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# The Times/1937/Public notice/Edwin Bailey Elliott

Source: The Times, Jul 23, 1937; Issue 47744; pg. 1 — Deaths
Layout 2ELLIOTT.—On July 21, 1937, at Oxford, Edwin Bailey Elliott, M.A., F.R.S., F.R.A.S., of Magdalen and Queen's Colleges, Oxford, Emeritus Professor of Pure Mathemetics, in his 87th year,. Funeral service Magdalen College Chapel, to-morrow (Saturday), at 2.45, Interment Holywell Cemetery.
This work is anonymous or pseudonymous, and is 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 its home country on the URAA date (January 1, 1996 for most countries). It is also in the public domain in other countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 86 years or less since publication.
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 Young Auctioneers

* related portals: Children's literature.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
First book in the Working Upwards series
YOUNG AUCTIONEERS;
OR,
THE POLISHING OF A ROLLING STONE.
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER,
Author of "Bound to be an Electrician," "Shorthand Tom," "Fighting for his Own," etc., etc.
W. L. ALLISON COMPANY,
NEW YORK.
LET GO OF THAT HORSE!—PAGE 144.
CONTENTS.
PREFACE.
"The Young Auctioneers" forms the initial volume of a line of juvenile stories called "The Working Upward Series."
The tale is complete in itself, and tells of the adventures of a homeless, although not a penniless youth, who strikes up an acquaintanceship with another young fellow experienced as an auctioneer. The two purchase a horse and wagon, stock up with goods, and take to the road. The partners pass through a number of more or less trying experiences, and the younger lad is continually on the lookout for his father, who has broken out of an asylum while partly deranged in mind over the loss of his wife and his fortune.
I have endeavored in this tale to give a faithful picture of life among a certain class of traveling salesmen who are but little known to the world at large, especially to those who inhabit our large cities. In country places the traveling auctioneer is looked for as a matter of course, and he is treated according ​to the humor of the inhabitants, or rather, according to the merits or demerits of the "bargains" offered on a previous trip.
I sincerely trust that my numerous boy readers will find the tale to their liking, and that the moral—to lead an upright, honest life under any and all circumstances—will not escape them.
Edward Stratemeyer.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1931, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 92 years or less. 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 Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 13/From Mary Delany to Jonathan Swift - 10

FROM MRS. PENDARVES.
I NEVER will accept of the writ of ease you threaten me with; do not flatter yourself with any such hopes: I receive too many advantages from your letters to drop a correspondence of such consequence to me. I am really grieved that you are so much persecuted with a giddiness in your head: the Bath and travelling would certainly be of use to you. Your want of spirits is a new complaint, and what will not only afflict your particular friends, but every one that has the happiness of your acquaintance. I am uneasy to know how you do, and have no other means for that satisfaction, but from your own hand; most of my Dublin correspondents being removed to Cork, to Wicklow mountains, and the Lord knows where. I should have made this inquiry sooner, but that I have this summer undertaken a work that has given me full employment, which is making a grotto in sir John Stanley's garden at North End: it is chiefly composed of shells I had from Ireland. My life, for two months past, has been very like a hermit's; I have had all the comforts of life but society, and have found living quite alone a pleasanter thing than I imagined. The hours I could spend in reading have been entertained by Rollin's History of the Ancients, in French. I am very well pleased with it; and think your Annibals, Scipios, and Cyruses, prettier fellows than are to be met with nowadays. Painting and musick have had their share in my ​amusements. I rose between five and six, and went to bed at eleven. I would not tell you so much about myself, if I had any thing to tell you of other people. I came to town the night before last; and if it does not, a few days hence, appear better to me than at present, I shall return to my solitary cell. Sir John Stanley has been all the summer at Tunbridge.
I suppose you may have heard of Mr. Pope's accident; which had like to have proved a very fatal one; he was leading a young lady into a boat, from his own stairs, her foot missed the side of the boat, she fell into the water, and pulled Mr. Pope after her; the boat slipped away, and they were immediately out of their depth, and it was with some difficulty they were saved. The young lady's name is Talbot: she is as remarkable for being a handsome woman, as Mr. Pope is for wit. I think I cannot give you a higher notion of her beauty, unless I had named you, instead of him. I shall be impatient till I hear from you again; being, with great sincerity, sir, your most faithful humble servant,
M. PENDARVES.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 13/From Mary Delany to Jonathan Swift - 8

FROM MRS. PENDARVES.
I AM told you have some thoughts of coming here in the spring. I do not think it proper to tell you how well pleased I am with that faint prospect; for such I must call it till the report is confirmed with your own hand. I write in all haste to know if you really have any such design; for if you have, I shall order my affairs accordingly, that I may be able to meet you here. The good old custom of wishing a happy new year to one's friends is now exploded amongst our refined people of the present age; but I hope you will give me leave to tell you, without being offended, that I wish you many years of happiness. The physicians have at last advised my sister to the Bath waters. We have been here a fortnight: they do not disagree with her; that is all can be said of them at present. I wrote to you from Paradise, and hope there is a letter of yours travelling toward me: I think I have used you to a bad custom of late, that of writing two letters for one of yours. I am often told I have great assurance in writing to you at all, and to be sure I must do it with great fear and trembling. I am not believed when I affirm I write to you with as much ease as to any correspondent I have; for I know you as much above criticising a letter of mine, as I should be below your notice, if I gave myself any affected airs: you have encouraged my correspondence, and I should be a brute if I did not make the best of such an opportunity.
​Bath is full of people, such as they are; none worth giving you any account of: my solace is Mrs. Barber, whose spirit and good countenance cheers me whenever I hear or see her; she is at present pretty well. Company is this moment coming up stairs, and I can only add that I am, sir, your most faithful humble servant,
M. PENDARVES.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 13/From Mary Delany to Jonathan Swift - 1

FROM MRS. PENDARVES.
YOU will find, to your cost, that a woman's pen, when encouraged, is as bad as a woman's tongue: blame yourself, not me: had I never known the pleasure of receiving a letter from you, I should not have persecuted you now. I think (a little to justify this bold attack) that I am obliged, by all the rules of civility, to give you an account of the letter you charged me with: I delivered it into my lord Bathurst's hands; he read it before me: I looked silly upon his asking me, What you meant by the Fosset affair? and was obliged to explain it to him in my own defence, which gave him the diversion I believe you designed it should. We then talked of your vineyard: he seemed pleased with every ​subject that related to you, and I was very ready to indulge him that way. I did not forget to brag of your favours to me; if you intended I should keep them a secret, I have spoiled all; for I have not an acquaintance of any worth that I have not told, how happy I have been in your company. Every body loves to be envied, and this is the only way I have of raising people's envy. I hope, sir, you will forgive me, and let me know if I have behaved myself right: I think I can hardly do wrong as long as I am, sir, your most obliged and most obedient servant,
M. PENDARVES.
Mrs. Donnellan is much your humble servant, and as vain of your favours as I am.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 13/From Mary Delany to Jonathan Swift - 5

FROM MRS. PENDARVES.
ST.MARY'S SQUARE,
I AM truly concerned at your having been so much out of order: I most heartily wish you constant health and happiness, though that is of little use to you, and only serves to do honour to myself, by showing I know how to prize what is valuable.
I should have returned you thanks much sooner for the favour of your last letter; but when I received it I was preparing for my journey hither, and have ever since had so great a disorder in one of my eyes, that till this moment I have not been able to make my acknowledgments to you. I wonder you should be at a loss for a reason for my writing to you; we all love honour and pleasure: were your letters dull, do you imagine my vanity would not be fond of corresponding with the dean of St. Patrick's? But the last reason you give I like best, and will stick by, which is, that I am a more constant nymph than all your goddesses of much longer acquaintance; and farthermore I venture to promise you are in no danger of receiving a boutade, if that depends on my will. As for those fastingdays you talk of, they are, I confess, alluring baits, and I should certainly have been with you in three packets according to your commands, could I either fly or swim: but I am a ​heavy lump, destined for a few years to this earthly element, and cannot move about, without the concurrent assistance of several animals that are very expensive.
Now for business: As soon as I received your letter, I went to your brother Lansdown, and spoke to him about the duke of Chandos. He desired me to make his compliments to you, and to tell you he was very sorry he could be of no service to you in that affair; but he has had no manner of correspondence or even acquaintance with the duke these fifteen years. I have put it however into hands that will pursue it diligently, and I hope obtain for you what you desire; if they do not succeed, you must not call me negligent; for whatever lies in my power to serve you, is of too much consequence for me to neglect.
I have left my good friend, and your humble servant, Mrs. Donnellan, behind me in London, where she meets with little entertainment suitable to her understanding; and she is a much fitter companion for the Dublin Thursday Society, than for the trifling company she is now engaged in; and I wish you had her with you (since I cannot have her) because I know she would be happier than where she is, and my wish I think no bad one for you. Neither my eyes nor paper will hold out any longer. I am, sir, your most faithful humble servant,
M. PENDARVES.
I beg my compliments to all your friends.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 13/From Mary Delany to Jonathan Swift - 4

FROM MRS. PENDARVES.
LITTLE BROOK STREET,
I FIND your correspondence is like the singing of the nightingale; no bird sings so sweetly, but the pleasure is quickly past, a month or two of harmony, and then we lose it till next spring: I wish your favours may as certainly return. I am, at this time, not only deprived of your letters, but of all other means of inquiring after your health; your friends and my correspondents being dispersed to their summer quarters, and know as little of you as I do. I have not forgot one mortifying article on this occasion; and if your design in neglecting me was to humble me, it has taken effect: could I find out the means of being revenged, I would most certainly put it in execution; but I have only the malice of an ​incensed neglected woman, without the power of returning it. The last letter I writ to you was from Gloucester, about a twelvemonth ago; after that I went to Long Leat to my lady Weymouth; came to town in January, where I have remained ever since, except a few weeks I spent at sir John Stanley's at Northend, the Delville of this part of the world. I hope Naboth's vineyard flourishes: it always has my good wishes, though I am not near enough to partake of its fruits. The town is now empty, and, by most people, called dull; to me it is just agreeable, for I have most of my particular friends in town, and my superfluous acquaintance I can very well spare. My lord Carteret is at Hawnes: my lady Carteret is in town, nursing my lady Dysart, who is brought to bed of a very fine son, and in hopes of my lady Weymouth's being soon under the same circumstance. I have not seen my lord Bathurst since I was at his house in Gloucestershire: that is a mischief I believe you have produced; for as long as I could entertain him with an account of his friend the dean, he was glad to see me; but lately we have been great strangers. Mrs. Donnellan sometimes talks of making a winter's visit to Dublin, and has vanity enough to think you are one of those that will treat her kindly: her loss to me will be irreparable, beside the mortification it will be to me to have her go to a place where I should so gladly accompany her. I know she will be just, and tell the reasons why I could not, this year, take such a progress. After having forced myself into your company, it will be impertinent to make you a longer visit, and destroy the intention of it; which was only to assure you of my being, sir, your most faithful, and obliged humble servant,
M. PENDARVES.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Mignon

First published in the revised edition of Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship and Travels (1839), replacing an earlier translation of the poem by Carlyle
MIGNON
[This universally known poem is also to be found in "Wilhelm Meister."]
"Knowest thou the land where citron-apples bloom, And oranges like gold in leafy gloom, A gentle wind from deep blue heaven blows, The myrtle thick, and high the laurel grows? Knowest thou it then? 'Tis there! 'Tis there! O my true loved one, thou with me must go!
"Knowest thou the house, its porch with pillars tall, The rooms do glitter, glitters bright the hall, And marble statues stand, and look each one: What's this, poor child, to thee they've done? Knowest thou it then? 'Tis there! 'Tis there! O my protector, thou with me must go!
"Knowest thou the hill, the bridge that hangs on clouds, The mules in mist grope o'er the torrent loud, ​In caves lay coiled the dragon's ancient hood, The crag leaps down, and over it the flood: Knowest thou it then? 'Tis there! 'Tis there! Our way runs; O my father, wilt thou go?"
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Motives

MOTIVES.
If to a girl who loves us truly Her mother gives instruction duly In virtue, duty, and what not,— And if she hearkens ne'er a jot, But with fresh-strengthened longing flies To meet our kiss that seems to burn,- Caprice has just as much concern As love in her bold enterprise.
But if her mother can succeed In gaining for her maxims heed, And softening the girl's heart too, So that she coyly shuns our view,— The heart of youth she knows but ill; For when a maiden is thus stern, Virtue in truth has less concern In this, than an inconstant will.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/My Goddess

MY GODDESS.
Say, which Immortal Merits the highest reward? With none contend I, But I will give it To the aye-changing, Ever-moving Wondrous daughter of Jove, His best-beloved offspring, Sweet Phantasy.
For unto her Hath he granted All the fancies which erst To none allowed he Saving himself; Now he takes his pleasure In the mad one.
She may, crowned with roses, With staff twined round with lilies ​Roam through flowery valleys, Rule the butterfly people, And soft-nourishing dew With bee-like lips Drink from the blossom:
Or else she may, With fluttering hair And gloomy looks, Sigh in the wind Round rocky cliffs, And thousand-hued, Like morn and even, Ever changing, Like moonbeam's light, To mortals appear.
Let us all, then, Adore the Father! The old, the mighty, Who such a beauteous Ne'er-fading spouse Deigns to accord To perishing mortals!
To us alone Doth he unite her, With heavenly bonds, While he commands her In joy and sorrow, As a true spouse Never try to fly us.
All the remaining Eaces so poor Of life-teeming earth, In children so rich, ​Wander and feed In vacant enjoyment, And 'mid the dark sorrows Of evanescent Restricted life,— Bowed by the heavy Yoke of Necessity.
But unto us he Hath his most versatile, Most cherished daughter Granted,—what joy!
Lovingly greet her As a beloved one! Give her the woman's Place in our home!
And, oh, may the aged Stepmother Wisdom Her gentle spirit Ne'er seek to harm!
Yet know I her sister, The older, sedater, Mine own silent friend; Oh, may she never, Till life's lamp is quenched, Turn away from me,— That noble inciter, Comforter,—Hope!
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/My Only Property

Consistent with the original work, this page also contains an untitled couplet.
MY ONLY PROPERTY.
I feel that I'm possessed of nought, Saving the free unfettered thought Which from my bosom seeks to flow, And each propitious passing hour That suffers me in all its power A loving fate with truth to know.
May each honest effort be Crowned with lasting constancy.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/May Song ("Between wheat-field and corn")

Also published under the title Mayfest.
MAY SONG.
Between wheat-field and corn, Between hedgerow and thorn, Between pasture and tree, Where is my sweetheart? Tell it me!
Sweetheart caught I Not at home; She's then, thought I, Gone to roam. Fair and loving Blooms sweet May, Sweetheart's roving, Free and gay.
By the rock near the wave, Where her first kiss she gave, On the greensward, to me,— Something I see! Is it she?
With a master all smoothly goes Who what he bids, himself well knows.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/May Song ("How gloriously gleameth all nature to me!")

MAY SONG.
How gloriously gleameth All nature to me! How bright the sun beameth, How fresh is the lea!
White blossoms are bursting The thickets among, And all the gay greenwood Is ringing with song!
There's radiance and rapture That nought can destroy, O earth, in thy sunshine, O heart, in thy joy!
​O love! thou enchanter, So golden and bright— Like the red clouds of morning That rest on yon height;—
It is thou that art clothing The fields and the bowers, And everywhere breathing The incense of flowers!
O maiden! dear maiden! How well I love thee— Thine eye, how it kindles In answer to me!
Oh! well the lark loveth Its song 'midst the blue; Oh, gladly the flowerets Expand to the dew.
And so do I love thee; For all that is best, I draw from thy beauty To gladden my breast!
And all my heart's music Is thrilling for thee! Be evermore blest, love, And loving to me!
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Marriage Unequal

MARRIAGE UNEQUAL.
Alas, that even in a heavenly marriage, The fairest lots should ne'er be reconciled! Psyche waxed old, and prudent in her carriage, Whilst Cupid evermore remains the child.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/May

MAY.
Light and silv'ry cloudlets hover In the air, as yet scarce warm; Mild, with glimmer soft tinged over, Peeps the sun through fragrant balm. ​Gently rolls and heaves the ocean As its waves the bank o'erflow, And with ever restless motion Moves the verdure to and fro, Mirrored brightly far below.
What is now the foliage moving? Air is still, and hush'd the breeze, Sultriness, this fulness loving, Through the thicket, from the trees. Now the eye at once gleams brightly, See! the infant band with mirth Moves and dances nimbly, lightly, As the morning gave it birth, Flutt'ring two and two o'er earth.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Mischievous Joy

See also Goethe's poem Second Life.
MISCHIEVOUS JOY.
As a butterfly renewed, When in life I breathed my last, To the spots my flight I wing, Scenes of heavenly rapture past, Over meadows to the spring, Round the hill, and through the wood.
Soon a tender pair I spy, And I look down from my seat On the beauteous maiden's head— When embodied there I meet All I lost as soon as dead, Happy as before am I.
Him she clasps with silent smile, And his mouth the hour improves, Sent by kindly deities; First from breast to mouth it roves, Then from mouth to hands it flies, And I round him sport the while.
And she sees me hov'ring near; Trembling at her lover's rapture, Up she springs—I fly away. "Dearest! let's the insect capture! Come! I long to make my prey Yonder pretty little dear!"
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Morning Lament

MORNING LAMENT.
Oh, thou cruel, deadly-lovely maiden. Tell me what great sin have I committed, That thou keepest me to the rack thus fastened, That thou hast thy solemn promise broken?
'Twas but yestere'en that thou with fondness Pressed my hand, and these sweet accents murmured: "Yes, I'll come, I'll come when morn approacheth, Come, my friend, full surely to thy chamber." On the latch I left my doors, unfastened, Having first with care tried all the hinges, And rejoiced right well to find they creaked not.
What a night of expectation passed I! For I watched, and every chime I numbered; ​If perchance I slept a few short moments, Still my heart remained awake for ever, And awoke me from my gentle slumbers.
Yes, then blessed I night's o'erhanging darkness, That so calmly covered all things round me; I enjoyed the universal silence, While I listened ever in the silence, If perchance the slightest sounds were stirring.
"Had she only thoughts, my thoughts resembling, Had she only feelings, like my feelings, She would not await the dawn of morning, But, ere this, would surely have been with me."
Skipped a kitten on the floor above me, Scratched a mouse a panel in the corner, Was there in the house the slightest motion, Ever hoped I that I heard thy footstep, Ever thought I that I heard thee coming.
And so lay I long, and ever longer, And already was the daylight dawning, And both here and there were signs of movement.
"Is it yon door? Were it my door only!" In my bed I leaned upon my elbow, Looking toward the door, now half-apparent, If perchance it might not be in motion. Both the wings upon the latch continued, On the quiet hinges calmly hanging.
And the day grew bright and brighter ever; And I heard my neighbour's door unbolted, As he went to earn his daily wages, And ere long I heard the wagons rumbling, And the city gates were also opened, ​While the market-place, in every corner, Teemed with life and bustle and confusion.
In the house was going now and coming Up and down the stairs, and doors were creaking Backwards now, now forwards,—footsteps clattered. Yet, as though it were a thing all-living, From my cherished hope I could not tear me.
When at length the sun, in hated splendour, Fell upon my walls, upon my windows, Up I sprang, and hastened to the garden, There to blend my breath, so hot and yearning, With the cool refreshing morning breezes, And, it might be, even there to meet thee: But I cannot find thee in the arbour, Or the avenue of lofty lindens.