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# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Hawkes, Major-General Henry Montague Packington

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​Hawkes, Major-General Henry Montague Packington, C.B.(1904), C.S.I. (1909), Indian Army; b. 1855; s. of Col. R. Hawkes, 80th Regt; Joined army, 1872; Captain 1884; Major, 1892: Lieut-Col. 1898; Col. 1901; Maj-Gen. 1905, served Afghan War 1879-80; Isazai Expedition, 1892; Tirah, 1897-98. m. Mary Isabel Jessie, d. of late Charles Woodgate, 1889. Club: East India United Service.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Heaton. Joseph John

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​Heaton. Joseph John, I. C. S., Judge High Court, Bombay; educ: at Bradford G rammer School, and King’s College, Cambridge; joined service, 1881; Joint Judge, the same year; Private Secretary to Governor, 1895-98; District and Sessions Judge, Bombay, 1898; Judl Commissioner, Sind, 1907; Judge, High Court, Bombay since 1908. Address: Bombay. India.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Hatwa, Maharani of; Maharani Gyan Manjari Kuori

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​Hatwa, Maharani of; Maharani Gyan Manjari Kuori, K.H.G.M.; widow of Maharaja Jiahadur Sir Kishen Pratap Sahi, K.C.I.E., and mother of Maharaj Guru Mahadev Asram Prasad Sahi, the present Maharaja of Hatwa; Addrees: Hathwa P.O. Saran District, Behar and Orissa, India.
# The Federal Bus Conductor and the Old Lady

Now 'urry, Mrs New South Wales, and come along of us, We're all a-goin' ridin' in the Federation 'bus. A fam'ly party, don't you know -- yes, Queenslans's comin', too, You can't afford it! Go along! We've kep' box seat for you. The very one of all the lot that can afford it best, You'll only have to pay your share the same as all the rest.
You say your sons is workin' men, and can't afford to ride! Well, all our sons is workin' men, a-smokin' up outside. You think you might be drove to smash by some unskilful bloke! Well, ain't we all got necks ourselves? And we don't want 'em broke. You bet your lofe we're not such fools but what we'll do our best To keep from harm -- for harm to one is harm to all the rest.
Now, don't go trudgin' on alone, but get aboard the trap; That basket, labelled "Capital", you take it in your lap! It's nearly time we made a start, so let's 'ave no more talk: You 'urry up and get aboard, or else stop out and walk. We've got a flag; we've got a band; out 'orses travels fast; Ho! Right away, Bill! Let 'em go! The old 'un's come at last!

## Notes

* ↑ The two major cities, Sydney in New south Wales, and Melbourne in Victoria, were rivals to be the new Capital. Finally, it was enshrined in the constitution that the capital was not to be within 100 miles of either. Ultimately, the terrirory for the capital, Canberra, was to be carved out of the uplands of southern New South Wales.
* ↑ "The old 'un", New South Wales, finally agreed to join in the Federation.
This work is in the public domain in Australia because it was created in Australia and the term of copyright has expired. According to Australian Copyright Council - Duration of Copyright, the following works are public domain:
* published non-government works whose author died before January 1, 1955,
* anonymous or pseudonymous works and photographs published before January 1, 1955, and
* government works published more than 50 years ago (before January 1, 1974).
This work is also in the public domain in the United States because it was first published outside the United States (and not published in the U.S. within 30 days), and it was first published before 1989 without complying with U.S. copyright formalities (renewal and/or copyright notice) and it was in the public domain in Australia on the URAA date (January 1, 1996). This is the combined effect of Australia having joined the Berne Convention in 1928, and of 17 USC 104A with its critical date of January 1, 1996.
Because the Australian copyright term in 1996 was 50 years, the critical date for copyright in the United States under the URAA is January 1, 1946.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Fawn and His Mother

Perry index 351
* "A Fawn and a Stag", translated by Roger L'Estrange, in Fables of Æsop and Other Eminent Mythologists (1692)
* "The Fawn and his Mother", translated by George Fyler Townsend, illustrated by Harrison Weir, in Three Hundred Æsop's Fables (1867)
* "The Fawn and his Mother", translated by Vernon Stanley Jones, in Æsop's fables: A New Translation (1912)
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Feast of Life

* The Feast of Life from The Bijou, 1829.
* The Feast of Life from The Vow of the Peacock and Other Poems, 1835.
# The Fear

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Fear."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* The Fear, a poem by Robert Frost
* The Fear, a poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon under the pseudonym Iole
# The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries/Volume 7/Pentecost

ANNETTE von DROSTE-HÜLSHOFF
ANNETTE ELIZABETH VON DROSTE-HÜLSHOFF
PENTECOST (1839)
HE day was still, the sun's bright glare Fell sheer upon the Temple's beauteous wall Withered by tropic heat, the air Let, like a bird, its listless pinions fall. Behold a group, young men and gray, And women, kneeling; silence holds them all; They mutely pray!
Where is the faithful Comforter Whom, parting, Thou didst promise to Thine own? They trust Thy word which cannot err, But sad and full of fear the time has grown. The hour draws nigh; for forty days And forty wakeful nights toward Thee we've thrown Our weeping gaze.
Where is He? Hour on hour doth steal, And minute after minute swells the doubt. Where doth He bide? And though a seal Be on the mouth, the. soul must yet speak out. Hot winds blow, in the sandy lake The panting tiger moans and rolls about, Parched is the snake.
But hark! a murmur rises now, Swelling and swelling like a storm's advance, Yet standing grass-blades do not bow. And the still palm-tree listens in a trance. ​Why seem these men to quake with fear While each on other casts a wondering glance? Behold! 'Tis here! 'Tis here, 'tis here! the quivering light Rests on each head; what floods of ecstasy Throng in our veins with wondrous might! The future dawns; the flood-gates open free; Resistless pours the mighty Word; Now as a herald's call, now whisperingly, Its tone is heard.
Oh Light, oh Comforter, but there Alas! and but to them art Thou revealed And not to us, not everywhere Where drooping souls for comfort have appealed! I yearn for day that never breaks; Oh shine, before this eye is wholly sealed, Which weeps and wakes.
# The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries/Volume 7/On the Tower

ON THE TOWER (1842)
I stand aloft on the balcony.
The starlings around me crying,
And let like masnad my hair stream free
To the storm o'er the ramparts flying.
Oh headlong wind, on this narrow ledge
I would I could try thy muscle
And, breast to breast, two steps from the edge,
Fight it out in a deadly tussle.
Beneath me I see, like hounds at play. How billow on billow dashes;
Yea, tossing aloft the glittering spray,
The fierce throng hisses and clashes.
Oh, might I leap into the raging flood
And urge on the pack to harry ​The hidden glades of the coral wood, For the walrus, a worthy quarry! From yonder mast a flag streams out As bold as a royal pennant; I can watch the good ship lunge about From this tower of which I am tenant; But oh, might I be in the battling ship, Might I seize the rudder and steer her, How gay o'er the foaming reef we'd slip Like the sea-gulls circling near her!
Were I a hunter wandering free. Or a soldier in some sort of fashion, Or if I at least a man might be. The heav'ns would grant me my passion.
But now I must sit as fine and still As a child in its best of dresses. And only in secret may have my will And give to the wind my tresses.
# The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries/Volume 7/The Desolate House

THE DESOLATE HOUSE (1842)
Deep in a dell a woodsman's house Has sunk in wild dilapidation; There buried under vines and boughs I often sit in contemplation. So dense the tangle that the day Through heavy lashes can but glimmer; The rocky cleft is rendered dimmer By overshadowing tree-trunks gray.
Within that dell I love to hear The flies with their tumultuous humming, And solitary beetles near Amid the bushes softly drumming. ​And when the trickling cliffs of slate
The color from the sunset borrow,
Methinks an eye all red with sorrow
Looks down on me disconsolate.
The arbor peak with jagged edge
Wears many a vine-shoot long and meagre
And from the moss beneath the hedge
Creep forth carnations, nowise eager.
There from the moist cliff overhead
The muddy drippings oft bedew them,
Then creep in lazy streamlets through them
To sink within a fennel-bed.
Along the roof o'ergrown with moss
Has many a tuft of thatch projected,
A spider-web is built across
The window-jamb, else unprotected;
The wing of a gleaming dragon-fly
Hangs in it like some petal tender,
The body armed in golden splendor
Lies headless on the sill near-by.
A butterfly sometimes may chance
In heedless play to flutter hither
And stop in momentary trance
Where the narcissus blossoms wither; A dove that through the grove has flown
Above this dell no more will utter
Her coo, one can but hear her flutter
And see her shadow on the stone.
And in the fireplace where the snow
Each winter down the chimney dashes
A mass of bell-capped toad-stools grow
On viscid heaps of moldering ashes. ​High on a peg above the rest
A hank of rope-yarn limply dangles
Like rotted hair, and in the tangles
The swallow built her last year's nest.
An old dog-collar set with bells
Swings from a hook by clasp and tether,
With rude embroidery that spells
"Diana" worked upon the leather.
A flute too, when the woodsman died,
The men who dug his grave forgot here ;
The dog, his only friend, they shot here
And laid her by her master's side.
But while I sit in reverie,
A field-mouse near me shrilly crying, The squirrel barking from his tree, And from the marsh the frogs replying— Then eerie shudders o'er me shoot,
As if I caught from out the dingle
Diana's bells once more a-jingle
And echoes of the dead man's flute.
# The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries/Volume 5/Were I a Little Bird

Herder's "Der Flug der Liebe" ('The Flight of Love') from Volkslieder volume 1 (1778), as collected by Arnim and Brentano in Des Knaben Wunderhorn volume 1 (1805)
* Copyright Photographische Gesellschaft Moritz v. Schwind
* Permission Berlin Photo. Co., New York
* THE MAGIC HORN
LUDWIG ACHIM VON ARNIM AND CLEMENS BRENTANO
THE BOY'S MAGIC HORN (1806)
WERE I A LITTLE BIRD
Were I a little bird, And had two little wings, I'd fly to thee; But I must stay, because That cannot be.
Though I be far from thee, In sleep I dwell with thee, Thy voice I hear. But when I wake again, Then all is drear.
Each nightly hour my heart With thoughts of thee will start When I'm alone; For thou 'st a thousand times Pledged me thine own.
# The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries/Volume 5/The Tailor in Hell

"Rinaldo Rinaldini" ('Rinaldo Rinaldini'), collected by Arnim and Brentano in Des Knaben Wunderhorn volume 2 (1808)
THE TAILOR IN HELL
A tailor 'gan to wander One Monday morning fair, And then he met the devil, Whose feet and legs were bare: Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Come now with me to hell—oh,
And measure clothes for us to wear, For what we will, is well, oh!
The tailor measured, then he took His scissors long, and clipped The devils' little tails all off, And to and fro they skipped. Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Now hie thee out of hell—oh, We do not need this clipping, sir, For what we will, is well, oh!
The tailor took his iron out, And tossed it in the fire; The devils' wrinkles then he pressed; Their screams were something dire. Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Begone now from our hell—oh, We do not need this pressing. For what we will, is well, oh!
"Keep still!" he said and pierced their heads With a bodkin from his sack. "This way we put the buttons on, For that's our tailor's knack!" Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Now get thee out of hell—oh, We do not need this dressing, For what we will, is well, oh!
With thimble and with needle then His stitching he began. And closed the devils' nostrils up As tight as e'er one can. ​Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Now hie thee out of hell—oh, We cannot use our noses, Do what we will for smell, oh!
Then he began to cut away— It must have made them smart; With all his might the tailor ripped The devils' ears apart. Hallo, thou tailor-fellow, Now march away from hell—oh, We else should need a doctor, If what we will were well—oh!
And last of all came Lucifer And cried: "What horror fell! No devil has his little tail; So drive him out of hell." Hallo, thou tailor-fellow. Now hie thee out of hell—oh, We need to wear no clothes at all— For what we will, is well, oh!
And when the tailor's sack was packed, He felt so very well—oh! He hopped and skipped without dismay And had a laughing spell, oh! And hurried out of hell—oh, And stayed a tailor-fellow; And the devil will catch no tailor now, Let him steal, as he will—it is well, though!
# The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries/Volume 7/The Boy on the Moor

THE BOY ON THE MOOR (1841)
'Tis an eerie thing o'er the moor to fare When the eddies of peat-smoke justle, When the wraiths of mist whirl here and there And wind-blown tendrils tussle, When every step starts a hidden spring And the trodden moss-tufts hiss and sing— 'Tis an eerie thing o 'er the moor to fare When the tangled reed-beds rustle.
The child with his primer sets out alone And speeds as if he were hunted, The wind goes by with a hollow moan— There's a noise in the hedge-row stunted. 'Tis the turf-digger's ghost, near-by he dwells, And for drink his master's turf he sells. "Whoo! whoo!" comes a sound like a stray cow's groan; The poor boy's courage is daunted.
Then stumps loom up beside the ditch, Uncannily nod the the bushes, The boy running on, each nerve a-twitch, Through a jungle of spear-grass pushes. And where it trickles and crackles apace Is the Spinner's unholy hiding-place, The home of the cursed Spinning-witch Who turns her wheel 'mid the rushes.
On, ever on, goes the fearsome rout, In pursuit through that region fenny, At each wild stride the bubbles burst out. And the sounds from beneath are many. Until at length from the midst of the din Comes the squeak of a spectral violin, That must be the rascally fiddler lout Who ran off with the bridal penny!
​The turf splits open, and from the hole
Bursts forth an unhappy sighing,
"Alas, alas, for my wretched soul!"
'Tis poor damned Margaret crying!
The lad he leaps like a wounded deer,
And were not his guardian angel near
Some digger might find in a marshy knoll
Where his little bleached bones were lying.
But the ground grows firmer beneath his feet,
And there from over the meadow
A lamp is flickering homely-sweet;
The boy at the edge of the shadow
Looks back as he pauses to take his breath,
And in his glance is the fear of death.
'Twas eerie there 'mid the sedge and peat,
Ah, that was a place to dread, O!
# The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries/Volume 7/The House in the Heath

THE HOUSE IN THE HEATH (1841)
Beneath yon fir trees in the west, The sunset round it glowing, A cottage lies like bird on nest, With thatch roof hardly showing.
And there across the window-sill Leans out a white-starred heifer; She snorts and stamps, then breathes her fill Of evening's balmy zephyr.
Near-by reposes, hedged with thorn, A garden neatly tended; The sunflower looks about with scorn; The bell-flower's head is bended.
Hans am Ende
The Farm House
​And in the garden kneels a child, She weeds or merely dallies, A lily plucks with gesture mild And wanders down the alleys.
A shepherd group in distance dim Lie stretched upon the heather, And with a simple evening hymn Wake the still breeze together.
And from the roomy threshing hall The hammer strokes ring cheery, The plane gives forth a crunching drawl, The rasping saw sounds weary.
The evening star now greets the scene And smoothly soars above it, And o'er the cottage stands serene; He seems in truth to love it.
A vision with such beauty crowned, Had pious monks observed it. They straight upon a golden ground Had painted and preserved it.
The carpenter, the herdsmen there A pious choral sounding; The maiden with the lily fair, And peace the whole surrounding;
The wondrous star that beams on all From out the fields of heaven— May it not be that in the stall The Christ is born this even?
# The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/III

HELPING THE WORLD
One of the first qualifications which are required for the treading of the Path is single-mindedness or one-pointedness. Even worldly men succeed because they are one-pointed, and we can learn from them the value of determination on our own line. Our goal is not so tangible as theirs, so we have more difficulty in keeping the one-pointed attitude of mind; but in India the importance of the unseen is more easily realized than in the West. It is good to seek the company of those who are more advanced, to whom the realities of the Path are constantly present; also to read and hear and think about our purpose frequently, and unwaveringly to practise the virtues by which alone the perfect knowledge can come to us.
This an age of hurry and scurry; the tendency is for people to do a little of many things, but nothing thoroughly — to flutter from one thing to another. No man now devotes his life to a masterpiece, as was often done in the Middle Ages in Europe, in old days in India.
Occultism changes a man's life in many ways, but in none more than in this; it makes him absolutely one-pointed. Of course I do not mean that it causes him to neglect any duty that he used to do; on the contrary, the never-ceasing watch to fulfil every duty is its first prescription. But it gives him a keynote of life which is always sounding in his ears, which he never forgets for an instant — the key-note of helpfulness. Why? Because he learns what is the plan of the LOGOS, and tries to co-operate in it.
This involves many lines of action. To be able to help effectively he must make himself fit to help; hence he must undertake the most careful self-training, the elimination of evil qualities from himself, the development merit of good ones. Also he must maintain a constant watchfulness for opportunities to help.
One special method of helping the world lies ready to the hand of members of our Society — that of spreading Theosophic truth. We have no right and no desire to force our ideas on any one, but it is our duty and our privilege to give people the opportunity of knowing the real explanation of the problems of life. If when the water of life is offered, a man will not drink, that is his own affair; but at least we should see that none perishes through ignorance of the existence of that water.
We have then this duty of spreading the truth, and nothing should be allowed to interfere with it. This is the work that as a Society we have to do, and we must remember that the duty is binding upon each of us. Our minds must be filled with it, we must be constantly thinking and planning for it, seizing every opportunity that offers. It is not for us to excuse ourselves because some other member seems to be doing nothing; that is his business, and we are in no way concerned in it; but if we ourselves neglect to do our very best, we are failing in our duty. It was not to illumine our own path that this glorious light came to us, but that we also in our turn might be light-bearers to our suffering brothers.
# The Inner Life, v. I/Third Section/X

KILLING OUT DESIRE
We are often told that we must kill out desire; but it should be remembered that that is a gradual process. The lower and coarser desire which are meant by the Sanskrit word kama must certainly be killed out entirely before any sort of advancement can be made, but in the English sense of the word we all of us still have certain desire, and are likely to have them for a very long time to come. We desire keenly, for example, to serve the Master; to become His pupils; to help humanity. These also are desires, but they should not be killed. What is necessary is to kill out the lower and reach up to the higher, that is to say, to purify our desires and to transmute them into aspirations.
Later on another transmutation will take place. For example, now we desire to make progress; but a time will come when we shall be so sure of it that we shall cease to desire, because we know that all the time it is going on as rapidly as is possible for us, and because we mean that it shall so go on. Desire is then transmuted into resolution. At this point there can be no more regret for anything; you do your best and you know that in response to that the best must come. Some people desire earnestly to gain this quality or that; do not waste your power in desiring and wishing, but will instead.
In the same way it is said that we should slay the lunar form, that is to say the astral body. But that does not mean that the astral body must be destroyed or that we must be without feelings and emotions. If that could be so we should have no sympathy and no understanding of others. What is intended is that we should keep it completely under control, that we should have the faculty to slay the lunar form at will. Purity is necessary, but it means not only the abstinence from specified faults, but absolute selflessness. Ambition, for example, is a very common form of desire, but in it there is always a thought of self. The adept cannot be ambitious. His will is one with the will of the LOGOS, and he wills evolution. We are all parts of the LOGOS, and our wills are part of His. It is only when we do not realize this that we set up desires in our own separate lines. The regulations for our lives were very well summed up by the Lord BUDDHA in one little verse of four short lines:
Sabbapapassa akaranam
Kusalassa upasampada
Sachitta pariyo dapanam
Etam Buddhana sasanam.
Cease from all evil;
Learn to do well;
Cleanse your own heart;
This is the religion of the BUDDHAS.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Scudamore, Major Walter Victor

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​Scudamore, Major Walter Victor, R.E., Indian Educational Service; joined service, 1885; Assistant Engineer, Military Works De partment, 1888; Assistant Engineer, Mul Vally, 1889; Bombay, 1892; Executive Engineer, 1898; on Railway works in South Africa, 1899-1902; Principal and Professor, Civil Engineering College of Science, Poona, 1903.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Seetharamayya, S.

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​Seetharamayya, S., Advocate, Shimoga, and Member, Mysore Legislative Council. Address: Shimoga, Mysore State, India.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Scott, V. C. O’Connor

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​Scott, O’Connor, V. C., B.A., F.S.S., Accountant-General for ​Railways, Delhi; joined service as Comptroller, Burma; 1890; Inspector of Local Fund Accounts, 1893; Assistant Accountant General, Bombay, 1897; Examiner of Accounts, 1898; Comptroller, Assam, 1902; Deputy Accountant-General, Bengal, 1905; Offg. Accountant-General for Railways, 1912. Publication: Mandalay and other cities of the past in Burma. Address: Delhi, India.
# The Indian Biographical Dictionary (1915)/Scully, Lt.-Colonel John

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​Scully, Lt.-Colonel John, I.M.S. (retired); joined service, 1872; Medical Officer, Kashgarh, 1874-76; Residency Surgeon, Nepal, 1876-78; Medical Officer, Gilgit, 1878-80; Acting Deputy Assay Master, Calcutta Mint, 1882-83; Deputy Assay Master, Bombay Mint, 1882; Assay Master, Calcutta Mint, 1886; retired, 1889.