKE 301
THE LAST STROKE.
CHAPTER I.
SOMETHING WRONG.
It was a May morning in Glenville. Pretty, picturesque Glenville, low
lying by the lake shore, with the waters of the lake surging to meet it,
or coyly receding from it, on the one side, and the green-clad hills
rising gradually and gently on the other, ending in a belt of trees at
the very horizon's edge.
There is little movement in the quiet streets of the town at half-past
eight o'clock in the morning, save for the youngsters who, walking,
running, leaping, sauntering or waiting idly, one for another, are, or
should be, on their way to the school-house which stands upon the very
southernmost outskirts of the town, and a little way up the hilly
<DW72>, at a reasonably safe remove from the willow-fringed lake shore.
The Glenville school-house was one of the earliest public buildings
erected in the village, and it had been "located" in what was
confidently expected to be the centre of the place. But the new and
late-coming impetus, which had changed the hamlet of half a hundred
dwellings to one of twenty times that number, and made of it a quiet and
not too fashionable little summer resort, had carried the business of
the place northward, and its residences still farther north, thus
leaving this seat of learning aloof from, and quite above the newer
town, in isolated and lofty dignity, surrounded by trees; in the
outskirts, in fact, of a second belt of wood, which girdled the lake
shore, even as the further and loftier fringe of timber outlined the
hilltops at the edge of the eastern horizon and far away.
"Les call 'er the 'cademy?" suggested Elias Robbins, one of the builders
of the school-house, and an early settler of Glenville. "What's to
hinder?"
"Nothin'," declared John Rote, the village oracle. "'Twill sound
first-rate."
They were standing outside the building, just completed and resplendent
in two coats of yellow paint, and they were just from the labour of
putting in, "hangin'" the new bell.
All of masculine Glenville was present, and the other sex was not
without representation.
"Suits me down ter the ground!" commented a third citizen; and no doubt
it would have suited the majority, but when Parson Ryder was consulted,
he smiled genially and shook his head.
"It won't do, I'm afraid, Elias," he said. "We're only a village as yet,
you see, and we can't even dub it the High School, except from a
geographical point of view. However, we are bound to grow, and our
titles will come with the growth."
The growth, after a time, began; but it was only a summer growth; and
the school-house was still a village school-house with its master and
one under, or primary, teacher; and to-day there was a frisking group of
the smaller youngsters rushing about the school-yard, while the first
bell rang out, and half a dozen of the older pupils clustered about the
girlish under-teacher full of questions and wonder; for Johnny Robbins,
whose turn it was to ring the bell this week, after watching the clock,
and the path up the hill, alternately, until the time for the first bell
had come, and was actually twenty seconds past, had reluctantly but
firmly seized the rope and began to pull.
"'Taint no use, Miss Grant; I'll have to do it. He told me not to wait
for nothin', never, when 'twas half-past eight, and so"--cling, clang,
cling--"I'm bound"--cling--"ter do it!" Clang. "You see"--cling--"even
if he aint here----" Clang, clang, clang.
The boy pulled lustily at the rope for about half as long as usual, and
then he stopped.
"You don't s'pose that clock c'ud be wrong, do yo', Miss Grant? Mr.
Brierly's never been later'n quarter past before."
Miss Grant turned her wistful and somewhat anxious eyes toward the
eastern horizon, and rested a hand upon the shoulder of a tall girl at
her side.
"He may be ill, Johnny," she said, reluctantly, "or his watch may be
wrong. He's sure to come in time for morning song service. Come, Meta,
let us go in and look at those fractions."
Five--ten--fifteen minutes passed and the two heads bent still over book
and slate. Twenty minutes, and Johnny's head appeared at the door, half
a dozen others behind it.
"Has he come, Johnny?"
"No'm; sha'n't I go an' see----"
But Miss Grant arose, stopping him with a gesture. "He would laugh at
us, Johnny." Then, with another look at the anxious faces, "wait until
nine o'clock, at least."
Johnny and his followers went sullenly back to the porch, and Meta's lip
began to quiver.
"Somethin's happened to him, Miss Grant," she whimpered; "I know
somethin' has happened!"
"Nonsense," said Miss Grant. But she went to the window and called to a
little girl at play upon the green.
"Nellie Fry! Come here, dear."
Nellie Fry, an a, b, c student, came running in, her yellow locks flying
straight out behind her.
"What is it, Miss Grant?"
"Nellie, did you see Mr. Brierly at breakfast?"
"Yes'm!"
"And--quite well?"
"Why--I guess so. He talked just like he does always, and asked the
blessin'. He--he ate a lot, too--for him. I'member ma speakin' of it."
"You remember, Nellie."
Miss Grant kissed the child and walked to her desk, bending over her
roll call, and seeming busy over it until the clock upon the opposite
wall struck the hour of nine, and Johnny's face appeared at the door,
simultaneously with the last stroke.
"Sh'll I ring, Miss Grant?"
"Yes." The girl spoke with sudden decision. "Ring the bell, and then go
at once to Mrs. Fry's house, and ask if anything has happened to detain
Mr. Brierly. Don't loiter, Johnny."
There was an unwonted flush now upon the girl's usually pale cheeks,
and sudden energy in her step and voice.
The school building contained but two rooms, beside the large hall, and
the cloak rooms upon either side; and as the scholars trooped in, taking
their respective places with more than their usual readiness, but with
unusual bustle and exchange of whispers and inquiring looks, the slender
girl went once more to the entrance and looked up and down the path from
the village.
There was no one in sight, and she turned and put her hand upon the
swaying bell-rope.
"Stop it, Johnny! There's surely something wrong! Go, now, and ask after
Mr. Brierly. He must be ill!"
"He'd 'a sent word, sure," said the boy, with conviction, as he snatched
his hat from its nail. But Miss Grant | 3,355.560035 |
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Produced by David Schwan
THE FAMOUS MISSIONS OF CALIFORNIA
by William Henry Hudson
Lately Professor of English Literature at Stanford University,
To
Bonnie Burckhalter Fletcher
With Affectionate Recollections of California Days
London, England, 1901
Contents.
I. Of Junipero Serra, and the proposed settlement of Alta California.
II. How Father Junipero came to San Diego.
III. Of the founding of the Mission at San Diego.
IV. Of Portola's quest for the harbour of Monterey, and the founding
of the Mission of San Carlos.
V. How Father Junipero established the Missions of San Antonio de
Padua, San Gabriel, and San Louis Obispo.
VI. Of the tragedy at San Diego, and the founding of the Missions of
San Juan Capistrano, San Francisco, and Santa Clara.
VII. Of the establishment of the Mission of San Buenaventura, and of
the death and character of Father Junipero.
VIII. How the Missions of Santa Barbara, La Purisima Concepcion, Santa
Cruz, Soledad, San Jose, San Juan Bautista, San Miguel, San
Fernando, San Luis Rey, and Santa Inez, were added to the list.
IX. Of the founding of the Missions of San Rafael and San Francisco
Solano.
X. Of the downfall of the Missions of California.
XI. Of the old Missions, and life in them.
XII. Of the Mission system in California, and its results.
THE FAMOUS MISSIONS OF CALIFORNIA.
I.
On the 1st of July, 1769--a day forever memorable in the annals of
California--a small party of men, worn out by the fatigues and hardships
of their long and perilous journey from San Fernandez de Villicata,
came in sight of the beautiful Bay of San Diego. They formed the
last division of a tripartite expedition which had for its object the
political and spiritual conquest of the great Northwest coast of the
Pacific; and among their number were Gaspar de Portola, the colonial
governor and military commander of the enterprise; and Father Junipero
Serra, with whose name and achievements the early history of California
is indissolubly bound up.
This expedition was the outcome of a determination on the part of Spain
to occupy and settle the upper of its California provinces, or Alta
California, as it was then called, and thus effectively prevent the more
than possible encroachments of the Russians and the English. Fully alive
to the necessity of immediate and decisive action, Carlos III. had sent
Jose de Galvez out to New Spain, giving him at once large powers
as visitador general of the provinces, and special instructions to
establish military posts at San Diego and Monterey. Galvez was a man of
remarkable zeal, energy, and organizing ability, and after the manner of
his age and church he regarded his undertaking as equally important from
the religious and from the political side. The twofold purpose of his
expedition was, as he himself stated it, "to establish the Catholic
faith among a numerous heathen people, submerged in the obscure darkness
of paganism, and to extend the dominion of the King, our Lord, and
protect this peninsula from the ambitious views of foreign nations."
From the first it was his intention that the Cross and the flag of Spain
should be carried side by side in the task of dominating and colonizing
the new country. Having, therefore, gathered his forces together at
Santa Ana, near La Paz, he sent thence to Loreto, inviting Junipero
Serra, the recently appointed President of the California Missions, to
visit him in his camp. Loreto was a hundred leagues distant; but this
was no obstacle to the religious enthusiast, whose lifelong dream it had
been to bear the faith far and wide among the barbarian peoples of
the Spanish world. He hastened to La Paz, and in the course of a long
interview with Galvez not only promised his hearty co-operation, but
also gave great help in the arrangement of the preliminary details of
the expedition.
In the opportunity thus offered him for the missionary labour in
hitherto unbroken fields, Father Junipero saw a special manifestation
both of the will and of the favour of God. He threw himself into the
work with characteristic ardour and determination, and Galvez quickly
realized that his own efforts were now to be ably seconded by a man who,
by reason of his devotion, courage, and personal magnetism, might well
seem to have been providentially designated for the task which had been
put into his hands.
Miguel Joseph Serra, now known only by his adopted name of Junipero,
which he took out of reverence for the chosen companion of St. Francis,
was a native of the Island of Majorca, where he was born, of humble
folk, in 1713. According to the testimony of his intimate friend and
biographer, Father Francesco Palou, his desires, even during boyhood,
were turned towards the religious life. Before he was seventeen he
entered the Franciscan Order, a regular member of which he became a year
or so later. His favorite reading during his novitiate, Palou tells us,
was in the Lives of the Saints, over which he would pore day after
day with passionate and ever-growing enthusiasm; and from these devout
studies sprang an intense ambition to "imitate the holy and venerable
men" who had given themselves up to the grand work of carrying the
Gospel among gentiles and savages. The missionary idea thus implanted
became the dominant purpose of his life, and neither the astonishing
success of his sermons, nor the applause with which his lectures were
received when he was made professor of theology, sufficed to dampen his
apostolic zeal. Whatever work was given him to do, he did with all
his heart, and with all his might, for such was the man's nature; but
everywhere and always he looked forward to the mission field as his
ultimate career. He was destined, however, to wait many years before his
chance came. At length, in 1749, after making many vain petitions to
be set apart for foreign service, he and Palou were offered places in
a body of priests who, at the urgent request of the College of San
Fernando, in Mexico, were then being sent out as recruits to various
parts of the New World. The hour had come; and in a spirit of gratitude
and joy too deep for words, Junipero Serra set his face towards the far
lands which were henceforth to be his home.
The voyage out was long and trying. In the first stage of it--from
Majorca to Malaga--the dangers and difficulties of seafaring were
varied, if not relieved by strange experiences, of which Palou has
left us a quaint and graphic account. Their vessel was a small English
coaster, in command of a stubborn cross-patch of a captain, who combined
navigation with theology, and whose violent protestations and fondness
for doctrinal dispute allowed his Catholic passengers, during the
fifteen days of their passage, scarcely a minute's peace. His habit was
to declaim chosen texts out of his "greasy old" English Bible, putting
his own interpretation upon them; then, if when challenged by Father
Junipero, who "was well trained in dogmatic theology," he could find
no verse to fit his argument, he would roundly declare that the leaf he
wanted happened to be torn. Such methods are hardly praiseworthy. But
this was not the worst. Sometimes the heat of argument would prove too
much for him, and then, I grieve to say, he would even threaten to pitch
his antagonists overboard, and shape his course for London. However,
despite this unlooked-for danger, Junipero and his companions finally
reached Malaga, whence they proceeded first to Cadiz, and then, after
some delay, to Vera Cruz. The voyage across from Cadiz alone occupied
ninety-nine days, though of these, fifteen were spent at Porto Rico,
where Father Junipero improved the time by establishing a mission.
Hardships were not lacking; for water and food ran short, and the vessel
encountered terrific storms. But "remembering the end for which they had
come," the father "felt no fear", and his own buoyancy did much to keep
up the flagging spirits of those about him. Even when Vera Cruz was
reached, the terrible journey was by no means over, for a hundred
Spanish leagues lay between that port and the City of Mexico. Too
impatient to wait for the animals and wagons which had been promised for
transportation, but which, through some oversight or blunder, had not
yet arrived in Vera Cruz, Junipero set out to cover the distance on
foot. The strain brought on an ulcer in one of his legs, from which he
suffered all the rest of his life; and it is highly probable that he
would have died on the road but for the quite unexpected succor which
came to him more than once in the critical hour. This, according to his
wont, he did not fail to refer directly to the special favour of the
Virgin and St. Joseph.
For nearly nineteen years after his arrival in Mexico, Junipero was
engaged in active missionary work, mainly among the Indians of the
Sierra Gorda, whom he successfully instructed in the first principles
of the Catholic faith and in the simpler arts of peace. Then came his
selection as general head, or president, of the Missions of California,
the charge of which | 3,355.963029 |
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FROM THE LYRICAL POEMS OF ROBERT HERRICK
By Robert Herrick
Arranged with introduction by Francis Turner Palgrave
PREFACE
ROBERT HERRICK - Born 1591 : Died 1674
Those who most admire the Poet from whose many pieces a | 3,356.318789 |
2023-11-16 19:13:00.4466470 | 1,387 | 60 |
Produced by PM for Bureau of American Ethnology, The
Internet Archive (American Libraries) and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by the BibliothA"que nationale de France (BnF/Gallica) at
http://gallica.bnf.fr)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Words that were printed in italics are marked with _ _. Printing and
spelling errors have been corrected. A list of these corrections can be
found at the end of the document. The original text uses diacritical
marks that cannot be displayed in this text. These characters have been
replaced by the unmarked letter.
SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION----BUREAU OF ETHNOLOGY.
MYTHS
OF
THE IROQUOIS.
BY
ERMINNIE A. SMITH.
CONTENTS.
Page.
CHAPTER I.--GODS AND OTHER SUPERNATURAL BEINGS 51
Hi-nun destroying the giant animals 54
A Seneca legend of Hi-nun and Niagara 54
The Thunderers 55
Echo God 58
Extermination of the Stone Giants 59
The North Wind 59
Great Head 59
Cusick's story of the dispersion of the Great Heads 62
The Stone Giant's wife 62
The Stone Giant's challenge 63
Hiawatha and the Iroquois wampum 64
CHAPTER II.--PIGMIES 65
The warrior saved by pigmies 65
The pigmies and the greedy hunters 66
The pigmy's mission 67
CHAPTER III.--PRACTICE OF SORCERY 68
The origin of witches and witch charms 69
Origin of the Seneca medicine 70
A "true" witch story 71
A case of witchcraft 72
An incantation to bring rain 72
A cure for all bodily injuries 73
A witch in the shape of a dog 73
A man who assumed the shape of a hog 73
Witch transformations 74
A superstition about flies 74
CHAPTER IV.--MYTHOLOGIC EXPLANATION OF PHENOMENA 75
Origin of the human race 76
Formation of the Turtle Clan 77
How the bear lost his tail 77
Origin of medicine 78
Origin of wampum 78
Origin of tobacco 79
Origin of plumage 79
Why the chipmunk has the black stripe on his back 80
Origin of the constellations 80
The Pole Star 81
CHAPTER V.--TALES 83
Boy rescued by a bear 83
Infant nursed by bears 84
The man and his step-son 85
The boy and his grandmother 86
The dead hunter 87
A hunter's adventures 88
The old man's lesson to his nephew 89
The hunter and his faithless wife 90
The charmed suit 92
The boy and the corn 96
The lad and the chestnuts 97
The guilty hunters 99
Mrs. Logan's story 100
The hunter and his dead wife 103
A sure revenge 104
Traveler's jokes 107
Kingfisher and his nephew 108
The wild-cat and the white rabbit 110
CHAPTER VI.--RELIGION 112
New Year's festival 112
Tapping the maple trees 115
Planting corn 115
Strawberry festival 115
Green-corn festival 115
Gathering the corn 115
_ILLUSTRATIONS._
PLATE XII.--Returning thanks to the Great Spirit 52
XIII.--Stone giant or cannibal 56
XIV.--Atotarho, war chief 60
XV.--The Flying Head put to flight 64
MYTHS OF THE IROQUOIS.
BY ERMINNIE A. SMITH.
CHAPTER I.
GODS AND OTHER SUPERNATURAL BEINGS.
The principal monuments of the once powerful Iroquois are their myths
and folk-lore, with the language in which they are embodied. As these
monuments are fast crumbling away, through their contact with European
civilization, the ethnologist must hasten his search among them in order
to trace the history of their laws of mind and the records of their
customs, ideas, laws, and beliefs. Most of these have been long
forgotten by the people, who continue to repeat traditions as they have
been handed down through their fathers and fathers' fathers, from
generation to generation, for many centuries.
The pagan Iroquois of to-day (and there are still many) will tell you
that his ancestors worshiped, as he continues to do, the "Great Spirit,"
and, like himself, held feasts and dances in his honor; but a careful
study of the mythology of these tribes proves very clearly that in the
place of one prevailing great spirit (the Indian's earliest conception
of the white man's God) the Iroquois gods were numerous. All the
mysterious in nature, all that which inspired them with reverence, awe,
terror, or gratitude, became deities, or beings like themselves endowed
with supernatural attributes, beings whose vengeance must be
propitiated, mercy implored, or goodness recompensed by thank-offerings.
The latter were in the form of feasts, dances, or incense.
Among the most ancient of these deities, and regarding which the
traditions are the most obscure, were their most remote
ancestors--certain animals who later were transformed into human shape,
the names of the animals being preserved by their descendants, who have
used them to designate their gentes or clans.
Many races in that particular stage of savagery when the human intellect
is still in its | 3,356.466687 |
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Credit
Transcribed from the 1888 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
CASSELL'S NATIONAL LIBRARY.
ESSAYS AND TALES
BY
JOSEPH ADDISON.
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
_LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.
1888.
Contents:
Introduction
Public Credit
Household Superstitions
Opera Lions
Women and Wives
The Italian Opera
Lampoons
True and False Humour
Sa Ga Yean Qua Rash Tow's Impressions of London
The Vision of Marraton
Six Papers on Wit
Friendship
Chevy-Chase (Two Papers)
A Dream of the Painters
Spare Time (Two Papers)
Censure
The English Language
The Vision of Mirza
Genius
Theodosius and Constantia
Good Nature
A Grinning Match
Trust in God
INTRODUCTION.
The sixty-fourth volume of this Library contains those papers from the
_Tatler_ which were especially associated with the imagined character of
ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, who was the central figure in that series; and in the
twenty-ninth volume there is a similar collection of papers relating to
the Spectator Club and SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY, who was the central figure
in Steele and Addison's _Spectator_. Those volumes contained, no doubt,
some of the best Essays of Addison and Steele. But in the _Tatler_ and
_Spectator_ are full armouries of the wit and wisdom of these two
writers, who summoned into life the army of the Essayists, and led it on
to kindly war against the forces of Ill-temper and Ignorance. Envy,
Hatred, Malice, and all their first cousins of the family of
Uncharitableness, are captains under those two commanders-in-chief, and
we can little | 3,356.480933 |
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Produced by John Mamoun.
Of The Injustice of Counterfeiting Books
by Immanuel Kant
[Transcriber note: This e-text edition of "Of the Injustice of
Counterfeiting Books" is, essentially, with some changes or
clarifications by the e-text preparer, based on a translation of this
essay, from German into English, that was published in 1798 in: Essays
and Treatises On Moral, Political and Various Philosophical Subjects,
by Immanuel Kant, M.R.A.S.B., and professor of philosophy in the
university of Koenigsberg; From the German by the Translator of The
Principles of Critical Philosophy; IN TWO VOLUMES; Vol. 1; London:
Sold by William Richardson Under the Royal Exchange, 1798; This e-text
was prepared by John Mamoun in 2014. This e-text is not in copyright
and is public domain.]
*************
Of The Injustice of Counterfeiting Books
Those who consider the publication of a book to be equivalent to the
use of an author's property in the form of a copy (whether the
possessor came by it as a manuscript from the author or as a
transcript of it from an actual editor), and then, however, via the
reservation of certain rights, whether of the author's or of the
editor's, who is appointed by the author, want to limit the use of the
book only to this, that is, want to impose the rule that it is not
permitted to counterfeit the book, cannot, based upon the rationale of
this aforementioned consideration, attain this anti-counterfeiting
objective. For the author's property in his thoughts or sentiments
(even if it were not granted that the concept of such thought or
sentiment property has legal merit according to external laws) would
remain to him regardless of whether or not that property was used or
represented in the form of a counterfeit; and, since an express legal
consent given by the purchaser of a book to such a limitation of their
property would not likely be granted,* how much less would a merely
presumed consent suffice to determine the purchaser's obligation?
[*Footnote: Would an editor attempt to bind everybody who purchased
his work to the condition, to be accused of embezzling the property of
another entrusted to him, if, either intentionally, or by the
purchaser's lack of oversight, the copy which the purchaser purchased
were used for the purpose of counterfeiting? Scarcely anyone would
consent to this: because he would thereby expose himself to every sort
of trouble about the inquiry and the defense. The work would therefore
remain exclusively in the editor's hands.]
I believe, however, that I am justified to consider the publication of
a book to be not the trading of a good [in the form of a book] in the
trader's own name, but as the transacting of business in the name of
another, namely, the author. [By considering the act of publication
to be such a transaction], I am able to represent easily and
distinctly the wrongfulness of counterfeiting books. My argument,
which also proves the editor's right, is contained in a ratiocination;
after which follows a second, wherein the counterfeiter's pretension
shall be refuted.
I. Deduction of the Editor's Right against the Counterfeiter
Whoever transacts another's business in his name and yet against his
will is obliged to give up to him, or to his attorney, all the profits
that may arise therefrom, and to repair all the loss which is thereby
occasioned to either the one or the other.
Now the counterfeiter is he who transacts another's business (the
author's) against the other's will. Therefore the counterfeiter is
obliged to give up to the author or to his attorney (or the editor)
[any profits from the transaction].
Proof of the Major
As the agent, who intrudes himself, acts in the name of another in a
manner not permitted, he has no claim to the profit which arises from
this business; but the author or editor in whose name he carries on
the business, or another authorized controller of the work to whose
charge the former has committed the work, possesses the right to
appropriate this profit to himself, as the fruit of his property.
Besides, as this agent injures the possessor's right by intermeddling,
"nullo jure," in another's business, he must of necessity compensate
for all damages sustained. This lies without a doubt in the elementary
conceptions of natural right.
Proof of the Minor
The first point of the minor is: that the editor transacts the
business of the author by the publication. Here, everything depends
on the conception of a book, or of a writing in general, as a labour
of the author's, and on the conception of the editor in general (be he
an attorney or not). Whether a book be a commodity which the author,
either through the author's own efforts or by means of another, can
traffic with the public, and can therefore transfer the ownership
rights of the book, either with or without reservation of certain
rights; or whether the book is instead a mere use of his works, which
the author can indeed concede to others, but never transfer the
ownership rights of; Again: whether the editor transacts his business
in his own name, or transacts another's business in the name of
another?
In a book, as a writing, the author speaks to his reader; and he who
printed it speaks by his copies not for himself, but entirely in the
name of the author. The editor exhibits the author as speaking
publicly, and mediates only the delivery of this speech to the
public. Let the copy of this speech, whether it be in handwriting or
in print, belong to whom it will; yet to use this for one's self, or
to traffic with it, is a business which every owner of it may conduct
in his own name and at pleasure. But to let any one speak publicly, to
publish his speech as such, means to speak in his name, and, in a way,
to say to the public:
"A writer lets you know, or teaches you, this or that,
etc., through me. I answer for nothing, not even for the
liberty, which the writer takes, to speak publicly through
me; I am but the mediator of the writer's thoughts coming
to you."
That is no doubt a business which one can execute only in the name of
another, and never in one's own (as editor). The editor furnishes in
his own name the mute instrument of the delivering of a speech of the
author's to the public;** the editor can publish the said speech by
printing, which consequently shows himself as the person through whom
the author addresses the public, but he can do so only in the name of
the author.
[**Footnote: A book is the instrument of the delivering of a speech to
the public, not merely of the thoughts, as pictures of a symbolical
representation of an idea or of an event. What is here the most
essential about it is that it is not a thing, which is thereby
delivered, but is rather an opera, namely a speech, and certainly
literal. In naming it a mute instrument, I distinguish it from what
delivers the speech by a sound, such as a trumpet in music, or the
mouths of others.]
The second point of the minor is: that the counterfeiter undertakes
the author's business, not only without any permission from the owner,
but even contrary to the owner's will. Given that he is a
counterfeiter because he invades the province of another, who is
authorized by the author himself to publish the work: the question is,
whether the author can confer the same permission on yet another, and
consent thereto. It is, however, clear that, as then each of them--the
first editor and the person afterwards usurping the publication of the
work (the counterfeiter)--would manage the author's business with one
and the same public, the labour of the one must render that of the
other useless and be ruinous to both; therefore a contract between the
author and an editor that contains the corollary, to allow yet another
besides the editor to venture the publication of the author's work, is
impossible; consequently the author was not entitled to give the
permission to any other, [including by implication a] counterfeiter),
and the counterfeiter should not have even presumed this; by
consequence the counterfeiting of books is a business totally contrary
to the will of the proprietor, and yet undertaken in the proprietor's
name.
From this ground it follows that not the author, but the editor
authorized by him, suffers damages. For as the author has entirely,
without reservation, given up to the editor his right to the managing
of his business with the public, or to dispose of it otherwise, so the
editor is the only proprietor of the transaction of this business, and
the counterfeiter encroaches on the editor, but not on the author.
But as this right of transacting a business, which may be done just as
well by another, is not inalienable (jus personalissimum), assuming
that no corollary exists otherwise in the author's contractual
agreement with the editor, so the editor, as he has been authorized to
have power over the work, also has the right to transfer his right of
publication to another; and as the author must consent to this, he who
undertakes the business from the second hand is not a counterfeiter,
but a rightfully authorized editor, i.e. one to whom the editor, who
was appointed by the author, has transferred his power over the work.
II. Refutation of the Counterfeiter's pretended Right against the
Editor.
The question remains still to be answered: since the editor projects
to the public the ownership over the work of the author, does not the
consent of the editor (and by implication also the author, who gave
the editor legal control over it) to every use of the work, including
reprinting it, result automatically from ownership of a copy of the
work, such that such consent is automatically furnished to whoever
purchases a copy of the work, however disagreeable such consent to
permit counterfeiting may be to the editor? For the prospect of profit
has perhaps enticed the editor to undertake, with the risk of having
the published work counterfeited, the business of editor, where this
risk is more likely since the purchaser has not been excluded from
counterfeiting via an express contract, because it would hurt the
editor's business if the editor tried to obligate all potential
purchasers of the work to agree to a contract forbidding
counterfeiting, because potential purchases would generally not
consent to such an agreement and therefore would be less likely to
purchase a copy of the work. My answer to this question is that the
ownership of the copy does not furnish the right of counterfeiting. I
prove this by the following ratiocination:
A personal positive right against another can never be
derived from the ownership of a thing only.
But the right of publishing a work is a personal positive right.
Therefore, the right of publishing never can be derived from the
ownership of a thing (the copy) only.
Proof of the Major
With the ownership of a thing is indeed accompanied the negative right
to resist any one who would hinder me from the use of it at pleasure;
but a positive right against a person, to demand of him to perform
something or to be obliged to serve me in anything, cannot arise from
the mere ownership of a thing. It is true this positive right might by
a particular agreement be added to the purchase contract whereby I
acquire a property from anybody; e.g. that, when I purchase a
commodity, the seller shall also send it to a certain place free from
expenses. But then the right against the person, to do something for
me, does not proceed from the mere ownership of my purchased thing,
but from a particular contract.
Proof of the Minor
If someone can dispose of something at pleasure in his own name, then
that someone has a right to that thing. But if someone can perform
only in the name of another, he transacts this business such that the
other is thereby bound, as if the business were transacted by
himself. (Quod quis facit per alium, ipse fecisse putandus
set). Therefore my right to the transacting of a business in the name
of another is a personal positive right, to necessitate the author of
the business to guarantee something, namely, to answer for everything
which he has done through me, or to which he obliges himself through
me. The publishing of the work is now a speech to the public (by
printing) in the name of the author, and is consequently a business in
the name of another. Therefore the right to it is a right of the
editor's against a person: not merely to defend himself in the use of
his property at pleasure against him; but to necessitate him to
acknowledge and to answer for as his own a certain business, which the
editor transacts in his name; consequently this is a personal positive
right.
The copy, according to which the editor prints, is a work of the
author's and belongs totally to the editor after he has purchased it,
either in the manuscript form or the printed form, to do with it
everything the editor pleases, where said doings can be done in the
editor's own name; for that is a requisite of the complete right in a
thing, i.e. ownership. But the use, which the editor cannot make of it
except only in the name of another (namely the author's), is a
business (opera) that this other transacts through the owner of the
copy, where in addition to the ownership of the copy, a particular
contract is still requisite for other rights to be provided to the
owner of the copy.
Now, the publication of a book is a business which can only be
transacted in the name of another (namely the author, whom the editor
presents as speaking to the public through him); therefore the rights
of transacting the business of publishing the book is separate from
the rights that are associated with the ownership of a copy of the
book. The right to publish the book can legally be acquired only by a
particular contract with the author. Who publishes without such a
contract with the author (or, if the author has already granted this
right to another, i.e. to an authorized editor, without a contract
with that authorized editor) is the counterfeiter, who then damages
the authorized editor, and must make amends to him for all damages.
Universal Observation
That the editor transacts his business of editor not merely in his own
name, but in the name of another*** (namely the author), and without
whose consent cannot transact this business at all, is confirmed from
certain obligations which fix themselves according to universal
acknowledgement.
[***Footnote: If the editor is at the same time also the author, then,
however, both businesses (writing versus publishing) are different;
the editor publishes as a tradesman, whereas what he published he
originally wrote as a scholar or man of letter. But we may set aside
such an unusual example of two different roles being held
simultaneously by the same person, and restrict our exposition only to
that where the editor is not at the same time the author: it will
afterwards be easy to extend the consequence to the first case
likewise.]
Were the author to die after he had delivered his manuscript to the
editor to be printed, and the editor had previously bound himself as
the authorized publisher: then the editor would not have the liberty
to suppress the manuscript's publication on the grounds that it is his
property; but the public has a right, if the author left no heirs,
either to force the editor to publish the book or to give up the
manuscript to another who offers to publish it. For the publishing of
his manuscript is a business which the author, prior to dying, had the
intention to transact with the public through the editor, and for
which the editor succeeds the author by becoming the agent. The
public does not even need to know whether or not the author had this
intention, or to agree with the author's intention; the public
acquires this right against the editor (to perform something) by the
law only. For he possesses the manuscript only on the condition to
use it for the purpose of a business of the author's with the public;
but this obligation towards the public remains, though that towards
the author has ceased by his death. Here the argument is not built
upon a right of the public to the manuscript, but upon a business with
the author. Should the editor give out the author's work, after his
death, mutilated or falsified, or let the necessary number of copies
for the demand be wanting; the public would thus be entitled to force
him to more justness or to augment the publication, but otherwise to
provide for this elsewhere. All of which would not be legally
justifiable, were the editor's right not deduced from the legal
concept that the editor is transacting a business between the author
and the public in the name of the author.
However, to this obligation of the editor's, which will probably be
granted, a corresponding right exists, namely, the right to all that,
without which the editor's obligation could not be fulfilled. This
is: that he exercises the right of publication exclusively, because
the rivalry of others in his business would render the transaction of
it practically impossible for him.
Works of art, as things, may, on the other hand, be imitated or
otherwise modeled, at will, from a copy of them which was rightfully
acquired, and those imitations may be publicly sold, without requiring
the consent of the author of the original or of the master who
supervised the artist in developing the artist's ideas. A drawing,
which anyone has drawn, or had engraved by another, or executed in
stone, metal, or stucco, may be copied, and the copies publicly sold;
as everything, that one can perform with his thing in his own name,
does not require the consent of another. Lippert's "Dactyliotec" may
be imitated by every possessor of it who understands it, and exposed
to sale, and the inventor of it has no right to complain of
encroachment on his business. For it is a work (an opus, not an opera;
these terms are mutually exclusive) which everybody who possesses it
may, without even mentioning the name of the inventor, assume title
over it, and also imitate it and use it in public trade, in his own
name, as his own.
But the writing of another is the speech of a person (opera); and
whoever publishes it can speak to the public only in the name of this
other, and say nothing more of himself than that the author makes the
following speech | 3,356.919777 |
2023-11-16 19:13:01.1622530 | 2,964 | 6 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Paul Marshall and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transciber's Note
Supercripts are denoted with a carat (^). Whole and fractional parts are
displayed as 2-1/2. Italic text is displayed as _Text_.
NEW THEORIES IN ASTRONOMY
BY
WILLIAM STIRLING
CIVIL ENGINEER
[Illustration]
London:
E. & F. N. SPON, LIMITED, 57 HAYMARKET
New York:
SPON & CHAMBERLAIN, 123 LIBERTY STREET
1906
TO THE READER.
Mr. William Stirling, Civil Engineer, who devoted the last years of his
life to writing this work, was born in Kilmarnock, Scotland, his father
being the Rev. Robert Stirling, D.D., of that city, and his brothers,
the late Mr. Patrick Stirling and Mr. James Stirling, the well known
engineers and designers of Locomotive Engines for the Great Northern
and South Eastern Railways respectively.
After completing his studies in Scotland he settled in South America,
and was engaged as manager and constructing engineer in important
railway enterprises on the west coast, besides other concerns both in
Peru and Chile; his last work being the designing and construction
of the railway from the port of Tocopilla on the Pacific Ocean to
the Nitrate Fields of Toco in the interior, the property of the
Anglo-Chilian and Nitrate Railway Company.
He died in Lima, Peru, on the 7th October, 1900, much esteemed and
respected, leaving the MS. of the present work behind him, which is now
published as a tribute to his memory, and wish to put before those who
are interested in the Science of Astronomy his theories to which he
devoted so much thought.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION. 1
CHAPTER I.
The bases of modern astronomy. Their late formation 18
Instruments and measures used by ancient astronomers 19
Weights and measures sought out by modern astronomers 20
Means employed to discover the density of the earth.
Measuring by means of plummets not sufficiently exact 20
Measurements with torsion and chemical balances more accurate 21
Sir George B. Airy's theory,
and experiments at the Harton colliery 22
Results of experiments not reliable.
Theory contrary to the Law of Attraction 23
Proof by arithmetical calculation of its error 24
Difficulties in comparing beats of pendulums at top
and bottom of a mine 26
The theory upheld by text-books without proper examination 27
Of a particle of matter within the shell of a hollow sphere.
Not exempt from the law of Attraction 28
A particle so situated confronted with the law of the
inverse square ofdistance from an attracting body.
Remarks thereon 29
It is not true that the attraction of a spherical shell
is "zero" for a particle of matter within it 31
CHAPTER II.
The moon cannot have even an imaginary rotation on its axis,
but is generally believed to have.
Quotations to prove this 33
Proofs that there can be no rotation. The most confused
assertion that there is rotation shown to be without
foundations 35
A gin horse does not rotate on its axis in its revolution 37
A gin horse, or a substitute, driven instead of being a driver 38
Results of the wooden horse being driven by the mill 38
The same results produced by the revolution of the moon.
Centrifugal force sufficient to drive air and water
away from our side of the moon 39
That force not sufficient to drive them away from
its other side 40
No one seems ever to have thought of centrifugal force in
connection with air and water on the moon 41
Near approach made by Hansen to this notion 41
Far-fetched reasons given for the non-appearance
of air and water 42
The moon must have both on the far-off hemisphere 44
Proofs of this deduced from its appearance at change 44
Where the evidences of this may be seen if looked for
at the right place. The centrifugal force shown to
be insufficient to drive off even air, and less water,
altogether from the moon 45
The moon must have rotated on its axis at one period
of its existence 47
The want of polar compression no proof to the contrary 48
Want of proper study gives rise to extravagant conceptions,
jumping at conclusions, and formation of
"curious theories" 48
CHAPTER III.
Remarks on some of the principal cosmogonies. Ancient notions 49
The Nebular hypothesis of Laplace. Early opinions on it.
Received into favour. Again condemned as erroneous 50
Defects attributed to it as fatal. New cosmogonies advanced 51
Dr. Croll's collision, or impact, theory discussed 53
Dr. Braun's cosmogony examined 59
M. Faye's "Origine du Monde" defined 61
Shown to be without proper foundation, confused, and
in some parts contradictory 65
Reference to other hypotheses not noticed. All more or less
only variations on the nebular hypothesis 70
Necessity for more particular examination into it 71
CHAPTER IV.
Preliminaries to analysis of the Nebular hypothesis 72
Definition of the hypothesis 73
Elements of solar system. Tables of dimensions and masses 75
Explanation of tables and density of Saturn 78
Volume, density and mass of Saturn's rings, general remarks
about them, and satellites to be made from them 79
Future of Saturn's rings 79
Notions about Saturn's satellites and their masses 80
Nature of rings seemingly not well understood 81
Masses given to the satellites of Uranus and Neptune.
Explanations of 81
Volumes of the members of the solar system at density of water 82
CHAPTER V.
Analysis of the Nebular Hypothesis. Separation from the nebula
of the rings for the separate planets, etc. 83
Excessive heat attributed to the nebula erroneous
and impossible 84
Centigrade thermometer to be used for temperatures 85
Temperature of the nebula not far from absolute zero 86
Erroneous ideas about glowing gases produced by collisions
of their atoms, or particles of cosmic matter in the
form of vapours 86
Separation of ring for Neptune. It could not have been
thrown off in one mass, but in a sheet of cosmic matter 87
Thickness and dimensions of the ring 88
Uranian ring abandoned, and its dimensions 89
Saturnian ring do. do. 90
Jovian ring do. do. 91
Asteroidal ring do. do. 93
Martian ring do. do. 94
Earth ring do. do. 95
Venus ring do. do. 96
Mercurian ring do. do. 97
Residual mass. Condensation of Solar Nebula to various
diameters, and relative temperatures and densities 98
Unaccountable confusion in the mode of counting absolute
temperature examined and explained. Negative 274 degrees
of heat only equal 2 degrees of absolute temperature 100
The Centigrade thermometric scale no better than any other,
and cannot be made decimal 103
The sun's account current with the Nebula drawn up and
represented by Table III. 104
CHAPTER VI.
Analysis continued. Excessive heat of nebula involved
condensation only at the surface. Proof that this
was Laplace's idea 108
Noteworthy that some astronomers still believe in
excessive heat 109
Interdependence of temperature and pressure in gases
and vapours. Collisions of atoms the source of heat 110
Conditions on which a nebula can be incandescent.
Sir Robert Ball 110
No proper explanation yet given of incandescent
or glowing gas 112
How matter was thrown off, or abandoned by the Jovian nebula 115
Division into rings of matter thrown off determined
during contraction 116
How direct rotary motion was determined by friction and
collisions of particles 117
Saturn's rings going through the same process.
Left to show process 118
Form gradually assumed by nebulae. Cause of Saturn's
square-shouldered appearance 120
A lens-shaped nebula could not be formed by
surface condensation 120
Retrograde rotary motion of Neptune and Uranus, and
revolution of their satellites recognised by
Laplace as possible 121
Satellites of Mars. Rapid revolution of inner one may
be accounted for 123
Laplace's proportion of 4000 millions not reduced but
enormously increased by discoveries of this century 124
CHAPTER VII.
Analysis continued. No contingent of heat could be imparted
to any planet by the parent nebula 126
Only one degree of heat added to the nebula from the
beginning till it had contracted to the density
of 1/274th of an atmosphere 127
Increase in temperature from 0 deg. to possible average of 274 deg.
when condensed to 4,150,000 miles in diameter 127
Time when the sun could begin to act as sustainer of life
and light anywhere. Temperature of space 128
The ether devised as carrier of light, heat, etc.
What effect it might have on the nebula 129
First measure of its density, as far as we know 130
The estimate _too_ high. May be many times less 133
Return to the solar nebula at 63,232,000 miles in diameter 134
Plausible reason for the position of Neptune not conforming
to Bode's Law. The ring being very wide had separated
into two rings 134
Bode's law reversed. Ideas suggested by it 135
Rates of acceleration of revolution from one
planet to another 137
Little possibility of there being a planet in
the position assigned to Vulcan 138
Densities of planets compared. Seem to point to differences
in the mass of matter abandoned by the nebula at
different periods 138
Giving rise to the continuous sheet of matter separating
into different masses. Probably the rings had to arrive
at a certain stage of density before contracting
circumferentially 139
Possible average temperature of the sun at the present day.
Central heat probably very much greater 140
Churning of matter going on in the interior of the sun,
caused by unequal rotation between the equator
and the poles 140
CHAPTER VIII.
Inquiry into the Interior Construction of the Earth.
What is really known of the exterior or surface 142
What is known of the interior 143
Little to be learned from Geology, which reaches
very few miles down 144
Various notions of the interior 145
What is learnt from earthquake and volcanoes.
Igno-aqueous fusion, liquid magma. 146
Generally believed that the earth consists of solid matter
to the centre. Mean density. Surface density 147
More detailed estimate of densities near the surface 148
Causes of increased surface density after the crust
was formed 148
Calculations of densities for 9 miles deep, and from
there to the centre forming Table IV. 150
Reflections on the results of the calculations 151
Notion that the centre is composed of the heaviest metals.
"Sorting-out" theory absurd 151
Considerations as to how solid matter got to the centre 152
Gravitation might carry it there, but attraction could not 153
How the earth could be made out of cosmic matter,
meteorites or meteors 154
CHAPTER IX.
Inquiry into the Interior Construction of
the Earth--_continued_ 165
The earth gasiform at one period. Density including the moon
may have been 1/10,000th that of air. Must have been a
hollow body. Proofs given 166
Division of the mass of the earth alone into two parts 169
Division of the two masses at 817 miles from surface 171
Reasons why the earth cannot be solid to the centre 172
Gasiform matter condensing in a cone leaves apex empty | 3,357.182293 |
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NORMANDY:
THE SCENERY & ROMANCE OF ITS ANCIENT TOWNS:
DEPICTED BY GORDON HOME
Part 2.
CHAPTER IV
Concerning the Cathedral City of Evreux and the Road to Bernay
The tolling of the deep-toned bourdon in the cathedral tower reverberates
over the old town of Evreux as we pass along the cobbled streets. There is
a yellow evening light overhead, and the painted stucco walls of the houses
reflect the soft, glowing colour of the west. In the courtyard of the Hotel
du Grand Cerf, too, every thing is bathed in this beautiful light and the
double line of closely trimmed laurels has not yet been deserted by the
golden flood. But Evreux does not really require a fine evening to make it
attractive, although there is no town in existence that is not improved
under such conditions. With the magnificent cathedral, the belfry, the
Norman church of St Taurin and the museum, besides many quaint peeps by the
much sub-divided river Iton that flows through the town, there is
sufficient to interest one even on the dullest of dull days.
Of all the cathedral interiors in Normandy there are none that possess a
finer or more perfectly proportioned nave than Evreux, and if I were asked
to point out the two most impressive interiors of the churches in this
division of France I should couple the cathedral at Evreux with St Ouen at
Rouen.
It was our own Henry I. who having destroyed the previous building set to
work to build a new one and it is his nave that we see to-day. The whole
cathedral has since that time been made to reflect the changing ideals of
the seven centuries that have passed. The west front belongs entirely to
the Renaissance period and the north transept is in the flamboyant style of
the fifteenth century so much in evidence in Normandy and so infrequent in
England.
The central tower with its tall steeple now encased in scaffolding was
built in 1470 by Cardinal Balue, Bishop of Evreux and inventor of the
fearful wooden cages in one of which the prisoner Dubourg died at Mont St
Michel.
In most of the windows there is old and richly glass; those in the
chancel have stronger tones, but they all transform the shafts of light
into gorgeous rainbow effects which stand out in wonderful contrast to the
delicate, creamy white of the stone-work. Pale blue banners are suspended
in the chancel, and the groining above is on each side of the
bosses for a short distance, so that as one looks up the great sweep of the
nave, the banners and the brilliant fifteenth century glass appear as vivid
patches of colour beyond the uniform, creamy grey on either side. The
Norman towers at the west end of the cathedral are completely hidden in the
mask of classical work planted on top of the older stone-work in the
sixteenth century, and more recent restoration has altered some of the
other features of the exterior. At the present day the process of
restoration still goes on, but the faults of our grandfathers fortunately
are not repeated.
Leaving the Place Parvis by the Rue de l'Horloge you come to the great open
space in front of the Hotel de Ville and the theatre with the museum on the
right, in which there are several Roman remains discovered at Vieil-Evreux,
among them being a bronze statue of Jupiter Stator. On the opposite side of
the Place stands the beautiful town belfry built at the end of the
fifteenth century. There was an earlier one before that time, but I do not
know whether it had been destroyed during the wars with the English, or
whether the people of Evreux merely raised the present graceful tower in
place of the older one with a view to beautifying the town. The bell, which
was cast in 1406 may have hung in the former structure, and there is some
fascination in hearing its notes when one realises how these same sound
waves have fallen on the ears of the long procession of players who have
performed their parts within its hearing. A branch of the Iton runs past
the foot of the tower in canal fashion; it is backed by old houses and
crossed by many a bridge, and helps to build up a suitable foreground to
the beautiful old belfry, which seems to look across to the brand new Hotel
de Ville with an injured expression. From the Boulevard Chambaudouin there
is a good view of one side of the Bishop's palace which lies on the south
side of the cathedral, and is joined to it by a gallery and the remains of
the cloister. The walls are strongly fortified, and in front of them runs a
branch of one of the canals of the Iton, that must have originally served
as a moat.
Out towards the long straight avenue that runs out of the town in the
direction of Caen, there may be seen the Norman church of St Taurin. It is
all that is left of the Benedictine abbey that once stood here. Many people
who explore this interesting church fail to see the silver-gilt reliquary
of the twelfth century that is shown to visitors who make the necessary
inquiries. The richness of its enamels and the elaborate ornamentation
studded with imitation gems that have replaced the real ones, makes this
casket almost unique.
Many scenes from the life of the saint are shown in the windows of the
choir of the church. They are really most interesting, and the glass is
very beautiful. The south door must have been crowded with the most
elaborate ornament, but the delicately carved stone-work has been hacked
away and the thin pillars replaced by crude, uncarved chunks of stone.
There is Norman arcading outside the north transept as well as just above
the floor in the north aisle. St Taurin is a somewhat dilapidated and
cob-webby church, but it is certainly one of the interesting features of
Evreux.
Instead of keeping on the road to Caen after reaching the end of the great
avenue just mentioned, we turn towards the south and soon enter pretty
pastoral | 3,357.49037 |
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RODERICK HUDSON
by Henry James
CONTENTS
I. Rowland
II. Roderick
III. Rome
IV. Experience
V. Christina
VI. Frascati
VII. St. Cecilia's
VIII. Provocation
IX. Mary Garland
X. The Cavaliere
XI. Mrs. Hudson
XII. The Princess Casamassima
XIII. Switzerland
CHAPTER I. Rowland
Mallet had made his arrangements to sail for Europe on the first
of September, and having in the interval a fortnight to spare, he
determined to spend it with his cousin Cecilia, the widow of a nephew of
his father. He was urged by the reflection that an affectionate farewell
might help to exonerate him from the charge of neglect frequently
preferred by this lady. It was not that the young man disliked her; on
the contrary, he regarded her with a tender admiration, and he had not
forgotten how, when his cousin had brought her home on her marriage, he
had seemed to feel the upward sweep of the empty bough from which the
golden fruit had been plucked, and had then and there accepted the
prospect of bachelorhood. The truth was, that, as it will be part of
the entertainment of this narrative to exhibit, Rowland Mallet had an
uncomfortably sensitive conscience, and that, in spite of the seeming
paradox, his visits to Cecilia were rare because she and her misfortunes
were often uppermost in it. Her misfortunes were three in number: first,
she had lost her husband; second, she had lost her money (or the
greater part of it); and third, she lived at Northampton, Massachusetts.
Mallet's compassion was really wasted, because Cecilia was a very clever
woman, and a most skillful counter-plotter to adversity. She had made
herself a charming home, her economies were not obtrusive, and there
was always a cheerful flutter in the folds of her crape. It was the
consciousness of all this that puzzled Mallet whenever he felt tempted
to put in his oar. He had money and he had time, but he never could
decide just how to place these gifts gracefully at Cecilia's service.
He no longer felt like marrying her: in these eight years that fancy had
died a natural death. And yet her extreme cleverness seemed somehow to
make charity difficult and patronage impossible. He would rather chop
off his hand than offer her a check, a piece of useful furniture, or
a black silk dress; and yet there was some sadness in seeing such a
bright, proud woman living in such a small, dull way. Cecilia had,
moreover, a turn for sarcasm, and her smile, which was her pretty
feature, was never so pretty as when her sprightly phrase had a lurking
scratch in it. Rowland remembered that, for him, she was all smiles, and
suspected, awkwardly, that he ministered not a little to her sense of
the irony of things. And in truth, with his means, his leisure, and his
opportunities, what had he done? He had an unaffected suspicion of
his uselessness. Cecilia, meanwhile, cut out her own dresses, and was
personally giving her little girl the education of a princess.
This time, however, he presented himself bravely enough; for in the way
of activity it was something definite, at least, to be going to Europe
and to be meaning to spend the winter in Rome. Cecilia met him in the
early dusk at the gate of her little garden, amid a studied combination
of floral perfumes. A rosy widow of twenty-eight, half cousin, half
hostess, doing the honors of an odorous cottage on a midsummer evening,
was a phenomenon to which the young man's imagination was able to do
ample justice. Cecilia was always gracious, but this evening she was
almost joyous. She was in a happy mood, and Mallet imagined there was
a private reason for it--a reason quite distinct from her pleasure in
receiving her honored kinsman. The next day he flattered himself he was
on the way to discover it.
For the present, after tea, as they sat on the rose-framed porch, while
Rowland held his younger cousin between his knees, and she, enjoying
her situation, listened timorously for the stroke of bedtime, Cecilia
insisted on talking more about her visitor than about herself.
"What is it you mean to do in Europe?" she asked, lightly, giving a
turn to the frill of her sleeve--just such a turn as seemed to Mallet to
bring out all the latent difficulties of the question.
"Why, very much what I do here," he answered. "No great harm."
"Is it true," Cecilia asked, "that here you do no great harm? Is not a
man like you doing harm when he is not doing positive good?"
"Your compliment is ambiguous," said Rowland.
"No," answered the widow, "you know what I think of you. You have a
particular aptitude for beneficence. You have it in the first place in
your character. You are a benevolent person. Ask Bessie if you don't
hold her more gently and comfortably than any of her other admirers."
"He holds me more comfortably than Mr. Hudson," Bessie declared,
roundly.
Rowland, not knowing Mr. Hudson, could but half appreciate the eulogy,
and Cecilia went on to develop her idea. "Your circumstances, in
the second place, suggest the idea of social usefulness. You are
intelligent, you are well-informed, and your charity, if one may call it
charity, would be discriminating. You are rich and unoccupied, so that
it might be abundant. Therefore, I say, you are a person to do something
on a large scale. Bestir yourself, dear Rowland, or we may be taught to
think that virtue herself is setting a bad example."
"Heaven forbid," cried Rowland, "that I should set the examples of
virtue! I am quite willing to follow them, however, and if I don't
do something on the grand scale | 3,357.763765 |
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IN LEAGUE WITH ISRAEL
A Tale of the Chattanooga Conference
by
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
Author of
"Joel: A Boy of Galilee;" "The Story of the Resurrection;"
"Big Brother;" "The Little Colonel."
[Illustration]
Cincinnati: Curts & Jennings
New York: Eaton & Mains
1896
Copyright
By Curts & Jennings,
1896.
TO THE EPWORTH LEAGUE.
What Paul was to the Gentiles, may you, the Young Apostle of our Church,
become to the Jews. Surely, not as the priest or the Levite have you so
long passed them by "on the other side."
Haply, being a messenger on the King's business, which requires haste,
you have never noticed their need. But the world sees, and, re-reading
an old parable, cries out: "Who is thy neighbor? Is it not even Israel
also, in thy midst?"
Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent.
--EMERSON.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
CHAPTER I.
THE RABBI'S PROTEGE, 7
CHAPTER II.
ON TO CHATTANOOGA, 23
CHAPTER III.
THE SUNRISE SERVICE ON "LOOKOUT," 43
CHAPTER IV.
AN EPWORTH JEW, 65
CHAPTER V.
"TRUST," 86
CHAPTER VI.
TWO TURNINGS IN BETHANY'S LANE, 105
CHAPTER VII.
JUDGE HALLAM'S DAUGHTER, STENOGRAPHER, 115
CHAPTER VIII.
A KINDLING INTEREST, 130
CHAPTER IX.
A JUNIOR TAKES IT IN HAND, | 3,413.079529 |
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The Reign of Greed
A Complete English Version of _El Filibusterismo_ from the Spanish of
Jose Rizal
By
Charles Derbyshire
Manila
Philippine Education Company
1912
Copyright, 1912, by Philippine Education Company.
Entered at Stationers' Hall.
Registrado en las Islas Filipinas.
_All rights reserved_.
TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION
El Filibusterismo, the second of Jose Rizal's novels of Philippine
life, is a story of the last days of the Spanish regime in the
Philippines. Under the name of _The Reign of Greed_ it is for the
first time translated into English. Written some four or five years
after _Noli Me Tangere_, the book represents Rizal's more mature
judgment on political and social conditions in the islands, and in
its graver and less hopeful tone reflects the disappointments and
discouragements which he had encountered in his efforts to lead the
way to reform. Rizal's dedication to the first edition is of special
interest, as the writing of it was one of the grounds of accusation
against him when he was condemned to death in 1896. It reads:
"To the memory of the priests, Don Mariano Gomez (85 years
old), Don Jose Burgos (30 years old), and Don Jacinto Zamora
(35 years old). Executed in Bagumbayan Field on the 28th of
February, 1872.
"The Church, by refusing to degrade you, has placed in doubt
the crime that has been imputed to you; the Government, by
surrounding your trials with mystery and shadows, causes the
belief that there was some error, committed in fatal moments;
and all the Philippines, by worshiping your memory and calling
you martyrs, in no sense recognizes your culpability. In so
far, therefore, as your complicity in the Cavite mutiny is not
clearly proved, as you may or may not have been patriots, and
as you may or may not have cherished sentiments for justice
and for liberty, I have the right to dedicate my work to
you as victims of the evil which I undertake to combat. And
while we await expectantly upon Spain some day to restore
your good name and cease to be answerable for your death,
let these pages serve as a tardy wreath of dried leaves over
your unknown tombs, and let it be understood that every one
who without clear proofs attacks your memory stains his hands
in your blood!
J. Rizal."
A brief recapitulation of the story in _Noli Me Tangere_ (The Social
Cancer) is essential to an understanding of such plot as there is
in the present work, which the author called a "continuation" of the
first story.
Juan Crisostomo Ibarra is a young Filipino, who, after studying
for seven years in Europe, returns to his native land to find that
his father, a wealthy landowner, has died in prison as the result
of a quarrel with the parish curate, a Franciscan friar named Padre
Damaso. Ibarra is engaged to a beautiful and accomplished girl, Maria
Clara, the supposed daughter and only child of the rich Don Santiago
de los Santos, commonly known as "Capitan Tiago," a typical Filipino
cacique, the predominant character fostered by the friar regime.
Ibarra resolves to forego all quarrels and to work for the betterment
of his people. To show his good intentions, he seeks to establish,
at his own expense, a public school in his native town. He meets with
ostensible support from all, especially Padre Damaso's successor,
a young and gloomy Franciscan named Padre Salvi, for whom Maria Clara
confesses to an instinctive dread.
At the laying of the corner-stone for the new schoolhouse a
suspicious accident, apparently aimed at Ibarra's life, occurs, but
the festivities proceed until the dinner, where Ibarra is grossly and
wantonly insulted over the memory of his father by Fray Damaso. The
young man loses control of himself and is about to kill the friar,
who is saved by the intervention of Maria Clara.
Ibarra is excommunicated, and Capitan Tiago, through his fear of the
friars, is forced to break the engagement and agree to the marriage of
Maria Clara with a young and inoffensive Spaniard provided by Padre
Damaso. Obedient to her reputed father's command and influenced
by her mysterious dread of Padre Salvi, Maria Clara consents to
this arrangement, but becomes seriously ill, only to be saved by
medicines sent secretly by Ibarra and clandestinely administered by
a girl friend.
Ibarra succeeds in having the excommunication removed, but before he
can explain matters an uprising against the Civil Guard is secretly
brought about through agents of Padre Salvi, and the leadership is
ascribed to Ibarra to ruin him. He is warned by a mysterious friend,
an outlaw called Elias, whose life he had accidentally saved; but
desiring first to see Maria Clara, he refuses to make his escape,
and when the outbreak occurs he is arrested as the instigator of it
and thrown into prison in Manila.
On the evening when Capitan Tiago gives a ball in his Manila house to
celebrate his supposed daughter's engagement, Ibarra makes his escape
from prison and succeeds in seeing Maria Clara alone. He begins to
reproach her because it is a letter written to her before he went to
Europe which forms the basis of the charge against him, but she clears
herself of treachery to him. The letter had been secured from her by
false representations and in exchange for two others written by her
mother just before her birth, which prove that Padre Damaso is her
real father. These letters had been accidentally discovered in the
convento by Padre Salvi, who made use of them to intimidate the girl
and get possession of Ibarra's letter, from which he forged others
to incriminate the young man. She tells him that she will marry the
young Spaniard, sacrificing herself thus to save her mother's name
and Capitan Tiago's honor and to prevent a public scandal, but that
she will always remain true to him.
Ibarra's escape had been effected by Elias, who conveys him in a
banka up the Pasig to the Lake, where they are so closely beset by
the Civil Guard that Elias leaps into the water and draws the pursuers
away from the boat, in which Ibarra lies concealed.
On Christmas Eve, at the tomb of the Ibarras in a gloomy wood,
Elias appears, wounded and dying, to find there a boy named Basilio
beside the corpse of his mother, a poor woman who had been driven
to insanity by her husband's neglect and abuses on the part of the
Civil Guard, her younger son having disappeared some time before in
the convento, where he was a sacristan. Basilio, who is ignorant of
Elias's identity, helps him to build a funeral pyre, on which his
corpse and the madwoman's are to be burned.
Upon learning of the reported death of Ibarra in the chase on the Lake,
Maria Clara becomes disconsolate and begs her supposed godfather,
Fray Damaso, to put her in a nunnery. Unconscious of her knowledge of
| 3,413.079627 |
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A DAUGHTER OF THE MORNING
[Illustration: Cosma]
A DAUGHTER OF THE MORNING
by
ZONA GALE
Author of
Friendship Village, When I Was a Little Girl
Neighborhood Stories, etc.
Illustrated by W. B. King
Indianapolis
The Bobbs-Merrill Company
Publishers
Copyright 1917
The Bobbs-Merrill Company
Press of
Braunworth & Co.
Book Manufacturers
Brooklyn, N. Y.
A Daughter of the Morning
CHAPTER I
I found this paper on the cellar shelf. It come around the boys' new
overalls. When I was cutting it up in sheets with the butcher knife on
the kitchen table, Ma come in, and she says:
"What you doin' _now_?"
The way she says "now" made me feel like I've felt before--mad and ready
to fly. So I says it right out, that I'd meant to keep a secret. I says:
"I'm makin' me a book."
"Book!" she says. "For the receipts you know?" she says, and laughed
like she knows how. I hate cooking, and she knows it.
I went on tying it up.
"Be writing a book next, I s'pose," says Ma, and laughed again.
"It ain't that kind of a book," I says. "This is just to keep track."
"Well, you'd best be doing something useful," says Ma. "Go out and pull
up some radishes for your Pa's supper."
I went on tying up the sheets, though, with pink string that come around
Pa's patent medicine. When it was done I run my hand over the page, and
I liked the feeling on my hand. Then I saw Ma coming up the back steps
with the radishes. I was going to say something, because I hadn't gone
to get them, but she says:
"Nobody ever tries to save me a foot of travelin' around."
And then I didn't care whether I said it or not. So I kept still. She
washed off the radishes, bending over the sink that's in too low. She'd
wet the front of her skirt with some suds of something she'd washed out,
and her cuffs was wet, and her hair was coming down.
"It's rack around from morning till night," she says, "doing for folks
that don't care about anything so's they get their stomachs filled."
"You might talk," I says, "if you was Mis' Keddie Bingy."
"Why? Has anything more happened to her?" Ma asked.
"Nothing new," I says. "Keddie was drinking all over the house last
night. I heard him singing and swearing--and once I heard her scream."
"He'll kill her yet," says Ma. "And then she'll be through with it. I'm
so tired to-night I wisht I was dead. All day long I've been at
it--floors to mop, dinner to get, water to lug."
"Quit going on about it, Ma," I says.
"You're a pretty one to talk to me like that," says Ma.
She set the radishes on the kitchen table and went to the back door. One
of her shoes dragged at the heel, and a piece of her skirt hung below
her dress.
"Jim!" she shouted, "your supper's ready. Come along and eat it,"--and
stood there twisting her hair up.
Pa come up on the porch in a minute. His feet were all mud from the
fields, and the minute he stepped on Ma's clean floor she begun on him.
He never said a word, but he tracked back and forth from the wash bench
to the water pail, making his big black footprints every step. I should
think she _would_ have been mad. But she said what she said about half a
dozen times--not mad, only just whining and complaining and like she
expected it. The trouble was, she said it so many times.
"When you go on so, I don't care how I track up," says Pa, and dropped
down to the table. He filled up his plate and doubled down over it, and
Ma and I got ours.
"What was you and Stacy talkin' about so long over the fence?" Ma says,
after a while.
"It's no concern of yours," says Pa. "But I'll tell ye, just to show ye
what some women have to put up with. Keddie Bingy hit her over the head
with a dish in the night. It's laid her up, and he's down to the Dew
Drop Inn, filling himself full."
"She's used to it by this time, I guess," Ma says. "Just as well take
it all at once as die by inches, _I_ say."
"Trot out your pie," says Pa.
As soon as I could after we'd done the dishes, I took my book up to the
room. Ma and I slept together. Pa had the bedroom off the dining-room. I
had the bottom bureau drawer to myself for my clothes. I put my book in
there, and I found a pencil in the machine drawer, and I put that by it.
I'd wanted to make the book for a long time, to set down thoughts in,
and keep track of the different things. But I didn't feel like making
the book any more by the time I got it all ready. I went to laying out
my underclothes in the drawer so's the lace edge would show on all of
'em that had it.
Ma come to the side door and called me.
"Cossy," she says, "is Luke comin' to-night?"
"I s'pose so," I says.
"Well, then, you go right straight over to Mis' Bingy's before he gets
here," Ma says.
I went down the stairs--they had a blotched carpet that I hated because
it looked like raw meat and gristle.
"Why don't you go yourself?" I says.
"Because Mis' Bingy'll be ashamed before me," she says; "but she won't
think you know about it. Take her this."
I took the loaf of steam brown bread.
"If Luke comes," I says, "have him walk along after me."
The way to Mis' Bingy's was longer to go by the road, or short through
the wood-lot. I went by the road, because I thought maybe I might meet
somebody. The worst of the farm wasn't only the work. It was never
seein' anybody. I only met a few wagons, and none of 'em stopped to say
anything. Lena Curtsy went by, dressed up in black-and-white, with a
long veil. She looks like a circus rider, not only Sundays but every
day. But Luke likes the look of her, he said so.
"You're goin' the wrong way, Cossy!" she calls out.
"No, I ain't, either," I says, short enough. I can't bear the sight of
her. And yet, if I have anything to brag about, it's always her I want
to brag it to.
Just when I turned off to Bingy's, I met the boys. We never waited
supper for 'em, because sometimes they get home and sometimes they
don't. They were coming from the end of the street-car line, black from
the blast furnace.
"Where you goin', kid?" says Bert.
I nodded to the house.
"Well, then, tell her she'd better watch out for Bingy," says Henny.
"He's crazy drunk down to the Dew Drop. I wouldn't stay there if I was
her."
I ran the rest of the way to the Bingy house. I went round to the back
door. Mis' Bingy was in the kitchen, sitting on the edge of the bed. She
had the bed put up in the kitchen when the baby was born, and she'd kept
it | 3,413.281239 |
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by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: CHELMSFORD HIGH STREET IN 1762.
(_Reduced by Photography from the Larger Engraving by J. Ryland._)]
THE
TRADE SIGNS OF ESSEX:
A Popular Account
OF
THE ORIGIN AND MEANINGS
OF THE
Public House & Other Signs
NOW OR FORMERLY
Found in the County of Essex.
BY
MILLER CHRISTY,
_Author of “Manitoba Described,”
“The Genus Primula in Essex,” “Our Empire,” &c._
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
Chelmsford:
EDMUND DURRANT & CO., 90, HIGH STREET.
London:
GRIFFITH, FARRAN, OKEDEN, AND WELSH,
WEST CORNER ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD.
MDCCCLXXXVII.
[Illustration]
PREFACE.
“Prefaces to books [says a learned author] are like signs to
public-houses. They are intended to give one an idea of the kind of
entertainment to be found within.”
A student of the ancient and peculiarly interesting Art of Heraldry can
hardly fail, at an early period in his researches, to be struck with the
idea that some connection obviously exists between the various
“charges,” “crests,” “badges,” and “supporters” with which he is
familiar, and the curious designs now to be seen upon the sign-boards of
many of our roadside inns, and which were formerly displayed by most
other houses of business.
On first noticing this relationship when commencing the study of
Heraldry, somewhere about the year 1879, it occurred to me that the
subject was well worth following up. It seemed to me that much
interesting information would probably be brought to light by a careful
examination of the numerous signs of my native county of Essex. Still
more desirable did this appear when, after careful inquiry, I found that
(so far as I was able to discover) no more than three systematic
treatises upon the subject had ever been published. First and foremost
among these stands Messrs. Larwood and Hotten’s _History of
Sign-boards_,[1] a standard work which is evidently the result of a
very large amount of labour and research. I do not wish to conceal the
extent to which I am indebted to it. It is, however, to be regretted
that the authors should have paid so much attention to London signs, to
the partial neglect of those in other parts of the country, and that
they should not have provided a more complete index; but it is
significant of the completeness of their work that the other two writers
upon the subject have been able to add very little that is new, beside
mere local details. A second dissertation upon the origin and use of
trade-signs is to be found in a most interesting series of articles upon
the signs of the Town of Derby, contributed to the _Reliquary_[2] in
1867 by the late Mr. Llewellyn Jewitt, F.S.A., the editor of that
magazine; while the third and last source of information is to be found
in a lengthy pamphlet by Mr. Wm. Pengelly, F.R.S., treating in detail of
the Devonshire signs.[3]
On the Continent the literature of signs is much more voluminous. Among
the chief works may be mentioned Mons. J. D. Blavignac’s _Histoire des
Enseignes d’Hôtelleries, d’Auberges, et de Cabarets_;[4] Mons. Edouard
Fournier’s _Histoire des Enseignes de Paris_;[5] and Mons. Eustache de
La Quérière’s _Recherches Historiques sur les Enseignes des Maisons
Particulières_.[6]
It should be pointed out here that, although in what follows a good deal
has been said as to the age and past history of many of the best-known
Essex inns, this is, strictly speaking, a treatise on Signs and
Sign-boards only. The two subjects are, however, so closely connected
that I have found it best to treat them as one.
There will, doubtless, be many who will say that much of what I have
hereafter advanced is of too speculative a nature to be of real value.
They will declare, too, that I have shown far too great a readiness to
ascribe to an heraldic origin, signs which are at least as likely to
have been derived from some other source. To these objections I may
fairly reply that as, in most cases, no means now exist of discovering
the precise mode of origination, centuries ago, of many of our modern
signs, it is impossible to do much more than speculate as to their
derivation; and the fact that it has been found possible to ascribe such
large numbers to a probable heraldic origin affords, to my thinking, all
the excuse that is needed for so many attempts having been made to show
that others have been derived from the same source.
No one is more fully aware than I am of the incompleteness of my work.
Many very interesting facts relating to Essex inns and their signs have
unquestionably been omitted. But the search after all such facts is
practically an endless one. If, for instance, I had been able to state
the history of all the inns and their signs in every town and village in
the county with the completeness with which (thanks to Mr. H. W. King) I
have been enabled to treat those of Leigh, I should have swelled my book
to encyclopædic dimensions, and should have had to ask for it a
prohibitory price.
In a treatise involving such an immense amount of minute detail, it is
impossible to avoid some errors. My hope is, however, that these are not
many. I shall always be glad to have pointed out to me any oversights
which may be detected, and I shall be not less glad at all times to
receive any additional facts which my readers may be kind enough to send
me.
I regret that it has been necessary to make use of some old heraldic
terms which the general reader will probably not at first understand.
This, however, was quite unavoidable. The meaning of these terms will be
at once made clear on reference to the Glossary given at the end of the
work, as an Appendix.
According to the list given in the last edition of the _Essex Post
Office Directory_ there are now existing in the county no less than one
thousand, three hundred and fifty-five inns and public-houses. The signs
of all these have been classified, arranged under various headings, and
treated of in turn, together with a very large number of others which
have existed in the county during the last two centuries and a half, but
have now disappeared. Information as to these has been collected by
means of a careful examination of the trade-tokens of the seventeenth
century, old Essex Directories, early books and pamphlets relating to
the county, old deeds and records, the early issues of the _Chelmsford
Chronicle_ (now the _Essex County Chronicle_), and other newspapers,
&c., &c. Altogether it will be found I have been able to enumerate no
less than 693 distinct signs as now or formerly occurring in Essex.
I am indebted to a large number of gentlemen who have most kindly
assisted me by supplying me with information, suggestions, &c., during
the eight years I have been gathering material for the present book.
First and foremost among these I must mention Mr. H. W. King of Leigh,
Hon. Secretary to the Essex Archæological Society, who, as he says,
“knows the descent of nearly every house and plot of ground in the
parish for two or three generations, and the name of every owner.” Among
other gentlemen to whom I am indebted in varying degrees, I may mention
Mr. G. F. Beaumont, Mr. Fred. Chancellor, that veteran Essex
archæologist Mr. Joseph Clarke, F.S.A., Mr. Wm. Cole, F.E.S., Hon.
Secretary of the Essex Field Club, Mr. Thos. B. Daniell, the Rev. H. L.
Elliot, Mr. C. K. Probert, Mr. G. N. Maynard, Mr. H. Ecroyd Smith, and
others, I have also to express my thanks to the following gentlemen,
magistrates’ clerks to the various Petty Sessional Divisions of Essex,
who have most kindly supplied me with lists of such beer-houses as have
signs in their respective divisions:--Messrs. A. J. Arthy (Rochford),
Jos. Beaumont (Dengie), W. Bindon Blood (Witham), J. and J. T. Collin
(Saffron Walden), G. Creed (Epping and Harlow), Augustus Cunnington
(Freshwell and South Hinckford), W. W. Duffield (Chelmsford), H. S.
Haynes (Havering), A. H. Hunt (Orsett), and Chas. Smith (Ongar). I have
also to thank the Essex Archæological Society for the use of the four
blocks of the De Vere badges appearing on p. 70; the Essex Field Club
for that of the Rose Inn, Peldon, on p. 118; Messrs. Chambers & Sons of
22, Wilson Street, Finsbury, for that of the Brewers’ Arms on p. 32;
Messrs. Couchman & Co. of 14, Throgmorton Street, E.C., for that of the
Drapers’ Arms on p. 40; and the Brewers’, Drapers’ and Butchers’
Companies for kindly allowing me to insert cuts of their arms. To my
cousin, Miss S. Christy, I am indebted for kindly drawing the
illustrations appearing on pp. 87 and 140.
Portions of the Introduction and other parts of the book have already
appeared in an altered form in _Chambers’s Journal_ (Jan., 1887, p.
785), and I am indebted to the editor for permission to reprint.
Finally, I have to thank the Subscribers, who, by kindly ordering
copies, have diminished the loss which almost invariably attends the
publication of works of this nature. As the book has already extended to
considerably more space than was originally intended, I trust the
Subscribers will excuse the omission of the customary list.
[Illustration: signature of _Miller Christy_]
CHELMSFORD,
_February 1, 1887_.
[Illustration]
[Illustration] CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER II.
HERALDIC SIGNS 29
CHAPTER III.
MAMMALIAN SIGNS 46
CHAPTER IV.
ORNITHOLOGICAL SIGNS 91
CHAPTER V.
PISCATORY, INSECT, AND REPTILIAN SIGNS 103
CHAPTER VI.
BOTANICAL SIGNS 107
CHAPTER VII.
HUMAN SIGNS 120
CHAPTER VIII.
NAUTICAL SIGNS 134
CHAPTER IX.
ASTRONOMICAL SIGNS 148
CHAPTER X.
MISCELLANEOUS SIGNS 153
GLOSSARY OF HERALDIC TERMS USED 176
INDEX TO NAMES OF SIGNS, &C. 177
[Illustration] The Trade Signs of Essex.
CHAPTER I.
_INTRODUCTION._
“The county god,...
Whose blazing wyvern weather-cocked the spire,
Stood from his walls, and winged his entry-gates,
And swang besides on many a windy sign.”
TENNYSON: _Aylmer’s Field_.
The use of signs as a means of distinguishing different houses of
business, is a custom which has come down to us from times of great
antiquity. Nevertheless, it is not at all difficult to discover the
reasons which first led to their being employed. In days when only an
infinitesimally small proportion of the population could read, it would
obviously have been absurd for a tradesman to have inscribed above his
door his name and occupation, or the number of his house, as is now
done. Such inscriptions as “Sutton & Sons, Seedsmen,” or “Pears & Co.,
Soapmakers,” would then have been quite useless as a means of
distinguishing the particular houses that bore them; but, if each dealer
displayed conspicuously before his place of business a painted
representation of the wares he sold, the arms of the Trade-Guild to
which he belonged, or those of his landlord or patron, or some other
device by which his house might be known, there would be little
probability of mistake. If the sign thus displayed indicated the nature
of the wares sold within, it would answer a double purpose. Signs, too,
would be especially useful in distinguishing different establishments
in times when many members of the same craft resided, as they used
formerly to do, in one street or district. Although this habit has now
largely disappeared in England, in the cities of the East each trade is
still chiefly confined to its own special quarter.
In considering the subject of how signs originally came into use, it
must never be forgotten that, in bygone times, they were not confined,
as now, almost exclusively to “public-houses.” We have still, among
others, the sign of the POLE for a barber, the ROD AND FISH for a
tackle-dealer, the BLACK BOY for a tobacconist, the GOLDEN BALLS for a
pawnbroker; but formerly the proprietor of nearly every house of
business, and even of private residences, displayed his own particular
sign, just as the keepers of inns and taverns do now. For instance, an
examination of the title-page of almost any book, published a couple of
centuries or so ago, will show an imprint something like the
following:--“Printed for Timothy Childe at the WHITE HART in St. Paul’s
Churchyard; and for Thos. Varnam and John Osborn at the OXFORD ARMS in
Lombard St. MDCCXII.” Again, Sir Richard Baker’s quaint _Chronicles of
the Kings of England_ was printed in 1684, “for H. Sawbridge at the
BIBLE on Ludgate Hill, B. Tooke at the SHIP in St. Paul’s Churchyard,
and T. Sawbridge at the THREE FLOWER-DE-LUCES in Little Brittain.” As a
further example of the use of signs in former times by booksellers, in
common with other tradesmen, it may be mentioned that, according to a
writer in _Frazer’s Magazine_ (1845, vol. xxxii. p. 676)--
“The first edition of Shakespeare’s _Venus and Adonis_, and the
first edition of his _Rape of Lucrece_, were ‘sold by John Harrison
at the sign of the WHITE GREYHOUND in Saint Paul’s Churchyard;’ and
the first edition of _Shepheard’s Kalender_ by ‘Hugh Singleton,
dwelling at the GOLDEN TUN, in Creed Lane, near unto Ludgate.’ The
first edition of _The Merry Wives of Windsor_ was sold at the
FLOWER DE LEUSE AND CROWNE in St. Paul’s Churchyard; the first
edition of the _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ at the WHITE HART in Fleet
Street; the first edition of the _Merchant of Venice_ at the GREEN
DRAGON in St. Paul’s Churchyard; the first edition of _Richard
III._ at the ANGEL, and the first edition of _Richard II._ at the
FOX, both in St. Paul’s Churchyard; the first edition of _Henry V._
was sold at the CAT AND PARROTS in Cornhill; the first edition of
_Lear_ at the PIED BULL in St. Paul’s Churchyard; and the first
edition of _Othello_ ‘at the EAGLE AND CHILD in Britain’s
Bourse’--_i.e._, the New Exchange.”
Were announcements similar to these to appear on any modern book, it
would certainly give many persons the impression that the work had been
printed at a “public-house.” Again, on the cheques, and over the door of
Messrs. Hoare, bankers, of Fleet Street, may still be seen a
representation of the LEATHER BOTTLE which formed their sign in
Cheapside at least as long ago as the year 1677. In Paris, to the
present day, sellers of “_bois et charbons_” (wood and charcoal or
coals) invariably have the fronts of their establishments, facing the
street, painted in a manner intended to convey the impression that the
house is built of rough logs of wood. This device, although not
displayed upon a sign-board, forms, in every respect, a true trade-sign.
In all parts of France, signs still retain much more of their ancient
glory than they do in England. Though not common in the newer and more
fashionable streets and boulevards, they are abundant in the older
quarters of Paris, Rouen, and other large towns. They are much oftener
pictorial or graven than with us, and it is notable that they are used
almost, or quite, as frequently by shopkeepers and other tradesmen as by
the keepers of wine-shops, inns, and taverns. The sign, too, very often
represents the wares sold within.
Nowadays, however, the old custom of displaying a sign finds favour with
very few English tradesmen, except the keepers of inns and taverns; and
even they have allowed the custom to sink to such depths of degradation
that the great majority of sign-boards now bear only the name of the
house in print: consequently the reason which led originally to the use
of signs--the necessity for pictorial representation when few could
read--is no longer obvious. It may be truly said that the great spread
of education among all classes during the present century has given a
death-blow alike to the use of signs in trade and to the art of the
sign-painter. This, to be sure, is hardly a matter to call for regret on
its own account. Nevertheless, the great decline in the use of the
old-fashioned pictorial sign-board is to be regretted for many reasons.
The signs which our forefathers made use of have interwoven themselves
with our whole domestic, and even, to some extent, with our political,
history. In losing them we are losing one of the well-known landmarks of
the past. Sign-boards of the real old sort have about them an amount of
interest which is sufficient to surprise those who care to take trouble
in studying them. Dr. Brewer very truly says, in his _Dictionary of
Phrase and Fable_:--“Much of a nation’s history, and more of its manners
and feelings, may be gleaned from its public-house signs.” The
sign-boards themselves tell us (as has already been pointed out) of the
habit our forefathers had of crowding together in one street or district
all those who were of a like occupation or profession. They tell us also
of the deep ignorance of the masses of the people in days when
sign-boards were a necessity. And when it is remembered that it was only
so lately as the beginning of the present century that the knowledge of
reading and writing became sufficiently widespread to allow the
numbering of houses to come into general use as a means of
distinguishing one house from another, it will be easily seen that the
sign-boards of (say) two centuries ago played a very important, and even
an essential, part in the commercial world of those days.
But a study of the various devices that appear even on modern
sign-boards will teach us still more of the doings of our ancestors.
They tell us of the wares our forefathers made and dealt in, of the
superstitious beliefs they held, of the party strifes in which they
engaged, and of the great titled families which had so large a share in
the making of English history--in short, the devices seen, even on
modern sign-boards, afford, to those who can and care to read them, no
mean picture both of mediæval and more modern times. It was well
remarked in an early number of the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ (1738, vol.
viii. p. 526), that “The People of England are a nation of Politicians,
from the First Minister down to the cobbler, and peculiarly remarkable
for hanging out their principles upon their sign-posts.” Some of our
modern Essex signs, for instance, are relics (as will be more clearly
pointed out hereafter) of what were once staple industries in the
county, though now all but unknown in it. Thus the signs of the WOOLPACK
(p. 79), the SHEARS (p. 41), and the GOLDEN FLEECE (p. 78) are all
mementoes of the time when the woollen trade flourished in Essex. The
sign of the HOP-POLES (p. 111) reminds us of the time when hop-growing
formed a considerable industry in the county. Our various BLUE BOARS (p.
68) speak to us of the noble and once mighty Essex family of De Vere,
which formerly wielded a great power in England. These are but a few
instances. Others will occur to every one who peruses the following
pages. At the present day, too, there is scarcely a village in the
county that has not some street, square, or lane named after an
inn-sign, as, for instance, Sun Street, Eagle Lane, Swan Street, Falcon
Square, Lion Walk, Greyhound Lane, &c. In London, or Paris, the
connection is still closer. Surely, then, although signs are no longer
of great or urgent importance to us in the daily routine of our ordinary
business life, an inquiry into their past history will be a matter of
much interest, especially as comparatively little has hitherto been
written about them.
Nevertheless, although it is certain that (as has been stated) not a few
of our present signs have been derived from emblems of industries now
decayed and the armorial bearings of ancient county families, the fact
cannot be overlooked that in a great many cases these particular signs,
as now displayed by particular houses, have only very recently come into
use. That is to say, they are only _indirectly_ derived from the sources
named, having been selected because, perhaps, some neighbouring and
really ancient inn (which derived its sign _directly_) was known to have
long borne that sign. There can be no doubt (as Mr. H. W. King writes)
that--
“The very large majority of country inns are comparatively modern,
both as to signs and sites. Elsewhere, as here [Leigh], I suspect
they have been moved and removed again and again--old signs
shifted, and often changed altogether. I remember the late Mr.
Edward Woodard, of Billericay, telling me some years ago that the
inns of that town had been changed again and again: that is, what
are now private residences were formerly inns, and _vice versa_.
This he knew from the evidence of conveyances which had passed
through his hands professionally. I have no doubt that every town
would show the same facts if only one could get sufficient
evidence. At the same time, of course, some inns are very old
indeed, both as to sites and signs.”
The great decay in the use of inn-signs of the real old sort has, it is
much to be feared, now gone too far to be arrested, however much it may
be regretted. In Essex, probably not five per cent. of our sign-boards
are now pictorial. Even in the remote and sleepy little town of Thaxted
very few of the inns now possess pictorial signs. Here and there,
however, throughout the county one may still come across a few such, and
several excellent examples will be hereafter alluded to.
Probably no better idea can now be obtained in Essex of an old-fashioned
thoroughfare than in the broad High Street at Epping. From one point no
less than ten sign-boards may be seen, all swinging over the pavement in
the ancient style. Only one, however, the WHITE LION, is now pictorial.
The number of inns in Grays, too, is very large. It has been stated in
print that “for its size, it contains more than any other town in
England.” In the narrow Tindal Street at Chelmsford the sign-boards
still swing across the street in the old style, and are hung upon the
old supports. The best example is that which supports the sign of the
SPOTTED DOG. Witham has many inns, nearly all of which have their
sign-boards hanging over the pavement, but neither they nor their
supports are of much interest. Colchester has hardly such a thing as a
projecting sign-board, let alone pictorial signs. Castle Hedingham, for
its size, probably has more pictorial signs than any other Essex town,
the BELL, the CROWN, the THREE CROWNS, and the RISING SUN being all thus
represented. Except the sign-iron of the _Six Bells_ (p. 168), Dunmow
contains but little of sign-board interest. The only pictorial
sign-board in Ongar is that of the COCK. Several signs and sign-irons in
Bardfield are hereafter noticed (pp. 170 and 169). In the High Street at
Romford are many very old inns, but their signs are all script. At Leigh
there are many inns, the most ancient of which, in the opinion of Mr.
H. W. King, are the CROWN and the HAMBORO’ MERCHANTS’ ARMS, though the
GEORGE was originally the more important.
The following interesting list of inns in the Epping Division in
September, 1789, has been kindly contributed by Mr. G. Creed of
Epping:--
CHINGFORD: King’s Head, Bull. EPPING: White Lion, Bell, Cock, Swan,
Black Lion, Epping Place, Cock and Magpie, Green Man, Globe,
George, Rose and Crown, Thatched House, White Hart, Harp, White
Horse, Sun, Chequers. NAZING: Chequer, Sun, Coach and Horses,
Crown, King Harold’s Head. ROYDON: Fish and Eels, Black Swan, New
Inn, White Hart, Green Man. WALTHAM ABBEY: Owl, Green Man, Harp,
Greyhound, Ship, Cock, Chequer, Angel, Rose and Crown, Red Lion,
Bull’s Head, Three Tons (_sic_), Sun, Cock, New Inn, Green Dragon,
White Horse, Compasses, White Lion, King’s Arms. CHIGWELL: Three
Jolly Wheelers, Roebuck, King’s Head, Maypole, Bald Hind, Fox and
Hounds, Bald Stag. LOUGHTON: Reindeer, Crown, King’s Head, Plume of
Feathers. MORETON: Nag’s Head, Green Man, White Hart. NORTH WEALD:
Rainbow, King’s Head. STANFORD RIVERS: White Bear, Green Man.
THEYDON BOIS: White Hart. THEYDON GARNON: Merry Fiddlers. GREAT
HALLINGBURY: George. LATTON: Sun and Whalebone, Bush Fair House.
FYFIELD: Black Bull, Queen’s Head. LAMBOURNE: White Hart, Blue
Boar. HIGH LAVER: Chequer. LITTLE LAVER: Leather Bottle. MAGDALEN
LAVER: Green Man. CHIPPING ONGAR: White Horse, King’s Head, Anchor,
Crown, Red Lion, Bull, Cock. HIGH ONGAR: Red Lion, White Horse, Two
Brewers. HARLOW: King’s Head, Black Bull, George, Green Man, White
Horse, Horns and Horseshoes, Queen’s Head, Black Lion, Marquis of
Granby. HATFIELD BROAD OAK: Plume of Feathers, White Horse, Cock,
Duke’s Head, Bald-Faced Stag, Red Lion, Crown. SHEERING: Crown,
Cock. NETTESWELL: White Horse, Chequer. GREAT PARNDON: Cock, Three
Horse Shoes.
In the last edition of the _London Directory_, 82 firms are still
described as “sign-painters,” and in the _Essex Directory_, 10; but it
is certain that most of these follow also some other trade than
sign-painting. In some cases artists of eminence have been known to
paint signs for inns, but there does not appear to have been any notable
instances of this in Essex. As a rule our pictorial sign-boards are not
works of art. That this is a common failing elsewhere, is shown by the
fact that the French say of a bad portrait or picture, “qu’il n’est bon
qu’à faire une enseigne à bière.” Signs, it must be admitted, are among
those things which the enlightenment of this go-ahead nineteenth century
is rapidly improving off the face of the earth. Yet one cannot but
agree with the writer in _Frazer’s Magazine_, already quoted, who aptly
observes that it is a thousand pities the old signs were ever taken
down. “Men might,” he says, “read something of history (to say nothing
of a hash of heraldry) in their different devices.”
This decay in the use of inn-signs, however, is no greater than the
decline in importance of the inns themselves. These have within quite
recent years fallen from a position of great eminence and prosperity to
one of comparative degradation. Up to about fifty years ago, inns were
the centres round which most events of the time revolved. They combined
within themselves, to a very large extent, the various uses to which
modern clubs, reading-rooms, institutes, railway stations, restaurants,
eating-houses, hotels, public-houses, livery-stables, and the like are
now severally put. At present the majority of our inns are little more
than tippling-houses or drinking-places for the poorer classes. The
upper stratum of society has but little connection with them, beyond
receiving their rents.
Nothing has done more to promote this lowering of the status of modern
inns in general than the disuse of coaching. Inns were the
starting-points and destinations of the old coaches, and travellers
naturally put up and took their meals at them. Now people travel by
rail, stop at railway stations, put up at the “Railway Hotel,” and get
their meals in the station “refreshment rooms.” In days, too, when
country inns formed the stopping-places of the coaches they naturally
became important centres of information. In this they answered the
purpose to which clubs, institutes, reading-rooms, and the like are now
put. The cheap newspapers of to-day have given another serious shock to
the old tavern life of last century. Then, too, the innumerable horses,
needed for the many coaches on the great high-roads of fifty or a
hundred years ago, were kept at the inns, to the great advantage of the
latter. Now the various railway companies, of course, provide their own
engines, and the old-fashioned inns have to content themselves with a
very limited posting or omnibus business.
It is, indeed, not too much to say that in the old coaching days a small
town or village on any main road often consisted largely or almost
entirely of inns, and lived upon the traffic. Supplying the necessaries
for this traffic may be said to have been “the local industry” by which
the inhabitants of such places lived. Evidences of this may be gained
from not a few old books. Thus in Ogilby’s _Traveller’s Guide_, a book
of the roads published in 1699, Bow, near Stratford, is said to be “full
of inns,” while Stratford and Kelvedon are both spoken of as “consisting
chiefly of inns.” Again, in Daniel Defoe’s _Tour through the whole
Island of Great Britain_, published in 1724 (vol. i. p. 52), it is said
that--
“Brent-Wood and Ingarstone, and even Chelmsford itself, have very
little to be said of them, but that they are large thorough-fair
Towns, full of good Inns, and chiefly maintained by the excessive
Multitude of Carriers and Passengers, which are constantly passing
this Way, with Droves of Cattle, Provisions, and Manufactures for
London.”
Few persons of the present day have any adequate idea of the extent to
which tavern life influenced thought and manners seventy, eighty, or one
hundred years ago. Each man then had his tavern, much as we now have our
clubs and reading-rooms. There he met his friends every evening,
discussed the political questions of the day, talked over business
topics, and heard the | 3,413.282341 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The White Chief of the Caffres, by Major General A.W. Drayson.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
THE WHITE CHIEF OF THE CAFFRES, BY MAJOR GENERAL A.W. DRAYSON.
CHAPTER ONE.
I was born in the city of Delhi, in Central India, where my father held
a command as major in the old East India Company's service. I was an
only son, and my mother died shortly after I was born. I resided at
Delhi until I was ten years of age. Having been attended as a child by
an ayah, and afterwards taught to ride by one of my father's syces, I
learned to speak Hindostani before I could speak English, and felt quite
at home amongst black people.
My father, Major Peterson, had a brother in England who was a bachelor,
and an East Indian merchant, and supposed to be very rich. I was named
Julius, after this uncle, who was my godfather, and who was much older
than was my father, and who, although he had never seen me, yet took
great interest in me, and mentioned me in all his letters.
It was just before my tenth birthday that my father received a letter
from my uncle, which caused a great change in my life, and led to those
adventures which I relate in this tale. In this letter my uncle wrote,
that from his experience of India he was certain that I could not be
properly educated in that country; that at my age the climate was very
trying; and that consequently he wished my father to send me home, in
order that I might be placed at a good school in England, and eventually
sent either to Addiscombe or Haileybury, according as I chose the
military or civil service of India. The expenses of my education, my
uncle stated, would be undertaken by him, so that money need not
interfere with the question. Young as I was I saw the advantages of
this proposition, and being by nature ambitious and fond of adventure, I
was pleased at the prospect of seeing England. After a little
hesitation my father consented to part with me, and I and my father
commenced our long journey from Delhi to Calcutta. In those early days
of my youth there were no railways in India; there was no Suez Canal,
and there were no steamers in the world. To reach England we embarked
at Calcutta in what was termed one of Green's ships--that is, a fine
East Indiaman, a full-rigged ship of | 3,413.283293 |
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Produced by Dagny; and John Bickers
BALZAC
BY
FREDERICK LAWTON
DEDICATED,
In remembrance of many pleasant and instructive
hours spent in his society, to the sculptor
AUGUSTE RODIN,
whose statue of Balzac, with its fine, synthetic
portraiture, first tempted the author to write
this book.
PASSY, PARIS, 1910.
PREFACE
Excusing himself for not undertaking to write a life of Balzac,
Monsieur Brunetiere, in his study of the novelist published
shortly before his death, refused somewhat disdainfully to admit
that acquaintance with a celebrated man's biography has
necessarily any value. "What do we know of the life of
Shakespeare?" he says, "and of the circumstances in which _Hamlet_
or _Othello_ was produced? If these circumstances were better
known to us, is it to be believed and will it be seriously
asserted that our admiration for one or the other play would be
augmented?" In penning this quirk, the eminent critic would seem
to have wilfully overlooked the fact that a writer's life may have
much or may have little to do with his works. In the case of
Shakespeare it was comparatively little--and yet we should be glad
to learn more of this little. In the case of Balzac it was much.
His novels are literally his life; and his life is quite as full
as his books of all that makes the good novel at once profitable
and agreeable to read. It is not too much to affirm that any one
who is acquainted with what is known to-day of the strangely
chequered career of the author of the _Comedie Humaine_ is in a
better position to understand and appreciate the different parts
which constitute it. Moreover, the steady rise of Balzac's
reputation, during the last fifty years, has been in some degree
owing to the various patient investigators who have gathered
information about him whom Taine pronounced to be, with
Shakespeare and Saint-Simon, the greatest storehouse of documents
we possess concerning human nature.
The following chapters are an attempt to put this information into
sequence and shape, and to insert such notice of the novels as
their relative importance requires. The author wishes here to
thank certain French publishers who have facilitated his task by
placing books for reference at his disposal, Messrs. Calmann-Levy,
Armand Colin, and Hetzel, in particular, and also the Curator of
the _Musee Balzac_, Monsieur de Royaumont who has rendered him
service on several occasions.
BALZAC
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
The condition of French society in the early half of the nineteenth
century--the period covered by Balzac's novels--may be compared to
that of a people endeavouring to recover themselves after an
earthquake. Everything had been overthrown, or at least loosened from
its base--religion, laws, customs, traditions, castes. Nothing had
withstood the shock. When the upheaval finally ceased, there were
timid attempts to find out what had been spared and was susceptible of
being raised from the ruins. Gradually the process of selection went
on, portions of the ancient system of things being joined to the
larger modern creation. The two did not work in very well together,
however, and the edifice was far from stable.
During the Consulate and First Empire, the Emperor's will, so sternly
imposed, retarded any movement of natural reconstruction. Outside the
military organization, things were stiff and starched and solemn. High
and low were situated in circumstances that were different and
strange. The new soldier aristocracy reeked of the camp and
battle-field; the washer-woman, become a duchess, was ill at ease in
the Imperial drawing-room; while those who had thriven and amassed
wealth rapidly in trade were equally uncomfortable amidst the vulgar
luxury with which they surrounded themselves. Even the common people,
whether of capital or province, for whose benefit the Revolution had
been made, were silent and afraid. Of the ladies' _salons_--once
numerous and remarkable for their wit, good taste, and conversation--two
or three only subsisted, those of Mesdames de Beaumont, Recamier and de
Stael; and, since the last was regarded by Napoleon with an unfriendly
eye, its guests must have felt constrained.
At reunions, eating rather than talking was fashionable, and the
eating lacked its intimacy and privacy of the past. The lighter side
of life was seen more in restaurants, theatres, and fetes. It was
modish to dine at Frascati's, to drink ices at the Pavillon de
Hanovre, to go and admire the actors Talma, Picard, and Lemercier,
whose stage performance was better than many of the pieces they
interpreted. Fireworks could be enjoyed at the Tivoli Gardens; the
great concerts were the rage for a while, as also the practice for a
hostess to carry off her visitors after dinner for a promenade in the
Bois de Boulogne.
Literature was obstinately classical. After the daring flights of the
previous century, writers contented themselves with marking time.
Chenedolle, whose verse Madame de Stael said to be as lofty as
Lebanon, and whose fame is lilliputian to-day, was, with Ducis, the
representative of their advance-guard. In painting, with Fragonard,
Greuze and Gros, there was a greater stir of genius, yet without
anything corresponding in the sister art.
On the contrary, in the practical aspects of life there was large
activity, though Paris almost alone profited by it. Napoleon's
reconstruction in the provinces was administrative chiefly. A complete
programme was first started on in the capital, which the Emperor
wished to exalt into the premier city of Europe. Gas-lighting,
sewerage, paving and road improvements, quays, and bridges were his
gifts to the city, whose general appearance, however, remained much
the same. The Palais-Royal served still as a principal rendezvous. The
busy streets were the Rues Saint-Denis and Saint-Honore on the right
bank, the Rue Saint-Jacques on the left; and the most important shops
were to be found in the Rue de la Loi, at present the Rue de
Richelieu.
The fall of the Empire was less a restoration of the Monarchy than the
definite disaggregation of the ancient aristocracy, which had been
centralized round the court since the days of Richelieu. The Court of
Louis XVIII. was no more like that of Louis XVI. than it was like the
noisy one of Napoleon. Receiving only a few personal friends, the King
allowed his drawing-rooms to remain deserted by the nobles that had
returned from exile; and the two or three who were regular visitors
were compelled to rub elbows with certain parvenus, magistrates,
financiers, generals of the Empire whom it would not have been prudent
to eliminate.
In this initial stage of society-decentralization, the diminished band
of the Boulevard Saint-Germain--descendants of the eighteenth-century
dukes and marquises--tried to close up their ranks and to
differentiate themselves from the plutocracy of the Chaussee d'Antin,
who copied their manners, with an added magnificence of display which
those they imitated could not afford. In the one camp the antique
bronzes, gildings, and carvings of a bygone art were retained with
pious veneration; in the other, pictures, carpets, Jacob chairs and
sofas, mirrors, and time-pieces, and the gold and silver plate were
all in lavish style, indicative of their owner's ampler means. One
feature of the pre-Revolution era was revived in the feminine
_salons_, which regained most, if not the whole, of their pristine
renown. The Hotel de la Rochefoucauld of Madame Ancelot became a
second Hotel de Rambouillet, where the classical Parseval-Grandmaison,
who spent twenty years over his poem _Philippe-Auguste_, held
armistice with the young champion of the Romantic school, Victor Hugo.
The Princess de Vaudemont received her guests in Paris during the
winter, and at Suresnes during the summer; and her friend the Duchess
de Duras' _causeries_ were frequented by such men as Cuvier, Humboldt,
Talleyrand, Mole, de Villele, Chateaubriand, and Villemain. Other
circles existed in the houses of the Dukes Pasquier and de Broglie,
the countess Merlin, and Madame de Mirbel.
With the re-establishment of peace, literary and toilet pre-occupations
began to assert their claims. The _Ourika_ of the Duchess de Duras took
Paris by storm. Her heroine, the young Senegal negress, gave her name to
dresses, hats, and bonnets. Everything was _Ourika_. The prettiest
Parisian woman yearned to be black, and regretted not having been born
in darkest Africa. Anglomania in men's clothes prevailed throughout the
reign of Louis XVIII., yet mixed with other modes. "Behold an up-to-date
dandy," says a writer of the epoch; "all extremes meet in him. You shall
see him Prussian by the stomach, Russian by his waist, English in his
coat-tails and collar, Cossack by the sack that serves him as trousers,
and by his fur. Add to these things Bolivar hats and spurs, and the
moustaches of a counter-skipper, and you have the most singular
harlequin to be met with on the face of the globe."
Among the masses there were changes just as striking. For the moment
militarism had disappeared, to the people's unfeigned content, and the
Garde Nationale, composed of pot-bellied tradesmen, alone recalled the
bright uniforms of the Empire. To make up for the soldier excitements
of the _Petit Caporal_, attractions of all kinds tempted the citizen
to enjoy himself after his day's toil was finished--menagerie,
mountebanks, Franconi circus, Robertson the conjurer in the Jardin des
Capucines. At the other end of the city, in the Boulevard du Temple,
were Belle Madeleine, the seller of Nanterre cakes, famous throughout
Europe, the face contortionist Valsuani, Miette in his egg-dance,
Curtius' waxworks. By each street corner were charlatans of one or
another sort exchanging jests with the passers-by. It was the period
when the Prudhomme type was created, so common in all the skits and
caricatures of the day. One of the greatest pleasures of the citizen
under the Restoration was to mock at the English. Revenge for Waterloo
was found in written and spoken satires. Huge was the success of
Sewrin's and Dumersan's _Anglaises pour rire_, with Brunet and Potier
travestied as _grandes dames_, dancing a jig so vigorously that they
lost their skirts. The same species of _revanche_ was indulged in when
Lady Morgan, the novelist, came to France, seeking material for a
popular book describing French customs. Henri Beyle (Stendhal) hoaxed
her by acting as her cicerone and filling her note-books with absurd
information, which she accepted in good faith and carried off as fact.
On Sundays the most respectable families used to resort to the
_guinguettes_, or _bastringues_, of the suburbs. Belleville had its
celebrated Desnoyers establishment. At the Maine gate Mother Sagnet's
was the meeting-place of budding artists and grisettes. At La
Villette, Mother Radig, a former canteen woman, long enjoyed
popularity among her patrons of both sexes. All these scenes are
depicted in certain of Victor Ducange's novels, written between 1815
and 1830, as also in the pencil sketches of the two artists Pigal and
Marlet.
The political society of the Restoration was characterized by a good
deal of cynicism. Those who were affected by the change of _regime_,
partisans and functionaries of the Empire, hastened in many cases to
trim their sails to the turn of the tide. However, there was a
relative liberty of the press which permitted the honest expression of
party opinion, and polemics were keen. At the Sorbonne, Guizot,
Cousin, and Villemain were the orators of the day. Frayssinous
lectured at Saint-Sulpice, and de Lamennais, attacking young
Liberalism, denounced its tenets in an essay which de Maistre called a
heaving of the earth under a leaden sky.
The country's material prosperity at the time was considerable, and
reacted upon literature of every kind by furnishing a more leisured
public. In 1816 Emile Deschamps preluded to the after-triumphs of the
Romantic School with his play the _Tour de faveur_, the latter being
followed in 1820 by Lebrun's _Marie Stuart_. Alfred de Vigny was
preparing his _Eloa_; Nodier was delighting everybody by his talents
as a philologian, novelist, poet, and chemist. Beranger was continuing
his songs, and paying for his boldness with imprisonment. The King
himself was a protector of letters, arts, and sciences. One of his
first tasks was to reorganize the "Institut Royal," making it into
four Academies. He founded the Geographical and Asiatic Societies,
encouraged the introduction of steam navigation and traction into
France, and patronized men of genius wherever he met with them.
Yet the nation's fidelity to the White Flag was not very deep-rooted.
Grateful though the population had been for the return of peace and
prosperity, a lurking reminiscence of Napoleonic splendours combined
with the bourgeois' Voltairian scepticism to rouse a widespread
hostility to Government and Church, as soon as the spirit of the
latter ventured to manifest again its inveterate intolerance.
Beranger's songs, Paul-Louis Courier's pamphlets, and the articles of
the _Constitutionnel_ fanned the re-awakened sentiments of revolt; and
Charles the Tenth's ministers, less wisely restrained than those of
Louis XVIII., and blind to the significance of the first barricades of
1827, provoked the catastrophe of 1830. This second revolution
inaugurated the reign of a bourgeois king. Louis-Philippe was hardly
more than a delegate of the bourgeois class, who now reaped the full
benefits of the great Revolution and entered into possession of its
spoils. During Jacobin dictature and Napoleonic sway, the bourgeoisie
had played a waiting role. At present they came to the front, proudly
conscious of their merits; and an entire literature was destined to be
devoted to them, an entire art to depict or satirize their manners.
Scribe, Stendhal, Merimee, Henry Monnier, Daumier, and Gavarni were
some of the men whose work illustrated the bourgeois _regime_, either
prior to or contemporaneous with the work of Balzac.
The eighteen years of the July Monarchy, which were those of Balzac's
mature activity, contrasted sharply with those that immediately
preceded. In spite of perceptible social progress, the constant war of
political parties, in which the throne itself was attacked, alarmed
lovers of order, and engendered feelings of pessimism. The power of
journalism waxed great. Fighting with the pen was carried to a point
of skill previously unattained. Grouped round the _Debats_--the
ministerial organ--were Silvestre de Sacy, Saint-Marc Girardin, and
Jules Janin as leaders, and John Lemoinne, Philarete Chasles, Barbey
d'Aurevilly in the rank and file. Elsewhere Emile de Girardin's
_Presse_ strove to oust the _Constitutionnel_ and _Siecle_, opposition
papers, from public favour, and to establish a Conservative Liberalism
that should receive the support of moderate minds. Doctrines many,
political and social, were propounded in these eighteen years of
compromise. Legitimists, Bonapartists, and Republicans were all three
in opposition to the Government, each with a programme to tempt the
petty burgess. Saint-Simonism too was abroad with its utopian ideals,
attracting some of the loftier minds, but less appreciated by the
masses than the teachings of other semi-secret societies having aims
more material.
Corresponding to the character of the _regime_ was the practical
nature of the public works executed--the railway system with its
transformation of trade, the fortification of the capital, the
commencement of popular education, and the renovation of decayed or
incompleted edifices. | 3,413.284248 |
2023-11-16 19:14:01.0678710 | 2,627 | 88 |
Produced by David Widger
THE MEMOIRS
OF
JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT
1725-1798
THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR MACHEN TO WHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED BY ARTHUR SYMONS.
[Transcriber's Note: These memoires were not written for children, they may outrage readers also offended by Chaucer, La Fontaine, Rabelais and The Old Testament. D.W.]
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
CONTENTS
CASANOVA AT DUX
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
THE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA
VENETIAN YEARS
EPISODE 1 -- CHILDHOOD
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
EPISODE 2 -- CLERIC IN NAPLES
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 3 -- MILITARY CAREER
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
EPISODE 4 -- RETURN TO VENICE
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
EPISODE 5 -- MILAN AND MANTUA
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
TO PARIS AND PRISON
EPISODE 6 -- PARIS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
EPISODE 7 -- VENICE
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
EPISODE 8 -- CONVENT AFFAIRS
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
EPISODE 9 -- THE FALSE NUN
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
EPISODE 10 -- UNDER THE LEADS
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
EPISODE 11 -- PARIS AND HOLLAND
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
EPISODE 12 -- RETURN TO PARIS
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
EPISODE 13 -- HOLLAND AND GERMANY
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 14 -- SWITZERLAND
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
EPISODE 15 -- WITH VOLTAIRE
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH
EPISODE 16 -- DEPART SWITZERLAND
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
EPISODE 17 -- RETURN TO ITALY
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
EPISODE 18--RETURN TO NAPLES
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 19 -- BACK AGAIN TO PARIS
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
EPISODE 20 -- MILAN
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
VOLUME 5 -- TO LONDON AND MOSCOW
EPISODE 21 -- SOUTH OF FRANCE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
EPISODE 21 -- TO LONDON
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
EPISODE 23--THE ENGLISH
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
EPISODE 24 -- FLIGHT FROM LONDON TO BERLIN
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
EPISODE 25 -- RUSSIA AND POLAND
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
VOLUME 6 -- SPANISH PASSIONS
EPISODE 26 -- SPAIN
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
EPISODE 27 -- EXPELLED FROM SPAIN
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 28 -- RETURN TO ROME
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
EPISODE 29 -- FLORENCE TO TRIESTE
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
EPISODE 30 -- OLD AGE AND DEATH OF CASANOVA
APPENDIX AND SUPPLEMENT
PART THE FIRST -- VENICE 1774-1782
I -- CASANOVA'S RETURN TO VENICE
II -- RELATIONS WITH THE INQUISITORS
III -- FRANCESCA BUSCHINI
IV -- PUBLICATIONS
V -- MLLE---- X----... C----... V----...
VI -- LAST DAYS AT VENICE
PART THE SECOND -- VIENNA-PARIS
I -- 1783-1785
II -- PARIS
III -- VIENNA
IV -- LETTERS FROM FRANCESCA
V -- LAST DAYS AT VIENNA
PART THE THIRD -- DUX -- 1786-1798
I -- THE CASTLE AT DUX
II -- LETTERS FROM FRANCESCA
III -- CORRESPONDENCE AND ACTIVITIES
IV -- CORRESPONDENCE WITH JEAN-FERDINAND OPIZ
V -- PUBLICATIONS
VI -- SUMMARY of MY LIFE
VII -- LAST DAYS AT DUX
Illustrations
Bookcover 1
Titlepage 1
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 14
Chapter 14b
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 16
Chapter 16b
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 15
Chapter 17
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
CASANOVA AT DUX
An Unpublished Chapter of History, By Arthur Symons
I
The Memoirs of Casanova, though they have enjoyed the popularity of a bad reputation, have never had justice done to them by serious students of literature, of life, and of history. One English writer, indeed, Mr. Havelock Ellis, has realised that 'there are few more delightful books in the world,' and he has analysed them in an essay on Casanova, published in Affirmations, with extreme care and remarkable subtlety. But this essay stands alone, at all events in English, as an attempt to take Casanova seriously, to show him in his relation to his time, and in his relation to human problems. And yet these Memoirs are perhaps the most valuable document which we possess on the society of the eighteenth century; they are the history of a unique life, a unique personality, one of the greatest of autobiographies; as a record of adventures, they are more entertaining than Gil Blas, or Monte Cristo, or any of the imaginary travels, and escapes, and masquerades in life, which have been written in imitation of them. They tell the story of a man who loved life passionately for its own sake: one to whom woman was, indeed, the most important thing in the world, but to whom nothing in the world was indifferent. The bust which gives us the most lively notion of him shows us a great, vivid, intellectual face, full of fiery energy and calm resource, the face of a thinker and a fighter in one. A scholar, an adventurer, perhaps a Cabalist, a busy stirrer in politics, a gamester, one 'born for the fairer sex,' as he tells us, and born also to be a vagabond; this man, who is remembered now for his written account of his own life, was that rarest kind of autobiographer, one who did not live to write, but wrote because he had lived, and when he could live no longer.
And his Memoirs take one all over Europe, giving sidelights, all the more valuable in being almost accidental, upon many of the affairs and people most interesting to us during two-thirds of the eighteenth century. Giacomo Casanova was born in Venice, of Spanish and Italian parentage, on April 2, 1725; he died at the Chateau of Dux, in Bohemia, on June 4, 1798. In that lifetime of seventy-three years he travelled, as his Memoirs show us, in Italy, France, Germany, Austria, England, Switzerland, Belgium, Russia, Poland, Spain, Holland, Turkey; he met Voltaire at Ferney, Rousseau at Montmorency, Fontenelle, d'Alembert and Crebillon at Paris, George III. in London, Louis XV. at Fontainebleau, Catherine the Great at St. Petersburg, Benedict XII. at Rome, Joseph II. at Vienna, Frederick the Great at Sans-Souci. Imprisoned by the Inquisitors of State in the Piombi at Venice, he made, in 1755, the most famous escape in history. His Memoirs, as we have them, break off abruptly at the moment when he is expecting a safe conduct, and the permission to return to Venice after twenty years' wanderings. He did return, as we know from documents in the Venetian archives; he returned as secret agent of the Inquisitors, and remained in their service from 1774 until 1782. At the end of 1782 he left Venice; and next year we find him in Paris, where, in 1784, he met Count Waldstein at the Venetian Ambassador's, and was invited by him to become his librarian at Dux. He accepted, and for the fourteen remaining years of his life lived at Dux, where he wrote his Memoirs.
Casanova died in 1798, but nothing was heard of the Memoirs (which the Prince de Ligne, in his own Memoirs, tells us that Casanova had read to him, and in which he found 'du dyamatique, de la rapidite, du comique, de la philosophie, des choses neuves, sublimes, inimitables meme') until the year 1820, when a certain Carlo Angiolini brought to the publishing house of Brockhaus, in Leipzig, a manuscript entitled Histoire de ma vie jusqu a l'an 1797, in the handwriting of Casanova. This manuscript, which I have examined at Leipzig, is written on foolscap paper, rather rough and yellow; it is written on both sides of the page, and in sheets or quires; here and there the paging shows that some pages have been omitted, and in their place are smaller sheets of | 3,417.087911 |
2023-11-16 19:14:01.3610260 | 7,380 | 19 |
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
EVER HEARD THIS?
OVER THREE HUNDRED GOOD STORIES
BY
F. W. CHAMBERS
THIRD EDITION
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
First Published...... October 27th 1916
Second Edition...... November 1916
Third Edition...... December 1916
----
CONTENTS
WHAT HE WANTED
HIS CHOICE
NOT IN THE REGULATIONS
CHEAP TALK
SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERTISEMENT
A CANDID CRITIC
WHAT'S IN A NAME
WHY BROWN LEFT
AN ASS'S SHADOW
GRACE
MISUNDERSTOOD
TRUMPS
THE STUTTERER
PRESENT AND FUTURE
THE VOICE OF IGNORANCE
A PASSOVER STORY
EXTRAORDINARY COMPROMISE
BARBER SHAVED BY A LAWYER
A GOOD PUN
SOMETHING LIKE AN INSULT
THE UNWELCOME GUEST
A LOST BALANCE
A BAD CROP
NEGATIVES AND POSITIVES
JAW-ACHE
HER PROGRAMME
THE PROUD FATHER
A MIRACLE
KEEPING TIME
QUESTION AND ANSWER
MOTHER'S JAM POTS
WISDOM
WHY NOT?
THE OLD FARMER
ANY CHANGE FOR THE BETTER
TACT
THE RETORT RUDE
THE QUAKER AND HIS HORSE
CERTAINLY NOT ASLEEP
THE BEST JUDGE
A THIRST FOR KNOWLEDGE
A SHIPWRECK
A SAFE CASE
THE WATCH MENDER
THE CITY CHURCHES--AND OTHERS
HIGH PRINCIPLES
THE MIXTURE AS BEFORE
CANNY SCOT
A NICE DISTINCTION
NOT TWO-FACED
CLERICAL WIT
A COSTLY EXPERIMENT
A GOOD REASON
ECONOMY IN THE STABLE
THE PATRIARCH
HIGH AND LOW
BEER
NOT IMPORTUNATE
THE RELATIONSHIP OF HOG TO BACON
UNION IS STRENGTH
COURTSHIP
TO LET
CUT AND COME AGAIN
THE THOUGHTFUL PATIENT
KISMET
THE YOUNG IDEA
THE NEW BABY
HOOK AND AN INSPECTOR OF TAXES
THE SHE BEAR
KNOWLEDGE
A STORY FOR BOOKSELLERS
THE EARLY BIRD
TABLE TALK
TROUBLES
A SOUTHERNER AND SCOTLAND
DRY HUMOUR
THE CHURCH ORGAN
COMMON PRAYER
SHORT COMMONS
TRUTH
A WRONG CHOICE
FISH AS A BRAIN FOOD
A CHARACTER
HUSBAND OR COW
A NEW METHOD
GRATITUDE NOT APPRECIATED
ON THE TREASURES OF THIS WORLD
COLD FEET
BUSYBODIES
ALDERMANIC TASTES
"WARRANTED TO KILL"
PROFESSIONAL
THE NEW VERSION
DRAUGHTS
TENDERNESS
HOW TO ADDRESS A BISHOP
HOOK AND PUTNEY BRIDGE
A GOOD EXAMPLE
A MISFIT
A CHEERFUL INVITATION
THE INEVITABLE RESULT
JUSTICE
THAT AWFUL CHILD
A COSMOPOLITAN
CLOTHES AND THE MAN
A WITTY REPLY
THE SOUND OF A TRUMPET
GRAMMAR
ONE SIDE AT A TIME
COMPANY
HER OWN FAULT
A POSER
YOUTHFUL PRECOCITY
ABOVE PROOF
ON DEATH
ENVY
A HAT FOR NOTHING
AN OLD PROVERB
PRO BONO PUBLICO
A NEW RECIPE
NOT A WAXWORK
THEY NEVER SAY THANK YOU
TIPS
JUSTICE
DEAD AS A DOORNAIL
FAITH
JOB'S CURSE
A CONJUGAL CONCLUSION
THE RULING PASSION
FELO-DE-SE
HOW TO GET WARM
NO MATTER WHAT COLOUR
OF COMPOSITIONS
PETER'S WIFE'S MOTHER
THE TRIALS OF THE DEAF
ANTICIPATION
HYMNS AND HERS
HORS CONCOURS
THE MARINE AND THE BOTTLE
A UNITED COUPLE
WET PAINT
TICK, TICK, TICK
DIFFIDENCE
THE BAILIFF OUTWITTED
IMAGINATION
UNREMITTING KINDNESS
A WARM PROSPECT
A SOPORIFIC STORY
ST. PETER AND HIS KEYS
THE LOST JOINT
THE RECRUITING SERGEANT AND THE COUNTRYMAN
ALL MEN ARE LIARS
AN OBJECT LESSON
A DOUBTFUL COMPLIMENT
"SOMEWHERE"
THE SCOTSMAN AND THE JOKE
WAR AND TAXES
A MODERN ALFRED
CHARITY ON CREDIT
COURTING BY LAMPLIGHT
THE INQUISITIVE ONLOOKER
THE EMPTY BOTTLE
H2O
AN ACCIDENT
TOUCH HIM UP
A SMART BOY
WEARING ROUGE
THE POOR LANDLORD
THE DAY OF REST
NOT TO BE CAUGHT
MOLECULES
A THOUGHTLESS SAMARITAN
TWINS
A NATURAL OBJECTION
BADLY PUT
A DOUBTFUL MARKET
SEQUENCES
TWO POINTS OF VIEW
A CANNIBAL
TO LET--UNFURNISHED
A FRIEND OF SATAN
THE TEDDY BEAR
BROTHERLY LOVE
CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLES
MULTIPLICATION
A BIBLICAL STORY
THE THOUGHTFUL MAID
HEMP
GOOD ADVICE
CHANGE AND REST
THE VOLUNTARY SYSTEM
THE WAY TO YORK
THE WAY TO DO IT
LOT AND THE FLEA
WHIST
A NEW PRESCRIPTION
JACOB'S LADDER
A PORTRAIT
BLOATERS
A CONVENIENCE
THE PRAYER MEETING
TAKING TIME
KING'S EVIDENCE
A PLEASANT PROSPECT
BALAAM'S SWORD
THE HONORARIUM
MANNERS
SCOTCH UNDERSTANDING
THE AVERAGE EGG
FEELING IN THE RIGHT PLACE
THE G.O.M.
A NEAT RETORT
A SYDNEY SMITH STORY
A COMMON DIFFICULTY
MARY JONES
DONALD COMPLIED
VEGETARIANISM
FELLOW-FEELING
JONAH AND THE WHALE
WHOLLY GOOD
"CAREFUL, NOW!"
SAFETY
O'BRIEN THE LUCID
MERCY
A BULL
A GOOD REASON
THE ARREST
CHERUBIM AND SERAPHIM
SOLITUDE
A QUESTION OF NUMBERS
AMERICAN POULTRY
GRACE MAL A PROPOS
THE POOR IDIOT
A WELSH WIG-GING
FORGIVENESS
AN ODD COMPARISON
ACOUSTICS
SHARP, IF NOT PLEASANT
BRIGHT AND SHARP
SOFTNESS
AN EASY QUALIFICATION
MISER'S CHARITY
ON TAKING A WIFE
THE THIRTY-NINE ARTICLES
THE DUCHESS AND THE CANONS
HOW TO WIN
PIGS
BACON AND THE DEVIL
HINTS TO MOTHERS
GARRICK AND THE DOCTOR'S FEE
A SAFE SHOT
HOW TO INDUCE PERSPIRATION
DIFFERENCES
COALS
MODESTY
AN UNFORTUNATE REMARK
MODERN EDUCATION
THE RULING PASSION
EDUCATION
A LONG GRACE
THE USE OF FALSE TEETH
HOW TO COLLECT
IMPERSONATION
A SMART RETORT
TRUTH WILL OUT
SUNDAY AFTERNOON SERVICES
A NEW DISH
FULL OF PLUCK
CANDID ON BOTH SIDES
THE LAW AND THE PROPHETS
THE ISLE OF MAN, AND A WOMAN
A CUNNING ELDER
AS YOU LIKE IT
UNNECESSARY CIVILITY
AT THE SIGN OF THE BARBER'S POLE
AN IDENTIFICATION PLATE
TABLE OF COMPARISON
THE INTELLIGENT CAT
HEAR! HEAR!
MISPLACING THE BLAME
WHY HANGING CAUSES DEATH
MORAL QUALIFICATIONS
MEASURING HIS DISTANCE
AGRICULTURAL EXPERIENCES
THE LATIN FOR COLD
THE CUT DIRECT
COMMON WANT
NOT TO BE BEATEN
AN ODD NOTION
"IF----"
LATE AND EARLY
A SLIGHT DIFFERENCE
SHARP BOY
THE SENTRY AND HIS WATCH
CREDIT
UNKIND
NOT COMPULSORY
"YOU'LL GET THERE BEFORE I CAN TELL YOU!"
AN UNHAPPY BENEDICT
A DIFFICULT TASK
NON-RUNNERS
THE POLITE COUNTRYMAN
A VIOLENT PARTNER
WISDOM
A DOUBTFUL POINT
THE BETTER WAY
A GOOD REASON
A NEW TEXT
AN AUCTION
A REAL SPORT
THE SCOTCHMAN'S SOUVENIR
----
EVER HEARD THIS?
WHAT HE WANTED
A lover and his lass sought a secluded lane, but to their disgust a
small boy arrived there too. Said the lover:
"Here's a penny. Go and get some sweets."
"I don't want any sweets."
"Well, here's a shilling. Run away."
"I don't want a shilling."
"Then here's half a crown."
"I don't want half a crown."
"Well, what do you want?"
"I want to watch."
HIS CHOICE
A little boy, who had had some insight into the disposal of surplus
kittens, on being shown his mother's newly arrived twins, laid his
finger on that which struck his fancy, and said, "That's the one I'll
have kept."
NOT IN THE REGULATIONS
A raw Highlander from a northern depot was put on guard at the C.O.'s
tent. In the morning the Colonel looked out, and though he prided
himself on knowing all his men the sentry's face was unfamiliar.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"A'am fine, thank ye," was the reply, "an' hoo's yerself?"
CHEAP TALK
Jones was proud of his virtues. "Gentlemen, for twenty years I haven't
touched whisky, cards, told a lie, done an unkind deed, or smoked, or
sworn," he said.
"By Jove! I wish I could say that," Brown exclaimed enviously.
"Well, why don't you?" said a mutual friend. "Jones did."
SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERTISEMENT
A Scot and a minister were in a train together travelling through a
lovely part of Scotland.
Beautiful scenery--mountains, dales, rivers, and all the glories of
Nature. When passing a grand mountain they saw a huge advertisement for
So-and-So's whisky.
The Scot gave a snort of disgust. The minister leant forward and said,
"I'm glad to see, sir, that you agree with me, that they should not be
allowed to desecrate the beauties of Nature by advertisement."
"It's no' that, sir," said the Scot bitterly, "it's rotten whusky."
A CANDID CRITIC
Bishop Blomfield, having forgotten his written sermon, once preached _ex
tempore_, for the first and only time in his life, choosing as his text
"The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God." On his way home he
asked one of his congregation how he liked the discourse. "Well, Mr.
Blomfield," replied the man, "I liked the sermon well enough, but I
can't say I agree with you; I think there be a God!"
WHAT'S IN A NAME
A lawyer who was sometimes forgetful, having been engaged to plead the
cause of an offender, began by saying: "I know the prisoner at the bar,
and he bears the character of being a most consummate and impudent
scoundrel." Here somebody whispered to him that the prisoner was his
client, when he immediately continued: "But what great and good man ever
lived who was not calumniated by many of his contemporaries?"
WHY BROWN LEFT
Mr. Brown expressed to his landlady his pleasure in seeing her place a
plate of scraps before the cat. "Oh, yes, sir," she replied. "Wot I
says, Mr. Brown, is, be kind to the cats, and yer'll find it saves yer
'arf the washin'-up."
AN ASS'S SHADOW
A foolish fellow went to the parish priest, and told him, with a very
long face, that he had seen a ghost. "When and where?" said the pastor.
"Last night," replied the timid man, "I was passing by the church, and
up against the wall of it, did I behold the spectre." "In what shape
did it appear?" replied the priest. "It appeared in the shape of a
great ass." "Go home and say not a word about it," rejoined the pastor;
"you are a very timid man, and have been frightened by your own shadow."
GRACE
A precocious child found the long graces used by his father before and
after meals very tedious. One day, when the week's provisions had been
delivered, he said, "I think, father, if you were to say grace over the
whole lot at once, it would be a great saving of time."
MISUNDERSTOOD
A farmer in the neighbourhood of Doncaster was thus accosted by his
landlord: "John, I am going to raise your rent." John replied, "Sir, I
am very much obliged to you, for I cannot raise it myself."
TRUMPS
Ayrton, Charles Lamb's friend, only made one joke in his life; it was
this. Lamb had his usual Wednesday-evening gathering, and Martin Burney
and the rest were playing at whist. Ayrton contented himself with
looking on. Presently he said to Burney, in an undertone, the latter
not being notorious for his love of soap and water, "Ah! Martin, if
dirt were trumps, what hands you'd hold!"
THE STUTTERER
An old woman received a letter from the post-office at New York. Not
knowing how to read and being anxious to know the contents, supposing it
to be from one of her absent sons, she called on a person near to read
it to her. He accordingly began and read: "Charleston, June 23rd. Dear
Mother"--then making a stop to find out what followed (as the writing
was rather bad), the old lady exclaimed: "Oh, 'tis my poor Jerry, he
always stuttered!"
PRESENT AND FUTURE
A rude young fellow seeing an aged hermit going by him barefoot said,
"Father, you are in a miserable condition if there is not another
world." "True, son," said the hermit, "but what is thy condition if
there is?"
THE VOICE OF IGNORANCE
A London girl visited the country on May Day. She came to a pond whose
shallows were full of tadpoles--thousands and thousands of little black
tadpoles flopping about in an inch of mud and water. "Oh," she said,
"look at the tadpoles! And to think that some day every one of the
horrid, wriggling things will be a beautiful butterfly!"
A PASSOVER STORY
A member of an impecunious family having hurried off to the Continent to
avoid the importunities of his creditors, a celebrated wit remarked, "It
is a pass-over that will not be much relished by the Jews."
EXTRAORDINARY COMPROMISE
At Durham assizes a deaf old lady, who had brought an action for damages
against a neighbour, was being examined, when the judge suggested a
compromise, and instructed counsel to ask what she would take to settle
the matter. "His lordship wants to know what you will take?" asked the
learned counsel, bawling as loud as ever he could in the old lady's car.
"I thank his lordship kindly," answered the ancient dame; "and if it's
no illconwenience to him, I'll take a little warm ale!"
BARBER SHAVED BY A LAWYER
"Sir," said a barber to an attorney who was passing his door, "will you
tell me if this is a good half-sovereign?" The lawyer, pronouncing the
piece good, deposited it in his pocket, adding, with gravity, "If you'll
send your lad to my office, I'll return the three and fourpence."
A GOOD PUN
Sir G. Rose, the great punster, on observing someone imitating his gait,
said, "You have the stalk without the rose."
SOMETHING LIKE AN INSULT
The late Judge C---- one day had occasion to examine a witness who
stuttered very much in delivering his testimony. "I believe," said his
Lordship, "you are a very great rogue." "Not so great a rogue as you, my
lord, t-t-t-takes me to be."
THE UNWELCOME GUEST
A man who was fond of visiting his friends and outstaying his welcome
had been cordially received by a Quaker who treated him with attention
and politeness for some days. At last his host said, "My friend, I am
afraid thee wilt never visit me again." "Oh, yes, I shall," he replied.
"I have enjoyed my visit very much; I will certainly come again."
"Nay," said the Quaker, "I think thee wilt not visit me again." "What
makes you think I shall not come again?" asked the visitor. "If thee
does never leave," said the Quaker, "how canst thee come again?"
A LOST BALANCE
A celebrated wit coming from a bank which had been obliged to close its
doors, slipped down the steps into the arms of a friend.
"Why, what's the matter?" said the latter.
"Oh," was the quick reply, "I've only lost my balance."
A BAD CROP
After a long drought, there fell a torrent of rain: and a country
gentleman observed to Sir John Hamilton, "This is a most delightful
rain; I hope it will bring up everything out of the ground." "By Jove,
sir," said Sir John, "I hope not; for I have buried three wives."
NEGATIVES AND POSITIVES
Mr. Pitt was discoursing at a Cabinet dinner on the energy and beauty of
the Latin language. In support of the superiority which he affirmed it
to have over the English, he asserted that two negatives made a thing
more positive than one affirmative possibly could. "Then," said
Thurlow, "your father and mother must have been two complete negatives
to make such a positive fellow as you are!"
JAW-ACHE
"Why, you have never opened your mouth this session," said Sir Thomas
Lethbridge to Mr. Gye; replied Mr. Gye, "Your speeches have made me open
it very frequently. My jaws have ached with yawning."
HER PROGRAMME
Jane had asked for an evening off to go to her first dance. Returning
at a very early hour, she was asked by her master whether she had
enjoyed herself. "No, indeed, sir," she replied, "I was most insulted."
"How was that, Jane?" "I 'adn't been there very long, sir, when a young
man comes up and hactually hasks whether my programme was full. And I'd
only 'ad two sandwiches."
THE PROUD FATHER
"Shure an' it's married Oi am!" said Pat to an old friend he had not
seen for a long time. "You don't mane it?" "Faith, an' it's true. An'
Oi've got a fine healthy bhoy, an' the neighbours say he's the very
picture of me." "Och, niver moind what they say," said Mick. "What's
the harm so long as the child is healthy."
A MIRACLE
An Irish parson of the old school, in whom a perception of the
ridiculous was developed with a Rabelaisian breadth of appreciation, was
asked by a clodhopper to explain the meaning of a miracle. "Walk on a
few paces before me," said his reverence, which having done the peasant
was surprised to feel in the rear a kick, administered with decided
energy. "What did you do that for?" demanded the young man angrily.
"Simply to illustrate my meaning," replied the cleric blandly; "if you
had not felt it, it would have been a miracle."
KEEPING TIME
A gentleman at a musical party asked a friend, in a whisper, how he
should stir the fire without interrupting the music. "Between the bars,"
replied the friend.
QUESTION AND ANSWER
A Quaker was examined before the Board of Excise, respecting certain
duties; the commissioners thinking themselves disrespectfully treated by
his theeing and thouing, one of them with a stern countenance asked
him--"Pray, sir, do you know what we sit here for?"--"Yea," replied
Nathan, "I do; some of thee for a thousand, and others for seventeen
hundred and fifty pounds a year."
MOTHER'S JAM POTS
"Willy, why were you not at school yesterday?" asked the teacher.
"Please, mum," answered the absentee, "Muvver made marmalade yesterday
and she sent me to the cemetery."
"What on earth for?"
"To collect some jam pots, mum."
WISDOM
A country clergyman, meeting a neighbour, who never came to church,
although an old fellow above sixty, reproved him on that account, and
asked if he ever read at home? "No," replied the man, "I can't read."
"I dare say," said the clergyman, "you don't know who made you." "Not
I, in troth," said the countryman. A little boy coming by at the time,
"Who made you, child?" said the parson. "God, sir," answered the boy.
"Why, look you there," quoth the honest parson. "Are you not ashamed to
hear a child of five or six years old tell me who made him, when you,
that are so old a man, cannot?" "Ah!" said the countryman. "It is no
wonder that he should remember; he was made but t'other day, it is a
great while, master, sin' I was made."
WHY NOT?
Jimmy giggled when the teacher read the story of the man who swam across
the Tiber three times before breakfast.
"You do not doubt that a trained swimmer could do that, do you?"
"No, sir," answered Jimmy, "but I wonder why he did not make it four and
get back to the side where his clothes were."
THE OLD FARMER
An old farmer lay so dangerously ill that the doctor gave no hope of
recovery.
Whilst lying in an apparently semi-conscious state, he suddenly opened
his eyes, and said to his wife, who was watching by his bedside: "Mary,
that's a nice smell, it's just like a ham cooking. I almost think I
could eat a little, if it is cooked."
The reply was, "Thee get on with the dying, that ham is for the
funeral."
ANY CHANGE FOR THE BETTER
In the course of the play one of the characters had to say to a very
plain actor, "My lord, you change countenance"; whereupon a young fellow
in the pit cried, "For heaven's sake, let him!"
TACT
Little Jimmy had been sent early to bed, but he could not sleep.
Presently he called out to his mother in plaintive tones, "Mummy, bring
me a glass of water, I'm so thirsty." No reply being vouchsafed him, he
repeated his request after a short interval. And this time received an
abrupt answer, "If you don't be quiet I'll come up to slap you."
Suddenly a thought struck him and still in plaintive voice he cried,
"Mummy, when you come to slap me, bring me a glass of water."
THE RETORT RUDE
A young dude (with a monocle) and very irregular features while
travelling by train was at first much amused by the grimaces of a boy
who was sitting facing him. The boy, however, was obviously laughing at
him so the dude asked him if he could share the joke.
"Joke!" said the boy, "it's your face I'm laughing at."
"Well, I can't help my face, can I?"
"No," replied the boy, leaving the train, "but you _could_ stay at
home."
THE QUAKER AND HIS HORSE
A man once went to purchase a horse of a Quaker. "Will he draw well?"
asked the buyer. "Thee wilt be pleased to see him draw." The bargain
was concluded, and the farmer tried the horse, but he would not stir a
step. He returned and said, "That horse will not draw an inch." "I did
not tell thee that it would draw, friend, I only remarked that it would
please thee to see him draw, so it would me, but he would never gratify
me in that respect."
CERTAINLY NOT ASLEEP
A country schoolmaster had two pupils, to one of whom he was partial,
and to the other severe. One morning it happened that these two boys
were late, and were called up to account for it. "You must have heard
the bell, boys; why did you not come?" "Please, sir," said the
favourite, "I was dreaming that I was going to Margate, and I thought
the school-bell was the steamboat-bell." "Very well," said the master,
glad of any pretext to excuse his favourite. "And now, sir," turning to
the other, "what have you to say?" "Please, sir," said the puzzled boy,
"I--I--was waiting to see Tom off!"
THE BEST JUDGE
A lady said to her husband, in a friend's presence:
"My dear, you certainly want a pair of new trousers." "No, I think
not," replied the husband.
"Well," interposed the friend, "I think the lady who always wears them,
ought to know."
A THIRST FOR KNOWLEDGE
"Young man," said an inquisitive old lady, to a tram conductor, "if I
put my foot on that rail shall I receive an electric shock?"
"No, mum," he replied, "unless you place your other foot on the overhead
wire."
A SHIPWRECK
An Irish fisherman passed himself off to the captain of a ship near the
coast of Ireland as a qualified pilot. He knew nothing of the coast.
"This is a very dangerous shore here," said the captain to him, when he
was on board. "Yes, it is, your honour," replied the fellow. "There
are a great many dangerous rocks about here, I believe," observed the
captain. "Yes, there are, and," a dreadful crash coming, "_this is one
of them,_" coolly returned the fisherman.
A SAFE CASE
A briefless barrister was spending his time at the Courts when his clerk
came to him with the news that a man was at his chambers with a brief.
The barrister immediately hurried from the Courts for fear the client
should escape him. "Stop, sir, stop," cried his clerk. "You needn't
hurry, sir, I've locked him in."
THE WATCH MENDER
A private in a company of engineers gained a certain reputation for
mending his comrades' watches. His reputation reached his captain's
ears, who one day said to him, "Jones, I hear you are clever at
watch-mending, here take this one of mine and see what you can make of
it." Some few days after, Jones took back the watch. "Well, Jones, how
much do I owe you?" "Three shillings," was the reply. "Well, here you
are, and thank you," said the captain. "Oh! I forgot," said Jones,
"here are three wheels which I had over."
THE CITY CHURCHES--AND OTHERS
"Do people ever take advantage of the invitation to use this church for
meditation and prayer?" a City verger was once asked. "Yes," he replied,
"I catched two of 'em at it the other day!"
HIGH PRINCIPLES
A Methodist who kept a grocer's shop was heard one day to say to his
assistant, "John, have you watered the rum?" "Yes." "Have you sanded
the brown sugar?" "Yes." "Have you damped the tobacco?" "Yes." "Then
come in to prayers."
THE MIXTURE AS BEFORE
A gentleman who had an Irish servant, having stopped at an inn for
several days, desired to have the bill. Finding a large quantity of
port placed to his servant's account he questioned him about it.
"Please your honour," cried Pat, "do read how many they charge for."
"One bottle port, one ditto, one ditto, one ditto." "Stop, stop, stop,
master," exclaimed Paddy, "they are cheating you. I know I had some
bottles of port, but I did not taste a drop of their ditto."
CANNY SCOT
Robbie met a neighbour smoking some fine tobacco sent by his son in
America. He took out his own pipe ostentatiously. "Hae ye a match,
Sandy?" he queried. The match was forthcoming, but nothing more. "I do
believe," said Robbie, "I hae left ma tobacco at hame." "Then," said
Sandy, after a silence, "ye micht gie me back ma match."
A NICE DISTINCTION
_The Vicar_ (discussing the Daylight Saving Bill): "But why have you put
the small clock on and not the big one?" _Old Man_: "Well, it's like
this, sir; grandfeyther's clock 'ave been tellin' th' truth for ninety
year, and I can't find it i' my heart to make a _liar_ o' he now; but
li'le clock, 'e be a German make, so it be all right for 'e."
NOT TWO-FACED
"Well, you're not two-faced anyway," said one man who had been
quarrelling with another: "I'll say that for you."
"That's a very handsome acknowledgment," said the other, mollified.
"Because if you were," the first one continued, "you wouldn't be seen
with that one."
CLERICAL WIT
An old gentleman of eighty-four having taken to the altar a young damsel
of about sixteen, the clergyman said to him--"The font is at the other
end of the church." "What do I want with the font?" said the old
gentleman. "Oh! I beg your pardon," said the clerical wit, "I thought
you had brought this child to be christened."
A COSTLY EXPERIMENT
An Irishman was once brought up before a magistrate, charged with
marrying six wives. The magistrate asked him how he could be so hardened
a villain? "Please, your worship," says Paddy, "I was just trying to
get a good one."
A GOOD REASON
A certain minister going to visit one of his sick | 3,417.381066 |
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DOCTOR BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS.
By Mr. M. A. Titmarsh.
London:
Chapman and Hall
1840.
[Illustration: 0008]
[Illustration: 0009]
[Illustration: 00011]
DOCTOR BIRCH.
THE DOCTOR AND HIS STAFF.
|There is no need to say why I became Assistant Master and Professor of
the English and French languages, flower-painting, and the German flute,
in Doctor Birch's Academy, at Rodwell Regis. Good folks may depend on
this that there was good reason for my leaving lodgings near London,
and a genteel society, for an under-master's desk in that old school.
I promise you, the fare at the Usher's table, the getting up at five
o'clock in the morning, the walking out with little boys in the fields,
(who used to play me tricks, and never could be got to respect my awful
and responsible character as teacher in the school,) Miss Birch's vulgar
insolence, Jack Birch's glum condescension, and the poor old Doctor's
patronage, were not matters in themselves pleasurable: and that that
patronage and those dinners were sometimes cruel hard to swallow. Never
mind--my connexion with the place is over now, and I hope they have got
a more efficient under-master.
Jack Birch (Rev. J. Birch, of St. Neot's Hall, Oxford,) is partner with
his father the Doctor, and takes some of the classes. About his Greek
I can't say much; but I will construe him in Latin any day. A more
supercilious little prig, (giving himself airs, too, about his cousin,
Miss Baby, who lives with the Doctor,) a more empty pompous little
coxcomb I never saw. His white neckcloth looked as if it choked him. He
used to try and look over that starch upon me and Prince the assistant,
as if we were a couple of footmen. He didn't do much business in the
school; but occupied his time in writing sanctified letters to the boys'
parents, and in composing dreary sermons to preach to them.
The real master of the school is Prince; an Oxford man too: shy,
haughty, and learned; crammed with Greek and a quantity of useless
learning; uncommonly kind to the small boys; pitiless with the fools
and the braggarts: respected of all for his honesty, his learning, his
bravery, (for he hit out once in a boat-row in a way which astonished
the boys and the bargemen,) and for a latent power about him, which all
saw and confessed somehow. Jack Birch could never look him in the face.
Old Miss Z. dared not put off any of _her_ airs upon him. Miss Rosa made
him the lowest of curtsies. Miss Raby said she was afraid of him.
Good old Prince! many a pleasant night we have smoked in the Doctor's
harness-room, whither we retired when our boys were gone to bed, and our
cares and can | 3,417.381977 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
_"They are really delicious
--when properly treated."_
How To Cook
Husbands
By ELIZABETH STRONG WORTHINGTON
Author of "The
Little Brown Dog"
"The Biddy Club"
Published at 220 East 23rd St., New York
by the Dodge Publishing Company
COPYRIGHT IN THE YEAR
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND
NINETY-EIGHT BY DODGE
STATIONERY COMPANY
Dedication
To a dear little girl who will some
day, I hope, be skilled in all branches
of matrimonial cookery.
I
A while ago I came across a newspaper clipping--a recipe written by a
Baltimore lady--that had long lain dormant in my desk. It ran as follows:
"A great many husbands are spoiled by mismanagement. Some women go about
it as if their husbands were bladders, and blow them up; others keep
them constantly in hot water; others let them freeze, by their
carelessness and indifference. Some keep them in a stew, by irritating
ways and words; others roast them; some keep them in pickle all their
lives. Now it is not to be supposed that any husband will be good,
managed in this way--turnips wouldn't; onions wouldn't; cabbage-heads
wouldn't, and husbands won't; but they are really delicious when
properly treated.
"In selecting your husband you should not be guided by the silvery
appearance, as in buying mackerel, or by the golden tint, as if you
wanted salmon. Be sure to select him yourself, as taste differs. And by
the way, don't go to market for him, as the best are always brought to
your door.
"It is far better to have none, unless you patiently learn to cook him.
A preserving kettle of the finest porcelain is the best, but if you have
nothing but an earthenware pipkin, it will do, with care.
"See that the linen, in which you wrap him, is nicely washed and mended,
with the required amount of buttons and strings, nicely sewed on. Tie
him in the kettle with a strong cord called Comfort, as the one called
Duty is apt to be weak. They sometimes fly out of the kettle, and become
burned and crusty on the edges, since, like crabs and oysters, you have
to cook them alive.
"Make a clear, strong, steady fire out of Love, Neatness, and
Cheerfulness. Set him as near this as seems to agree with him. If he
sputters and fizzles, don't be anxious; some husbands do this till they
are quite done. Add a little sugar, in the form of what confectioners
call Kisses, but no vinegar or pepper on any account. A little spice
improves them, but it must be used with judgment.
"Don't stick any sharp instrument into him, to see if he is becoming
tender. Stir him gently; watching the while lest he should lie too close
to the kettle, and so become inert and useless.
"You cannot fail to know when he is done. If thus treated, you will find
him very digestible, agreeing nicely with you and the children."
"So they are better cooked," I said to myself, "that is why we hear of
such numbers of cases of marital indigestion--the husbands are served
raw--fresh--unprepared."
"They are really delicious when properly treated,"--I wonder if that is
so.
But I must pause here to tell you a bit about myself. I am not an old
maid, but, at the time this occurs, I am unmarried, and I am thirty-four
years old--not quite beyond the pale of hope. Men and women never do pass
beyond that--not those of sanguine temperament at any rate. I am neither
rich nor poor, but repose in a comfortable stratum betwixt and between.
I keep house, or rather it keeps me, and a respectable woman who, with
her husband, manages my domestic affairs, lends the odor of sanctity and
propriety to my single existence. I am of medium height, between blond
and brunette, and am said to have a modicum of both brains and good
looks.
The recipe I read set me a-thinking. I was in my library, before a big
log fire. The room was comfortable; glowing with rich, warm firelight
at that moment, but it was lonesome, and I was lonely.
Supposing, I said to myself, I really had a husband; how should I cook
him?
The words of an old lady came into my mind. She had listened to this
particular recipe, and after a moment's silence had leaned over, and
whispered in my ear:
"First catch your fish."
But supposing he were now caught, and seated in that rocker across from
me, before this blazing fire.
I walked to the window--to one side of me lives a little thrush, at least
she is trim and comely, and always dresses in brown. Just now she is
without her door, stooping over her baby, who is sitting like a tiny
queen in her chariot, just returned from an airing.
It isn't the question of husband alone--he might be managed--roasted,
stewed, or parboiled, but it's the whole family--a household. Take the
children, for instance; if they could be set up on shelves in glass
cases, as fast as they came, all might be well, but they _will_ run
around, and Heaven only knows what they will run into. Why, had I
children, I should plug both ears with cotton, for fear I should hear
the door-bell. I know it would ring constantly, and such messages as
these would be hurled in:
"Several of them have been arrested for blowing up the neighbors with
dynamite firecrackers."
"Half a dozen of them have tumbled from off the roof of the house. They
escaped injury, but have thrown a nervous lady, over the way, into
spasms."
"One or two of them have just been dragged from beneath the electric
cars. They seem to be as well as ever, but three of the passengers died
of fright."
Just think of that! What should I do?
Keep an extra maid to answer the bell, I suppose, and two or three
thousand dollars by me continually, to pay damages.
What a time poor Job had of it answering his door bell, and how very
unpleasant it must have been to receive so many pieces of news of that
sort, in one morning!
Clearly I am better off in my childless condition, and yet----
Little Mrs. Thrush is just kissing her soft, round-faced cherub. I wish
she would do that out of sight.
Now as to husbands again, if I had one, what should I do with him?
I might say, Sit down.
Supposing he wouldn't. What then?
Cudgels are out of date. Were he an alderman, I might take a Woman's
Club to him, but a husband has been known to laugh this instrument to
scorn.
But supposing he sat down. What then? He might be a gentleman of
irascible, nasty temper, and in walking about my room, I might step on
his feet. These irritable folk have such large feet, at least they are
always in the way, and always being stepped on no matter how careful one
tries to be.
What then?
I decline to contemplate the scene.
Plainly I am better off single.
I walk to my front window, and stretch my arms above my head. There is a
light fall of snow upon the ground. This late snow is trying: in its
season, it is beautiful; but out of season, it breeds a cheerlessness
that emphasises one's loneliness. I look out through the leafless trees
toward the lake, but it is hidden by the whirling, eddying snowflakes. I
see Mr. Thrush hurrying home to his little nest.
"Yes," I say to myself, repeating my last thought with a certain
obstinacy, "yes, I am better off without a husband, and yet I wish I had
one--one would answer, on a pinch--one at a time, at least. A husband is
like a world in that respect; one at a time, is the proper proportion."
"It's far better to have none, unless you learn to cook him." These
words recurred to me, just as I was on the point of taking a life
partner, in a figurative sense.
The woman that deliberates is lost; consequently, as it won't do to
think the matter over, I plunge in.
My spouse is now pacing up and down the room in a rampant manner,
complaining of his dinner, the world in general, and _me_ in particular.
What am I to do?
Charles Reade has written a recipe that applies very well just here. It
is briefly expressed:
"Put yourself in his place."
I could not have done this a few years ago, but now I can. Never, until
I undertook the management of my business affairs--never until I had some
knowledge of business cares and anxieties, the weight of notes falling
due; the charge of business honor to keep; the excited hope of fortunate
prospects; and the depression following hard upon failure and
disappointment--never until I learned all this, did I realize what home
should mean to a man, and how far wide of the mark many women shoot,
when they aim to establish a restful retreat for their husbands.
I have returned to my domicile, after a fatiguing day up town, with a
feeling of exhaustion that lies far deeper than the mere physical
structure--a spent feeling as if I have given my all, and must be
replenished before I can make another move. I once had a housekeeper
whose very face I dreaded at such times. She always took advantage of my
silence and my limp condition, to relate the day's disasters. She had no
knowledge of what a good dinner meant, and no tact in falling in with my
tastes or needs. On the contrary; if there was a dish I disliked, it was
sure to appear on those most weary evenings. In brief, from the very
moment I reached home, she did nothing but brush my fur up, instead of
down, and I did nothing but spit at her.
Now, many women are like this housekeeper. I wonder their husbands don't
slay them. If you would look out in my back yard, I fear you would see
the bones of several of these tactless, exasperating housekeepers,
bleaching in the wind and rain.
I marvel that other back yards are not filled with the bones of stupid,
tactless, irritating wives. The fact that no such horror has as yet been
unearthed, bears eloquent testimony to the noble self-control and
patience of many of the sterner sex.
"Oh, that sounds well," said my neighbor, over the way, "but then you
forget we women have our trials too."
"Is it going to diminish those trials to make a raging lion out of your
husband?"
"No, but he ought to understand that we are tired, and that our work is
hard."
"Certainly," I said, "by all means; and by the time he thoroughly
understands, you generally have occasion to be still more tired."
"Well, what would you do?"
"I'll tell you what I'd do; follow the advice of a sensible little
friend of mine, who has four children all of an age, and has
incompetent service to rely on, when she has any at all."
"And what is that, pray?"
"She says that come rain, hail, or fiery vapor, she takes a nap every
day."
"I don't know how she manages it; I can't, and I have one less child
than she, and a fairly good maid."
"Her children are trained, as children should be; the three younger ones
take long naps after luncheon, and while they are sleeping, she gives
the oldest child some picture book to look at, and simple stories to
read, and she herself goes to sleep in the same room with him. The
little fellow keeps as still as a mouse."
"I think that is a cruel shame."
"So do I. It would be far kinder if she let him have his liberty, and
stayed up to take care of him, and then became so tired out that, by the
time her husband came home she would be unable to keep her mouth (closed
for it is only a well rested woman who can maintain a cheerful
silence), and avoid a family quarrel."
"No, I think it's better not to quarrel, but I can't take a nap, and
often I'm so tired when Fred comes home, that, if he happens to be tired
too, it's just like putting fire to gunpowder."
I knew that, for I had heard the explosions from across the street. You
know in our climate, in the summer, people practically live in the
street, with every window and door open; your neighbor has full
possession of all remarks above E. And most of Mr. and Mrs. Purblind's
notes on the tired nights, are above E.
I have no patience with that woman, anyhow. She hasn't the first idea of
comfort and good cheer. Her rooms are always in disorder, and there is
no suggestion of harmony in the furniture (on the contrary every article
seems, as the French say, to be swearing at every other article); all
her lights are high--why, I've run in there of an evening and found that
man wandering around like an uneasy ghost, trying to find some easy
spot in which he could sit down, and read his paper comfortably. He
didn't know what was the matter--the poor wretches don't, but he was like
a cat on an unswept hearth.
In contrast to this woman's stupidity, I have the natural loveliness of
the little brown thrush, on my one side, and the hoary-headed wisdom of
Mrs. Owl, on my other side.
Look at the latter a moment. Not worth looking at, you say; angular,
without beauty of form or feature. Nothing but the humorous curve to her
lips, and the twinkle in her eye, to attract one; nothing, unless it
were a general air of neatness, intelligence, and good humor.
But I assure you that woman's worth living with if she is not worth
looking at!
Now her spouse is one of those lowering fellows, the kind that seems to
be at outs with mankind. Just the material to become sulky in any but
the most skillful hands, the sort to degenerate into a positive brute,
in such blundering hands as Mrs. Purblind's over the way.
I had a chance to watch this man one evening last summer. Having no
domestic affairs of my own, as a matter of course I feel myself entitled
to share my neighbors'. And this particular evening I was lonely. It was
a nasty night, the fog blown in from the lake slapped one rudely in the
face every time one looked out, and the air was as raw as a new wound--it
went clear to the bone.
Now on such a night as this I have known Mrs. Purblind to serve her lord
cold veal and lettuce, simple because it was July, and a suitable time
for heat. And I assure you that sufficient heat was generated before
this cold supper was consumed. But to return to Mrs. Owl, on that
particular night. I saw her watching at door and window, for her partner
was late. I peeped into the parlor, and it was as cosy and inviting as a
glowing fire, a shaded lamp, and a comfortable sofa wheeled near the
table, could make it.
By and by, he came glowering along. What will she say, I asked myself.
Will it be:
"Oh, how late you are! What's the matter? What kept you? Well, come in,
you must be cold. Lie down on the sofa while I get supper, but don't put
your feet up till I get a paper for them to rest on."
All this would have answered well enough with a decent sort of a man,
but this <DW25> required peculiar treatment.
It was what she didn't say that was most remarkable.
After a cheerful "How-de-do" she didn't speak a word for some time, but
walked into the house humming a lively air, and busied herself with his
supper. She didn't set this in the dining room, but right before that
open fire. Without any fuss or commotion she broiled a piece of steak
over those glowing coals, while over her big lamp she made a cup of
coffee, and in her chafing dish prepared some creamed potatoes. She had
bread and butter ready, and some little dessert, and so with a wave of a
fairy wand, as it seemed, there was the cosiest, most tempting little
supper you ever saw on the table at his side.
Meanwhile he had found the sofa, the fire, and the lamp, and was reading
his paper. He threw the latter down when supper was announced, and she
joined him at the table; poured his coffee, ate a bit now and then for
company, and talked--why, how that woman did talk! I couldn't hear a word
that she said, but I knew by the expression of her face it was humorous;
and laugh, how she laughed! and erelong he joined in--why, once he leaned
back, and actually ha-haed.
When supper was over, she left him to his paper again, while she cleared
everything away. Later on she joined him, and the next I knew they were
playing chess, and still later, talking and reading aloud.
This is but a sample of her life with him--in everything she consults
his mood, his comfort, his tastes. She never jars him--never rubs him the
wrong way, and meanwhile she has all she wants, for she can do anything
with him, and he thinks the sun rises and sets with her.
It is a good cook that makes an appetizing dish out of poor material,
and when a woman makes a delicious husband out of little or nothing she
may rank as a _chef_.
II
You may say all I have been describing belongs more properly to little
Mrs. Thrush, on my right. Bless you! that woman doesn't have to think
and plan to make things comfortable. Were she set down in the desert of
Sahara, she would sweep it up, spread a rug; hang a few draperies, and
lo! it would be cosy and home-like. She can't help being and doing just
right, wherever she is put, and her husband is just like her, as good as
gold. Why, that man would bore a woman of ingenuity--a woman who had a
genius for contriving and managing. He doesn't need any cooking; he's
ready to serve just as he is, couldn't be improved. There's absolutely
nothing to be done. Mrs. Owl would get a divorce from him inside of a
month, on the ground of insipidity. Her fine capabilities for making
much out of nothing, would turn saffron for lack of use. Mr. Owl is the
mate for her. To every man according to his taste; to every woman
according to her need.
I am lying in the hammock, under the soft maple tree in my side yard,
speculating on all these matters. Summer is now upon us, for we are in
the midst of June. Yesterday was one of Lowell's rare days, but this
morning the thermometer took offense, and rose in fury. I can see the
quivering air as it radiates from the dusty, sun-beaten road, and a
certain drowsy hum in the atmosphere, palpable only to the trained ear,
tells of the great heat. Some of my neighbors are sitting on their
galleries, reading or sewing; some, like myself, are lolling in
hammocks; even the voices of the children have a certain monotonous
tone, in harmony with the stupid heaviness of the day. Only the birds
and squirrels show any life or spirit; the former are twittering above
my head, courting, it may be, or possibly discussing some detail of
household economy. They hop from bough to bough, touch up their plumage,
and chirp in a cheerful, happy sort of fashion, as if this was their
especial weather, as indeed it is. Up yonder tree, a squirrel is racing
about, in the exuberance of his glee. He has done up his work, no doubt,
and now is off for a frolic. I lie here, not a stone's throw from him,
watching his merry antics, and rejoicing to think how free from fear he
is, when all at once the leaves of his tree are cut by a flying missile,
and the next second I see my gay fellow tumble headlong from the bough,
and fall in a helpless little heap on the grass. I start up in affright,
and hear a passing boy call out to another, over the way,
"I brought him down, Jim."
Involuntarily I clinch my hands.
"You little coward!" I exclaim, "it is _you_ who should be brought down!
You are too mean to live."
He laughs brutally, and goes on, whistling indifferently, while I pick
up the dead squirrel lying at my feet.
I find myself crying, before I know it. Not alone with pity for the
squirrel; something else is hurting me.
"Is this the masculine nature?" I ask some one--I don't know whom.
Perhaps it is one of those questions which are flung upward, in a blind
kind of way, and which God sometimes catches and answers.
"Are they made this way? Was it meant that they should be brutal?"
I am still holding the squirrel and thinking, when I hear my name, and
turning see my neighbor over the way, Mrs. Purblind's brother, standing
near me.
"Good morning, Mr. Chance," I say, rather coldly.
All men are hateful to me at that moment; to my mind they all have that
boy's nature, though they keep it under cover until they know you well,
or have you in their power.
"The little fellow is dead, I suppose," he said.
"Yes," I answer with a sob which I turn away to conceal. I don't wish to
excite his mirth. Of course he would only see something laughable in my
grief, and he couldn't dream what I am thinking about.
"You mustn't be too hard on the boy, Miss Leigh," he says quietly; "it
was a brutal act, but that same aggressiveness will one day give him
power to battle in life against difficulties and temptations as well. It
will make him able to protect those whom a kind Providence may put in
his charge. Just now he doesn't know what to do with the force, and
evidently has not had good teaching. I'm sorry he did this; it hurts me
to see an innocent creature harmed, and still more I am sorry because
it has hurt you."
He is standing near me now, and as I raise my eyes, I find him looking
at me with a sweet earnestness, that wins me not only to forgive him for
being a man, but to feel that perhaps men are noble, after all.
His look and tone linger with me long after he has gone, as a cadence of
music may vibrate through the soul when both musician and instrument are
mute.
The day after this of which I have been telling, I went to a picnic
gotten up by Mrs. Purblind, for the entertainment and delectation of Mr.
Purblind's cousin, now visiting her, a frivolous young thing, between
whom and myself there was not even the weather in common, for she would
label "simply horrid" a lovely gray day, containing all sorts of
possibilities for the imagination behind its mists and clouds.
I didn't care for this picnic, and didn't see why I was invited as most
of the guests were younger than myself. But it was one of those cases
where a refusal might be misconstrued, and so I went. We sat around the
white tablecloth _en masse_, for dinner; and in the course of the
passing of viands, Miss Sprig was asked to help herself to olives that
happened to be near her.
"Yes, do, while you have opportunity," said Mrs. Purblind.
"I always embrace opportunity," replied Miss Sprig with a simper.
Whereat Mr. Chance, sitting next her, suggested that, as a synonym of
opportunity, possibly he might stand in its stead.
I detest such speeches, they are properly termed soft, for they
certainly are mushy--lacking in stamina--fiber of any sort. But I could
have endured it, as I had endured much else of the same sort that day,
had it not come from Mr. Chance. It may be foolish of me, but his tone
and his words of the day before were still with me. They were so
dignified, so sensible, so manly, that I respected and admired him. Up
to that time I had not felt that I knew him, but after he spoke in that
way, it seemed as if we were acquainted. Now I saw how utterly mistaken
I had been, and I was mortified and disgusted.
The silly little speech I have quoted was not all, by any means; there
were more of the same kind, and actions that corresponded. Evidently he
was one of those instruments which are played upon at will by the
passing zephyr. With a self-respecting woman, he was manly; with a
vapid, bold girl, he was silly and familiar. I decided that I liked
something more stable, something that could be depended upon.
I was placed in a difficult position just then. Had I acted upon my
impulse, I should have risen and walked off--such conduct is an affront
to womanhood, I think; but I was held in my place by a fear--foolish, yet
grounded, that my action would be regarded as an expression of
jealousy, the jealousy of an old maid, of a woman much younger and
prettier than herself. This is but one of the many instances of the
injustice of the world. I don't think that I am addicted to jealousy,
but I may not know myself. Possibly I might have felt jealous had I been
eclipsed by a beautiful or gifted woman, but it would be impossible for
me to experience any such emotion on seeing a man with whom I have but a
slight acquaintance, devote himself to a girl whom I should regard as
not only my mental inferior, but also as beneath me morally and socially
as well. The only sensation of which I was cognizant was a disgust
toward the man, and mortification over the mistaken estimate of his
character, that had led me, the day before, to suppose him on a footing
with myself.
As soon as possible after dinner I slipped away for a stroll. The place
was very lovely, and I felt that if I could creep off with Mother
Nature, she would smooth some cross-grained, fretful wrinkles that were
gathering in my mind, and were saddening my soul. So when the folly and
jesting were at their height I dipped into the thicket near at hand, and
dodging here and there, jumping fallen logs, and untangling my way among
the vines which embraced the stern old woods like seductive sirens, I at
last struck a shaded path, which erelong led me down through a ravine to
the waters of the big old lake. It too had dined, but instead of
yielding itself to folly, was taking its siesta. Across its tranquil
bosom the zephyrs played, stirring ripples and tiny eddies, as dreams
may stir lights and shadows on the sleeping face.
I had not walked along the beach, with the waves sighing at my feet, and
whispering all sorts of soothing nothings, for a great distance, before
I began to experience that uncomfortable reaction which sometimes arises
from splitting in two, as it were, standing off at a distance and
looking oneself in the face. I realized that I had been something of a
prig and considerable of a Pharisee. My late discomfort was not caused
by the fact that a young girl had cheapened herself, but by the fact
that a man had demeaned himself and in a manner involved me, inasmuch as
I had been led the day before by a false estimate of his character to
regard him as my social equal. After all it was this last that hurt
most; it was my little self and not my brother about whom I was chiefly
concerned.
I am not naturally sentimental or morbid, so I merely decided that
internally I had made a goose of myself and not shown any surplus of
nobility; and with a little sigh of satisfaction that I had given the
small world about me no sign of my folly, I dismissed the subject and
betook myself to an eager enjoyment of the day.
The soft June breeze played with my hair and gently and affectionately
touched my face; the lake quivering and rippling with passing emotions
stretched away from me toward that other shore which it kept secreted
somewhere on its farther side. The very sight of it, with its shimmering
greens, turquoise blue, and tawny yellow, cooled and soothed me, and ere
I knew it, I had slipped into a pleasant, active speculation on matters
of larger interest than the petty subjects which had lined my brow a
moment before. I was walking directly toward one of my families, and it
occurred to me that I might run in and make a call, while I was near at
hand. I had first become interested in them at church. I was impressed
by their cleanliness and regularity of attendance, and by a certain
judicious arrangement of their children--the parents always sitting so as
to separate the latter by their authority and order.
Another point that claimed my attention was that the children were
changed each Sunday--a fresh three succeeding the first bunch, and on
the third Sunday, one of the first three being added to a fresh two, to
make up the proper complement. Both parents had a self-respecting,
self-sacrificing look, as of people who had learned to help themselves
cautiously from the family dish, and to "put their knives to their
throats" before time; but kept all this to themselves, asking nothing
from anyone, and making their little answer without murmur or complaint.
I had, for some time, realized that the child who was now getting more
than his share of sermons, by reappearing on the third Sunday, would
soon be reduced to the level of his brethren, and a new relative would
take the place which he had been filling as a matter of accommodation. I
sought occasion to make the acquaintance of the mother of this fine
brood, on the pretext of some church work, and after that became a
regular visitor at their little home. The perfect equality of the
parents; the deference with which they treated one another; and their
quiet happiness, in spite of all labor and privation, made me realize
that they might well extend a pitying thought to some of the apparently
wealthy members of the church. We may yet live to see the day when a new
scale shall come in vogue, and some Croesus who now stands in an enviable
light, shall then pass into his true position, and become an object of
pity. Mere dollars and cents are a misleading criterion of poverty and
wealth.
I had seen my friends, and found that the mother and her new nestling
were in comparative comfort, and I was on the homeward stretch along the
beach, when I saw Mr. Chance walking toward me.
"I was commissioned to look you up," he said.
"Thank you," I replied, "I have been of age for some years."
Of course he noticed the coolness in my voice, and in some way I divined
that he knew the cause.
We went aboard our homeward-bound train about 5 o'clock.
Mr. Chance helped me on, and evidently expected to sit with me, but I
thwarted him by dropping down beside an elderly lady, an acquaintance
who happened to be in that coach. I felt no grudge against him, but I
didn't care to have him pass from such a girl as Miss Sprig to me; his
conduct with her impaired his value somewhat in my eyes. My elderly
friend saw and recognized the situation, I am sure, and governed her
later remarks accordingly.
Mr. Chance passed on, and took a seat with one of the superfluous men,
for contrary to the rule on most such occasions, the male gender was in
excess of the female. I had not expected him to return to Miss Sprig;
men always become satiated with such girls, soon or late.
My elderly acquaintance entered upon an animated conversation, that
became more and more personal, and finally reached a climax when she
leaned over, and said in a semi-whisper:
"My dear Miss Leigh, you ought to marry."
I had been told this a number of times; any one would suppose, to listen
to some of these women, that I had but to put out my hand, and pluck a
man from the nearest bush.
"I don't doubt you will marry some day, but I'm afraid you may not
choose wisely"--here she lowered her voice again--"after a man reaches
thirty-five he becomes very fixed in his ways, and I don't think it's
safe for a maiden lady to | 3,417.482331 |
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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 Notes:
Superscripts have been represented using regular characters,
e.g. "ye 27th".
The [oe] ligature has been replaced with simply an oe. **]
BALLADS OF BOOKS
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
BALLADS OF BOOKS
CHOSEN BY
BRANDER MATTHEWS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1900
_Copyright, 1886_
BY GEORGE J. COOMBES
PRINTED BY
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
TO
FREDERICK LOCKER
POET AND LOVER OF BOOKS
_Come and take a choice of all my library_
Titus Andronicus, iv. 1
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
PREFATORY NOTE.
_______________
The poets have ever been lovers of books; indeed, one might ask how
should a man be a poet who did not admire a treasure as precious and as
beautiful as a book may be. With evident enjoyment, Keats describes
A viol, bowstrings torn, cross-wise upon
A glorious folio of Anacreon;
and it was a glorious folio of Beaumont and Fletcher which another
English poet (whose most poetic work was done in prose) "dragged home
late at night from Barker's in Covent Garden," and to pacify his
conscience for the purchase of which he kept to his overworn suit of
clothes for four or five weeks longer than he ought. Charles Lamb was a
true bibliophile, in the earlier and more exact sense of the term; he
loved his ragged volumes as he loved his fellow-men, and he was as
intolerant of books that are not books as he was of men who were not
manly. He conferred the dukedom of his library on Coleridge, who was no
respecter of books, though he could not but enrich them with his
marginal notes. Southey and Lord Houghton and Mr. Locker are English
poets with libraries of their own, more orderly and far richer than the
fortuitous congregation of printed atoms, a mere medley of unrelated
tomes, which often masquerades as The Library in the mansions of the
noble and the wealthy. Shelley said that he thought Southey had a
secret in every one of his books which he was afraid the stranger might
discover: but this was probably no more, and no other, than the secret
of comfort, consolation, refreshment, and happiness to be found in any
library by him who shall bring with him the golden key that unlocks its
silent door.
Mr. Lowell has recently dwelt on the difference between literature and
books: and, accepting this distinction, the editor desires to declare
at once that as a whole this collection is devoted rather to books than
to literature. The poems in the following pages celebrate the
bric-a-brac of the one rather than the masterpieces of the other. The
stanzas here garnered into one sheaf sing of books as books, of books
valuable and valued for their perfection of type and page and
printing,--for their beauty and for their rarity,--or for their
association with some famous man or woman of the storied past
Two centuries and a | 3,417.482501 |
2023-11-16 19:14:01.4625360 | 7,433 | 9 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Notes
When italics were used in the original book, the corresponding text has
been surrounded by _underscores_. Subscripted characters have been
preceded by _ and surrounded by {}. In some cases, ditto marks have been
replaced by the text they represent. Some corrections have been made to
the printed text. These are listed in a second transcriber’s note at the
end of the text.
OBSERVATIONS OF A NATURALIST IN THE
PACIFIC BETWEEN 1896 AND 1899
[Illustration: [Image: Publisher]
[Illustration: NA RARO (2,420 feet) from the south-west, a peak of acid
andesite.]
[Illustration: NDRANDRAMEA (1,800 feet) from the south-east, a peak of
acid andesite rising about a thousand feet from its base.]
[_Frontispiece._
OBSERVATIONS OF
A NATURALIST IN
THE PACIFIC BETWEEN
1896 AND 1899
BY
H. B. GUPPY, M.B., F.R.S.E.
VOLUME I
_VANUA LEVU, FIJI_
_A description of its leading Physical and Geological characters_
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK; THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1903
_All rights reserved_
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED.
BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND
BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
Dedication
TO THE FIJIAN PEOPLE
PREFACE
DURING a sojourn in the Pacific, which covered a period of rather over a
year in Hawaii (1896-97), and of two years and three months in Fiji
(1897-99), my attention was mainly confined to the study of
plant-distribution and to the examination of the geological structure of
Vanua Levu.
With Hillebrand’s “Flora of Hawaii” always in my hands I roamed over the
large island of Hawaii, ascending the three principal mountains of Mauna
Kea, Mauna Loa, and Hualalai, and in the case of my second ascent of
Mauna Loa spending twenty-three days alone on its summit. Similarly in
Fiji, Seemann’s “Flora Vitiensis” was my counsellor and guide in the
matter of plants.
In Hawaii I was in a land of active sub-aerial volcanoes, and I paid my
devotions at all the altars of “Pele,” their presiding deity. In Fiji I
trod upon the surface of submarine volcanoes that emerged ages since
from the ocean and still retain their coverings of sea-deposits. Both in
Hawaii and Fiji I lived much among the people; and though my chief
interest lay in the comparison of these two types of volcanic islands, I
could not but be drawn to the kindly natives whose hospitality I so long
enjoyed.
Destiny led me to Vanua Levu in the following fashion. With the relief
party to take me down from Mauna Loa there arrived a well-known German
naturalist who, like myself, had been interested in coral-reef
investigations. We discussed this warm topic at an elevation of nearly
14,000 feet above the sea, with the thermometer at 20° F. As we sipped
our hot coffee and listened to the occasional “boom” from the bottom of
the great crater, at the edge of which we were camped, I remarked to my
friend that I was thinking of spending some months in Samoa. To this he
good-humouredly replied that I might leave Samoa to his countrymen and
describe one of the large islands of Fiji. International rivalry over
that group of islands was then rather keen. However, Dr. K. went to
Samoa, and I have now completed this volume on the geology of Vanua
Levu, Fiji.
It will not be necessary to lay stress here on the difficulties and
hardships connected with the exploration of little known tropical
regions. Many will be familiar with all that these imply, where the
rainfall ranges from 100 to 250 inches, where the forests are dense,
where tracks are few and swollen rivers are numerous, and where the
torrent’s bed presents often the only road.
The only extensive geological collections made in Fiji previous to my
visit were those of Kleinschmidt in 1876-78, which together with a small
collection previously made by Dr. Gräffe were examined by Dr. A.
Wichmann. These rocks were obtained from Viti Levu, Kandavu, Ovalau,
etc., but not from Vanua Levu. Dr. Wichmann’s paper of 1882, descriptive
of these collections, presents us with the results of one of the
earliest studies by modern methods of research of the volcanic rocks of
the Pacific Islands. It is to this investigator that we are indebted for
the establishment of the occurrence of plutonic rocks, such as granites,
gabbros, diorites, in Viti Levu.
Although, as far as I can ascertain, few, if any, rocks have been
specially described from Vanua Levu, this island was visited by Dana in
1840 when attached to the United States Exploring Expedition under
Wilkes. His observations on its geology were published in his volume on
the geology of the expedition. Although not extensive they are valuable
from their reference to his discovery of trachytic and rhyolitic rocks
as well as acid pumice-tuffs in the island. It is singular that his
observations have apparently been overlooked by all his successors.
Wichmann with this discovery unknown to him remarked on the seeming
absence of quartz-bearing recent eruptive rocks from the South Seas.
When the “Challenger” Expedition visited the group in 1875 some
geological collections were made which were described by Prof. Renard in
the second volume on the “Physics and Chemistry” of the expedition. No
collections, however, were made in Vanua Levu. In 1878 Mr. John Horne,
Director of the Botanic Gardens at Mauritius, made some important
observations on the geological structure of this island and of other
parts of the group, which he published in his account of the islands
given in “A Year in Fiji.” No collections were obtained by him; but
prominence is given to his observations by Dr. Wichmann and others. Like
Dana in the case of the acid volcanic rocks, Mr. Horne has forestalled
me in his conclusion that Vanua Levu amongst the other larger islands
has been formed mainly of the products of submarine eruptions.
The visit of Prof. A. Agassiz to Fiji in 1897-98 gave a fresh impetus to
its geological investigation. We are indebted to him not only for his
own extensive memoir on the islands and coral reefs of this group, but
also for the subsequent important explorations of Mr. E. C. Andrews and
Mr. B. Sawyer in Viti Levu and the Lau Islands. These two gentlemen have
since published a short paper on the caves of these islands. Mr. Eakle
has described the volcanic rocks collected during the visit of Prof.
Agassiz. It is, however, noteworthy that, although the collections were
made in Viti Levu, Kandavu and in many other of the smaller islands,
Vanua Levu is not represented. Mr. Eakle’s conclusion that basic
andesites and basalts are the characteristic rocks of the region, the
augite-andesites predominating, would apply to Vanua Levu in great part.
This island possesses also in fair amount hypersthene-andesites and
dacitic or felsitic andesites, which are very scantily represented in
the collections examined by Mr. Eakle. In connection with the
quartz-porphyries and trachytic rocks which also occur in Vanua Levu, it
should be observed that Mr. Andrews describes a rhyolite from Suva in
Viti Levu. Unlike Viti Levu, Vanua Levu displays but a small development
of plutonic rocks.
In conclusion it should be pointed out that much remains to be done in
the geological exploration of this island, and that I would have spent a
third year in this task much to my profit. Still I hope that a period of
two years devoted to its investigation will be regarded as some excuse
for a certain over-confidence in the expression of my opinions.
To enumerate all those from whom I received much kindness in these
islands would be a lengthy task. My indebtedness is very great to Bishop
Vidal, Father Rougier, and to various other members of the Roman
Catholic Mission, and I experienced similar favours at the hands of Mr.
Williams and other Wesleyan Missionaries in Vanua Levu. Mr. F. Spence
and Mrs. Spence showed me great kindness, and from Dr. Corney I received
valuable assistance on my arrival in the group. To the planters my debt
is equally great, more especially to Mr. Barratt, Mr. Dods, and Mr.
Mills.
In conclusion I would suggest the foundation of a “Fijian Society” for
the investigation of the islands, for the gathering together of all that
has been written about the group and its people, and for the advancement
of science.
HENRY BROUGHAM GUPPY.
_June, 1903._
_Note._—A type set of my geological collections representing the
massive rocks from this island has been kindly accepted by the
Curator of the Geological Museum, Jermyn Street.
LIST OF SOME OF THE PRINCIPAL AUTHORITIES QUOTED IN THIS BOOK
DANA, J. D., on the Geology of Fiji in vol. x, Geology, United States
Exploring Expedition Reports, Philadelphia, 1849.
KLEINSCHMIDT, T., “Reisen auf den Viti-Inseln,” Journal des Museum
Godeffroy, heft 14, Hamburg, 1879.
HORNE, J., “A Year in Fiji,” London, 1881.
WICHMANN, A., “Ein Beitrag zur Petrographie des Viti-Archipels,
Mineralogische und Petrographische, Mittheilungen,” band v, heft 1,
Wien, 1882.
RENARD, A., on andesites from Kandavu, “Report on the Petrology of
Oceanic Islands,” vol. ii of “Physics and Chemistry,” Challenger
Expedition, 1889.
AGASSIZ, A., “The Islands and Coral Reefs of Fiji,” Bulletin, Museum of
Comparative Zoology, Harvard College, vol. xxxiii, 1899, Cambridge,
Mass.
EAKLE, A. S., “Petrographical Notes on some rocks from the Fiji
Islands,” Proceedings, American Academy of Arts and Sciences, vol.
xxxiv, no. 21, May, 1899.
ANDREWS, E. C., Notes on the limestones and general geology of the Fiji
Islands, with special reference to the Lau Group. Based upon surveys
made for Alexander Agassiz. With a Preface by T. W. Edgeworth David.
Bulletin, Museum of Comparative Zoology, Harvard College; vol.
xxxviii, Cambridge, Mass. 1900.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
GENERAL INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON SOME OF THE LEADING PHYSICAL
FEATURES OF THE ISLAND
Its remarkable shape, 1.—Its building up, 2.—Study of its profile,
3.—Mount Seatura.—Regions of acid andesites.—Basaltic
tablelands.—Great ridge-mountains, 5.—Boundary of the regions of basic
and acid rocks, 6.—Its primary features, the dacitic peak, the
basaltic plateau, and the ridge-mountain
_Pages_ 1-6
CHAPTER II
ON THE EVIDENCE OF EMERGENCE OR OF UPHEAVAL AT THE SEA-BORDERS
Elevated coral reefs scantily represented, 7.—Apparent absence of coral
reefs in the early stages of the emergence, 8.—Elevated reefs confined
to the coast and its vicinity.—Detailed examination of the
sea-borders, 9.—Silicified corals and siliceous concretions the only
evidence in many localities of the upraised reefs, 13.—The relations
of the mangrove-belt to the reef-flat, 14.—Indications of a very
gradual movement of emergence in our own time, 15.—The rate of advance
of the mangroves, 16.—Conclusions, 19
_Pages_ 7-20
CHAPTER III
THE HOT SPRINGS OF VANUA LEVU
The thermal springs of other parts of the group, 21.—The hot springs of
the Wainunu valley, 22.—The boiling springs of Savu-savu, 25.—Analyses
of the water, 28.—The hot springs of other localities,
31.—Distribution of the springs, 35.—The algæ and siliceous deposits,
37.—The cold and thermal springs of Hawaii and Etna, 38.—Infiltration,
the source of the springs, 39.—A view negatived by Prof. Suess.—List
of the hot springs of Vanua Levu, 40.—Summary of the chapter, 42
_Pages_ 21-42
CHAPTER IV
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES OF
VANUA LEVU
Naivaka, 43.—Korolevu Hill, 45.—Bomb formation of Navingiri,
46.—Remarkable section near Korolevu, 48.—Wailea Bay to Lekutu,
50.—Mount Koroma, 51.—Mount Sesaleka, 53.—The Mbua-Lekutu Divide,
55.—The Mbua and Ndama plains, 55.—The shell-bed of the Mbua river,
58.—Lekumbi Point, 60
_Pages_ 43-60
CHAPTER V
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
Mount Seatura, 61.—Its eastern <DW72>s, 63.—Its western <DW72>s, 64.—Its
northern <DW72>s, 65.—Ascents to the summit, 66.—The Ndriti Basin,
67.—A huge crateral cavity, 68.—Its <DW18>s of propylite, 69.—Seatura a
basaltic mountain of the Hawaiian order, 72.—The Seatovo Range,
73.—Solevu Bay, 75.—Koro-i-rea, 77.—Nandi Bay, 78.—Na Savu Tableland,
79
_Pages_ 61-81
CHAPTER VI
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
The basaltic plateau of Wainunu, 82.—Its margins covered by pteropod and
foraminiferous ooze-rocks, 86.—The hill of Ulu-i-ndali, 87.—Kumbulau
Peninsula, 90.—The basaltic flow of Kiombo Point, 92.—Soni-soni
Island, 93.—Yanawai coast, 95
_Pages_ 82-97
CHAPTER VII
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
The Ndrandramea district, 98.—Its mountains and hills of acid andesites,
100.—Ngaingai, 101.—Ndrandramea, 102.—Soloa Levu, 103.—The underlying
altered acid andesites, 106.—Section of the district, 107.—The
magnetic peak of Navuningumu, 108.—The Mbenutha Cliffs and their
pteropod and foraminiferous beds, 109
_Pages_ 98-112
CHAPTER VIII
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
Mount Vatu Kaisia and district, 113.—The Nandronandranu district,
117.—Nganga-turuturu cliffs, 119.—Ndrawa district, 120.—Tavia ranges,
121.—Na Raro, 123.—Its Ascent, 125.—Na Raro Gap, 127
_Pages_ 113-127
CHAPTER IX
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
The basaltic plains of Sarawanga, 129.—Tembe-ni-ndio and its
foraminiferal limestones, 131.—The basaltic plains of Ndreketi,
132.—The Nawavi Range, 135.—Nanduri, 136.—Tambia district, 137.—The
basaltic plains of Lambasa, 138
_Pages_ 128-139
CHAPTER X
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
The Va Lili Range, 140.—Its Nambuni spur, 144.—Originally submerged and
covered with palagonite-tuffs and agglomerates, 145.—The Waisali
Saddle, 146.—Narengali district, 147.—Nakambuta, 148.—The valleys of
the Ndreke-ni-wai, 150.—Their origin, 151
_Pages_ 140-152
CHAPTER XI
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
The Korotini Range, 153.—Traverse from Waisali to Sealevu, 154.—Traverse
from Mbale-mbale to Vandrani, 156.—Traverse from Vatu-kawa to
Vandrani, 160.—Traverse from Nukumbolo to Sueni, 161.—The Sueni
valley, 163.—General inference concerning the range, 164
_Pages_ 153-165
CHAPTER XII
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
The Koro-mbasanga Range, 166.—The Sokena Ridge, 169.—Lovo valley,
169.—Mount Mbatini, 172.—The Vuinandi Gap, 175.—The Thambeyu or Mount
Thurston Ranges, 176.—Structure of Thambeyu, 177.—The Avuka Range, 179
_Pages_ 166-180
CHAPTER XIII
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
The Valanga Range, 181.—Its western flank, 183.—Ngone Hill, 183.—Valley
of Na Kula, 184.—The Mariko Range, 185.—Savu-savu Peninsula,
189.—Naindi Bay, 192.—The Salt Lake, 194
_Pages_ 181-196
CHAPTER XIV
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
The Natewa Peninsula, 197.—Viene district, 198.—Lea district,
199.—Waikawa Mountains, 201.—Ndreke-ni-wai coast, 203.—Waikatakata,
203.—Mount Freeland or the Ngala Range, 204.—Traverse from Tunuloa to
Ndevo, 205.—Coast from Ndevo to Mbutha Bay, 205
_Pages_ 197-206
CHAPTER XV
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
The north-east portion of the island from Mount Thurston to Undu Point,
207.—Coast between Vuinandi and Tawaki, 208.—The corresponding inland
region, 209.—The gabbro of Nawi, 211.—Uthulanga Ridge, 211.—Ascent of
Mount Vungalei or Ndrukau, 213.—Nailotha, 214.—Exposure of altered
trachytes and quartz-porphyries at its base, 215.—From Nandongo to
Vanuavou, 216.—From Ngelemumu to Wainikoro, 217.—Sea border between
Lambasa and Mbuthai-sau, 218.—Coast between Mbuthai-sau and the
Wainikoro and Langa-langa Rivers, 219.—Coast between the Langa-langa
River and Thawaro Bay, 221.—The Globigerina clay of Visongo,
221.—Vui-na-Savu River, 222.—Some General inferences, 223
_Pages_ 207-223
CHAPTER XVI
DESCRIPTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL AND GENERAL PHYSICAL FEATURES
(_continued_)
The Wainikoro and Kalikoso Plains, 224.—Vaka-lalatha Lake, 225.—Its
floating islands, 226.—A region of acid rocks, 227.—Silicified corals
and limonite, 228.—Tawaki district, 229.—Thawaro district, 230.—Mount
Thuku, 231.—Undu Point, 232.—General characters of the Undu
Promontory, 233
_Pages_ 224-234
CHAPTER XVII
THE VOLCANIC ROCKS OF VANUA LEVU
Their varied character, 235.—Their classification, 236.—Descriptive
formula, 237.—Synopsis, 239.—Orders of the Olivine-Basalts,
241.—Orders of the Augite-Andesites, 245.—Orders of the
Hypersthene-Augite-Andesites, 247.—Description of the Plutonic Rocks,
249
_Pages_ 235-251
CHAPTER XVIII
THE VOLCANIC ROCKS OF VANUA LEVU (_continued_)
The Olivine Basalts
_Pages_ 252-265
CHAPTER XIX
THE VOLCANIC ROCKS OF VANUA LEVU (_continued_)
The Augite-Andesites
_Pages_ 266-284
CHAPTER XX
THE VOLCANIC ROCKS OF VANUA LEVU (_continued_)
The Hypersthene-Augite-Andesites
_Pages_ 285-292
CHAPTER XXI
THE VOLCANIC ROCKS OF VANUA LEVU (_continued_)
THE ACID ANDESITES, TRACHYTES, QUARTZ-PORPHYRIES.
The Hornblende-Andesites of Fiji, 293.—Occurrence of Dacites in Fiji,
294.—Suggestion of “felsitic andesite” as a rock-name, 295.—The Acid
Andesites of Vanua Levu, 295.—The Hypersthene-Andesites, 296.—The
Hornblende-Hypersthene-Andesites, 298.—The Quartz-Andesites or
Dacites, 302.—Tabular comparison of the Acid Andesites, 304.—The
characters of the Rhombic Pyroxene, 306.—Magmatic Paramorphism,
306.—The Oligoclase Trachytes, 308.—Quartz-Porphyries and Rhyolitic
rocks, 309
_Pages_ 293-311
CHAPTER XXII
THE VOLCANIC ROCKS OF VANUA LEVU (_continued_)
Basic pitchstones and basic glasses, 312.—Volcanic Agglomerates, 314
_Pages_ 312-316
CHAPTER XXIII
CALCAREOUS FORMATIONS, VOLCANIC MUDS, PALAGONITE-TUFFS
General Character, 317.—Coral Limestones, 318.—Foraminiferal Limestones,
319.—Pteropod-oozes, 320.—Foraminiferous Volcanic Muds, 321.—Samples,
322.—Altered kinds, 324.—Submarine Palagonite-tuffs of mixed
composition, 326.—Samples, 330.—Altered Basic Tuffs, 332.—Submarine
Basic Pumice Tuffs, 333.—“Crush-tuffs” formed of basic glass and
palagonite, 334.—Zeolitic Palagonite-Tuffs, 334.—Palagonite-marls,
335.—Acid Pumice Tuffs, 336
_Pages_ 317-336
CHAPTER XXIV
PALAGONITE
Its abundance in a fragmental condition in Vanua Levu, 337.—Its
occurrence in deep-sea deposits, 338.—Modes of formation _in situ_,
338.—In the upper portion of a basaltic flow, 339.—In the groundmass
of hemi-crystalline basaltic rocks, 339.—In veins in a basic
tuff-agglomerate, 340.—In the fissures of a basaltic <DW18>, 341.—In the
matrix of pitch-stone agglomerates, 349.—In “crush-tuffs,”
341.—Regarded as a solidified magma-residuum of low fusibility,
342.—Its connection with crushing, 342.—Bunsen’s experiment,
343.—Rosenbusch and Renard, 344.—The Nandua series of beds,
345.—Suggested explanation of the origin of palagonite, 346.—Type of
basalt associated with palagonite, 347.—Hydration and disintegration
of palagonite, 348
_Pages_ 337-349
CHAPTER XXV
SILICIFIED CORALS, FLINTS, LIMONITE
Mode of occurrence of the silicified corals, 351.—Their character and
structure, 352.—Flints, nodules of Chalcedony, Agates, etc.,
353.—Other siliceous concretions, 354.—Jasper, 355.—Deposits of
Limonite, 356.—Magnetic Iron-sand, 357.—Suggested explanation of the
silicification of the corals, 358.—Note on a silicified Tree-fern, 360
_Pages_ 350-360
CHAPTER XXVI
MAGNETIC ROCKS
Previous observations, 361.—Magnetic Polarity usually caused by
atmospheric electricity, 362.—Displayed by both acid and basic rocks,
364.—Very frequent in Vanua Levu, 365.—Its relation to specific
weight, 366.—The influence of locality, 367.—Frequently observed in
mountain peaks, 367.—Description of the peaks, 368.—Measurement of the
polarity of rocks, 370
_Pages_ 361-371
CHAPTER XXVII
SOME CONCLUSIONS AND THEIR BEARINGS
Vanua Levu, a composite island formed during a long period of emergence,
372.—The submarine plateau probably produced by basaltic flows,
373.—The distribution of the volcanic rocks, 374.—Comparison with
Iceland, 374.—The mountain-ridges, 375.—The emergence of the Fiji
Islands, 376.—Wichmann’s view of the early continental condition not
supported, 376.—Age and character of the emergence, 377.—The evidence
of the Lau Group and of the Tongan Islands, 378.—Two principal stages
of the emergence, 379.—Relative antiquity of the Hawaiian, Fijian, and
Tongan Islands as indicated by their floras, 379.—Islands have always
been islands, 380.—The hypothesis of a Pacific continent not yet
needed, 381.—The great dilemma, 381.—Much remains to be learned of the
possibilities of means of dispersal in the past and in the present,
382
_Pages_ 372-382
APPENDIX.
(1) Note on microscopical examination of stone-axes.
(2) Note on the ascent of the tide in the Ndreketi River.
(3) Note on the “talasinga” districts.
INDEX 385
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PLATES
TO FACE
PAGE
Na Raro (2,420 feet) from the south-west, a peak of acid }
andesite }
} _Frontis-
Ndrandramea (1,800 feet) from the south-east, a peak of } piece_
acid andesite rising about a thousand feet from its base }
The Ndrandramea District from the westward 98
Mount Tavia (2,210 feet) from Vatu Kaisia }
} 108
The magnetic peak of Navuningumu (1,931 feet) from the south }
Mbenutha Cliffs, showing volcanic agglomerates overlying tuffs and
clays, containing shells of pteropods and foraminifera, which are
raised 1,100 feet above the sea 111
Duniua Lagoon, representing an old mouth of the Ndreke-ni-wai 153
LITHOGRAPHS
Vanua Levu, Fiji Islands 1
Fiji Islands 373
FIGURES
PAGE
Profiles of Vanua Levu as Viewed from the South. Graphically
Represented on a Horizontal Scale of about 16 miles to the inch 4
Korolevu Hill (800 feet) from Wailea Bay 46
Profile and Geological Section of the western end of Vanua Levu from
the Wainunu estuary across the summit of the basaltic mountain of
Seatura to the edge of the submarine platform off the Ndama coast
as limited by the 100-fathom line 62
Profile, looking north from off the mouth of the Wainunu River 83
Rough plan of the Ndrandramea district in Vanua Levu; made with
prismatic compass and aneroid by H. B. Guppy 99
Profiles of Ngaingai and Wawa Levu from Nambuna to the south-west.
Both are dacitic mountains 101
Profile and Geological Section of Vanua Levu, across the island
from the Sarawanga (north) coast to the Yanawai (south) coast 107
Profile-sketch of the Vatu Kaisia district from S.S.E. 113
Section of the Vatu Kaisia district 115
Profiles of Na Raro 124
Profile-sketches of the Va-Lili Range 141
Profile-sketch of the mountainous axis of Vanua Levu 167
Koro-mbasanga from the north-north-east 167
Mount Mbatini from the top of Koro-mbasanga 173
View from Muanaira on the south coast of Natewa Bay 173
Ideal Section of Thambeyu 177
Diagram illustrating the two sets of felspar-lathes in a <DW18> 238
Magma-lakelet, ·25 mm. in size, magnified 290 diameters, from a
basalt at Navingiri 339
Showing fragments of glass with eroded borders and of plagioclase
with more even edges in a matrix of palagonite traversed by
cracks 342
Diagram showing the succession of deposits below the Nandua
tea-estate 345
[Illustration:
VANUA LEVU,
FIJI ISLANDS.
DRAWN ON A SCALE OF 25 MILES TO 3 INCHES BY H. B. GUPPY, M.B.
_Based on the Admiralty Surveys, but most of the topographical
details of the interior have been supplied from the author’s
observations
with the aneroid and prismatic compass in 1897-99. It is
merely intended to illustrate his general account of the physical
and geological characters of the island and is very far from
complete. (see introduction.)_
]
OBSERVATIONS OF A NATURALIST IN THE PACIFIC
CHAPTER I
GENERAL INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON SOME OF THE LEADING
PHYSICAL FEATURES OF THE ISLAND
THE remarkable shape of this island at once attracts the attention: and
indeed it is in its irregular outline and in the occurrence over a large
portion of its surface of submarine tuffs and agglomerates that will be
found a key to the study of its history. With an extreme length of 98
miles, an average breadth of 15 to 20 miles, and a maximum elevation of
nearly 3,500 feet, it has an area, estimated at 2,400 square miles,
comparable with that of the county of Devon.
Whilst its peculiarly long and narrow dimensions are to be associated
with the narrowing of the submarine basaltic platform, from which it
rises together with the other large island of Viti Levu, its extremely
irregular shape is closely connected | 3,417.482576 |
2023-11-16 19:14:01.4642020 | 7,434 | 20 |
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Hathi Trust (The Ohio State University)
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THE SILVER BULLET
---------------------------
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE SILENT HOUSE IN PIMLICO
THE BISHOP'S SECRET
THE CRIMSON CRYPTOGRAM
THE GOLDEN WANG-HO
THE TURNPIKE HOUSE
A TRAITOR IN LONDON
WOMAN--THE SPHINX
THE JADE EYE
----------------------------
John Long, Publisher, London
THE SILVER BULLET
BY
FERGUS HUME
London
John Long
13 & 14 Norris Street, Haymarket
THE SILVER BULLET
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE IN THE PINE WOOD
"We had better lie down and die," said Robin peevishly. "I can't go a
step further," and to emphasise his words he deliberately sat.
"Infernal little duffer," growled Herrick. "Huh! Might have guessed
you would Joyce." He threw himself down beside his companion and
continued grumbling. "You have tobacco, a fine night, and a heather
couch of the finest, yet you talk as though the world were coming to
an end."
"I'm sure this moor never will," sighed Joyce, reminded of his
cigarettes, "we have been trudging it since eight in the morning, yet
it still stretches to the back-of-beyond. Hai!"
The pedestrians were pronouncedly isolated. A moonless sky thickly
jewelled with stars, arched over a treeless moor, far-stretching as
the plain of Shinar. In the luminous summer twilight, the eye could
see for a moderate distance, but to no clearly defined horizon; and
the verge of sight was limited by vague shadows, hardly definite
enough to be mists.
The moor exhaled the noonday heats in thin white vapour, which shut
out from the external world those who nestled to its bosom. A sense of
solitude, the brooding silence, the formless surroundings, and above
all, the insistence of the infinite, would have appealed on ordinary
occasions to the poetical and superstitious side of Robin's nature.
But at the moment, his nerves were uppermost. He was worn-out,
fractious as a child, and in his helplessness could have cried like
one. Herrick knew his friend's frail physique and inherited neurosis:
therefore he forebore to make bad worse by ill advised sympathy.
Judiciously waiting until Joyce had in some degree soothed himself
with tobacco, he talked of the common-place.
"Nine o'clock," said he peering at his watch; "thirteen hour's
walking. Nothing to me Robin, but a goodish stretch to you. However we
are within hail of civilization, and in England. A few miles further
we'll pick up a village of sorts no doubt. One would think you were
exploiting Africa the way you howl."
He spoke thus callously, in order to brace his friend; but Joyce
resented the tone with that exaggerated sense of injury peculiar to
the neurotic. "I am no Hercules like you Jim," he protested sullenly;
"all your finer feelings have been blunted by beef and beer. You can't
feel things as I do. Also," continued Robin still more querulously,
"it seems to have escaped your memory, that I returned only last night
from a two day's visit to Town."
"If you _will_ break up your holiday into fragments, you must not
expect to receive the benefit its enjoyment as a whole would give you.
It was jolly enough last week sauntering through the Midlands, till
you larked up to London, and fagged yourself with its detestable
civilization."
Joyce threw aside his cigarette and nervously began to roll another.
"It was no lark which took me up Jim. The letter that came to the
Southberry Inn was about--her business."
"Sorry old man. I keep forgetting your troubles. Heat and the want of
food make me savage. We'll rest here for a time, and then push on. Not
that a night in the open would matter to me."
Joyce made no reply but lying full length on the dry herbage, stared
at the scintillating sky. At his elbow, Herrick, cross-legged like a
fakir, gave himself up to the enjoyment of a disreputable pipe. The
more highly-strung man considered the circumstances which had placed
him where he was.
Two months previously, Robin Joyce had lost his mother, to whom he had
been devotedly attached: and the consequent grief had made a wreck of
him. For weeks he had shut himself up in the flat once brightened by
her presence to luxuriate in woe. He possessed in a large degree that
instinct for martyrdom, latent in many people, which searches for
sorrow, as a more joyous nature hunts for pleasure. The blow of Mrs.
Joyce's death had fallen unexpectedly, but it brought home to Robin,
the knowledge--strange as it may sound--that a mental pleasure can be
plucked from misfortune. He locked himself in his room, wept much, and
ate little; neglected his business of contributor to several
newspapers, and his personal appearance. Thus the pain of his loss
merged itself in that delight of self-mortification, which must have
been experienced by the hermits of the Thebiad. Not entirely from
religious motives was the desert made populous with hermits in the
days of Cyril and Hypatia.
Herrick did not realize this transcendental indulgence, nor would he
have understood it, had he done so. Emphatically a sane man, he would
have deemed it a weakness degrading to the will, if not a species of
lunacy. As it was, he merely saw that Robin yielded to an unrestrained
grief detrimental to his health, and insisted upon carrying him off
for a spell in the open air. With less trouble than he anticipated,
Robin's consent was obtained. The mourner threw himself with ardour
into the scheme, selected the county of Berks as the most inviting for
a ramble; and when fairly started, showed a power of endurance amazing
in one so frail.
Jim however being a doctor, was less astonished than a layman would
have been. He knew that in Joyce a tremendous nerve power dominated
the feebler muscular force, and that the man would go on like a
blood-horse until he dropped from sheer exhaustion. The collapse on
the moor did not surprise him. He only wondered that Robin had held
out for so many days.
"But I wish you had not gone to London," said Herrick pursuing aloud
this train of thought.
"I had to go," replied Joyce not troubling to query the remark. "The
lawyer wrote about my poor mother's property. In my sorrow, I had
neglected to look after it, but at Southberry Junction feeling better,
thanks to your open air cure, I thought it wise to attend to the
matter."
Then Joyce went on to state with much detail, how he had caught the
Paddington express at Marleigh--their last stopping place--and had
seen his lawyer. The business took some time to settle; but it
resulted in the knowledge that Joyce found himself possessed of five
hundred a year in Consols. "Also the flat and the furniture," said
Robin, "so I am not so badly off. I can devote myself wholly to novels
now, and shall not have to rack my brains for newspaper articles."
Herrick nodded over a newly-filled pipe. "Did you sleep at the flat?"
"No, I went up on Tuesday as you know, and slept that night at the
Hull Hotel, a small house in one of the Strand side streets. Last
night, I joined you at Southberry."
"And it is now Thursday," said Herrick laughing. "How particular you
are as to detail Robin. Well, Southberry is a goodish way behind us
now and Saxham is our next resting place. Feel better?"
"Yes, thanks. In another quarter of an hour, I shall make the attempt
to reach Saxham. But we are so late, I fear no bed----"
"Oh, that's alright. We can wake the landlord, I calculate we have only
three miles."
"Quite enough too. By the way Jim, what did you do, when I left you?"
In the semi-darkness Herrick chuckled. "Fell in love!" said he.
"H'm! You lost no time about it. And she?"
"A daughter of the gods, divinely tall; dark hair, creamy skin,
sea-blue eyes the figure and gait of Diana, and--"
"More of the Celt than the Greek," interrupted Joyce, "blue eyes,
black hair, that is the Irish type. Where did you see her?"
"In Southberry Church, talking to a puny curate, who did not deserve
such a companion. Oh, Robin, her voice! like an Eolian harp."
"It must possess a variety of tones then Jim. Did she see you?"
Herrick nodded and laughed again. "She looked and blushed. Beauty drew
me with a single hair, therefore I thrilled responsive. Love at first
sight Robin. Heigh-ho! never again shall I see this Helen of
Marleigh."
"Live in hope," said Joyce, springing to his feet. "Allons, mon ami."
The more leisurely Herrick rose, markedly surprised at this sudden
recuperation. "Wonderful man. One minute you are dying, the next
skipping like a two year old. Hysterical all the same," he added as
Joyce laughed.
"Those three miles," explained the other feverishly, "I feel that I
have to walk them, and my determination is braced to breaking point."
"That means you'll collapse half way," retorted the doctor unstrapping
his knapsack. "Light a match. Valerian for you my man."
Robin made no objection. He knew the value of Valerian for those
unruly nerves of his, at present vibrating like so many harp-strings,
twangled by an unskilful player. His small white face looked smaller
and whiter than ever in the faint light of the match; but his great
black eyes flamed like wind-blown torches. The contrast of Herrick's
sun-tanned Saxon looks, struck him as almost ludicrous. Joyce needed
no mirror to assure him of his appearance at the moment. He knew only
too well how he aged on the eve of a nerve storm. For the present it
was averted by the valerian; but he knew and so did Herrick, that
sooner or later it would surely come.
"We must get on as fast as possible," said Herrick, the knapsack again
on his broad back. "Food, drink, rest; you need all three. Forward!"
For some time they walked on in silence. Robin was so small, Dr. Jim
so large, that they looked like the giant and dwarf of the old fairy
tale on their travels. But in this case it was the giant who did all
the work. Joyce was a pampered, lazy, irresponsible child, in the
direct line of descent from Harold Skimpole. If Jim Herrick must be
likened to another hero of romance, Amyas Leigh was his prototype.
The shadows melted before them, and closed in behind, and still there
was nothing but plain and mist. At the end of two miles a dark bulk
like a thunder-cloud, loomed before them. It stretched directly across
their path. "Bogey," laughed Robin.
"A wood," said the more prosaic Jim, "this moor is fringed with
pine-woods: remember the forest we passed through this morning."
"In the cheerful sunshine," shuddered Joyce. "I don't like woodlands
by night. The fairies are about and goblins of the worst. Ha! Yonder
the lantern of Puck. Oberon holds revel in the wood."
"Puck must be putting a girdle round the earth then Robin," said
Herrick and stared at the white starry light, which beamed above the
trees.
"Hecate's torch," cried Joyce, "a meeting of witches," and he began to
chant the gruesome rhymes of the sisterhood, as Macbeth heard them.
"The scene is a blasted heath too," said he.
By this time the moon was rising, and silver shafts struck inward to
the heart of the pines. The aerial light vanished behind the leafy
screen, as the travellers came to a halt on the verge of the
undergrowth.
"We must get through," said Dr. Jim, "or if you like Robin, we can
skirt round. Saxham village is just beyond I fancy."
"Let us choose the bee-line," murmured Joyce. "I want a bed and a meal
as soon as possible. This part of the world is unknown to me. You
lead."
"I don't know it myself. However here's a path. We'll follow it to the
light. That comes from a tower of sorts. Too high up for a house."
With Herrick as pioneer, they plunged into the wood, following a
winding path. In the gloom, their heads came into contact with boughs
and tree-trunks but occasionally the moon made radiant the secret
recesses, and revealed unexpected openings. The path sometimes passed
across a glade, on the sward of which Joyce declared he saw the
fairies dancing: and anon plunged into a cimmerian gloom suggestive of
the underworld. No wind swung the heavy pine-boughs; the wild
creatures of the wood gave no sign, made no stir: yet the explorers
heard a low persistent swish-swurr-swish, like the murmur of a dying
breeze. It came from no particular direction, but droned on all sides
without pause, without change of note. Herrick heard Robin's
hysterical sob, as the insistent sound bored into his brain. He would
have made some remark; but at the moment they emerged into a open
space of considerable size. Here, ringed by pines, loomed a vast grey
house, with a slim tower. In that tower burned the steady light
outshining even the moon's lustre. But what was more remarkable still,
was the illumination of the mansion. Every window radiated white fire.
"Queer," said Robin halting on the verge of the wood, "not even a
fence or a wall: a path or an outhouse. One would think that this was
an inferior Aladdin's palace dropped here by some negligent genii. All
ablaze too," he added wonderingly; "the owner must be giving a ball."
"No signs of guests anyhow," returned Herrick as puzzled as his
companion. "H'm! Queer thing to find Versailles in a pine wood.
However it may afford us a bed and a supper."
It was certainly strange. The circle of trees stopped short of the
building at fifty yards. On all sides stretched an expanse of shorn
and well-kept turf, pathless as the sea. In its midst the mansion was
dropped--as Joyce aptly put it--unexpectedly. A two-storey Tudor
building, with battlements, and mullioned windows, terraces and
flights of shallow steps: the whole weather-worn and grey in the
moonlight, over-grown with ivy, and distinctly ruinous. The
dilapidated state of the house, contrasted in a rather sinister manner
with the perfectly-kept lawn. Also another curious contrast, was the
tower. This tacked on to the western corner, stood like a lean white
ghost, watching over its earthly habitation. Its gleaming stone-work
and sharp outlines showed that it had been built within the last
decade. A distinct anachronism, which marred the quaint antiquity of
the mediæval mansion.
"He must be an astrologer," said Joyce referring to the owner, "or it
may be that the tower is an inland pharos, to guide travellers across
that pathless moor. A horrible place," he muttered.
"Why horrible?" asked Dr. Jim as they crossed the lawn.
Robin shuddered, and cast a backward glance. "I can hardly explain.
But to my mind, there is something sinister in this lonely mansion,
ablaze with light, yet devoid of inhabitants."
"We have yet to find out if that is the case Robin. Hullo! the door is
open," and in the strong moonlight they looked wonderingly at each
other.
The heavy door--oak, clamped with iron--was slightly ajar. Herrick
bent upon consummating the adventure, pushed it slightly open. They
beheld a large hall with a tesselated pavement, and stately columns.
Between these last stood black oak high-backed chairs upholstered in
red velvet: also statues of Greek gods and goddesses, holding aloft
opaque globes, radiant with light. A vast marble staircase with wide
and shallow steps, sloped upwards, and on either side of this, from
the height of the landing fell scarlet velvet curtains, shutting in
the hall. The whiteness of the marble, the crimson of the draperies,
the brilliance of the light; these sumptuous furnishings amazed the
dusty pedestrians. It was as though, on a lonely prairie, one should
step suddenly into the splendours of the Vatican.
"The palace of the Sleeping Beauty," whispered the awe-struck Robin.
"Who can say romance is dead, when one can stumble upon such an
adventure."
Herrick shared Robin's perplexity: but of a more practical nature, he
addressed himself less to the romance than to the reality. Seeing no
one, hearing nothing, he touched an ivory button, that glimmered a
white spot beside the door. Immediately a silvery succession of
sounds, shrilled through the--apparently--lonely house. "Electric
bells, electric light. The hermit of this establishment is
up-to-date."
"He is also deaf, and has no servants," said Joyce impatiently after a
few minutes had passed. "Has a Borgian banquet taken place here? The
guests seem to be dead. Hai! the whole thing is damnable."
"Don't let yourself go," said the doctor roughly squeezing the little
man's arm, "wait and see the upshot."
Again and again they rang the bell, and themselves heard its
imperative summons: but no one appeared. Then they took their courage
in both hands, and stepped into the house. Passing through the crimson
curtains, they found themselves in a wide corridor enamelled green,
with velvet carpet and more light-bearing statues. On either side were
doors draped with emerald silk. Herrick led the way through one of
these, for Joyce, rendered timorous by the adventure would not take
the initiative.
In the first room, an oval table was set out for a solitary meal. The
linen was bleached as the Alpine snow, the silver antique, the crystal
exquisite, the porcelain worth its weight in gold. An iridescent glass
vase in the centre was filled with flowers, but these drooped,
withered and brown. The bread also was stale, the fruits were
shrivelled from their early freshness. Magnificently furnished and
draped, the room glowed in splendour, under innumerable electric
lights. But the intruders had eyes only for that sumptuous table, with
its air of desolation, and its place set for one. Anything more
sinister can scarcely be conceived.
"No one has sat down to this meal," said Herrick lifting the covers of
the silver dishes, "it has stood here for hours, if not for days. Let
us see if we can find the creature for whom it was intended."
"Perhaps you expect to find the Beast that loved Beauty, since you
call him a creature," said Robin hysterically. "Here is wine."
Dr. Jim went to the sideboard, whereon were ranged decanters of
Venetian glass containing many different vintages. Passing over these
he selected a pint bottle of champagne. "We must make free of our
position," he said, unwiring this, "afterwards we can apologise."
"Ugh!" cried Robin as the cork popped with a staccato sound in the
silence. "How gruesome; give me a glass at once Jim."
"I don't know if it is good for you in your present state," replied
the doctor brimming a goblet, "however the whole adventure is so
queer, that an attack of nerves is excusable. Drink up."
Robin did so, and was joined by Jim. They finished the bottle, and
felt exhilarated, and more ready to face the unknown. Again Herrick
led the way to further explorations. Adjacent to the dining-room, they
discovered a small kitchen, white-tiled and completely furnished. "Our
hermit cooks for himself," declared Dr. Jim, eying the utensils of
polished copper. "This is not a servant's kitchen: also it is off the
dining-room."
Robin made no reply, but followed his friend, his large eyes becoming
larger at every fresh discovery. They entered a drawing-room filled
with splendid furniture, silver knick-knacks, costly china, and
Eastern hangings of great price. There was a library stored with books
in magnificent bindings, and with tables piled with latter-day
magazines, novels and newspapers. "Our hermit keeps himself abreast of
the world," commented Jim.
Then came a picture gallery, but this was on a second storey and
lighted from the roof. Treasures of art ancient and modern glowed here
under the radiance of the light, which illuminated every room. A
smoking-room fashioned like a ship's cabin: a Japanese apartment,
crammed with the lacquer work, and stiff embroideries of Yeddo and
Yokahama; a shooting gallery; a bowling alley; a music room,
containing a magnificent Erard. Finally a dozen bedrooms furnished
with taste and luxury. To crown all they discovered a gymnasium fitted
up completely even to foils and boxing gloves: and a huge bathroom.
This last was throughout of white marble, with a square pool of water
in the centre. "What a pond to bathe in!" cried Jim enviously, for he
was hot and dusty. "Our hermit is an ancient Roman; he understands how
to enjoy life. Come along Robin!"
But by this time they had explored almost the whole of the wonderful
house. There remained the back premises, but on entering, they found
nothing but darkness and dirt, squalor and coldness. The hermit's
attention to his mansion stopped short at the servant's door. "And I
don't believe he has any servants," declared Joyce. "How the deuce
does he keep all this clean?"
The doctor shook his head. He hardly knew what to say. The situation
was beyond him. A palace in the wilderness, with an open door inviting
thieves! Crammed with treasures, brilliant with light, uninhabited,
deserted. Was there ever anything so wonderful? He had to pinch
himself to make sure that he was awake. "We have got into the world of
the fourth dimension: the fairy-land of the Arabian Nights. What do
you think Joyce?"
"I think we had better climb up to the tower," said Robin with unusual
common sense, "It is the only place we have left unexplored. There is
a light there too; Aladdin may be aloft."
Herrick shook his head. "He would have heard the bell. However come
along. We must find someone."
With some difficulty they discovered the staircase leading to the
tower. It was narrow but straight, and not so steep as might have been
expected. At the top Herrick--leading as usual--was confronted by a
closed door of plain deal. It was not locked however, and having
knocked without receiving a reply he opened it. Joyce at his heels
peeped over his shoulder and beheld a small square room with windows
on all four sides, and a large central globe burning in the ceiling.
In contrast to the rest of the house, this room was absolutely bare.
Blank walls, Chinese matting on the floor, a camp bedstead in one
corner, a deal table without a covering in another, and two cane
chairs. No anchorite could have had a more ascetic cell.
Herrick took in the scene at a glance, took in also, its--to
him--central feature, the body of a man lying face downwards, near the
bed. Joyce saw the corpse also, and remained at the door, shaking and
white.
"Murder or suicide?" Jim asked himself as he turned over the dead.
That, which had once been a man, was in evening dress. In the finest
of linen and jewellery, the most immaculate of clothes, it lay under
the scrutinising eye of Dr. Herrick. A lean evil face, with a hook
nose, scanty grey hair cut short and a long moustache carefully
trimmed. The left hand gripped a revolver; the shirt front over the
heart was covered with blood, and a stream, coagulated and black,
streaked the matting.
"In God's name?" cried Joyce not daring to enter, "what is it?"
"It was once the owner of this house I suppose," said Herrick grimly.
"Now, it is a piece of carrion. Suicide apparently. Dead over
twenty-four hours. Shot through the heart. A steady hand to do that.
H'm, left-handed too. Is it suicide, or murder? Here's a damnable
discovery to cap the adventure," said Dr. Jim gravely.
From the doorway came a gasp, a tittering laugh. Jim had just time to
spring forward when Joyce lunged into his arms. The long expected
nerve-storm had come at last.
CHAPTER II
DE MORTUIS NIL NISI MALUM
"And sunsets fire, the Saxham spire,
My guide post unto heaven."
So sang midway in the last century a local poet, who died long since
and passed, poems and all, into oblivion. But the famous spire in its
copper sheathing still catches the sunlight, and glows in the centre
of Saxham, a veritable pillar of fire. Those natives who have
emigrated, enlisted as soldiers, taken situations in London and
elsewhere, shipped before the mast, as some have done, always remember
church and spire. The children recall its ruddy blaze when they read
Exodus.
Saxham was not a large place. It might have contained a couple of
hundred inhabitants, probably less, and these principally agricultural
labourers. They worked on the farms and estates which dotted the vast
alluvial plain stretching to Beorminster. As the city, like that one
mentioned in the Bible, is set upon a hill, the twin towers of the
cathedral and Bishop Gandolf's spire can easily be seen from Saxham.
But the villagers prefer their own spire and their own parson, rarely
venturing the three miles to Beorminster. Those who do go, always
return to their beloved hamlet, more convinced than ever as to the
superiority of their birthplace. A sturdy stubborn set of rustics,
these men and women of Saxham.
The topography of the country as set down in Herrick's map, showed
that Saxham was almost the centre of the district, taking Beorminster
as the real navel. The great plain was covered with many such hamlets,
each clustering round its parent church; but Saxham was the nearest to
the city. Far away on the other side was smoky Irongrip the
manufacturing town; almost in sight of Marleigh and Heathcroft. Then
sixteen miles across Southberry Heath (which Herrick and Joyce had so
wearily trodden on the previous night) Southberry Junction roared with
perpetual traffic for here, the great main line tapped the local
railways which converged from all points. The pine-woods, sheltering
Saxham from the chill winds of the moor, also barred it from the
outside world, as Southberry was considered to be. Saxham, with its
neighbouring hamlets, claimed to belong solely to Beorminster. The
folk would have called themselves autochthonous, had they known of
such a word and its meaning.
The plan of the village was simple. In its centre was a genuine
village green, with a quincunx of immemorial elms. From this ran four
streets through the mass of houses, until they passed beyond them
altogether and out into the country. On one side stands St. Edith's
church in a nest of trees; on the other 'The Carr Arms' an inn of
undoubted antiquity. The remaining two sides are occupied by rows of
mediæval-looking houses, inhabited by those whom Saxham calls "the
best people," by which is meant the tradesmen. There was no doctor or
lawyer and the rector representing the gentry in the village itself,
dwelt on its outskirts. The country people lived outside the village
on their estates and visited it only on business; and as there were no
Radicals in Saxham, these were looked upon as more than mortal.
Under the red tiled roof of 'The Carr Arms,' Robin Joyce was still
sleeping the next morning when the green was filled with excited
people talking of the murder--so they called it. The events of the
previous night had so shaken the nerve of the little man, that it was
all Herrick could do to get him out of that ghastly mansion, and down
to the inn. Dr. Jim, rousing the landlord, had told his story and
after seeing Robin to bed, had turned in himself. What did it matter
to him, that the great house was still ablaze in the pine-wood, still
filled with precious things, and its doors and windows open to
thieves? He was too tired almost to think, and the moment his head was
on the pillow, he fell into a heavy dreamless slumber, which lasted
until ten the next morning.
From this much-needed rest, he was awakened by Napper, the landlord, a
burly man, with a ruddy face suggestive of beef and beer in large
quantities. In no very pleasant humour, Jim sat up, to demand with a
growl and an adjective what was wanted. On being informed that Mr.
Inspector Bridge of Beorminster waited to see him, the events of the
night came back on his still drowsy brain with a rush. Thoroughly
awakened, he promised to be down in half an hour, and forthwith
tumbled into the largest cold bath Napper could provide. After a
douche, and ten minutes' gymnastics, the Doctor hurried into a clean
shirt and his homespun suit. While he dressed he meditated on the fact
that Napper had lost no time in telling the police what had happened.
In a few minutes he looked into Robin's bedroom, and finding his
companion still in an exhausted slumber, he went downstairs alone, to
face the officer.
Inspector Bridge was a tall lean man with a serious face, and--what
was surprising taken in conjunction with his funereal looks--a jocular
manner. The man's humour lurked in his eyes--a grey pair of twinklers,
which belied the turned-down corners of his mouth. His movements were
slow, his tone was brisk and businesslike. Rather a contradictory
personality Herrick thought, and concluded that Bridge resembled
nothing so much as an undertaker out for a holiday. His profession
would thus account for the solemnity and slowness, and the holiday
explain his brisk jocularity.
This incongruous officer considered the young man with a pursed-up
mouth and a humorsome eye. He saw that Herrick was a gentleman, and
this opinion being confirmed--in the Inspector's mind--by the sight of
a signet ring, he treated him with more deference than he had been
prepared to show. Napper's report of the pedestrians had led Bridge to
infer that they were of the genus "tramp."
"Good morning sir," began the Inspector genially. "I have come to see
you about this murder of Colonel Carr. My card--Mr.--Mr.--"
"Dr. Herrick," said Jim, glancing at what he profanely called the
official ticket. "Have you breakfasted Mr. Inspector? If not, or if
you have--it really doesn't really matter--take the meal with me. I
must eat before I can talk."
Bridge was only too willing, and Herrick went up several degrees in
his good opinion. "Napper can cater excellently," said he rubbing his
hands. "I have often tested his hospitality."
Dr. Jim privately thought that the Inspector was not averse to
testing anyone's hospitality: but the man seemed decent enough, and
Herrick was sufficiently worldly-wise to make himself agreeable to
Jack-in-Office. In another half hour the two were seated in a pleasant
parlour before a well-spread table. Bridge performed wonders in the
way of eating. How he could remain lean with such an appetite, was a
wonder to Jim. But the doctor himself was not far behind, and between
the two of them, they swept the table clean. Then Herrick lighted his
pipe, ensconced himself in a chintz-covered arm-chair near the window,
and prepared to answer the Inspector's questions before asking several
of his own.
At the out-set Bridge detailed, all that had been done up to that
moment. Three policemen were looking after "The Pines" (so was the
house called), and guarding the dead; a doctor was expected from
Beorminster to inspect the body; the Coroner to | 3,417.484242 |
2023-11-16 19:14:01.5630590 | 576 | 9 | CAPABLE OF SUSTAINED FREE FLIGHT: LANGLEY'S SUCCESS AS A PIONEER IN
AVIATION***
E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Harry Lamé, and the Online Distributed
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available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
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https://archive.org/details/firstmancarrying00zahm
THE FIRST MAN-CARRYING AEROPLANE CAPABLE OF SUSTAINED FREE FLIGHT:
LANGLEY'S SUCCESS AS A PIONEER IN AVIATION
by
A. F. ZAHM, Ph. D.
From the Smithsonian Report for 1914, pages 217-222
(WITH 8 PLATES)
[Illustration]
(Publication 2329)
Washington
Government Printing Office
1915
THE FIRST MAN-CARRYING AEROPLANE CAPABLE OF
SUSTAINED FREE FLIGHT--LANGLEY'S SUCCESS AS A
PIONEER IN AVIATION.
By A. F. ZAHM, Ph. D.
[With 8 plates.]
It is doubtful whether any person of the present generation will be able
to appraise correctly the contributions thus far made to the development
of the practical flying machine. The aeroplane as it stands to-day is
the creation not of any one man, but rather of three generations of men.
It was the invention of the nineteenth century; it will be the fruition,
if not the perfection, of the twentieth century. During the long decades
succeeding the time of Sir George Cayley, builder of aerial gliders and
sagacious exponent of the laws of flight, continuous progress has been
made in every department of theoretical and practical aviation--progress
in accumulating the data of aeromechanics, in discovering the principles
of this science, in improving the instruments of aerotechnic research,
in devising the organs and perfecting the structural details of the
present-day dynamic flying machine. From time to time numerous aerial
craftsmen have flourished in the world's eye, only to pass presently
into comparative obscurity, while others too neglected or too poorly
appreciated in their own day subsequently have risen to high | 3,417.583099 |
2023-11-16 19:14:01.5642010 | 788 | 10 |
E-text prepared by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 41730-h.htm or 41730-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41730/41730-h/41730-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41730/41730-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/dixieafterwarexp00avar
DIXIE AFTER THE WAR
[Illustration: JEFFERSON DAVIS
After his prison life
Copyright 1867, by Anderson]
DIXIE AFTER THE WAR
An Exposition of Social Conditions Existing
in the South, During the Twelve Years
Succeeding the Fall of Richmond.
by
MYRTA LOCKETT AVARY
Author of "A Virginia Girl in the Civil War"
With an Introduction by General Clement A. Evans
Illustrated from old paintings, daguerreotypes and rare photographs
New York
Doubleday, Page & Company
1906
Copyright, 1906, by Doubleday, Page & Company
Published September, 1906
All rights reserved,
including that of translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian
To
THE MEMORY OF MY BROTHER,
PHILIP LOCKETT,
(_First Lieutenant, Company G, 14th Virginia Infantry,
Armistead's Brigade, Pickett's Division, C. S. A._)
_Entering the Confederate Army, when hardly more
than a lad, he followed General Robert E.
Lee for four years, surrendering at Appomattox.
He was in Pickett's immortal
charge at Gettysburg, and with
Armistead when Armistead
fell on Cemetery Hill._
The faces I see before me are those of young men. Had you not been this I
would not have appeared alone as the defender of my southland, but for
love of her I break my silence and speak to you. Before you lies the
future--a future full of golden promise, full of recompense for noble
endeavor, full of national glory before which the world will stand amazed.
Let me beseech you to lay aside all rancor, and all bitter sectional
feeling, and take your place in the rank of those who will bring about a
conciliation out of which will issue a reunited country.--_From an address
by Jefferson Davis in his last years, to the young men of the South_
INTRODUCTION
This book may be called a revelation. It seems to me a body of discoveries
that should not be kept from the public--discoveries which have origin in
many sources but are here brought together in one book for the first time.
No book hitherto published portrays so fully and graphically the social
conditions existing in the South for the twelve years following the fall
of Richmond, none so vividly presents race problems. It is the kind of
history a witness gives. The author received from observers and
participants the larger part of the incidents and anecdotes which she
employs. Those who lived during reconstruction are passing away so rapidly
that data, unless gathered now, can never be had thus at first hand; every
year increases the difficulty. Mrs. Avary's experience as author, editor
and journalist, her command of shorthand and her social connections have
opened up opportunities not usually accessible to one person; added to
this is the balance of sympathy which | 3,417.584241 |
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E-text prepared by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Transcriber's note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully
as possible; please see detailed list of printing issues at the
end of the text.
A BLACK ADONIS.
by
ALBERT ROSS.
* * * * *
THE
ALBATROSS NOVELS
By ALBERT ROSS
23 Volumes
May be had wherever books are sold at the price you paid for this volume
Black Adonis, A
Garston Bigamy, The
Her Husband's Friend
His Foster Sister
His Private Character
In Stella's Shadow
Love at Seventy
Love Gone Astray
Moulding a Maiden
Naked Truth, The
New Sensation, A
Original Sinner, An
Out of Wedlock
Speaking of Ellen
Stranger Than Fiction
Sugar Princess, A
That Gay Deceiver
Their Marriage Bond
Thou Shalt Not
Thy Neighbor's Wife
Why I'm Single
Young Fawcett's Mabel
Young Miss Giddy
G. W. DILLINGHAM CO.
Publishers :: :: New York
* * * * *
A BLACK ADONIS.
by
ALBERT ROSS.
Author of
"Out of Wedlock," "Speaking of Ellen," "Thou Shalt Not,"
"Why I'm Single," "Love at Seventy," Etc., Etc.
"You see!" he answered, bitterly. "Because I am black I
cannot touch the hand of a woman that is white. And yet you
say the Almighty made of one blood all nations of the
earth!"--Page 212.
New York:
Copyright, 1896, by G. W. Dillingham.
G. W. Dillingham Co., Publishers.
[All rights reserved.]
CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
I. A Rejected Manuscript 9
II. "Was my story too bold?" 23
III. "Her feet were pink" 35
IV. With Titian Tresses 49
V. Studying Miss Millicent 65
VI. "How the women stare!" 79
VII. A Dinner at Midlands 93
VIII. Holding Her Hand 99
IX. "Daisy, my darling!" 110
X. "Oh, so many, many maids!" 121
XI. Archie Pays Attention 136
XII. Dining at Isaac's 143
XIII. A Question of Color 155
XIV. "Let us have a betrayal" 166
XV. The Green-Eyed Monster 177
XVI. "I've had such luck!" 190
XVII. A Burglar in the House 198
XVIII. Black and White 204
XIX. "Play out your farce" 215
XX. Like a Stuck Pig 226
XXI. "We want Millie to understand" 238
XXII. Where Was Daisy? 246
XXIII. An Awful Night 254
XXIV. "This ends it, then?" 263
XXV. An Undiscoverable Secret 273
XXVI. "I played, and I lost" 282
XXVII. Absolutely Blameless 292
XXVIII. Trapping a Wolf 301
XXIX. "The Greatest Novel" 309
TO MY READERS.
I do not know how better to use the space that the printer always leaves
me in this part of the book than to redeem the promise I made at the end
of my last novel, and tell you in a few words what became of Blanche
Brixton Fantelli and her husband.
But, do you really need to be told?
Could they have done anything else than live in connubial felicity,
after the man had proved himself so noble and the woman had learned to
appreciate him at his true worth?
Well, whether they could or not, they didn't. Blanche is the happiest of
wedded wives. She still holds to her theory that marriage is based on
wrong principles, and that the contract as ordinarily made is
frightfully immoral; but she says if all men were like "her Jules" there
would be no trouble.
In this she proves herself essentially feminine. She is learning, albeit
a little late, that man was not made to live alone, and that the love a
mother feels for her child is not the only one that brings joy to a
woman's breast.
Fantelli does not claim that Blanche is his property. He is her lover
still, even though he has gained the law's permission to be her master.
He recognizes that she has rights in herself that are inviolable. This
is why they live together so content | 3,417.684991 |
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Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
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[Illustration: For a beginner that's the best schedule I ever saw.]
RALPH, THE TRAIN DISPATCHER
OR
THE MYSTERY OF THE PAY CAR
BY
ALLEN CHAPMAN
AUTHOR OF "RALPH OF THE ROUNDHOUSE," "RALPH IN THE SWITCH TOWER,"
"RALPH ON THE ENGINE," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
THE RAILROAD SERIES
By Allen Chapman
Cloth. 12mo. Illustrated
RALPH OF THE ROUNDHOUSE Or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man
RALPH IN THE SWITCH TOWER Or, Clearing the Track
RALPH ON THE ENGINE Or, The Young Fireman of the Limited Mail
RALPH ON THE OVERLAND EXPRESS Or, The Trials and Triumphs of
a Young Engineer
RALPH, THE TRAIN DISPATCHER Or, The Mystery of the Pay Car
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York
Copyright, 1911 by GROSSET & DUNLAP
Ralph, the Train Dispatcher
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--THE OVERLAND EXPRESS
CHAPTER II--THE WRECK
CHAPTER III--TROUBLE BREWING
CHAPTER IV--THE WIRE TAPPERS
CHAPTER V--IKE SLUMP
CHAPTER VI--IN THE TUNNEL
CHAPTER VII--DANGER SIGNALS
CHAPTER VIII--THE OLD SWITCH SHANTY
CHAPTER IX--A SUSPICIOUS DISCOVERY
CHAPTER X--THE TRAIN DISPATCHER
CHAPTER XI--MAKING A SCHEDULE
CHAPTER XII--AT THE RELAY STATION
CHAPTER XIII--"HOLD THE LIMITED MAIL!"
CHAPTER XIV--OLD 93
CHAPTER XV--CHASING A RUNAWAY
CHAPTER XVI--THE WRECK
CHAPTER XVII--A STRANGE MESSAGE
CHAPTER XVIII--THE SLUMP "SECRET"
CHAPTER XIX--ON THE LOOKOUT
CHAPTER XX--A TRUSTY FRIEND
CHAPTER XXI--A DASTARDLY PLOT
CHAPTER XXII--HOLDING THE FORT
CHAPTER XXIII--ONE MINUTE AFTER TWELVE
CHAPTER XXIV--THE BATTLE OF WITS
CHAPTER XXV--A WILD NIGHT
CHAPTER XXVI--AN AMAZING ANNOUNCEMENT
CHAPTER XXVII--THE STOLEN PAY CAR
CHAPTER XXVIII--THE "TEST" SPECIAL
CHAPTER XXIX--"CRACK THE WHIP!"
CHAPTER XXX--THE PAY CAR ROBBER
CHAPTER XXXI--QUICK WORK
CHAPTER XXXII--CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
THE OVERLAND EXPRESS
"Those men will bear watching--they are up to some mischief, Fairbanks."
"I thought so myself, Mr. Fogg. I have been watching them for some
time."
"I thought you would notice them--you generally do notice things."
The speaker with these words bestowed a glance of genuine pride and
approbation upon his companion, Ralph Fairbanks.
They were a great pair, these two, a friendly, loyal pair, the grizzled
old veteran fireman, Lemuel Fogg, and the clear-eyed, steady-handed
young fellow who had risen from roundhouse wiper to switchtower service,
then to fireman, then to engineer, and who now pulled the lever on the
crack racer of the Great Northern Railroad, the Overland express.
Ralph sat with his hand on the throttle waiting for the signal to pull
out of Boydsville Tracks. Ahead were clear, as he well knew, and his
eyes were fixed on three men who had just passed down the platform with
a scrutinizing glance at the locomotive and its crew.
Fogg had watched them for some few minutes with an ominous eye. He had
snorted in his characteristic, suspicious way, as the trio lounged
around the end of the little depot.
"Good day," he now said with fine sarcasm in his tone, "hope I see you
again--know I'll see you again. They're up to tricks, Fairbanks, and
don't you forget it."
"Gone, have they?" piped in a new voice, and a brakeman craned his neck
from his position on the reverse step of the locomotive. "Say, who are
they, anyway?"
"Do you know?" inquired the fireman, facing the intruder sharply.
"I'd like to. They got on three stations back. The conductor spotted
them as odd fish from the start. Two of them are disguised, that's
sure--the mustache of one of them went sideways. The old man, the
mild-looking, placid old gentleman they had in tow, is a telegrapher."
"How do you know that?" asked Ralph, becoming interested.
"That's easy. I caught him strumming on the car window sill, and I have
had an apprenticeship in the wire line long enough to guess what he was
tapping out. On his mind, see--force of habit and all that. The two with
him, though, | 3,418.086476 |
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Produced by Daniel Callahan
"OVER THE TOP"
BY
AN AMERICAN SOLDIER WHO WENT
ARTHUR GUY EMPEY
MACHINE GUNNER, SERVING IN FRANCE
TOGETHER WITH
TOMMY'S DICTIONARY OF THE | 3,418.086694 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Les Galloway and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: An open book, listing contents as Literature, Art,
Science, Belleslettres, History, Biography, Astronomy, Geology, etc.]
Eclectic Magazine
OF
FOREIGN LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
————————————
New Series. } { Old Series complete
Vol. XLI., No. 4. } April, 1885. { in 63 vols.
————————————
A WORD MORE ABOUT AMERICA.
BY MATTHEW ARNOLD.
When I was at Chicago last year, I was asked whether Lord Coleridge
would not write a book about America. I ventured to answer confidently
for him that he would do nothing of the kind. Not at Chicago only, but
almost wherever I went, I was asked whether I myself did not intend
to write a book about America. For oneself one can answer yet more
confidently than for one’s friends, and I always replied that most
assuredly I had no such intention. To write a book about America, on
the strength of having made merely such a tour there as mine was,
and with no fuller equipment of preparatory studies and of local
observations than I possess, would seem to me an impertinence.
It is now a long while since I read M. de Tocqueville’s famous
work on Democracy in America. I have the highest respect for M. de
Tocqueville; but my remembrance of his book is that it deals too much
in abstractions for my taste, and that it is written, moreover, in a
style which many French writers adopt, but which I find trying—a style
cut into short paragraphs and wearing an air of rigorous scientific
deduction without the reality. Very likely, however, I do M. de
Tocqueville injustice. My debility in high speculation is well known,
and I mean to attempt his book on Democracy again when I have seen
America once more, and when years may have brought to me, perhaps, more
of the philosophic mind. Meanwhile, however, it will be evident how
serious a matter I think it to write a worthy book about the United
States, when I am not entirely satisfied with even M. de Tocqueville’s.
But before I went to America, and when I had no expectation of ever
going there, I published, under the title of “A Word about America,”
not indeed a book, but a few modest remarks on what I thought
civilisation in the United States might probably be like. I had before
me a Boston newspaper-article which said that if I ever visited America
I should find there such and such things; and taking this article for
my text I observed, that from all I had read and all I could judge,
I should for my part expect to find there rather such and such other
things, which I mentioned. I said that of aristocracy, as we know it
here, I should expect to find, of course, in the United States the
total absence; that our lower class I should expect to find absent in a
great degree, while my old familiar friend, the middle class, I should
expect to find in full possession of the land. And then betaking myself
to those playful phrases which a little relieve, perhaps, the tedium of
grave disquisitions of this sort, I said that I imagined one would just
have in America our Philistines, with our aristocracy quite left out
and our populace very nearly.
An acute and singularly candid American, whose name I will on no
account betray to his countrymen, read these observations of mine, and
he made a remark upon them to me which struck me a good deal. Yes, he
said, you are right, and your supposition is just. In general, what
you would find over there would be the Philistines, as you call them,
without your aristocracy and without your populace. Only this, too,
I say at the same time: you would find over there something besides,
something more, something which you do not bring out, which you cannot
know and bring out, perhaps, without actually visiting the United
States, but which you would recognise if you saw it.
My friend was a true prophet. When I saw the United States I recognised
that the general account which I had hazarded of them was, indeed, not
erroneous, but that it required to have something added to supplement
it. I should not like either my friends in America or my countrymen
here at home to think that my “Word about America” gave my full and
final thoughts respecting the people of the United States. The new and
modifying impressions brought by experience I shall communicate, as I
did my original expectations, with all good faith, and as simply and
plainly as possible. Perhaps when I have yet again visited America,
have seen the great West, and have had a second reading of M. de
Tocqueville’s classical work on Democracy, my mind may be enlarged and
my present impressions still further modified by new ideas. If so, I
promise to make my confession duly; not indeed to make it, even then,
in a book about America, but to make it in a brief “Last Word” on that
great subject—a word, like its predecessors, of open-hearted and free
conversation with the readers of this Review.
* * * * *
I suppose I am not by nature disposed to think so much as most people
do of “institutions.” The Americans think and talk very much of their
“institutions;” I am by nature inclined to call all this sort of
thing _machinery_, and to regard rather men and their characters.
But the more I saw of America, the more I found myself led to treat
“institutions” with increased respect. Until I went to the United
States I had never seen a people with institutions which seemed
expressly and thoroughly suited to it. I had not properly appreciated
the benefits proceeding from this cause.
Sir Henry Maine, in an admirable essay which, though not signed,
betrays him for its author by its rare and characteristic qualities of
mind and style—Sir Henry Maine in the _Quarterly Review_ adopts and
often reiterates a phrase of M. Scherer, to the effect that “Democracy
is only a form of government.” He holds up to ridicule a sentence of
Mr. Bancroft’s History, in which the American democracy is told that
its ascent to power “proceeded as uniformly and majestically as the
laws of being and was as certain as the decrees of eternity.” Let us be
willing to give Sir Henry Maine his way, and to allow no magnificent
claim of this kind on behalf of the American democracy. Let us treat
as not more solid the assertion in the Declaration of Independence,
that “all men are created equal, are endowed by their Creator with
certain inalienable rights, among them life, liberty, and the pursuit
of happiness.” Let us concede that these natural rights are a figment;
that chance and circumstance, as much as deliberate foresight and
design, have brought the United States into their present condition,
that moreover the British rule which they threw off was not the rule of
oppressors and tyrants which declaimers suppose, and that the merit of
the Americans was not that of oppressed men rising against tyrants, but
rather of sensible young people getting rid of stupid and overweening
guardians who misunderstood and mismanaged them.
All this let us concede, if we will; but in conceding it let us not
lose sight of the really important point, which is this: that their
institutions do in fact suit the people of the United States so well,
and that from this suitableness they do derive so much actual benefit.
As one watches the play of their institutions, the image suggests
itself to one’s mind of a man in a suit of clothes which fits him to
perfection, leaving all his movements unimpeded and easy. It is loose
where it ought to be loose, and it sits close where its sitting close
is an advantage. The central government of the United States keeps in
its own hands those functions which, if the nation is to have real
unity, ought to be kept there; those functions it takes to itself
and no others. The State governments and the municipal governments
provide people with the fullest liberty of managing their own affairs,
and afford, besides, a constant and invaluable school of practical
experience. This wonderful suit of clothes, again (to recur to our
image), is found also to adapt itself naturally to the wearer’s growth,
and to admit of all enlargements as they successively arise. I speak of
the state of things since the suppression of slavery, of the state of
things which meets a spectator’s eye at the present time in America.
There are points in which the institutions of the United States may
call forth criticism. One observer may think that it would be well if
the President’s term of office were longer, if his ministers sate in
Congress or must possess the confidence of Congress. Another observer
may say that the marriage laws for the whole nation ought to be fixed
by Congress, and not to vary at the will of the legislatures of the
several States. I myself was much struck with the inconvenience of
not allowing a man to sit in Congress except for his own district; a
man like Wendell Phillips was thus excluded, because Boston would not
return him. It is as if Mr. Bright could have no other constituency
open to him if Rochdale would not send him to Parliament. But all
these are really questions of _machinery_ (to use my own term), and
ought not so to engage our attention as to prevent our seeing that the
capital fact as to the institutions of the United States is this: their
suitableness to the American people and their natural and easy working.
If we are not to be allowed to say, with Mr. Beecher, that this people
has “a genius for the organisation of States,” then at all events we
must admit that in its own organisation it has enjoyed the most signal
good fortune.
Yes; what is called, in the jargon of the publicists, the political
problem and the social problem, the people of the United States does
appear to me to have solved, or Fortune has solved it for them, with
undeniable success. Against invasion and conquest from without they
are impregnably strong. As to domestic concerns, the first thing to
remember is, that the people over there is at bottom the same people
as ourselves, a people with a strong sense for conduct. But there
is said to be great corruption among their politicians and in the
public service, in municipal administration, and in the administration
of justice. Sir Lepel Griffin would lead us to think that the
administration of justice, in particular, is so thoroughly corrupt, that
a man with a lawsuit has only to provide his lawyer with the necessary
funds for bribing the officials, and he can make sure of winning his
suit. The Americans themselves use such strong language in describing
the corruption prevalent amongst them that they cannot be surprised if
strangers believe them. For myself, I had heard and read so much to
the discredit of American political life, how all the best men kept
aloof from it, and those who gave themselves to it were unworthy, that
I ended by supposing that the thing must actually be so, and the good
Americans must be looked for elsewhere than in politics. Then I had the
pleasure of dining with Mr. Bancroft in Washington; and however he
may, in Sir Henry Maine’s opinion, overlaud the pre-established harmony
of American democracy, he had at any rate invited to meet me half a
dozen politicians whom in England we should pronounce to be members of
Parliament of the highest class, in bearing, manners, tone of feeling,
intelligence, information. I discovered that in truth the practice, so
common in America, of calling a politician “a thief,” does not mean
so very much more than is meant in England when we have heard Lord
Beaconsfield called “a liar” and Mr. Gladstone “a madman.” It means,
that the speaker disagrees with the politician in question and dislikes
him. Not that I assent, on the other hand, to the thick-and-thin
American patriots, who will tell you that there is no more corruption
in the politics and administration of the United States than in those
of England. I believe there _is_ more, and that the tone of both is
lower there; and this from a cause on which I shall have to touch
hereafter. But the corruption is exaggerated; it is not the wide and
deep disease it is often represented; it is such that the good elements
in the nation may, and I believe will, perfectly work it off; and even
now the truth of what I have been saying as to the suitableness and
successful working of American institutions is not really in the least
affected by it.
Furthermore, American society is not in danger from revolution. Here,
again, I do not mean that the United States are exempt from the
operation of every one of the causes—such a cause as the division
between rich and poor, for instance—which may lead to revolution. But I
mean that comparatively with the old countries of Europe they are free
from the danger of revolution; and I believe that the good elements in
them will make a way for them to escape out of what they really have
of this danger also, to escape in the future as well as now—the future
for which some observers announce this danger as so certain and so
formidable. Lord Macaulay predicted that the United States must come
in time to just the same state of things which we witness in England;
that the cities would fill up and the lands become occupied, and then,
he said, the division between rich and poor would establish itself on
the same scale as with us, and be just as embarrassing. He forgot that
the United States are without what certainly fixes and accentuates the
division between rich and poor—the distinction of classes. Not only
have they not the distinction between noble and bourgeois, between
aristocracy and middle class; they have not even the distinction
between bourgeois and peasant or artisan, between middle and lower
class. They have nothing to create it and compel their recognition of
it. Their domestic service is done for them by Irish, Germans, Swedes,
<DW64>s. Outside domestic service, within the range of conditions which
an American may in fact be called upon to traverse, he passes easily
from one sort of occupation to another, from poverty to riches, and
from riches to poverty. No one of his possible occupations appears
degrading to him or makes him lose caste; and poverty itself appears to
him as inconvenient and disagreeable rather than as humiliating. When
the immigrant from Europe strikes root in his new home, he becomes as
the American.
It may be said that the Americans, when they attained their
independence, had not the elements for a division into classes, and
that they deserve no praise for not having invented one. But I am
not now contending that they deserve praise for their institutions,
I am saying how well their institutions work. Considering, indeed,
how rife are distinctions of rank and class in the world, how prone
men in general are to adopt them, how much the Americans themselves,
beyond doubt, are capable of feeling their attraction, it shows, I
think, at least strong good sense in the Americans to have forborne
from all attempt to invent them at the outset, and to have escaped
or resisted any fancy for inventing them since. But evidently the
United States constituted themselves, not amid the circumstances of a
feudal age, but in a modern age; not under the conditions of an epoch
favorable to subordination, but under those of an epoch of expansion.
Their institutions did but comply with the form and pressure of the
circumstances and conditions then present. A feudal age, an epoch of
war, defence, and concentration, needs centres of power and property,
and it reinforces property by joining distinctions of rank and class
with it. Property becomes more honorable, more solid. And in feudal
ages this is well, for its changing hands easily would be a source
of weakness. But in ages of expansion, where men are bent that every
one shall have his chance, the more readily property changes hands
the better. The envy with which its holder is regarded diminishes,
society is safer. I think whatever may be said of the worship of
the almighty dollar in America, it is indubitable that rich men are
regarded there with less envy and hatred than rich men are in Europe.
Why is this? Because their condition is less fixed, because government
and legislation do not take them more seriously than other people,
make grandees of them, aid them to found families and endure. With
us, the chief holders of property are grandees already, and every
rich man aspires to become a grandee if possible. And therefore an
English country-gentleman regards himself as part of the system of
nature; government and legislation have invited him so to do. If the
price of wheat falls so low that his means of expenditure are greatly
reduced, he tells you that if this lasts he cannot possibly go on
as a country-gentleman; and every | 3,418.087382 |
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MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Adventure I. Silver Blaze
"I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes, as we sat
down together to our breakfast one morning.
"Go! Where to?"
"To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland."
I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already
been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of
conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day
my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and
his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with the strongest
black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks.
Fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only
to be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he was,
I knew perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding. There was
but one problem before the public which could challenge his powers of
analysis, and that was the singular disappearance of the favorite for
the Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore,
he suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the scene of the
drama it was only what I had both expected and hoped for.
"I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not be in the
way," said I.
"My dear Watson, you would confer a great favor upon me by coming. And
I think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points about
the case which promise to make it an absolutely unique one. We have, I
think, just time to catch our train at Paddington, and I will go further
into the matter upon our journey. You would oblige me by bringing with
you your very excellent field-glass."
And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the
corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while
Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped
travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he
had procured at Paddington. We had left Reading far behind us before
he thrust the last one of them under the seat, and offered me his
cigar-case.
"We are going well," said he, looking out the window and glancing at his
watch. "Our rate at present is fifty-three and a half miles an hour."
"I have not observed the quarter-mile posts," said I.
"Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty yards
apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume that you
have looked into this matter of the murder of John Straker and the
disappearance of Silver Blaze?"
"I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have to say."
"It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be
used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of fresh
evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete and of such
personal importance to so many people, that we are suffering from a
plethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to
detach the framework of fact--of absolute undeniable fact--from the
embellishments of theorists and reporters. Then, having established
ourselves upon this sound basis, it is our duty to see what inferences
may be drawn and what are the special points upon which the whole
mystery turns. On Tuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel
Ross, the owner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is looking
after the case, inviting my cooperation."
"Tuesday evening!" I exclaimed. "And this is Thursday morning. Why
didn't you go down yesterday?"
"Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson--which is, I am afraid, a more
common occurrence than any one would think who only knew me through your
memoirs. The fact is that I could not believe it possible that the most
remarkable horse in England could long remain concealed, especially in
so sparsely inhabited a place as the north of Dartmoor. From hour to
hour yesterday I expected to hear that he had been found, and that
his abductor was the murderer of John Straker. When, however, another
morning had come, and I found that beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy
Simpson nothing had been done, I felt that it was time for me to take
action. Yet in some ways I feel that yesterday has not been wasted."
"You have formed a theory, then?"
"At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I shall
enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as stating
it to another person, and I can hardly expect your co-operation if I do
not show you the position from which we start."
I lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, while Holmes,
leaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checking off the points
upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events which had
led to our journey.
"Silver Blaze," said he, "is from the Somomy stock, and holds as
brilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is now in his fifth year,
and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to Colonel Ross,
his fortunate owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe he was the first
favorite for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. He
has always, however, been a prime favorite with the racing public, and
has never yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous
sums of money have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that
there were many people who had the strongest interest in preventing
Silver Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag next Tuesday.
"The fact was, of course, appreciated at King's Pyland, where the
Colonel's training-stable is situated. Every precaution was taken to
guard the favorite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey
who rode in Colonel Ross's colors before he became too heavy for the
weighing-chair. He has served the Colonel for five years as jockey and
for seven as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a zealous and
honest servant. Under him were three lads; for the establishment was a
small one, containing only four horses in all. One of these lads sat up
each night in the stable, while the others slept in the loft. All three
bore excellent characters. John Straker, who is a married man, lived
in a small villa about two hundred yards from the stables. He has no
children, keeps one maid-servant, and is comfortably off. The country
round is very lonely, but about half a mile to the north there is a
small cluster of villas which have been built by a Tavistock contractor
for the use of invalids and others who may wish to enjoy the pure
Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies two miles to the west, while
across the moor, also about two miles distant, is the larger training
establishment of Mapleton, which belongs to Lord Back | 3,418.185861 |
2023-11-16 19:14:02.1667510 | 981 | 29 |
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SMALL HORSES IN WARFARE
[Illustration: _Frederick Taylor, pinxt._ ON THE ALERT.]
SMALL HORSES IN WARFARE
BY
SIR WALTER GILBEY, BART.
ILLUSTRATED
VINTON & CO., LTD.
9, NEW BRIDGE STREET, LONDON, E.C.
1900
CONTENTS.
HORSES IN THE CRIMEAN WAR
CAPE HORSES
PONIES IN THE SOUDAN
BURNABY'S RIDE TO KHIVA
POST HORSES IN SIBERIA
PONIES IN INDIA
PONIES IN NORTHERN AFRICA
PONIES IN MOROCCO
PONIES IN EASTERN ASIA
PONIES IN AUSTRALIA
PONIES IN AMERICA AND TEXAS
ARMY HORSES OF THE FUTURE
BREEDING SMALL HORSES
APPENDIX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
ON THE ALERT
BASHI BAZOUK
ONE OF REMINGTON'S HORSE
SIX ORIGINAL PENCIL SKETCHES BY HENRY ALKEN
GIMCRACK
_The present seems an appropriate time to put forward a few facts which
go to prove the peculiar suitability of small horses for certain
campaigning work which demands staying power, hardiness and independence
of high feeding. The circumstance that the military authorities have
been obliged to look to foreign countries for supplies of such horses
for the war in South Africa has suggested the propriety of pointing out
that we possess in England foundation stock from which we may be able to
raise a breed of small horses equal to, or better than, any we are now
obliged to procure abroad._
_Elsenham Hall, Essex, May, 1900._
SMALL HORSES IN WARFARE.
The campaign in South Africa has proved beyond doubt the necessity for a
strong force similar to that of the Boers. Their rapidity of movement
has given us an important lesson in the military value of horses of that
useful type which is suitable for light cavalry and mounted infantry.
Since the war broke out we have seen that we possess numbers of men able
to ride and shoot, who only need a little training to develop them into
valuable soldiers, but our difficulty throughout has been to provide
horses of the stamp required for the work they have to perform. The
experience we have gained in South Africa goes to confirm that acquired
in the Crimea, where it was found that the horses sent out from England
were unable to withstand the climate, poor food, and the hardships to
which they were subjected, while the small native horses and those bred
in countries further East suffered little from these causes. It was
then proved beyond dispute that these small horses are both hardy and
enduring, while, owing to their possession like our English
thoroughbreds of a strong strain of Arab blood, they were speedy enough
for light cavalry purposes.
Breeders of every class of horse, saving only those who breed the
Shetland pony and the few who aim at getting ponies for polo, have for
generations made it their object to obtain increased height. There is
nothing to be urged against this policy in so far as certain breeds are
concerned; the sixteen-hand thoroughbred with his greater stride is more
likely to win races than the horse of fifteen two; the sixteen-hand
carriage horse, other qualities being equal, brings a better price than
one of less stature; and the Shire horse of 16.2 or 17 hands has
commonly in proportion greater strength and weight, the qualities most
desirable in him, than a smaller horse. Thus we can show excellent
reason for our endeavours to increase the height of our most valuable
breeds; and the long period that has elapsed since we were last called
upon to put forward our military strength has allowed us to lose sight
of the great importance of other qualities.
Breeders and horsemen are well aware, though the general public may not
know or may not realise the fact, that increased height in the horse
does not necessarily involve increased strength in all directions, such
as greater weight-carrying power and more endurance. Granting that the
saying, " | 3,418.186791 |
2023-11-16 19:14:02.1668940 | 7,436 | 13 | AMERICA, VOL. II (OF 8)***
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
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Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: XV^e). Multiple superscripted characters are
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Spanish Explorations and Settlements in America
from the Fifteenth to the Seventeenth Century
[Illustration]
NARRATIVE AND CRITICAL HISTORY OF AMERICA
Edited by
JUSTIN WINSOR
Librarian of Harvard University
Corresponding Secretary Massachusetts Historical Society
VOL. II
Boston and New York
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
Copyright, 1886,
by Houghton, Mifflin and Company.
All rights reserved.
CONTENTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
[_The Spanish arms on the title are copied from the titlepage of
Herrera._]
INTRODUCTION. PAGE
DOCUMENTARY SOURCES OF EARLY SPANISH-AMERICAN HISTORY. _The
Editor_ i
CHAPTER I.
COLUMBUS AND HIS DISCOVERIES. _The Editor_ 1
ILLUSTRATIONS: Columbus’ Armor, 4; Parting of Columbus with
Ferdinand and Isabella, 6; Early Vessels, 7; Building a Ship,
8; Course of Columbus on his First Voyage, 9; Ship of Columbus’
Time, 10; Native House in Hispaniola, 11; Curing the Sick,
11; The Triumph of Columbus, 12; Columbus at Hispaniola, 13;
Handwriting of Columbus, 14; Arms of Columbus, 15; Fruit-trees
of Hispaniola, 16; Indian Club, 16; Indian Canoe, 17, 17;
Columbus at Isla Margarita, 18; Early Americans, 19; House in
which Columbus died, 23.
CRITICAL ESSAY 24
ILLUSTRATIONS: Ptolemy, 26, 27; Albertus Magnus, 29; Marco
Polo, 30; Columbus’ Annotations on the _Imago Mundi_, 31; on
Æneas Sylvius, 32; the Atlantic of the Ancients, 37; Prince
Henry the Navigator, 39; his Autograph, 39; Sketch-map of
Portuguese Discoveries in Africa, 40; Portuguese Map of the Old
World (1490), 41; Vasco da Gama and his Autograph, 42; Line of
Demarcation (Map of 1527), 43; Pope Alexander VI., 44.
NOTES 46
A, First Voyage, 46; B, Landfall, 52; C, Effect of the
Discovery in Europe, 56; D, Second Voyage, 57; E, Third Voyage,
58; F, Fourth Voyage, 59; G, Lives and Notices of Columbus,
62; H, Portraits of Columbus, 69; I, Burial and Remains of
Columbus, 78; J, Birth of Columbus, and Accounts of his Family,
83.
ILLUSTRATIONS: Fac-simile of first page of Columbus’ Letter,
No. III., 49; Cut on reverse of Title of Nos. V. and VI., 50;
Title of No. VI., 51; The Landing of Columbus, 52; Cut in
German Translation of the First Letter, 53; Text of the German
Translation, 54; the Bahama Group (map), 55; Sign-manuals
of Ferdinand and Isabella, 56; Sebastian Brant, 59; Map of
Columbus’ Four Voyages, 60, 61; Fac-simile of page in the
Glustiniani Psalter, 63; Ferdinand Columbus’ Register of Books,
65; Autograph of Humboldt, 68; Paulus Jovius, 70. Portraits
of Columbus,—after Giovio, 71; the Yanez Portrait, 72; after
Capriolo, 73; the Florence picture, 74; the De Bry Picture,
75; the Jomard Likeness, 76; the Havana Medallion, 77; Picture
at Madrid, 78; after Montanus, 79; Coffer and Bones found in
Santo Domingo, 80; Inscriptions on and in the Coffer, 81, 82;
Portrait and Sign-manual of Ferdinand of Spain, 85; Bartholomew
Columbus, 86.
POSTSCRIPT 88
THE EARLIEST MAPS OF THE SPANISH AND PORTUGUESE DISCOVERIES.
_The Editor_ 93
ILLUSTRATIONS: Early Compass, 94; Astrolabe of Regiomontanus,
96; Later Astrolabe, 97; Jackstaff, 99; Backstaff, 100;
Pirckeymerus, 102; Toscanelli’s Map, 103; Martin Behaim, 104;
Extract from Behaim’s Globe, 105; Part of La Cosa’s Map,
106; of the Cantino Map, 108; Peter Martyr Map (1511), 110;
Ptolemy Map (1513), 111; Admiral’s Map (1513), 112; Reisch’s
Map (1515), 114; Ruysch’s Map (1508), 115; Stobnicza’s Map
(1512), 116; Schöner, 117; Schöner’s Globe (1515), 118; (1520),
119; Tross Gores (1514-1519), 120; Münster’s Map (1532), 121;
Sylvanus’ Map (1511), 122; Lenox Globe, 123; Da Vinci Sketch of
Globe, 124, 125, 126; Carta Marina of Frisius (1525), 127;
Coppo’s Map (1528), 127.
CHAPTER II.
AMERIGO VESPUCCI. _Sydney Howard Gay_ 129
ILLUSTRATIONS: Fac-simile of a Letter of Vespucci, 130;
Autograph of Amerrigo Vespuche, 138; Portraits of Vespucci,
139, 140, 141.
NOTES ON VESPUCIUS AND THE NAMING OF AMERICA. _The Editor_ 153
ILLUSTRATIONS: Title of the Jehan Lambert edition of the
_Mundus Novus_, 157; first page of Vorsterman’s _Mundus Novus_,
158; Title of _De Ora Antarctica_, 159; title of _Von der neu
gefunden Region_, 160; Fac-simile of its first page, 161;
Ptolemy’s World, 165; Title of the _Cosmographiæ Introductio_,
167; Fac-simile of its reference to the name of America, 168;
the Lenox Globe (American parts), 170; Title of the 1509
edition of the _Cosmographiæ Introductio_, 171; title of the
_Globus Mundi_, 172; Map of Laurentius Frisius in the Ptolemy
of 1522, 175; American part of the Mercator Map of 1541, 177;
Portrait of Apianus, 179.
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF POMPONIUS MELA, SOLINUS, VADIANUS, AND APIANUS.
_The Editor_ 180
ILLUSTRATIONS: Pomponius Mela’s World, 180; Vadianus, 181; Part
of Apianus’ Map (1520), 183; Apianus, 185.
CHAPTER III.
THE COMPANIONS OF COLUMBUS. _Edward Channing_ 187
ILLUSTRATIONS: Map of Hispaniola, 188; Castilia del Oro, 190;
Cartagena, 192; Balbóa, 195; Havana, 202.
CRITICAL ESSAY 204
ILLUSTRATION: Juan de Grijalva, 216.
THE EARLY CARTOGRAPHY OF THE GULF OF MEXICO AND ADJACENT PARTS.
_The Editor_ 217
ILLUSTRATIONS: Map of the Pacific (1518), 217; of the Gulf of
Mexico (1520), 218; by Lorenz Friess (1522), 218; by Maiollo
(1527), 219; by Nuño Garcia de Toreno (1527), 220; by Ribero
(1529), 221; The so-called Lenox Woodcut (1534), 223; Early
French Map, 224; Gulf of Mexico (1536), 225; by Rotz (1542),
226; by Cabot (1544), 227; in Ramusio (1556), 228; by Homem
(1558), 229; by Martines (1578), 229; of Cuba, by Wytfliet
(1597), 230.
CHAPTER IV.
ANCIENT FLORIDA. _John G. Shea_ 231
ILLUSTRATIONS: Ponce de Leon, 235; Hernando de Soto, 252;
Autograph of De Soto, 253; of Mendoza, 254; Map of Florida
(1565), 264; Site of Fort Caroline, 265; View of St. Augustine,
266; Spanish Vessels, 267; Building of Fort Caroline, 268; Fort
Caroline completed, 269; Map of Florida (1591), 274; Wytfliet’s
Map (1597), 281.
CRITICAL ESSAY 283
ILLUSTRATIONS: Map of Ayllon’s Explorations, 285; Autograph of
Narvaez, 286; of Cabeza de Vaca, 287; of Charles V., 289; of
Biedma, 290; Map of the Mississippi (sixteenth century), 292;
Delisle’s Map, with the Route of De Soto, 294, 295.
CHAPTER V.
LAS CASAS, AND THE RELATIONS OF THE SPANIARDS TO THE INDIANS.
_George E. Ellis_ 299
CRITICAL ESSAY 331
ILLUSTRATIONS: Las Casas, 332; his Autograph, 333; Titlepages
of his Tracts, 334, 336, 338; Fac-simile of his Handwriting,
339.
EDITORIAL NOTE 343
ILLUSTRATIONS: Autograph of Motolinia, 343; Title of Oviedo’s
_Natural Hystoria_ (1526), 344; Arms of Oviedo, 345; his
Autograph, 346; Head of Benzoni, 347.
CHAPTER VI.
CORTÉS AND HIS COMPANIONS. _The Editor_ 349
ILLUSTRATIONS: Velasquez, 350; Cannon of Cortés’ time, 352;
Helps’s Map of Cortés’ Voyage, 353; Cortés and his Arms, 354;
Gabriel Lasso de la Vega, 355; Cortés, 357; Map of the March
of Cortés, 358; Cortés, 360; Montezuma, 361, 363; Map of
Mexico before the Conquest, 364; Pedro de Alvarado, 366; his
Autograph, 367; Helps’s Map of the Mexican Valley, 369; Tree of
Triste Noche, 370; Charles V., 371, 373; his Autograph, 372;
Wilson’s Map of the Mexican Valley, 374; Jourdanet’s Map of
the Valley, _colored_, 375; Mexico under the Conquerors, 377;
Mexico according to Ramusio, 379; Cortés in Jovius, 381; his
Autograph, 381; Map of Guatemala and Honduras, 384; Autograph
of Sandoval, 387; his Portrait, 388; Cortés after Herrera, 389;
his Armor, 390; Autograph of Fuenleal, 391; Map of Mexico after
Herrera, 392; Acapulco, 394; Full-length Portrait of Cortés,
395; Likeness on a Medal, 396.
CRITICAL ESSAY 397
ILLUSTRATION: Autograph of Icazbalceta, 397.
NOTES 402
ILLUSTRATIONS: Cortés before Charles V., 403; Cortés’ Map of
the Gulf of Mexico, 404; Title of the Latin edition of his
Letters (1524), 405; Reverse of its Title, 406; Portrait of
Clement VII., 407; Autograph of Gayangos, 408; Lorenzana’s
Map of Spain, 408; Title of _De insulis nuper inventis_, 409;
Title of Gomara’s _Historia_ (1553), 413; Autograph of Bernal
Diaz, 414; of Sahagun, 416; Portrait of Solis, 423; Portrait of
William H. Prescott, 426.
DISCOVERIES ON THE PACIFIC COAST OF NORTH AMERICA.
_The Editor_ 431
ILLUSTRATIONS: Map from the Sloane Manuscripts (1530), 432;
from Ruscelli (1544), 432; Nancy Globe, 433; from Ziegler’s
_Schondia_ (1532), 434; Carta Marina (1548), 435; Vopellio’s
Map (1556), 436; Titlepage of Girava’s _Cosmographia_, 437;
Furlani’s Map (1560), 438; Map of the Pacific (1513), 440;
Cortés’ Map of the California Peninsula, 442; Castillo’s Map of
the California Gulf (1541), 444; Map by Homem (1540), 446; by
Cabot (1544), 447; by Freire (1546), 448; in Ptolemy (1548),
449; by Martines (155-?), 450; by Zaltieri (1566), 451; by
Mercator (1569), 452; by Porcacchi (1572), 453; by Furlani
(1574), 454; from Molineaux’ Globe (1592), 455; a Spanish
Galleon, 456; Map of the Gulf of California by Wytfliet (1597),
458; of America by Wytfliet (1597), 459; of Terre de Iesso,
464; of the California Coast by Dudley (1646), 465; Diagram of
Mercator’s Projection, 470.
CHAPTER VII.
EARLY EXPLORATIONS OF NEW MEXICO. _Henry W. Haynes_ 473
ILLUSTRATIONS: Autograph of Coronado, 481; Map of his
Explorations, 485; Early Drawings of the Buffalo, 488, 489.
CRITICAL ESSAY 498
EDITORIAL NOTE 503
CHAPTER VIII.
PIZARRO, AND THE CONQUEST AND SETTLEMENT OF PERU AND CHILI.
_Clements R. Markham_ 505
ILLUSTRATIONS: Indian Rafts, 508; Sketch-maps of the Conquest
of Peru, 509, 519; picture of Embarkation, 512; Ruge’s Map
of Pizarro’s Discoveries, 513; Native Huts in Trees, 514;
Atahualpa, 515, 516; Almagro, 518; Plan of Ynca Fortress near
Cusco, 521; Building of a Town, 522; Gabriel de Rojas, 523;
Sketch-map of the Conquest of Chili, 524; Pedro de Valdivia,
529, 530; Pastene, 531; Pizarro, 532, 533; Vaca de Castro,
535; Pedro de la Gasca, 539, 540; Alonzo de Alvarado, 544;
Conception Bay, 548; Garcia Hurtado de Mendoza, 550; Peruvians
worshipping the Sun, 551; Cusco, 554; Temple of Cusco, 555;
Wytfliet’s Map of Peru, 558; of Chili, 559; Sotomayor, 562;
Title of the 1535 Xeres, 565.
CRITICAL ESSAY 563
ILLUSTRATION: Title of the 1535 Xeres, 565.
EDITORIAL NOTES 573
ILLUSTRATION: Prescott’s Library, 577.
THE AMAZON AND ELDORADO. _The Editor_ 579
ILLUSTRATIONS: Gonzalo Ximenes de Quesada, 580; Sketch-map,
581; Castellanos, 583; Map of the Mouths of the Orinoco, 586;
De Laet’s Map of Parime Lacus, 588.
CHAPTER IX.
MAGELLAN’S DISCOVERY. _Edward E. Hale_ 591
ILLUSTRATIONS: Autograph of Magellan, 592; Portraits of
Magellan, 593, 594, 595; Indian Beds, 597; South American
Cannibals, 598; Giant’s Skeleton at Porto Desire, 602;
Quoniambec, 603; Pigafetta’s Map of Magellan’s Straits, 605;
Chart of the Pacific, showing Magellan’s Track, 610; Pigafetta’s
Map of the Ladrones, 611.
CRITICAL ESSAY 613
INDEX 619
INTRODUCTION.
BY THE EDITOR.
DOCUMENTARY SOURCES OF EARLY SPANISH-AMERICAN HISTORY.
THE earliest of the historians to use, to any extent, documentary
proofs, was Herrera, in his _Historia general_, first published in
1601.[1] As the official historiographer of the Indies, he had the best
of opportunities for access to the great wealth of documents which the
Spanish archivists had preserved; but he never distinctly quotes them,
or says where they are to be found.[2] It is through him that we are
aware of some important manuscripts not now known to exist.[3]
The formation of the collections at Simancas, near Valladolid,
dates back to an order of Charles the Fifth, Feb. 19, 1543. New
accommodations were added from time to time, as documents were removed
thither from the bureaus of the Crown Secretaries, and from those
of the Councils of Seville and of the Indies. It was reorganized by
Philip II., in 1567, on a larger basis, as a depository for historical
research, when masses of manuscripts from other parts of Spain
were transported thither;[4] but the comparatively small extent of
the Simancas Collection does not indicate that the order was very
extensively observed; though it must be remembered that Napoleon made
havoc among these papers, and that in 1814 it was but a remnant which
was rearranged.[5]
Dr. Robertson was the earliest of the English writers to make even
scant use of the original manuscript sources of information; and such
documents as he got from Spain were obtained through the solicitation
and address of Lord Grantham, the English ambassador. Everything,
however, was grudgingly given, after being first directly refused. It
is well known that the Spanish Government considered even what he did
obtain and make use of as unfit to be brought to the attention of their
own public, and the authorities interposed to prevent the translation
of Robertson’s history into Spanish.
In his preface Dr. Robertson speaks of the peculiar solicitude with
which the Spanish archives were concealed from strangers in his time;
and he tells how, to Spanish subjects even, those of Simancas were
opened only upon a royal order. Papers notwithstanding such order,
he says, could be copied only by payment of fees too exorbitant to
favor research.[6] By order of Fernando VI., in the last century, a
collection of selected copies of the most important documents in the
various depositories of archives was made; and this was placed in the
Biblioteca Nacional at Madrid.
In 1778 Charles III. ordered that the documents of the Indies in the
Spanish offices and depositories should be brought together in one
place. The movement did not receive form till 1785, when a commission
was appointed; and not till 1788, did Simancas, and the other
collections drawn upon, give up their treasures to be transported to
Seville, where they were placed in the building provided for them.[7]
Muñoz, who was born in 1745, was commissioned in 1779 by the King
with authority[8] to search archives, public and family, and to write
and publish a _Historia del nuevo mundo_. Of this work only a single
volume,[9] bringing the story down to 1500, was completed, and it was
issued in 1793. Muñoz gave in its preface a critical review of the
sources of his subject. In the prosecution of his labor he formed
a collection of documents, which after his death was scattered;
but parts of it were, in 1827, in the possession of Don Antonio de
Uguina,[10] and later of Ternaux. The Spanish Government exerted
itself to reassemble the fragments of this collection, which is now,
in great part, in the Academy of History at Madrid,[11] where it has
been increased by other manuscripts from the archives at Seville.
Other portions are lodged, however, in ministerial offices, and the
most interesting are noted by Harrisse in his _Christophe Colomb_.[12]
A paper by Mr. J. Carson Brevoort on Muñoz and his manuscripts is in
the _American Bibliopolist_ (vol. viii. p. 21), February, 1876.[13] An
English translation of Muñoz’s single volume appeared in 1797, with
notes, mostly translated from the German version by Sprengel, published
in 1795. Rich had a manuscript copy made of all that Muñoz wrote of his
second volume (never printed), and this copy is noted in the _Brinley
Catalogue_, no. 47.[14]
[Illustration: AUTOGRAPH OF MUÑOZ.]
“In the days of Muñoz,” says Harrisse in his _Notes on Columbus_, p.
1, “the great repositories for original documents concerning Columbus
and the early history of Spanish America were the Escurial, Simancas,
the Convent of Monserrate, the colleges of St. Bartholomew and Cuenca
at Salamanca, and St. Gregory at Valladolid, the Cathedral of Valencia,
the Church of Sacro-Monte in Granada, the convents of St. Francis
at Tolosa, St. Dominick at Malaga, St. Acacio, St. Joseph, and St.
Isidro del Campo at Seville. There may be many valuable records still
concealed in those churches and convents.”
The originals of the letters-patent, and other evidences of privileges
granted by the Spanish monarchs to Columbus, were preserved by him,
and now constitute a part of the collection of the Duke of Veraguas,
in Madrid. In 1502 Columbus caused several attested copies of them
and of a few other documents to be made, raising the number of papers
from thirty-six to forty-four. His care in causing these copies to be
distributed among different custodians evinces the high importance
which he held them to have, as testimonials to his fame and his
prominence in the world’s history. One wishes he could have had a like
solicitude for the exactness of his own statements. Before setting out
on his fourth voyage, he intrusted one of these copies to Francesco
di Rivarolo, for delivery to Nicoló Odérigo, the ambassador of Genoa,
in Madrid. From Cadiz shortly afterwards he sent a second copy to the
same Odérigo. In 1670 both of these copies were given, by a descendant
of Odérigo, to the Republic of Genoa. They subsequently disappeared
from the archives of the State, and Harrisse[15] has recently found
one of them in the archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs at
Paris. The other was bought in 1816 by the Sardinian Government, at a
sale of the effects of Count Michael-Angelo Cambiasi. After a copy had
been made and deposited in the archives at Turin, this second copy was
deposited in a marble custodia, surmounted by a bust of Columbus, and
placed in the palace of the Doges in Genoa.[16] These documents, with
two of the letters addressed (March 21, 1502, and Dec. 27, 1504)[17]
to Odérigo, were published in Genoa in 1823 in the _Codice diplomatico
Colombo-Americano_, edited with a biographical introduction by Giovanni
Battista Spotorno.[18] A third letter (April 2, 1502), addressed to the
governors of the Bank of St. George, was not printed by Spotorno, but
was given in English in 1851 in the _Memorials of Columbus_ by Robert
Dodge, published by the Maryland Historical Society.[19]
The State Archives of Genoa were transferred from the Ducal Palace, in
1817, to the Palazzetto, where they now are; and Harrisse’s account[20]
of them tells us what they do not contain respecting Columbus, rather
than what they do. We also learn from him something of the “Archives
du Notariat Génois,” and of the collections formed by the Senator
Federico Federici (d. 1647), by Gian Battista Richeri (_circa_ 1724),
and by others; but they seem to have afforded Harrisse little more than
stray notices of early members of the Colombo family.
Washington Irving refers to the “self-sustained zeal of one of the last
veterans of Spanish literature, who is almost alone, yet indefatigable,
in his labors in a country where at present literary exertion meets
with but little excitement or reward.” Such is his introduction of
Martin Fernandez de Navarrete,[21] who was born in 1765, and as a
young man gave some active and meritorious service in the Spanish
navy. In 1789 he was forced by ill-health to abandon the sea. He then
accepted a commission from Charles IV. to examine all the depositories
of documents in the kingdom, and arrange the material to be found in
illustration of the history of the Spanish navy.[22] This work he
continued, with interruptions, till 1825, when he began at Madrid the
publication of his _Coleccion de los viages y descubrimientos que
hicieron por mar los Españoles desde fines del siglo XV._,[23] which
reached an extent of five volumes, and was completed in 1837. It put
in convenient printed form more than five hundred documents of great
value, between the dates of 1393 and 1540. A sixth and seventh volume
were left unfinished at his death, which occurred in 1844, at the age
of seventy-eight.[24] His son afterward gathered some of his minor
writings, including biographies of early navigators,[25] and printed
(1848) them as a _Coleccion de opúsculos_; and in 1851 another of his
works, _Biblioteca maritima Española_, was printed at Madrid in two
volumes.[26]
The first two volumes of his collection (of which volumes there was
a second edition in 1858) bore the distinctive title, _Relaciones,
cartas y otros documentos, concernientes á los cuatro viages que
hizo el Almirante D. Cristóbal Colon para el descubrimiento de las
Indias occidentales, and Documentos diplomáticos_. Three years later
(1828) a French version of these two volumes appeared at Paris, which
Navarrete himself revised, and which is further enriched with notes by
Humboldt, Jomard, Walckenaer, and others.[27] This French edition is
entitled: _Relation des quatres voyages entrepris par Ch. Colomb pour
la découverte du Nouveau Monde de 1492 à 1504, traduite par Chalumeau
de Vernéuil? et de la Roquette_. It is in three volumes, and is worth
about twenty francs. An Italian version, _Narrazione dei quattro
viaggi_, etc., was made by F. Giuntini, and appeared in two volumes at
Prato in 1840-1841.[28]
Navarrete’s literary labors did not prevent much conspicuous service
on his part, both at sea and on land; and in 1823, not long before
he published his great Collection, he became the head of the Spanish
hydrographic bureau.[29] After his death the Spanish Academy printed
(1846) his historical treatise on the Art of Navigation and kindred
subjects (_Disertacion sobre la historia de la náutica_[30]), which was
an enlargement of an earlier essay published in 1802.
While Navarrete’s great work was in progress at Madrid, Mr. Alexander
H. Everett, the American Minister at that Court, urged upon Washington
Irving, then at Bordeaux, the translation into English of the new
material which Navarrete was preparing, together with his Commentary.
Upon this incentive Irving went to Madrid and inspected the work, which
was soon published. His sense of the popular demand easily convinced
him that a continuous narrative, based upon Navarrete’s material,—but
leaving himself free to use all other helps,—would afford him better
opportunities to display his own graceful literary skill, and more
readily to engage the favor of the general reader. Irving’s judgment
was well founded; and Navarrete never quite forgave him for making a
name more popularly associated with that of the great discoverer than
his own.[31] Navarrete afforded Irving at this time much personal help
and encouragement. Obadiah Rich, the American Consul at Valencia, under
whose roof Irving lived, furnished him, however, his chief resource in
a curious and extensive library. To the Royal Library, and to that of
the Jesuit College of San Isidro, Irving also occasionally resorted.
The Duke of Veraguas took pleasure in laying before him his own family
archives.[32] The result was the _Life and Voyages of Christopher
Columbus_; and in the Preface, dated at Madrid in 1827,[33] Irving made
full acknowledgment of the services which had been rendered to him.
This work was followed, not long after, by the _Voyages and Discoveries
of the Companions of Columbus_; and ever since, in English and other
languages, the two books have kept constant company.[34]
Irving proved an amiable hero-worshipper, and Columbus was pictured
with few questionable traits. The writer’s literary canons did not
call for the scrutiny which destroys a world’s exemplar. “One of the
most salutary purposes of history,” he says, “is to furnish examples
of what human genius and laudable enterprise may accomplish,”—and such
brilliant examples must be rescued from the “pernicious erudition” of
the investigator. Irving’s method at least had the effect to conciliate
the upholders of the saintly character of the discoverer; and the
modern school of the De Lorgues, who have been urging the canonization
of Columbus, find Irving’s ideas of him higher and juster than those of
Navarrete.
* * * * *
Henri Ternaux-Compans printed his | 3,418.186934 |
2023-11-16 19:14:02.2658470 | 2,119 | 7 |
Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN EYES
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage
PREPARER'S NOTE: The Girl with the Golden Eyes is the third part of a
trilogy. Part one is entitled Ferragus and part two is The Duchesse de
Langeais. The three stories are frequently combined under the title The
Thirteen.
DEDICATION
To Eugene Delacroix, Painter.
THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN EYES
One of those sights in which most horror is to be encountered is,
surely, the general aspect of the Parisian populace--a people fearful
to behold, gaunt, yellow, tawny. Is not Paris a vast field in perpetual
turmoil from a storm of interests beneath which are whirled along a crop
of human beings, who are, more often than not, reaped by death, only to
be born again as pinched as ever, men whose twisted and contorted faces
give out at every pore the instinct, the desire, the poisons with
which their brains are pregnant; not faces so much as masks; masks of
weakness, masks of strength, masks of misery, masks of joy, masks of
hypocrisy; all alike worn and stamped with the indelible signs of
a panting cupidity? What is it they want? Gold or pleasure? A few
observations upon the soul of Paris may explain the causes of its
cadaverous physiognomy, which has but two ages--youth and decay: youth,
wan and colorless; decay, painted to seem young. In looking at
this excavated people, foreigners, who are not prone to reflection,
experience at first a movement of disgust towards the capital, that
vast workshop of delights, from which, in a short time, they cannot even
extricate themselves, and where they stay willingly to be corrupted. A
few words will suffice to justify physiologically the almost infernal
hue of Parisian faces, for it is not in mere sport that Paris has been
called a hell. Take the phrase for truth. There all is smoke and fire,
everything gleams, crackles, flames, evaporates, dies out, then lights
up again, with shooting sparks, and is consumed. In no other country has
life ever been more ardent or acute. The social nature, even in fusion,
seems to say after each completed work: "Pass on to another!" just as
Nature says herself. Like Nature herself, this social nature is busied
with insects and flowers of a day--ephemeral trifles; and so, too,
it throws up fire and flame from its eternal crater. Perhaps, before
analyzing the causes which lend a special physiognomy to each tribe of
this intelligent and mobile nation, the general cause should be pointed
out which bleaches and discolors, tints with blue or brown individuals
in more or less degree.
By dint of taking interest in everything, the Parisian ends by being
interested in nothing. No emotion dominating his face, which friction
has rubbed away, it turns gray like the faces of those houses upon which
all kinds of dust and smoke have blown. In effect, the Parisian, with
his indifference on the day for what the morrow will bring forth,
lives like a child, whatever may be his age. He grumbles at everything,
consoles himself for everything, jests at everything, forgets,
desires, and tastes everything, seizes all with passion, quits all with
indifference--his kings, his conquests, his glory, his idols of bronze
or glass--as he throws away his stockings, his hats, and his fortune. In
Paris no sentiment can withstand the drift of things, and their current
compels a struggle in which the passions are relaxed: there love is
a desire, and hatred a whim; there's no true kinsman but the
thousand-franc note, no better friend than the pawnbroker. This
universal toleration bears its fruits, and in the salon, as in the
street, there is no one _de trop_, there is no one absolutely useful,
or absolutely harmful--knaves or fools, men of wit or integrity. There
everything is tolerated: the government and the guillotine, religion and
the cholera. You are always acceptable to this world, you will never
be missed by it. What, then, is the dominating impulse in this country
without morals, without faith, without any sentiment, wherein, however,
every sentiment, belief, and moral has its origin and end? It is gold
and pleasure. Take those two words for a lantern, and explore that great
stucco cage, that hive with its black gutters, and follow the windings
of that thought which agitates, sustains, and occupies it! Consider!
And, in the first place, examine the world which possesses nothing.
The artisan, the man of the proletariat, who uses his hands, his tongue,
his back, his right arm, his five fingers, to live--well, this very man,
who should be the first to economize his vital principle, outruns his
strength, yokes his wife to some machine, wears out his child, and ties
him to the wheel. The manufacturer--or I know not what secondary thread
which sets in motion all these folk who with their foul hands mould
and gild porcelain, sew coats and dresses, beat out iron, turn wood and
steel, weave hemp, festoon crystal, imitate flowers, work woolen things,
break in horses, dress harness, carve in copper, paint carriages, blow
glass, corrode the diamond, polish metals, turn marble into leaves,
labor on pebbles, deck out thought, tinge, bleach, or blacken
everything--well, this middleman has come to that world of sweat and
good-will, of study and patience, with promises of lavish wages, either
in the name of the town's caprices or with the voice of the monster
dubbed speculation. Thus, these _quadrumanes_ set themselves to watch,
work, and suffer, to fast, sweat, and bestir them. Then, careless of the
future, greedy of pleasure, counting on their right arm as the painter
on his palette, lords for one day, they throw their money on Mondays
to the _cabarets_ which gird the town like a belt of mud, haunts of the
most shameless of the daughters of Venus, in which the periodical money
of this people, as ferocious in their pleasures as they are calm at
work, is squandered as it had been at play. For five days, then, there
is no repose for this laborious portion of Paris! It is given up to
actions which make it warped and rough, lean and pale, gush forth with a
thousand fits of creative energy. And then its pleasure, its repose,
are an exhausting debauch, swarthy and black with blows, white with
intoxication, or yellow with indigestion. It lasts but two days, but it
steals to-morrow's bread, the week's soup, the wife's dress, the child's
wretched rags. Men, born doubtless to be beautiful--for all creatures
have a relative beauty--are enrolled from their childhood beneath the
yoke of force, beneath the rule of the hammer, the chisel, the loom, and
have been promptly vulcanized. Is not Vulcan, with his hideousness and
his strength, the emblem of this strong and hideous nation--sublime
in its mechanical intelligence, patient in its season, and once in a
century terrible, inflammable as gunpowder, and ripe with brandy for
the madness of revolution, with wits enough, in fine, to take fire at
a captious word, which signifies to it always: Gold and Pleasure! If
we comprise in it all those who hold out their hands for an alms, for
lawful wages, or the five francs that are granted to every kind of
Parisian prostitution, in short, for all the money well or ill earned,
this people numbers three hundred thousand individuals. Were it not for
the _cabarets_, would not the Government be overturned every Tuesday?
Happily, by Tuesday, this people is glutted, sleeps off its pleasure, is
penniless, and returns to its labor, to dry bread, stimulated by a need
of material procreation, which has become a habit to it. None the
less, this people has its phenomenal virtues, its complete men, unknown
Napoleons, who are the type of its strength carried to its highest
expression, and sum up its social capacity in an existence wherein
thought and movement combine less to bring joy into it than to
neutralize the action of sorrow.
Chance has made an artisan economical, chance has favored him with
forethought, he has been able to look forward, has met with a wife and
found himself a father, and, after some years of hard privation, he
embarks in some little draper's business, hires a shop. If neither
sickness nor vice blocks his way--if he has prospered--there is the
sketch of this normal life.
And, in the first place, hail to that king of Parisian activity, to whom
time and space give way. Yes, hail to that being, composed of saltpetre
and gas, who makes children for France during his laborious nights,
and in the day multiplies his personality for the service, glory,
and pleasure of his fellow-citizens. This man solves the problem
of sufficing at once to his amiable wife, to his hearth, to the
_Constitutionnel_, to his office, to the National Guard, to the opera,
and to God; | 3,418.285887 |
2023-11-16 19:14:02.2689080 | 1,863 | 37 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed
Proofreaders
DAMON
AND
DELIA:
A TALE.
--NEQUE SEMPER ARCUM
TENDIT APOLLO. HOR.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR T. HOOKHAM, AT HIS CIRCULATING
LIBRARY, NEW BOND-STEET, CORNER
OF BRUTON-STREET.
M,DCC,LXXXIV.
CONTENTS
PART the FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
_Containing introductory Matter._
CHAPTER II.
_A Ball_
CHAPTER III.
_A Ghost._
CHAPTER IV.
_A love Scene._
CHAPTER V.
_A Man of Humour._
CHAPTER VI.
_Containing some Specimens of Heroism._
CHAPTER VII.
_Containing that with which the Reader will be acquainted when he has
read it._
CHAPTER VIII.
_Two Persons of Fashion._
CHAPTER IX.
_A tragical Resolution._
CONTENTS.
PART the SECOND.
CHAPTER I.
_In which the Story begins over again_.
CHAPTER II.
_The History of Mr. Godfrey_.
CHAPTER III.
_A Misanthrope_.
CHAPTER IV.
_Much ado about nothing_.
CHAPTER V.
_A Woman of learning_.
CHAPTER VI.
_A Catastrophe_.
CHAPTER VII.
_Containing what will terrify the Reader_.
CHAPTER VIII.
_A Denouement_.
CHAPTER IX.
_Which dismisses the Reader_.
DAMON
AND
DELIA.
PART the FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
_Containing introductory matter_.
The races at Southampton have, for time immemorial, constituted a scene of
rivalship, war, and envy. All the passions incident to the human frame
have here assumed as true a scope, as in the more noisy and more tragical
contentions of statesmen and warriors. Here nature has displayed her most
hidden attractions, and art has furnished out the artillery of beauty.
Here the coquet has surprised, and the love-sick nymph has sapped the
heart of the unwary swain. The scene has been equally sought by the bolder
and more haughty, as by the timid sex. Here the foxhunter has sought a new
subject of his boast in the _nonchalance_ of _dishabille_; the
peer has played off the dazzling charms of a coronet and a star; and the
_petit maitre_ has employed the anxious niceties of dress.
Of all the beauties in this brilliant circle, she, who was incomparably
the most celebrated, was the graceful Delia. Her person, though not
absolutely tall, had an air of dignity. Her form was bewitching, and her
neck was alabaster. Her cheeks glowed with the lovely vermilion of nature,
her mouth was small and pouting, her lips were coral, and her teeth whiter
than the driven snow. Her forehead was bold, high, and polished, her
eyebrows were arched, and from beneath them her fine blue eyes shone with
intelligence, and sparkled with heedless gaiety. Her hair was of the
brightest auburn, it was in the greatest abundance, and when, unfettered
by the ligaments of fashion, it flowed about her shoulders and her lovely
neck, it presented the most ravishing object that can possibly be
imagined.
With all this beauty, it Cannot be supposed but that Delia was followed by
a train of admirers. The celebrated Mr. Prattle, for whom a thousand fair
ones cracked their fans and tore their caps, was one of the first to
enlist himself among her adorers. Squire Savage, the fox-hunter, who, like
Hippolitus of old, chased the wily fox and timid hare, and had never yet
acknowledged the empire of beauty, was subdued by the artless sweetness of
Delia. Nay, it has been reported, that the incomparable lord Martin, a
peer of ten thousand pounds a year, had made advances to her father. It is
true, his lordship was scarcely four feet three inches in stature, his
belly was prominent, one leg was half a foot shorter, and one shoulder
half a foot higher than the other. His temper was as crooked as his shape;
the sight of a happy human being would give him the spleen; and no mortal
man could long reside under the same roof with him. But in spite of these
trifling imperfections, it has been confidently affirmed, that some of the
haughtiest beauties of Hampshire would have been proud of his alliance.
Thus assailed with all the temptations that human nature could furnish, it
might naturally be supposed, that Delia had long since resigned her heart.
But in this conjecture, however natural, the reader will find himself
mistaken. She seemed as coy as Daphne, and as cold as Diana. She diverted
herself indeed with the insignificant loquaciousness of Mr. Prattle, and
the aukward gallantry of the Squire; but she never bestowed upon either a
serious thought. And for lord Martin, who was indisputably allowed to be
the best match in the county, she could not bear to hear him named with
patience, and she always turned pale at the sight of him.
But Delia was not destined always to laugh at the darts of Cupid. Mrs.
Bridget her waiting maid, delighted to run over the list of her adorers,
and she was much more eloquent and more copious upon the subject than we
have been. When her mistress received the mention of each with gay
indifference, Mrs. Bridget would close the dialogue, and with a sagacious
look, and a shake of her head, would tell the lovely Delia, that the
longer it was before her time came, the more surely and the more deeply
she would be caught at last. And to say truth, the wisest philosopher
might have joined in the verdict of the sage Bridget. There was a softness
in the temper of Delia, that seemed particularly formed for the tender
passion. The voice of misery never assailed her ear in vain. Her purse was
always open to the orphan, the maimed, and the sick. After reading a
tender tale of love, the intricacies of the Princess of Cleves, the soft
distress of Sophia Western, or the more modern story of the Sorrows of
Werter, her gentle breast would heave with sighs, and her eye, suffused
with tears, confess a congenial spirit.
The father of Delia--let the reader drop a tear over this blot in our
little narrative--had once been a tradesman. He was naturally phlegmatic,
methodical, and avaricious. His ear was formed to relish better the hoarse
voice of an exchange broker, than the finest tones of Handel's organ. He
found something much more agreeable and interesting in the perusal of his
ledger and his day book, than in the scenes of Shakespeare, or the
elegance of Addison. With this disposition, he had notwithstanding, when
age had chilled the vigour of his limbs, and scattered her snow over those
hairs which had escaped the hands of the barber, resigned his shop, and
retired to enjoy the fruits of his industry. It is as natural for a
tradesman in modern times to desire to die in the tranquillity of a
gentleman, as it was for the Saxon kings of the Heptarchy to act the same
inevitable scene amidst the severities of a cloister.
The old gentleman however found, and it is not impossible that some of his
brethren may have found it before him, when the great transaction was
irretrievably over, that retirement and indolence did not constitute the
situation for which either nature or habit had fitted him. It has been
observed by some of those philosophers who have made the human mind the
object of their study, that idleness is often the mother of love. It might
indeed have been supposed, that Mr. Hartley, for that was his name, by
having attained the age of sixty, might have outlived every danger of this
kind. But opportunity and temptation supplied that, which might have been
deficient on the side of nature.
Within a little mile of the mansion in which he had taken up his retreat,
resided two ancient maiden ladies. Under cover of the venerable age to
which they had attained, they had laid aside many of those modes which
coyness and modesty have prescribed to their sex. The visits of a man were
avowedly as welcome to them, and indeed | 3,418.288948 |
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