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Produced by David Edwards, Cathy Maxam, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
COMPARATIVE STUDIES
IN NURSERY RHYMES
COMPARATIVE STUDIES
IN
NURSERY RHYMES
BY
LINA ECKENSTEIN
AUTHOR OF "WOMAN UNDER MONASTICISM"
_There were more things in Mrs. Gurton's eye,
Mayhap, than are dreamed of in our philosophy_
C. S. CALVERLEY
[Illustration]
LONDON
DUCKWORTH & CO.
3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN
1906
TO THE GENTLE READER
The walls of the temple of King Sety at Abydos in Upper Egypt are
decorated with sculptured scenes which represent the cult of the gods
and the offerings brought to them. In a side chapel there is depicted
the following curious scene. A dead figure lies extended on a bier;
sorrowing hawks surround him; a flying hawk reaches down a seal amulet
from above. Had I succeeded in procuring a picture of the scene, it
would stand reproduced here; for the figure and his mourners recalled
the quaint little woodcut of a toy-book which told the tale of the Death
and Burial of Cock Robin. The sculptures of Sety date from the
fourteenth century before Christ; the knell of the robin can be traced
back no further than the middle of the eighteenth century A.D. Can the
space that lies between be bridged over, and the conception of the dead
robin be linked on to that of the dead hawk? However that may be, the
sight of the sculptured scene strengthened my resolve to place some of
the coincidences of comparative nursery lore before the gentle reader.
It lies with him to decide whether the wares are such as to make a
further instalment desirable.
_23 September, 1906._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FIRST APPEARANCE OF RHYMES IN PRINT 1
II. EARLY REFERENCES 13
III. RHYMES AND POPULAR SONGS 23
IV. RHYMES IN TOY-BOOKS 36
V. RHYMES AND BALLADS 45
VI. RHYMES AND COUNTRY DANCES 57
VII. THE GAME OF "SALLY WATERS" 67
VIII. "THE LADY OF THE LAND" 78
IX. CUSTOM RHYMES 89
X. RIDDLE-RHYMES 104
XI. CUMULATIVE PIECES 115
XII. CHANTS OF NUMBERS 134
XIII. CHANTS OF THE CREED 143
XIV. HEATHEN CHANTS OF THE CREED 152
XV. SACRIFICIAL HUNTING 171
XVI. BIRD SACRIFICE 185
XVII. THE ROBIN AND THE WREN 200
XVIII. CONCLUDING REMARKS 215
LIST OF FOREIGN COLLECTIONS 221
ALPHABETICAL INDEX 223
_... To my gaze the phantoms of the Past,
The cherished fictions of my boyhood, rise:_
* * * * *
_The House that Jack built--and the Malt that lay
Within the House--the Rat that ate the Malt--
The Cat, that in that sanguinary way
Punished the poor thing for its venial fault--
The Worrier-Dog--the Cow with crumpled horn--
And then--ah yes! and then--the Maiden all forlorn!_
_O Mrs. Gurton--(may I call thee Gammer?)
Thou more than mother to my infant mind!
I loved thee better than I loved my grammar--
I used to wonder why the Mice were blind,
And who was gardener to Mistress Mary,
And what--I don't know still--was meant by "quite contrary."_
C. S. C.
The dates that stand after the separate rhymes refer to the list of
English collections on p. 11; the capital letters in brackets refer
to the list of books on p. 221.
COMPARATIVE STUDIES IN NURSERY RHYMES
CHAPTER I
FIRST APPEARANCE OF RHYMES IN PRINT
The study of folk-lore has given a new interest to much that seemed
insignificant and trivial. Among the unheeded possessions of the past
that have | 521.680821 |
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Transcribed from the 1886 T. Fisher Unwin edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
NOTE TO PAGE 56.
Sir Charles Tupper tells me that I was totally misinformed. I am sorry
to have been led astray, and have pleasure in making the correction,
which was received, unfortunately, after the chapter had been worked off.
[Picture: Dr. Barnardo’s Distributing Home for Children, Peterborough,
Ontario]
PICTURES
OF
CANADIAN LIFE
* * * * *
A Record of Actual Experiences
* * * * *
BY
J. EWING RITCHIE
AUTHOR OF ‘EAST ANGLIA,’ ‘BRITISH SENATORS,’ ‘ON THE
TRACK OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS,’ ETC., ETC.
* * * * *
_WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS_
* * * * *
London
T. FISHER UNWIN
26, PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1886.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Introductory.—Canadian Territory and 1
Population
II. Off With The Emigrants—The Voyage Out—The 16
‘Sarnia’—The Cod-Fishery
III. Arrival at Quebec 33
IV. At Montreal, and on to Ottawa—Interviewing and 45
Interviewed
V. Toronto—The Town—The People—Canadian 74
Authors—The Leader of the Opposition
VI. Off to the North-West—Niagara—Lake 104
Superior—The Canadian Pacific Railway—At
Winnipeg
VII. Life on the Prairie 148
VIII. Amongst the Cow-Boys 174
IX. In the Rockies—Holt City—Life in the Camp—A 194
Rough Ride—The Kicking Horse Lake—British
Columbia
X. Dangers of the Rockies—Prairie Fires—The 225
Return—Port Arthur—Emigrants
XI. Back to England—Canadian Hospitality—The 245
‘Assyrian Monarch’—Home
XII. Colonization in Canada 255
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
Dr. Barnardo’s Distributing Home for Children, _Frontispiece_
Peterborough, Ontario | 521.684938 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Keith Edkins and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's note: The conventional male and female symbols are rendered
as [M] and [F] in this edition. In the discussion of _Papilio polytes_
the male symbol [M] must be distinguished carefully from the unbracketted
M denoting the male-like variety of females.
* * * * *
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
C. F. CLAY, MANAGER
LONDON: FETTER LANE, E.C.
EDINBURGH: 100 PRINCES STREET
[Illustration]
NEW YORK: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
BOMBAY, CALCUTTA AND MADRAS: MACMILLAN AND CO.
TOKYO: THE MARUZEN-KABUSHIKI-KAISHA
_All rights reserved_
MIMICRY IN BUTTERFLIES
BY
REGINALD CRUNDALL PUNNETT, F.R.S.
Fellow of Gonville and Caius College.
Arthur Balfour Professor of Genetics in the University of Cambridge
Cambridge:
at the University Press
1915
* * * * *
PREFACE
This little book has been written in the hope that it may appeal to several
classes of readers.
Not infrequently I have been asked by friends of different callings in life
to recommend them some book on mimicry which shall be reasonably short,
well illustrated without being very costly, and not too hard to understand.
I have always been obliged to tell them that I know of nothing in our
language answering to this description, and it is largely as an attempt to
remedy this deficiency that the present little volume has been written.
I hope also that it will be found of interest to those who live in or visit
tropical lands, and are attracted by the beauty of the butterfly life
around them. There are few such countries without some of these cases of
close resemblance between butterflies belonging to different families and
groups, and it is to those who have the opportunity to be among them that
we must look for fuller light upon one of the most fascinating of all
nature's problems. If this little book serves to smooth the path of some
who would become acquainted with that problem, and desire to use their
opportunities of observation, the work that has gone to its making will
have been well repaid.
To those who cultivate biological thought from the more philosophical point
of view, I venture to hope that what I have written may not be without
appeal. At such a time as the present, big with impending changes in the
social fabric, few things are more vital than a clear conception of the
scope and workings of natural selection. Little enough is our certain
knowledge of these things, and small though the butterfly's contribution
may be I trust that it will not pass altogether unregarded.
In conclusion I wish to offer my sincere thanks to those who have helped me
in different ways. More especially are they due to my friends Dr Karl
Jordan for the loan of some valuable specimens, and to Mr T. H. Riches for
his kindly criticism on reading over the proof-sheets.
R. C. P.
_February, 1915_
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. INTRODUCTORY 1
II. MIMICRY--BATESIAN AND MUeLLERIAN 8
III. OLD-WORLD MIMICS 18
IV. NEW-WORLD MIMICS 37
V. SOME CRITICISMS 50
VI. "MIMICRY RINGS" 61
VII. THE CASE OF _Papilio polytes_ 75
VIII. THE CASE OF _Papilio polytes_ (_cont._) 93
IX. THE ENEMIES OF BUTTERFLIES 104
X. MIMICRY AND VARIATION 125
XI. CONCLUSION 139
APPENDIX I 154
APPENDIX II 157
PLATES I-XVI AND DESCRIPTIONS 160 ff
I-V. ORIENTAL MOTHS AND BUTTERFLIES.
VI-IX. AFRICAN BUTTERFLIES.
X-XIII. SOUTH AMERICAN BUTTERFLIES.
XIV. SCALES OF LEPIDOPTERA.
XV. CENTRAL AND SOUTH AMERICAN BUTTERFLIES.
XVI. NORTH AMERICAN BUTTERFLIES.
INDEX 183
"The process by which a mimetic analogy is brought about in nature is a
problem which involves that of the origin of all species and all
adaptations."--H. W. BATES, 1861.
"With mimesis, above all, it is wise, when the law says that a thing is
black, first to inquire whether it does not happen to be white."--HENRI
FABRE.
* * * * *
{1}
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
It is now more than fifty years since Darwin gave the theory of natural
selection to the world, and the conception of a gradual evolution has long
ago become part of the currency of thought. Evolution for Darwin was
brought about by more than one factor. He believed in the inherited effects
of the use and disuse of parts, and he also regarded sexual selection as
operating at any rate among the higher animals. Yet he looked upon the
natural selection of small favourable variations as the principal factor in
evolutionary change. Since Darwin's time the trend has been to magnify
natural selection at the expense of the other two factors. The doctrine of
the inherited effects of use and disuse, vigorously challenged by Weismann,
failed to make good its case, and it is to-day discredited by the great
majority of biologists. Nor perhaps does the hypothesis of sexual selection
command the support it originally had. At best it only attempted to explain
those features, more especially among the higher animals, in which the
sexes differ from one another in pattern, ornament, and the like. With the
lapse of time there has come about a tendency to {2} find in natural
selection alone a complete explanation of the process of evolution, and to
regard it as the sole factor by which all evolutionary change is brought
about. Evolution on this view is a gradual process depending upon the slow
accumulation by natural selection of small variations, which are more or
less inherited, till at last a well-marked change of type is brought about.
Could we have before us all the stages through which a given form has
passed as natural selection transforms it into another, they would
constitute a continuous series such that even refined scrutiny might fail
to distinguish between any two consecutive terms. If the slight variations
are not of service they will get no favour from natural selection and so
can lead to nothing. But if of use in the struggle for existence natural
selection preserves them and subsequent variations in the same direction
until at length man recognises the accumulation as a new form. Moreover
when the perfect thing is once elaborated natural selection will keep it
perfect by discouraging any tendency to vary from perfection.
Upon this view, of which the most distinguished protagonist was Weismann,
natural selection is the sole arbiter of animal and plant form. Through it
and it alone the world has come to be what it is. To it must be ascribed
all righteousness, for it alone is the maker. Such in its extreme form is
the modern development of Darwin's great contribution to philosophy.
But is it true? Will natural selection really serve to explain all? Must
all the various characters of {3} plants and animals be supposed to owe
their existence to the gradual operation of this factor working upon small
variations?
Of recent years there has arisen a school of biologists to whom the terms
mutationist and Mendelian are frequently applied. Influenced by the
writings of Bateson and de Vries, and by the experimental results that have
flowed from Mendel's discovery in heredity, they have come to regard the
process of evolution as a discontinuous one. The new character that
differentiates one variety from another arises suddenly as a sport or
mutation, not by the gradual accretion of a vast number of intermediate
forms. The white flowered plant has arisen suddenly from the blue, or the
dwarf plant from the tall, and intermediates between them need never have
existed. The ultimate fate of the new form that has arisen through causes
yet unknown may depend upon natural selection. If better endowed than the
parent form in the struggle for existence it may through natural selection
come to supplant it. If worse endowed natural selection will probably see
to its elimination. But if, as may quite possibly happen, it is neither
better nor worse adapted than the form from which it sprang, then there
would seem to be no reason for natural selection having anything to do with
the relation of the new form to its parent.
Between the older and the newer or mutationist point of view an outstanding
difference is the role ascribed to natural selection. On the one view it
{4} builds up the new variety bit by bit, on the other the appearance of
the new | 521.687639 |
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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.)
PRACTICAL POLITICS
or the
LIBERALISM OF TO-DAY
BY
ALFRED F. ROBBINS
AUTHOR OF
_"Five Years of Tory Rule;" "William Edward Forster, the Man and
his Policy;" "The Marquis of Salisbury, a Personal and
Political Sketch," &c._
_REPRINTED FROM THE "HALFPENNY WEEKLY"_
London
T. FISHER UNWIN
26 PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1888
TO
My Father,
WHOSE DEVOTION TO LIBERAL PRINCIPLES
HAS FOR SIXTY YEARS
NEVER WAVERED,
THIS WORK,
THE OUTCOME OF HIS EXCELLENT TEACHING AND
CONSISTENT EXAMPLE,
IS
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
The Articles here republished are from the columns of the _Halfpenny
Weekly_, to the Proprietors of which the Author is indebted for much
courtesy and consideration. They were written originally in the form of
letters to a friend, but, though they stand substantially as first
printed, various alterations have been made consequent upon the
necessities of a permanent rather than a serial form. The Author does
not profess to have exhaustively discussed every political question
which is of practical importance to-day--for that, within the limits
assigned, would have been impossible; but he has attempted to furnish a
body of information regarding the principles and aims of present-day
Liberalism, not easily accessible elsewhere, which may be useful to
those whose ideas upon public affairs are yet unformed, and helpful to
the political cause he holds dear.
_May, 1888._
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. WHAT IS THE USE OF A VOTE? 11
II. IS THERE ANYTHING PRACTICAL IN POLITICS? 16
III. WHY NOT LET THINGS ALONE? 21
IV. OUGHT ONE TO BE A PARTISAN? 25
V. WHY NOT HAVE A "NATIONAL" PARTY? 31
VI. IS ONE PARTY BETTER THAN THE OTHER? 35
VII. WHAT ARE LIBERAL PRINCIPLES? 41
VIII. ARE LIBERALS AND RADICALS AGREED? 47
IX. WHAT ARE THE LIBERALS DOING? 52
X. SHOULD HOME RULE BE GRANTED TO IRELAND? 58
XI. WHAT SHOULD BE DONE WITH THE LORDS? 66
XII. IS THE HOUSE OF COMMONS PERFECT? 71
XIII. IS OUR ELECTORAL SYSTEM COMPLETE? 77
XIV. SHOULD THE CHURCH REMAIN ESTABLISHED? 83
XV. WOULD DISENDOWMENT BE JUST? 89
XVI. OUGHT EDUCATION TO BE FREE? 97
XVII. DO THE LAND LAWS NEED REFORM? 102
XVIII. SHOULD WASTE LANDS BE TILLED AND THE GAME LAWS ABOLISHED? 107
XIX. OUGHT LEASEHOLDS TO BE ENFRANCHISED? 112
XX. WHOSE SHOULD BE THE UNEARNED INCREMENT? 117
XXI. HOW SHOULD LOCAL SELF-GOVERNMENT BE EXTENDED? 122
XXII. HOW IS LOCAL OPTION TO BE EFFECTED? 127
XXIII. WHY AND HOW ARE WE TAXED? 132
XXIV. HOW OUGHT WE TO BE TAXED? 137
XXV. HOW IS TAXATION TO BE REDUCED? 144
XXVI. IS FREE TRADE TO BE PERMANENT? 149
XXVII. IS FOREIGN LABOUR TO BE EXCLUDED? 155
XXVIII. HOW SHOULD WE GUIDE OUR FOREIGN POLICY? 160
XXIX. IS A PEACE POLICY PRACTICABLE? 165
XXX. HOW SHOULD WE DEAL WITH THE COLONIES? 171
XXXI. SHOULD THE STATE SOLVE SOCIAL PROBLEMS? 177
XXXII. HOW FAR SHOULD THE STATE INTERFERE? 182
XXXIII. SHOULD THE STATE REGULATE LABOUR OR WAGES? 188
XXXIV. SHOULD THE STATE INTERFERE WITH PROPERTY? 194
XXXV. OUGHT THE STATE TO FIND FOOD AND WORK FOR ALL? 197
XXXVI. HOW OUGHT WE TO DEAL WITH SOCIALISM? 200
XXXVII. WHAT SHOULD BE THE LIBERAL PROGRAMME? 205
XXXVIII. HOW IS THE LIBERAL PROGRAMME TO BE ATTAINED? 211
XXXIX. IS PERFECTION IN POLITICS POSSIBLE? 216
XL. WHERE SHALL WE STOP? 220
PRACTICAL POLITICS.
I.--WHAT IS THE USE OF A VOTE?
There are many persons, who, though possessing the suffrage, often put
the question, "What is the use of a vote?" Giving small heed to
political affairs, the issue of elections has as little interest for
them as the debates in Parliament; and they imagine that the process of
governing the country is mainly a self-acting one, upon which their
individual effort could have the least possible effect.
This idea is wrong at the root, and the cause of much mischief in
politics. We are governed by majorities, and every vote counts. Even the
heaviest polls are sometimes decided by a majority of a single figure.
In the history of English elections, many instances could be found
wherein a member was returned by the narrowest majority of all--the
majority of one; and when a member so elected has been taunted with its
slenderness, he has had a right to reply, as some have replied, in
well-known words: "'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church
door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve." And not only in the
constituencies, but in Parliament itself, decisions have been arrived at
by a solitary vote. The great principle animating the first Reform Bill
was thus adopted by the House of Commons; and the measure shortly
afterwards was taken to the country with the advantage thus given it.
As, therefore, everything of importance in England is decided first in
the constituencies, and then in Parliament, by single votes, it is
obvious that in each possessor of the franchise is vested a power which,
however apparently small when compared with the enormous number of
similar possessors elsewhere, may have a direct bearing in turning an
election, the result of which may affect the fate of some important
bill.
So far most will doubtless agree without demur; but, in their
indifference to political questions, may think that it is only those
interested in them who have any real concern with elections. This is
another mistake, for political questions are so intimately bound up with
the comfort, the fortune, and even the fate of every citizen of a free
country, that, although he may shut his eyes to them, they press upon
him at every turn. It would be a very good world if each could do as he
liked and none be the worse; but the world is not so constituted, and it
is politics that lessen the consequent friction. For the whole system of
government is covered by the term; and there is not an hour of the day
in which one is free from the influence of government.
It is not necessary for one to be conscious of this in order to be
certain that it is so. When he is in perfect health he is not conscious
that every part of his body is in active exercise, but, if he stumble
over a chair, he is made painfully aware of the possession of shins. And
so with the actions of government. As long as things work smoothly the
majority of people give them little heed, but, if an additional tax be
levied, they are immediately interested in politics. And although taxes
are not the least unpleasant evidence that there is such a thing as a
government, it is far from the most unpleasant that could be afforded.
The issues of peace and war lie in the hands of Parliament, although
nominally resting with the Executive, for Parliament can speedily end a
war by stopping the supplies; and it is not necessary to show how the
progress and result of an armed struggle might affect each one of us.
The State has a right to call upon every citizen for help in time of
need, and that time of need might come very quickly at the heels of a
disastrous campaign. It is easy enough in times of peace to imagine that
such a call upon every grown man will never be made; but it is a
possible call, and one to be taken into account when the value of a vote
is considered.
Those who are sent to Parliament have thus the power of embarking in
enterprises which may diminish one's revenue by increased taxation and
imperil his life by enforced service. And in matters of less importance,
but of considerable effect upon both pocket and comfort, they wield
extensive powers. They can extend or they can lessen our liberties; they
can interfere largely with our social concerns; their powers are nowhere
strictly defined, and are so wide as to be almost illimitable. And for
the manner in which they exercise those powers, each man who possesses a
vote is in his degree responsible.
There are persons who affect, from the height of a serene indifference,
to look down upon all political struggles as the mere diversions of a
lower mental order. That kind of being, or any approach to its attitude
of mind, should be avoided by all who wish well to the government of the
country. To sit on the fence, and rail at the ploughman, because his
boots are muddy and his hands unwashed, is at once useless and
impertinent; and to stand outside the political field, and endeavour to
hinder those who are doing their best within, deserves the same
epithets. When it is said that hypocrites, and humbugs, and self-seekers
abound in politics, and that there is no place there for honest men,
does not the indictment appear too sweeping? Has not the same argument
been used against religion; and is it not one of the poorest in the
whole armoury of controversy? If there are hypocrites, and humbugs, and
self-seekers in politics--and no candid person would deny it, any more
than that there are such in religion, in business, in science, and in
art--is it not the more necessary that every honest man should try and
root them out? If every honest man abstained from politics, with what
right could he complain that all politicians were rogues? But no sober
person believes that all politicians are rogues, and those superior
beings who talk as if they are deserve condemnation for doing nothing to
purify the political atmosphere.
Some who would not go so far as those who are thus condemned, still
labour under the idea that politics are more or less a game, to the
issue of which they can afford to be indifferent. This, it may be
feared, is the notion of many, and it is one to be earnestly combatted.
Every man owes the duty to the State to assist, as far as he can, those
whom he considers the best and wisest of its would-be governors. There
is nobility in the idea that every elector can do something for the
national welfare by thoughtfully and straightforwardly exercising the
franchise, and aiding the cause he deems best. Young men especially
should entertain this feeling, for youth is the time for burning
thoughts, and it is not until a man is old that he can afford to
smoulder. The future is in the hands of the young of to-day; and if
these are indifferent to the great issues of State, and are prepared to
let things drift, a rude awakening awaits them.
The details of political work need not here be entered upon. All that is
now wanted is to show that that work is of very real importance to every
one; and that, unless taken in hand by the honest and capable, it will
fall to the dishonest and incapable for accomplishment. And as the vote
is a right to which every free Englishman is entitled, and a trust each
possessor of which should be called upon to exercise, there ought not to
remain men on the registers who persistently decline to use it. Absentee
landlords have been the curse of Ireland, and they will have to be got
rid of. Abstentionist voters might, in easily conceivable circumstances,
be the curse of England, and they would have to be got rid of likewise.
The value of a vote may be judged from the fact that it saves the
country from a periodical necessity for revolution. Everything in our
Constitution that wants altering can be altered at the ballot-box; and
whereas the vote-less man has no direct influence upon those affairs of
State which affect him as they affect every other citizen, the possessor
of the franchise can make his power directly felt. We are within sight
of manhood, it may be of adult, suffrage; and if the vote were of no
value it would be folly--almost criminal folly--to extend its use. Those
who deem it folly are of a practically extinct school in English
politics. For better or worse, the few are now governed by the many,
and the many will never again be governed by the few.
Those who are of the many may be tempted to urge that that very fact
lessens the worth of the vote in that every elector has the same value
at the polling booth, and that, however intelligent may be the interest
he takes in politics, his ignorant neighbour's vote counts the same as
his own. But that is to forget what every one who mixes with his
fellow-men must soon learn--that the intelligent have a weight of
legitimate influence upon their less-informed fellows which is
exceedingly great. Our vote counts for no more than that of the man who
has sold his suffrage for beer; but our influence may have brought
twenty waverers to the poll, while that of our beer-drinking
acquaintance has brought none.
A cynic has observed that "politics are a salad, in which office is the
oil, opposition the vinegar, and the people the thing to be devoured."
But to approach public affairs from that point, and to judge them solely
on that principle, is as reasonable as to use green spectacles and
complain of the colour of the sky. Politics should be looked at without
prejudice, but with the recollection that in them are concerned many of
our best and wisest men. If that be done, and the mind kept open for the
reception of facts, there is little doubt of the admission that there is
a deep reality in politics, and a reality in which every one is
concerned.
II.--IS THERE ANYTHING PRACTICAL IN POLITICS?
All will possibly admit that, in conceivable circumstances, a vote may
be useful, but many will not be prepared to allow that politics are an
important factor in our daily life. War, they would urge, is a remote
contingency, and a conscription is, of all unlikely things, the most
unlikely; our liberties have been won, and there is no chance of a
despot sitting on the throne; and, even if taxes are high, what can any
one member of Parliament, much less any one elector, do to bring them
down? From which questions, and from the answers they think must be made
to them, they would draw the conclusion that, whatever might have been
the case formerly, there is nothing practical in the politics of to-day.
It would not be hard to show that a conscription is by no means an
impossibility; that our liberties demand constant vigilance; and that
individual effort may greatly affect taxation. But even if the answer
desired were given to each question, the points raised, except the last,
are admittedly remote from daily life; and, if politics are to be
considered practical, they must concern affairs nearer to us. This they
do; and if they affected only the greater issues of State, they would
not be practical in the sense they now are. It is the small troubles,
whether public or private, which worry us most. The dust in one's eye
may be only a speck, but, measured by misery, it is colossal.
The law touches us upon every side, and the law is the outcome of
politics in having been enacted by Parliament. From the smallest things
to the greatest, the Legislature interferes. A man cannot go into a
public-house after a certain hour because of one Act of Parliament; he
cannot deal with a bank upon specified days because of another. One Act
of Parliament orders him, if a householder, to clean his pavement;
another prohibits him from building a house above a given height in
streets of a certain width. And while the law takes care of one's
neighbour by affixing a well-known penalty to murder, it is so regardful
of oneself that it absolutely prohibits suicide. We are surrounded, in
fact, by a network of regulations provided by Parliament. We are no
sooner born than the law insists upon our being registered; we cannot
marry without the interference of the same august power; and when we
die, those who are left behind must comply with the formalities the law
demands.
It may be answered that this does not sound like politics; that there is
nothing of Liberal or Tory in all this; but there is. Liberals, for
instance, have been mainly identified with the demand for the better
regulation of public-houses; it is to the Liberals that we owe a
long-called-for reform in the burial laws; and it is due to the Liberals
that a change in the marriage regulations, particularly affecting
Nonconformists, is on the eve of being adopted. Social questions are not
necessarily divorced from party concerns, and the moment Parliament
touches them they become political. If one looks down a list of the
measures presented to the House of Commons he will see that from the
purity of beer to the protection of trade-marks, from the enactment of a
close-time for hares to the provision of harbours of refuge, from a
declaration of the size of saleable crabs to the disestablishment of a
Church--every subject which concerns a man's external affairs,
political, social, or religious, is dealt with by Parliament.
Even if only those political matters are regarded which have a
distinctly partisan aspect, there is more that is practical in them than
would at first be perceived. "What," it may be asked, "is local option,
or county councils, or 'three acres and a cow' to me? I have no
particular liking for drink; I have not the least ambition to become a
combination of guardian and town councillor; and I am in no way
interested in agricultural concerns. When you require me to take an
active part in promoting the measures here indicated, how, I want to
know, am I concerned in any one of them?"
The answer is that any and all of them should concern the questioner a
great deal. He imagines he is not directly interested because of the
reasons put forward. Is he certain those reasons cover the whole case?
He has "no particular liking for drink," and, therefore, would not
trouble himself to obtain local option. But has he not been a
sufficiently frequent witness of the crime and misery caused by drink to
be persuaded that it is the duty of every good citizen to do all that in
him lies to lessen the evil effects? And as such good results have
flowed from the stricter regulation of the sale of intoxicating liquors,
ought it not to be his endeavour to place a further power of regulation
in the hands of those most interested--the people themselves?
Establishing county councils may not touch the individual citizen so
nearly, though it is in that direction that a solution of the local
option problem is being attempted to be found; and the supposed
questioner has "not the least ambition to become a combination of
guardian and town councillor." Perhaps not; other people have, and it is
a legitimate ambition that does them honour. The work performed by town
councillors, and guardians, and members of school boards is excellent
service, not only to the locality but the State. The freedom which
England enjoys to-day is largely owing to the habits of self-government
fostered by local institutions, the origin of which is as old as our
civilization, and the roots of which have sunk deeply into the soil. And
seeing how our towns have thriven since their government was taken from
a privileged few and given to the whole body of their inhabitants, is
there not fair reason to hope that the county districts will similarly
be benefitted by institutions equally representative and equally free?
And, as the improvement of a part has good effect upon the whole, even
those who may never have a direct connection with the suggested county
councils, will profit by their establishment.
With equal certainty it may be asserted that the condition of the
labourer is of practical importance to every citizen. "I am in no way
interested in agricultural concerns," it is said; and if by that is
simply meant that the objector does not work upon a farm, has no direct
dealings with agricultural produce, and no money invested in land, he,
of course, would be right. But even these conditions do not exhaust the
possibilities of connection with agriculture, which is the greatest
single commercial interest this country possesses; and, so
inter-dependent are the various interests, if the largest of all is not
in a satisfactory state the others are bound to suffer. It is those
others in which most of us may be specially concerned, but we are
generally concerned in agriculture; and as the latter cannot be at its
best as long as the labourers are in their present condition, is it not
obvious that all are interested in every honest endeavour to get that
condition improved? This is not the moment to argue the details of any
plan; but the principle is plain--the condition of the agricultural
labourer has passed into the region of practical politics.
There is a school among us, and perhaps a growing one, which, affecting
to despise such matters as these, wishes to make the State a huge
wage-settling and food-providing machine. If one talks to its members of
public affairs, they reply that the only practical politics is to give
bread-and-cheese to the working classes. But fact is wanted instead of
theory, demonstration rather than declamation, and, in place of a
platitude, a plan. For it is easy to talk of a State, in which there
| 521.688406 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Michael and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: The stranger raised his hat and said: "Permit me to ask
your name?" "Salome Owen. And yours, sir, is--" "Ulpian Gray." Page
10.--_Vashti._]
VASHTI
_or_ UNTIL DEATH US DO PART
By AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON
(Augusta J. Evans)
Author of "Beulah," "Macaria," "Infelice," "St. Elmo," "Inez," etc.,
etc.,
"There is nothing a man knows, in grief or in sin half so bitter as to
think, what I might have been."
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1869, by GEORGE W.
CARLETON, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New York.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1897, by MRS.
AUGUSTA J. EVANS WILSON, In the office of the Librarian of Congress at
Washington, D.C.
_Vashti._
TO THE HONORED MEMORY OF MY
_Beloved Father_,
WHOSE DEATH HAS RETARDED THE COMPLETION OF A WORK WHICH, IN THE
BEGINNING, WAS BLESSED WITH HIS APPROVAL,
I REVERENTLY DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
PREFACE.
"Every man has his own style, as he has his own nose; and it is
neither polite nor Christian to rally an honest man about his
nose, however singular it may be. How can I help it that my style
is not different? That there is no affectation in it, I am very
certain."
_Lessing._
"Yea, I take myself to witness,
That I have loved no darkness,
Sophisticated no truth,
Nursed no delusion,
Allowed no fear."
_Matthew Arnold._
UNTIL DEATH US DO PART.
CHAPTER I.
"I can hear the sullen, savage roar of the breakers, if I do not see
them, and my pretty painted bark--expectation--is bearing down
helplessly upon them. Perhaps the unwelcome will not come to-day. What
then? I presume I should not care; and yet, I am curious to see
him,--anxious to know what sort of person will henceforth rule the
house, and go in and out here as master. Of course the pleasant,
peaceful days are at an end, for men always make din and strife in a
household,--at least my father did, and he is the only one I know much
about. But, after all, why borrow trouble?--the interloper may never
come."
The girl stood on tip-toe, shading her eyes with one hand, and peering
eagerly down the winding road which stretched at right angles to the
avenue, and over the hills, on towards the neighboring town. No moving
speck was visible; and, with a sigh of relief, she sank back on the
grassy mound and resumed the perusal of her book. Above and around her
spread the wide branches of an aged apple-tree, feathered thickly with
pearly petals, which the wind tossed hither and thither and drifted
over the bermuda, as restless tides strew pink-chambered shells on
sloping strands; and down through the flowery limbs streamed the
waning March sun, throwing grotesque shadows on the sward and golden
ripples over the face and figure of the young lounger. A few yards
distant a row of whitewashed bee-hives extended along the western side
of the garden-wall, where perched a peacock whose rainbow hues were
burnished by the slanting rays that smote like flame the narrow pane
of glass which constituted a window in each hive and permitted
investigation of the tireless workers within. The afternoon was almost
spent; the air, losing its balmy noon breath, grew chill with the
approach of dew, and the figure under the apple-tree shivered
slightly, and, closing her book, drew her scarlet shawl around her
shoulders and leaned her dimpled chin on her knee.
Sixteen years had ripened and rounded the girlish form, and given to
her countenance that indefinable charm which marks the timid hovering
between careless, frolicsome youth, and calmly conscious womanhood;
while perfect health rouged the polished cheeks and vermillioned the
thin lips, whose outlines sharply indexed more of decision than
amiability of character.
There were hints of brown in the heavy mass of waveless dusky hair,
that was elaborately braided and coiled around the well turned
head, and certain amber rays suggestive of topaz and gold flashed
out now and then in the dark-hazel iris of the large eyes, lending
them an eldritch and baleful glow. Fresh as the overhanging
apple-blooms, but immobile as if carved from pearl,--perhaps it
was just such a face as hers that fronted Jason, amid the clustering
boughs of Colchian rhododendrons, when first he sought old AEetes'
prescient daughter,--the maiden face of magical Medea, innocent as
yet of murder, sacrilege, fratricide, and plunder,--eloquent of
all possibilities of purity and peace, but vaguely adumbrating all
conceivable disquietude and guilt.
The hushed expectancy of the fair young countenance had given place to
a dreamy languor, and the dark lashes drooped heavily, when a long
shadow fell upon the grass, and simultaneously the peacock sounded its
shrill alarm. Rising quickly the girl found herself face to face with
one upon whose features she had never looked before, and for a moment
each eyed the other searchingly. The stranger raised his hat, and
inclining his head slightly, said,--
"Permit me to ask your name?"
"Salome Owen. And yours, sir, is--"
"Ulpian Grey."
For a few seconds neither spoke; but the man smiled, and the girl bit
her under-lip and frowned.
"Are you the miller's daughter?"
"I am the miller's daughter; and you are the master of Grassmere."
"It seems that I come home like Rip Van Winkle, or Ulysses, unknown,
unwelcomed,--unlike the latter,--even by a dog."
"Where is your sister?"
"Not having seen her for five years, I am unable to answer."
"She went to town two hours ago, to meet you."
"Then, after all, I am expected; but pray by what route--balloon or
telegraph?"
"Miss Jane went to the railroad depot, but thought it possible you
might not arrive to-day, and said she would attend a meeting at the
church, if you failed to come. I presume she missed you in the crowd.
Sir, will you walk into the house?"
Perhaps he did not hear the question, and certainly he did not heed
it, amid the clamorous recollections that rushed upon him as he gazed
earnestly over the lawn, down the avenue, and up at the ivy-mantled
front of the old brick homestead. Thinking it might impress him as
ludicrous or officious that she should invite him to enter and take
possession of his own establishment, Salome reddened and compressed
her lips. Apparently forgetful of her presence, he stood with his hat
in his hand, noting the changes that time had wrought: the growth of
venerable trees and favorite shrubs, the crumbling of fences, the
gathering moss on the sun-dial, and the lichen stains upon two marble
vases that held scarlet verbena on either side of the broad stone
steps.
His close-fitting travelling suit of gray showed the muscular,
well-developed form of a man of medium size, whose very erect carriage
enhanced his height and invested him with a commanding air; while the
unusual breadth of his chest and shoulders seemed to indicate that
life had called him to athletic out-door pursuits, rather than the dun
and dusty atmosphere of a sedentary, cloistered career.
There are subtle countenances that baffle the dainty stipple and line | 524.084127 |
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Produced by Henry Flower, Carlo Traverso and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
THE
THREE PERILS OF MAN:
_A BORDER ROMANCE_.
THE
THREE PERILS OF MAN;
OR,
War, Women, and Witchcraft.
_A BORDER ROMANCE._
BY JAMES HOGG,
AUTHOR OF "WINTER-EVENING TALES," "BROWNIE OF
BODSBECK," "QUEEN'S WAKE," _&c._ _&c._
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
Beshrew me if I dare open it.
FLETCHER.
LONDON:
LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1822.
John Moir, Printer, Edinburgh, 1822.
THE
THREE PERILS OF MAN.
CHAP. I.
And he said unto Satan; whence comest thou?
And he answered, and said, thou knowest it is true,
That I come from wandering on the earth,
And from going to and fro on it,
Like a masterless dog, with my bow-wow-wow.
_Zach. Boyd's Bible._
At the very time they were disputing about the right of Tam to proceed
with his tale, their ears were astounded by a loud hollo! at the gate.
Every man's heart leaped for joy, and every one was instantly on his
feet; but Charlie was first on the platform, and answered the hollo!
with full stentorian voice. The same voice called again,
"A Bellandine."
"Where bye?" answered Charlie.
"By the moon," said the voice.
"And the seven stars!" rejoined Yardbire, clapping his hands, and
shouting for joy, "The Warden for ever! My chief for ever! He is the
man that cares for his own! Ah! he is the noble master."
Charlie well knew the voice that hailed him. It was that of his friend
and companion in arms, Dan Chisholm, whom the Warden had indeed
despatched all the way from Northumberland to Aikwood, to see what was
become of his embassy, with six-and-twenty chosen troopers. Charlie
Scott's arm was a bulwark of strength, and his breast a tower of
fidelity, the value of which Sir Ringan knew how to estimate, while
his acts of kindness and regard made a deep impression on Charlie's
honest unsophisticated heart; and before he would say a word about the
situation of either himself or his associates, he caused Dan to inform
him of the Warden's fortune and success in their absence. Being
satisfied concerning these, he called out,
"What ither uncos, Dan? What mair news are come out?"
"O, God shield you!" cried Dan, "Do nae ye ken that the world's
amaist turned up-side-down sin ye left us? The trees hae turned their
wrang ends upmost--the waters hae drowned the towns, and the hills hae
been rent asunder and riddled up like heaps o' chaff. 'Tis thought
that there has been a siege o' hell, and that the citadel has been
won, for the deils are a' broken loose and rinning jabbering through
the land. They hae been seen, and they hae been heard; and nae man
kens what's to be the issue, or what's to fa' out neist."
"Blaw lown, Dan; ye dinna ken wha may hear ye," said Charlie. "We hae
had hand in these matter oursels: But for the sake of a' that's dear
to you and to us bring gavelocks and ern mells, pinching-bars, and
howies, and break open every gate, bar, and door in this castle; for
here are we a' imprisoned on the top of it, and famishing to dead wi'
hunger and starvation."
"That I will do wi' a' expedition," answered Dan. "It is a shame for
the master of the castle to imprison his kinsmen's friends, who came
to him in peace and good fellowship. What strength of opposition
holds he?"
"Nane, good Chisholm, but these gates. The great Master is himself a
prisoner, and suffering with us."
"That dings a'!" said Dan; "I canna understand it! But its a' ane for
that; ye maunna stay there. I shall gar his gates flee a' into as mony
flinders as there are hairs on his grey beard."
"If you demolish one bar of these gates, young man," cried the Master
fiercely, "you do it at your peril."
"So I do, and so I will," answered Dan: "Either bring down my friends
and companions to me this instant, or--I have orders,--and here goes."
"Man of mystery and of misery, what dost thou mean?" said the friar.
"Lo I have saved thy life; and if thou refusest to let us escape from
the face of death, I will even throw thee from the top of thy tower,
and thy blood shall be sprinkled on the wall."
The Master gave him a fierce look, but made no reply. As he strode the
battlement, however, he muttered to himself with great violence,
"Does the Christian dog dare to beard me thus? To what am I fallen? I
am fallen low, but not to this. And not to know what I am! nor what
power remains with me? Would that I were in the midst of my arcana and
of the spirits once more! Young warrior, use your liberty. Break up
and demolish. Set us all free, and see who is the profiter."
Dan scarcely needed such permission. He and twenty others had each a
stone of at least half his own weight heaved on his shoulder, which,
at a given signal, they all dashed on the gate at once. The bars bent,
but nothing gave way; and it was not before the twentieth broadside,
in the same irresistible style, that the cross bars became like a bow
and the lock slipped. As for the large bolt, one of the men had
climbed over the counterguard on the shoulders of the rest and drawn
it. When they came to the gate of the castle, entrance seemed
hopeless. It was stedfast and immoveable, the door being double. Dan
bellowed for the porter, and asked those on the top what was become of
him; but none made answer to his rash question. After waiting a while
for it, with his face placed horizontally, he muttered to himself,
"Aha! mum there! He has gane nae gude gate, I'll warrant him. It's a
queer place this, an' as queer folk about it."
"What's queer about it, lad," said a strange voice through the key
hole, whence it would not speak again.
They had nothing for it but to begin with such awkward mattocks as
they had, namely, a score of huge stones; but, to their excessive joy,
the doors gave both way at the first assault. This was owing to a most
fortunate blunder of the friar, who, during the time he was in
possession of the keys, had gone forth to provide for his mule, which
he did in an ample manner, but, on returning, had either been unable
or unwilling to turn the tremendous locks again into their sockets;
and open flew the gates with a jarring sound. Of course, it was not
long till our yeomen were thundering at the iron door on the small
stair. It was a double door of strong iron bars, and the lock was
inclosed between them, so that all attempts to open it appeared
fruitless, one man only being able to get to it at once, (that is, one
on each side,) and these had no footing. After tugging at it in vain
for a space, Dan swore that, to open it, it would be necessary either
to begin at the top of the tower and demolish downward, or at the
bottom and demolish upward. This appeared a job so tedious to starving
people, that it was agreed to feed them with meat and drink through
the bars. Every man readily proffered the contents of his wallet; but
the getting of these through the bars required ingenuity. They poured
the meal through in tubes made of leather, and water and strong drink
in the same way; but the flesh could only be got through in long small
pieces; and Tam Craik having taken his station at the back of the
door, in order to hand up the provisions to his companions, none of
the butcher-meat (as it is now called) found its way farther. By the
time they had got a supply of meal, water, and distilled liquor, some
of Dan's party, by the direction of the Master, went to bring mattocks
for raising the stair, and forcing a passage through below the door;
others had gone to the brook for more water; so that none remained in
the narrow stair save Dan Chisholm and another person.
By this time there was one who had been silently watching the progress
of affairs at Aikwood castle, where he had long been accustomed to
reckon on every thing as his own; but now there were some things
passed under his potent eye, the true motives for which he could not
comprehend, and these actions were still growing more and more
equivocal; so he resolved on trusting his sworn vassals no more to
their own guardianship, but to take an active management in guiding
the events that so deeply concerned his honour and power. Who this
august personage was the reader will scarcely guess. He may perhaps
discover it in the detail.
It was wearing toward evening, the sun being either set or hid behind
dark clouds; for, short as these tales may appear as here related by
Isaac the curate, they had taken a day in telling by the wights
themselves. The individuals who had been shut up were all light of
heart and rejoicing. Delany had fainted in ecstacy, or partly,
perhaps, by exhaustion, but was soon recovered by a cup of cold water.
They had got plenty of stores laid in for a night and more; so that
they were freed from the dread of perishing by starvation, or saving
their lives by a resource of all others the most repulsive to
humanity. Such was the state of affairs, when the most appalling noise
was heard somewhere about the castle,--a noise which neither could be
described nor the cause of it discovered. The people below ran out to
the court or to the tops of the outer walls, and those above to the
battlements--but they saw nothing save the troopers' horses scowering
off in all directions, every one of them snorting aloud, and cocking
their heads and their tails. Tam Craik and Dan Chisholm were still
standing with their noses close to the iron door, and conversing
through it. Another trooper stood close at Dan's back; and, when the
rushing sound arose, the one said to the other,
"What the devil is that?"
"Take care wha ye speak about here, friend, or wi' reverence be it
spoken," said Tam. Then turning round, he called out, "Yardbire, what
hurly-burly is that?"
"I cannot tell," answered Charlie; "only I think the devil be entered
into the horses."
Tam, who did not hear distinctly from the top, answered Dan thus: "He
says its only the devil entered into the horses." Dan was just about
to reply, when the trooper tapped him on the shoulder, and said in a
whisper, "Hush, squire! Good Lord! look what is behind us." He looked
about, and saw a terrific being standing on the landing-place,
beckoning him to come down. From an irresistible impulse, he lost no
time in obeying; and, pushing the trooper down before him, he
descended the steps. When he came to the bottom he got a full view of
the figure, that stood upright between two pilasters, with its face
straight to the aperture that lighted the place. One may judge of our
yeomen's feelings when they gazed on a being which they always
described as follows:
It appeared about double the human size, both in might and proportion,
its whole body being of the colour of bronze, as well as the crown
upon its head. The skin appeared shrivelled, as if seared with fire,
but over that there was a polish that glittered and shone. Its eyes
had no pupil nor circle of white; they appeared like burning lamps
deep in their sockets; and when it gazed, they rolled round with a
circular motion. There was a hairy mantle hung down and covered its
feet that they could not be seen; but Dan saw its right hand, as it
pointed to them to retire, every finger of which terminated in a long
crooked talon that seemed of the colour of molten gold. It once opened
its mouth, not as if to speak but to breathe, and as it stooped
forward at the time, both of them saw it within. It had neither teeth,
tongue, nor throat, its whole inside being hollow, and of the colour
of burning glass.
It pointed with its right hand across its bosom for them to be gone,
and, as they passed by with hurried strides, it drew a stroke with its
paw which threatened to send them heels over head down the stair; but
it withheld the blow in a moment, as if moved to some higher revenge;
and all the way down the great winding stair, it followed and showered
on them such a torrent of burning sulphur that they were almost
overwhelmed, all the while vomiting it from its burning bosom, with a
noise that resembled the hissing of a thousand great serpents. Besides
this, on every landing-place there were a pair of monsters placed as
guards, immense snakes, bears, tigers, and lions, all with eyes like
burning candles. For all these, our two yeomen still kept their feet,
which was a wonder, and escaped fairly into the court of the castle.
When they arrived there, every one of their companions had taken
leg-bail, and were running as if for death or life; and after what our
two champions had seen, there was no occasion to bid them run after
the others. Those above heard only the rushing noise, which still
increased as long as there was one of those below within the gate, but
they saw nothing further,--and wondered not a little when they saw
first the horses run away, and then the men after them. When Charlie
saw that they _were_ gone, and his brother-in-arms Dan leaving the
outer-gate the last, he called after him to go _by the mill, and see
that Corbie got plenty of water_.
What our prisoners had witnessed was, like every thing else about that
castle, quite incomprehensible. Even the great Master himself was
manifestly at a loss; when he first heard the sound, and saw the
beginning of the confusion, his eyes beamed with exultation. He
gave three stamps with his foot, and called aloud, as to some
invisible being, in an unknown tongue; but on receiving no answer his
countenance fell, and he looked on in gloomy mood.
The flyers vanished after their horses on the hill to the eastward of
the castle. Once a few of them rallied and faced about; but on the
next one coming up they betook them again to their heels; and thus was
our hapless embassy left in the same state as before, save that they
were rather in higher spirits, their situation being now known, and
instant death averted. After they had refreshed themselves, most of
them fell into a slumber; but at length, as the evening advanced, the
poet claimed his privilege of telling a story. Some of them proposed
that the conversation should be general instead, seeing the great
stake for which they contended was now, in all likelihood, superseded.
The poet, however, was of a different opinion, on the ground that the
highest stake, in his estimation, still remained. "What though my life
may not be forfeited," said he, "to feed the hungry and carnivorous
maw of this outrageous baconist; although my warm and oozing blood may
not be sucked up like the stagnant marsh by bittern vile, or by the
tawney snipe; yea, though my joints should not be skatched and
collared by the steel, or sinews gnawed up by officious grinder:
What's that to me? a gem of higher worth, of richer acceptation, still
remains. Beauty unsullied! pure simplicity! with high endowments, in
affliction nursed, and cramped by bondage! Oh my very heart yearns to
call such a pearl of lustre mine! A kindred soul! A bosom friend! A
oh--oh--oach."
Charlie hasted to clap his hand on the poet's mouth, as he burst out
a-crying, "Hout, hout, Colly!" said he, "I am quite o' your opinion;
but truly this is carrying the joke ower far. I wish ye maunna hae
been hauddin rather freely to your head o' thae strong liquors; for
the singing crew are a' drowthy deils, ilk ane o' them. Whisht,
whisht, and ye sal tell your tale, or sing your sang, which you like;
and then you are free to take a collop, or gie a collop, wi' the best
o' them."
"I flatter myself that's rather a good thing? Eh?" said the poet.
"What thing?" said the other.
"The song that we overheard just now. Do you know who made that song?
Eh?"
"Not I."
"But you have heard our maidens chaunt it,--have you not? God bless
them! Sweet, dear, sweet, sweet creatures! Why, Sir, that song happens
to be mine; and I think I may say, without vanity, it is as good a
thing of the kind as you ever heard? Eh?"
"Faith, I believe it is," said Charlie--not knowing well what to say,
for he had heard no song whatever; and then turning to the rest, while
the poet was enlarging on the excellency of his song, he said, in an
under voice, "Gude faith, the poet's either gaen clean daft, or else
he's drunk. What shall I say to him?"
The poet tapped him on the shoulder, seeing he was not paying
attention.
"It is not for this, I say, that I judge the piece worthy of
attention; nor yet what it shows of ability, hability, docility,
or any of the terms that end in _ility_; nor for its allegory,
category, or any of the terms that end in _ory_. Neither is it for its
versification, imagination, nor any of the thousand abominable terms
that end in _ation_. No, sir, the properties of all my songs, I am
thankful to Saint Martin, end in _icity_ and _uity_. You know the
song, Yardbire?"
"O yes. Quite weel."
What do you think of the eleventh verse? Let me see. No, it is the
thirteenth verse." "Good Friday! are there so many?" "Hem--m--m.
The tenth is, the Ox-eye, I am sure of that. The eleventh is the
Mill-stone. The twelfth, the Cloudberry and the Shepherd Boy. The
thirteenth, is the Gander and Water-Wagtail. It is the fourteenth.
What do you think of the fourteenth? Ay, it is the Gowans and the
Laverock that you will like best. You remember that, I am sure?"
"O yes; to be sure I do,"--(Aside,) "Good Lord, the poet's horn mad!
Heard ever any body the like o' this?"
"How is this it | 524.187461 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Internet Archive.)
_ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS_
_PRESCOTT_
[Illustration: image of the book's cover]
_ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS_
WILLIAM HICKLING
PRESCOTT
BY
HARRY THURSTON PECK
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1905
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1905,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1905.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
To
WILLIAM ARCHIBALD DUNNING
_AMICITIAE CAUSA_
PREFATORY NOTE
For the purely biographical portion of this book an especial
acknowledgment of obligation is due to the valuable collection of
Prescott's letters and memoranda made by his friend George Ticknor, and
published in 1864 as part of Ticknor's _Life of W. H. Prescott_. All
other available sources, however, have been explored, and are
specifically mentioned either in the text or in the footnotes.
H. T. P.
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY,
March 1, 1905.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE NEW ENGLAND HISTORIANS 1
CHAPTER II
EARLY YEARS 13
CHAPTER III
THE CHOICE OF A CAREER 39
CHAPTER IV
SUCCESS 54
CHAPTER V
IN MID CAREER 72
CHAPTER VI
THE LAST TEN YEARS 99
CHAPTER VII
"FERDINAND AND ISABELLA"--PRESCOTT'S STYLE 121
CHAPTER VIII
"THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO" AS LITERATURE AND AS
HISTORY 133
CHAPTER IX
"THE CONQUEST OF PERU"--"PHILIP II." 160
CHAPTER X
PRESCOTT'S RANK AS AN HISTORIAN 173
INDEX 181
_PRESCOTT_
WILLIAM HICKLING PRESCOTT
CHAPTER I
THE NEW ENGLAND HISTORIANS
Throughout the first few decades of the nineteenth century, the United
States, though forming a political entity, were in everything but name
divided into three separate nations, each one of which was quite unlike
the other two. This difference sprang partly from the character of the
population in each, partly from divergent tendencies in American
colonial development, and partly from conditions which were the result
of both these causes. The culture-history, therefore, of each of the
three sections exhibits, naturally enough, a distinct and definite phase
of intellectual activity, which is reflected very clearly in the records
of American literature.
In the Southern States, just as in the Southern colonies out of which
they grew, the population was homogeneous and of English stock. Almost
the sole occupation of the people was agriculture, while the tone of
society was markedly aristocratic, as was to be expected from a
community dominated by great landowners who were also the masters of
many slaves. These landowners, living on their estates rather than in
towns and cities, caring nothing for commerce or for manufactures,
separated from one another by great distances, and cherishing the
intensely conservative traditions of that England which saw the last of
the reigning Stuarts, were inevitably destined to intellectual
stagnation. The management of their plantations, the pleasures of the
chase, and the exercise of a splendid though half-barbaric hospitality,
satisfied the ideals which they had inherited from their Tory ancestors.
Horses and hounds, a full-blooded conviviality, and the exercise of a
semi-feudal power, occupied their minds and sufficiently diverted them.
Such an atmosphere was distinctly unfavourable to the development of a
love of letters and of learning. The Southern gentleman regarded the
general diffusion of education as a menace to his class; while for
himself he thought it more or less unnecessary. He gained a practical
knowledge of | 557.637322 |
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Produced by Mark C. Orton, S.D., and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
BYWAYS OF GHOST-LAND
BYWAYS OF
GHOST-LAND
BY
ELLIOTT O'DONNELL
AUTHOR OF
"SOME HAUNTED HOUSES OF ENGLAND AND WALES,"
"HAUNTED HOUSES OF LONDON," "GHOSTLY PHENOMENA,"
"DREAMS AND THEIR MEANINGS," "SCOTTISH GHOST TALES,"
"TRUE GHOST TALES," ETC., ETC.
WILLIAM RIDER AND SON, LIMITED
164 Aldersgate St., London, E.C.
1911
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
1. THE UNKNOWN BRAIN 1
2. THE OCCULT IN SHADOWS 21
3. OBSESSION, POSSESSION 28
4. OCCULT HOOLIGANS 47
5. SYLVAN HORRORS 56
6. COMPLEX HAUNTINGS AND OCCULT BESTIALITIES 80
7. VAMPIRES, WERE-WOLVES, FOX-WOMEN, ETC. 110
8. DEATH-WARNINGS AND FAMILY GHOSTS 132
9. SUPERSTITIONS AND FORTUNES 153
10. THE HAND OF GLORY; THE BLOODY HAND OF ULSTER;
THE SEVENTH SON; BIRTH-MARKS; NATURE'S
DEVIL SIGNALS; PRE-EXISTENCE; THE FUTURE;
PROJECTION; TELEPATHY; ETC. 176
11. OCCULT INHABITANTS OF THE SEA AND RIVERS 198
12. BUDDHAS AND BOGGLE CHAIRS 210
INDEX 244
BYWAYS OF GHOST-LAND
CHAPTER I
THE UNKNOWN BRAIN
Whether all that constitutes man's spiritual nature, that is to say, ALL
his mind, is inseparably | 557.737645 |
2023-11-16 18:26:21.8196290 | 312 | 16 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Dave Morgan and PG Distributed Proofreaders
[Illustration: Darrin's Blow Knocked the Midshipman Down]
DAVE DARRIN'S SECOND YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS
or
Two Midshipmen as Naval Academy "Youngsters"
By
H. IRVING HANCOCK Illustrated
MCMXI
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. A QUESTION OF MIDSHIPMAN HONOR
II. DAVE'S PAP-SHEET ADVICE
III. MIDSHIPMAN PENNINGTON GOES TOO FAR
IV. A LITTLE MEETING ASHORE
V. WHEN THE SECONDS WONDERED
VI. IN TROUBLE ON FOREIGN SOIL
VII. PENNINGTON GETS HIS WISH
VIII. THE TRAGEDY OF THE GALE
IX. THE DESPAIR OF THE "RECALL"
X. THE GRIM WATCH FROM THE WAVES
XI. MIDSHIPMAN PENNINGTON'S ACCIDENT
XII. BACK IN THE HOME TOWN
XIII. DAN RECEIVES A FEARFUL FACER
XIV. THE FIRST HOP WITH THE HOME GIRLS
XV. A DISAGREEABLE FIRST CLASSMAN
XVI. HOW DAN FACED THE BOARD
XVII. LOSING THE TIME-KEEPER'S COUNT
XVIII. FIGHTING THE FAMOUS DOUBLE BATTLE
XIX. THE OFFICER IN CHARGE IS SH | 557.839669 |
2023-11-16 18:26:21.8203710 | 2,275 | 7 |
Transcribed from the 1903 Chapman and Hall edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
SKETCHES BY BOZ
Illustrative of Every-Day Life
and Every-Day People
* * * * *
By CHARLES DICKENS
* * * * *
_With Illustrations by George Cruickshank and Phiz_
* * * * *
LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LD.
NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1903
PREFACE
The whole of these Sketches were written and published, one by one, when
I was a very young man. They were collected and republished while I was
still a very young man; and sent into the world with all their
imperfections (a good many) on their heads.
They comprise my first attempts at authorship--with the exception of
certain tragedies achieved at the mature age of eight or ten, and
represented with great applause to overflowing nurseries. I am conscious
of their often being extremely crude and ill-considered, and bearing
obvious marks of haste and inexperience; particularly in that section of
the present volume which is comprised under the general head of Tales.
But as this collection is not originated now, and was very leniently and
favourably received when it was first made, I have not felt it right
either to remodel or expunge, beyond a few words and phrases here and
there.
OUR PARISH
CHAPTER I--THE BEADLE. THE PARISH ENGINE. THE SCHOOLMASTER
How much is conveyed in those two short words--'The Parish!' And with
how many tales of distress and misery, of broken fortune and ruined
hopes, too often of unrelieved wretchedness and successful knavery, are
they associated! A poor man, with small earnings, and a large family,
just manages to live on from hand to mouth, and to procure food from day
to day; he has barely sufficient to satisfy the present cravings of
nature, and can take no heed of the future. His taxes are in arrear,
quarter-day passes by, another quarter-day arrives: he can procure no
more quarter for himself, and is summoned by--the parish. His goods are
distrained, his children are crying with cold and hunger, and the very
bed on which his sick wife is lying, is dragged from beneath her. What
can he do? To whom is he to apply for relief? To private charity? To
benevolent individuals? Certainly not--there is his parish. There are
the parish vestry, the parish infirmary, the parish surgeon, the parish
officers, the parish beadle. Excellent institutions, and gentle,
kind-hearted men. The woman dies--she is buried by the parish. The
children have no protector--they are taken care of by the parish. The
man first neglects, and afterwards cannot obtain, work--he is relieved by
the parish; and when distress and drunkenness have done their work upon
him, he is maintained, a harmless babbling idiot, in the parish asylum.
The parish beadle is one of the most, perhaps _the_ most, important
member of the local administration. He is not so well off as the
churchwardens, certainly, nor is he so learned as the vestry-clerk, nor
does he order things quite so much his own way as either of them. But
his power is very great, notwithstanding; and the dignity of his office
is never impaired by the absence of efforts on his part to maintain it.
The beadle of our parish is a splendid fellow. It is quite delightful to
hear him, as he explains the state of the existing poor laws to the deaf
old women in the board-room passage on business nights; and to hear what
he said to the senior churchwarden, and what the senior churchwarden said
to him; and what 'we' (the beadle and the other gentlemen) came to the
determination of doing. A miserable-looking woman is called into the
boardroom, and represents a case of extreme destitution, affecting
herself--a widow, with six small children. 'Where do you live?' inquires
one of the overseers. 'I rents a two-pair back, gentlemen, at Mrs.
Brown's, Number 3, Little King William's-alley, which has lived there
this fifteen year, and knows me to be very hard-working and industrious,
and when my poor husband was alive, gentlemen, as died in the
hospital'--'Well, well,' interrupts the overseer, taking a note of the
address, 'I'll send Simmons, the beadle, to-morrow morning, to ascertain
whether your story is correct; and if so, I suppose you must have an
order into the House--Simmons, go to this woman's the first thing
to-morrow morning, will you?' Simmons bows assent, and ushers the woman
out. Her previous admiration of 'the board' (who all sit behind great
books, and with their hats on) fades into nothing before her respect for
her lace-trimmed conductor; and her account of what has passed inside,
increases--if that be possible--the marks of respect, shown by the
assembled crowd, to that solemn functionary. As to taking out a summons,
it's quite a hopeless case if Simmons attends it, on behalf of the
parish. He knows all the titles of the Lord Mayor by heart; states the
case without a single stammer: and it is even reported that on one
occasion he ventured to make a joke, which the Lord Mayor's head footman
(who happened to be present) afterwards told an intimate friend,
confidentially, was almost equal to one of Mr. Hobler's.
See him again on Sunday in his state-coat and cocked-hat, with a
large-headed staff for show in his left hand, and a small cane for use in
his right. How pompously he marshals the children into their places! and
how demurely the little urchins look at him askance as he surveys them
when they are all seated, with a glare of the eye peculiar to beadles!
The churchwardens and overseers being duly installed in their curtained
pews, he seats himself on a mahogany bracket, erected expressly for him
at the top of the aisle, and divides his attention between his
prayer-book and the boys. Suddenly, just at the commencement of the
communion service, when the whole congregation is hushed into a profound
silence, broken only by the voice of the officiating clergyman, a penny
is heard to ring on the stone floor of the aisle with astounding
clearness. Observe the generalship of the beadle. His involuntary look
of horror is instantly changed into one of perfect indifference, as if he
were the only person present who had not heard the noise. The artifice
succeeds. After putting forth his right leg now and then, as a feeler,
the victim who dropped the money ventures to make one or two distinct
dives after it; and the beadle, gliding softly round, salutes his little
round head, when it again appears above the seat, with divers double
knocks, administered with the cane before noticed, to the intense delight
of three young men in an adjacent pew, who cough violently at intervals
until the conclusion of the sermon.
Such are a few traits of the importance and gravity of a parish beadle--a
gravity which has never been disturbed in any case that has come under
our observation, except when the services of that particularly useful
machine, a parish fire-engine, are required: then indeed all is bustle.
Two little boys run to the beadle as fast as their legs will carry them,
and report from their own personal observation that some neighbouring
chimney is on fire; the engine is hastily got out, and a plentiful supply
of boys being obtained, and harnessed to it with ropes, away they rattle
over the pavement, the beadle, running--we do not exaggerate--running at
the side, until they arrive at some house, smelling strongly of soot, at
the door of which the beadle knocks with considerable gravity for
half-an-hour. No attention being paid to these manual applications, and
the turn-cock having turned on the water, the engine turns off amidst the
shouts of the boys; it pulls up once more at the work-house, and the
beadle 'pulls up' the unfortunate householder next day, for the amount of
his legal reward. We never saw a parish engine at a regular fire but
once. It came up in gallant style--three miles and a half an hour, at
least; there was a capital supply of water, and it was first on the spot.
Bang went the pumps--the people cheered--the beadle perspired profusely;
but it was unfortunately discovered, just as they were going to put the
fire out, that nobody understood the process by which the engine was
filled with water; and that eighteen boys, and a man, had exhausted
themselves in pumping for twenty minutes, without producing the slightest
effect!
The personages next in importance to the beadle, are the master of the
workhouse and the parish schoolmaster. The vestry-clerk, as everybody
knows, is a short, pudgy little man, in black, with a thick gold
watch-chain of considerable length, terminating in two large seals and a
key. He is an attorney, and generally in a bustle; at no time more so,
than when he is hurrying to some parochial meeting, with his gloves
crumpled up in one hand, and a large red book under the other arm. As to
the churchwardens and overseers, we exclude them altogether, because all
we know of them is, that they are usually respectable tradesmen, who wear
hats with brims inclined to flatness, and who occasionally testify in
gilt letters on a blue ground, in some conspicuous part of the church, to
the important fact of a gallery having being enlarged and beautified, or
an organ rebuilt.
The master of the workhouse is not, in our parish--nor is he usually in
any other--one of that class of men the better part of whose existence
has passed | 557.840411 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg
Department of the Interior
Ethnological Survey Publications
Volume IV, Part I
STUDIES IN MORO HISTORY, LAW, AND RELIGION
By
NAJEEB M. SALEEBY
Manila
Bureau of Public Printing
1905
Letter of Transmittal
Department of the Interior,
The Ethnological Survey,
Manila, December 21, 1904.
Sir: I have the honor to transmit a series of papers on Moro
history, law, and religion consisting of original studies and
translations from Moro texts made by Dr. Najeeb M. Saleeby. I
recommend that these papers be published as Part I of Volume IV
of the scientific studies edited by the Survey.
Very respectfully,
Merton L. Miller,
Acting Chief of The Ethnological Survey.
Hon. Dean C. Worcester,
Secretary of the Interior, Manila, P. I.
CONTENTS
Page
Chapter I
History of Magindanao 11
Magindanao history and genealogies 11
Introduction 11
The transliteration 11
Geographical sketch of the chief Moro settlements
mentioned in the Tarsila of Mindanao 13
The mythology of Mindanao 16
Manuscripts:
I. From Adam to Mohammed 20
Genealogy of Mohammed 20
Translation 20
II. Genealogy of Kabungsuwan and his coming to
Magindanao, or the conversion of Magindanao
to Islam 21
Introduction 21
Translation 23
III. Genealogy of Bwayan 25
Introduction 25
Translation 26
IV. History of the Dumatus and the conversion of
Mindanao to Islam 28
Introduction 28
Translation 29
V. Oldest copy of the genealogy of Magindanao and
the Iranun datus 31
Introduction 31
Translation 33
VI. History and genealogy of Magindanao proper 36
Introduction 36
Translation 37
VII. Genealogy of Bagumbayan 41
Introduction 41
Translation 42
History of Bagumbayan 47
VIII. Ancestors of the datus of Mindanao 49
Introduction 49
Translation 49
History of Magindanao 50
Chapter II
Laws of the Moros 63
General introduction 63
The Luwaran, or the laws of Magindanao 64
Introduction 64
Translation of the Luwaran, the Magindanao code of
laws 66
Arabic marginal quotations of the Luwaran 81
Introduction 81
Translation of the Arabic marginal quotations of
the Luwaran 82
Transliteration of Articles I to VIII of the Luwaran 88
Sulu Codes 89
The principal Sulu Code 89
Introduction 89
The Code 90
The new Sulu Code 94
Introduction 94
The Code 95
Chapter III
Two Sulu Orations 101
Sulu oration for the feast of Ramadan 101
Sulu Friday oration 105
ILLUSTRATIONS
After page
Plate I. First page of an original manuscript copy of the Luwaran 64
II. Second page of an original manuscript copy of the Luwaran 64
III. Third page of an original manuscript copy of the Luwaran 64
IV. Fourth page of an original manuscript copy of the Luwaran 64
V. First page of the Sulu Code made and used by Sultan
Jamalu-l-A'lam 90
VI. Second page of the Sulu Code made and used by Sultan
Jamalu-l-A'lam 90
VII. Third page of the Sulu Code made and used by Sultan
Jamalu-l-A'lam 90
VIII. Fourth page of the Sulu Code made and used by Sultan
Jamalu-l-A'lam 90
IX. First page of the new Sulu Code in the Sulu dialect 94
X. Second page of the new Sulu Code in the Sulu dialect 94
XI. First page of the Sulu oration for the feast of Ramadan 102
XII. Second page of the Sulu oration for the feast of Ramadan 102
XIII. Third page of the Sulu oration for the feast of Ramadan 102
XIV. First page of the Sulu Friday oration 106
XV. Second page of the Sulu Friday oration 106
XVI. Third page of the Sulu Friday oration 106
Diagrams
No. 1. Rulers of Bwayan from the first datu, Mamu 22
2. Rulers of Bwayan from Maytum, to the present time 22
3. Rulers of Magindanao from Kabungsuwan to Sultan Pakir
Mawlana Kamza 36
4. Rulers of Magindanao from Sultan Pakir Mawlana Kamza to
the present time 36
5. Rulers of Bagumbayan from Raja Bwayan 48
CHAPTER I
HISTORY OF MAGINDANAO
MAGINDANAO HISTORY AND GENEALOGIES
INTRODUCTION
The history of Mindanao prior to the advent of Islam is traditional
and mythological, and no effort has been made to put it on record. With
Islam came knowledge, art, and civilization. A new system of government
was instituted and its records were registered. Tarsila [1] were
written and the noble lineage of the datus was carefully kept. Each
sultanate or datuship kept a separate genealogy. These genealogies,
called tarsila or salsila, were very limited in their scope and brief
in their narration of events. They are our only source of written
information on the early history of the Moros, and are valuable on
that account. Previously the Moros withheld these tarsila and kept
them away from all foreigners and non-Mohammedans; but their attitude
has changed lately, and several different salsila were secured from
the chief datus of the Rio Grande Valley.
The original manuscripts could not be bought, but exact and true copies
of the same have been secured and translated and their translations
are herein published for the first time.
THE TRANSLITERATION
These tarsila are written in the Magindanao dialect with Arabic
characters, and a great part of their text is Magindanao names which
have never yet been expressed by means of Romanic characters. In
translating these tarsila such a large number of words have to
be transliterated that it is deemed necessary to adopt a system of
transliteration which can be easily understood by every English reader
and which is more adequate to express Magindanao sounds than either
Spanish or English. Such a system is herein adopted and is briefly
described as follows:
With the exception of ng and sh, the characters used in this system are
simple and represent simple sounds only. Every radical modification
of a certain simple sound is regarded as a different simple sound
and is represented by a separate and distinct character. Every
compound sound is represented by those characters that express its
simple constituent sounds. It is an unvarying rule in this system
that every character represents an invariable sound and every sound
has only one invariable character. The Magindanao dialect has only
twenty-seven simple sounds and can be expressed by twenty-seven simple
characters. These characters are the following:
a, a, i, i, u, u, u, b, d, g, ng, h, j, k l, m, n, n, p, q, r,
s, sh, t, w, y, z
The sounds which these characters represent conform very closely to
the original Roman sounds of the letters.
a is the short sound of a; it is pronounced midway between
the a in bad and the e in bed
a is pronounced as the a in far, father
i is pronounced as the i in fin, ill
i is pronounced as the i in machine, police
u is pronounced as the u in put, push
u is pronounced as the u in rude, flute
u is a midvowel, pronounced with the tongue slightly moved
from its normal position; it is intermediate between u
and e, and is somewhat related to the u in hurt
b, d, k, l, m, n, p, r, s, t are pronounced as in English
g is always hard, as the g in gold, get
ng has a guttural-nasal sound like the ng in ring
h has an aspirate sound and should be always pronounced
like the h in hill, behind
j is rarely used; when used it is pronounced like the s in
adhesion, vision
n has a distinct palato-nasal sound and is related to the
Spanish n in senor; it is generally followed by ya
q is a clicking, guttural sound related to k
sh is equivalent to sh in ship
w is always consonantal and sounds like the w in we, twin,
water
y is always consonantal and sounds like the y in you, yes,
beyond
z is pronounced midway between z and s
The triphthongs herein expressed by tsha and nya are used in words
of Malay origin, and are represented by single characters in Malay
and Magindanao.
In many cases when u precedes w and i precedes y the natives omit the
u and the i, and the same word may be written either with or without
the u or the i. When written they are pronounced very short; u at
the beginning of a word, as in undu, unggu, is often omitted both in
pronunciation and in writing. Such words may be written ndu and nggu.
To write Magindanao words by means of Arabic characters correctly a
certain knowledge of Arabic grammar and orthography is necessary. The
Moros lack that knowledge and write very inaccurately and
inconsistently. They neither punctuate nor use the accent sign.
In transliterating these tarsila that pronunciation which seemed
consistent and characteristic of each tarsila was adopted in the
transliteration of the same. The text is punctuated. The accent sign
is used very frequently. It is generally omitted when the accent is
upon the first syllable in words of two syllables and when it is upon
the syllable containing the long vowel. Some stress should be put on
the last syllable as a rule.
The Magindanao tongue is energetic and strong. Its pronunciation is
generally forcible, the last syllable being spoken abruptly and with
a certain amount of stress.
The word Mohammed is written with o in spite of the fact that it is
pronounced with u sound in both Arabic and Magindanao.
The combinations ay, ay, aw, aw are not diphthongs, but simple
syllables. The y and w in these cases and in all cases where they
precede a vowel have pure and distinct consonantal sounds.
A GEOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE CHIEF MORO SETTLEMENTS MENTIONED IN THE
TARSILA OF MINDANAO
The term Mindanao [2] or Magindanao was originally given to the town
now known as Cotabato and its immediate vicinity. As the power of the
sultan of Magindanao extended over the adjacent territory it was next
applied to the lower Rio Grande Valley and later to all the valley and
the whole seacoast that was brought under the rule of the sultan. The
word is derived from the root "danao," which means inundation by a
river, lake, or sea. The derivative "Mindanao" means "inundated"
or "that which is inundated." "Magindanao" means "that which has
inundation." This is the most appropriate term which could have been
given to this land. For more than 10 miles from the sea the Rio Grande,
aided by the rise of the tide, periodically overflows its banks and
floods all the adjacent lands. In the rainy season this inundation
extends farther up and includes an extensive tract of country. The
word "Cotabato" is in Moro kuta watu, which means a stone fort. Batu
is the equivalent of watu in Malay, Sulu, Tagalog, and Visaya. This
name is very modern, for the older maps that are still in use give
the name Mindanao in place of Cotabato. The little stream that rises
in the sulphur springs of Cotabato and empties into the Rio Grande
at its junction with the Matampay in front of the present guardhouse
is still known as the Stream of Magindanao.
The name of the Rio Grande in the Magindanao dialect is "Pulangi,"
which means "large river." The Rio Grande divides, 20 miles before it
reaches the sea, into the north branch and the south branch. Cotabato
is situated on the left bank of the north branch, about 5 miles from
its mouth. The hill of Cotabato is called "Tantawan," which means
"extensive view." Paygwan means "the place of washing," and is on the
left bank of the river at its mouth and above the bar. The Spanish
maps give it as Paiuan. Tinundan is at the mouth of a dead estuary
of the same name that joins the Pulangi about half a mile above
Paygwan and on the same side. Slangan is the western part of present
Cotabato and extends along the Manday stream. The Moros call the Manday
"Masurut." Simway extends along the river of the same name for about
2 miles from its mouth and lies about 4 miles north of Cotabato.
The Matampay River is a dead stream which joins the Pulangi
at Cotabato. Tagiman is the name of an old settlement built on
the Matampay River some distance above Cotabato. It is now called
Binilwan. Matampay and Lusudun were built on the Matampay River east of
Cotabato. Katitwan is an old settlement on the right bank of the river
3 miles below Libungan. Libungan is built at the junction of a river
of the same name with the Pulangi, about 9 miles above Cotabato. The
point at the fork is called Tambao. Three miles below Tambao on
the right bank of the south branch is the site of Bagumbayan. Three
miles below Bagumbayan on the left bank of the river is Taviran or
Tapidan. Ten miles below Taviran comes Tamontaka, which is nearly
south of Cotabato and about 4 miles distant. Tamontaka is about 4 miles
from the mouth of the south branch of the Pulangi. Lumbayanagi lies a
little below Tamontaka, on the right bank of the river. Immediately
above the fork and on the left bank of the main river lies the old
site of Kabuntalan. Fourteen miles above the fork lies Dulawan, the
settlement at present occupied by Datu Piang. Here empties one of the
largest tributaries of the Pulangi, which is navigable by launches for
12 miles farther up, to Sapakan, Datu Utu's main residence. Rakungan
lies in the foothills of the Tiruray Mountains about 12 miles south
of Sapakan. Talayan lies in the foothills of the Tiruray Mountains 15
miles southwest of Dulawan. Two miles below Dulawan lies the old site
of Bwayan, on the left bank of the Pulangi. Opposite Bwayan and Dulawan
lies the land of Kudarangan. Tinunkup is Reina Regente and Kabarukan
is the wooded hill beyond. Sarunayan is the stretch of country lying
north of Reina Regente and northeast of Kudarangan and extending to
the base of the Kulingtan Mountains, which separate the Rio Grande
Valley from the Ranao region. The country occupying the declivities
of these mountains north of Sarunayan is called Pidatan. Bagu Ingud
is an old settlement that lies along the left bank of the river about
16 or 20 miles above Reina Regente. Matbangan is on the right bank of
the river and extends a short distance below Piket. The Malitigaw or
Malidigaw is a large tributary of the Pulangi, about 15 miles above
Piket. Matinggawan is located at the junction of the Kabakan tributary
and about 30 miles above Piket. It is the chief settlement of the
last Moro district in the Rio Grande Valley whose farthest boundary
is the Mulita stream, which is about 115 miles by river above Cotabato.
Immediately south of the mouth of the south branch of the Rio Grande
and rising above the seashore at Linuk is the lofty and picturesque
pyramidal peak of Mount Kabalalan. From Kabalalan and the hills of
Taviran there stretches an extensive mountainous region or table-land
which extends as far south as the Bay of Sarangani. This table-land
is designated as the Tiruray table-land or mountains for the reason
that its northern half is inhabited by the tribe of pagans of the
same name who are not met with anywhere else. The Bay of Sarangani
is called in Moro Sugud Bwayan. Sugud means "bay," and Bwayan is
the chief settlement at the head of the bay. North of the head of
Sarangani Bay and at the southern terminus of one of the ranges of
the Apo system of mountains towers the picturesque and conical peak of
Mount Matutun. Matutun means "burning," and the mountain is an extinct
volcano. Lying between Matutun on the east and the previously mentioned
table-land on the west is the country of Talik. North of Talik lie Lake
Buluan or Bulwan and farther north Lake Ligwasan, which empties into
the Rio Grande through a stream called Maytum ig or black water. This
junction occurs at Kukmun, about 8 or 10 miles above Reina Regente.
Balabagan is about 10 miles south of Malabang. Magulalung is in the
neighborhood of Balabagan. The Iranun sultanate was on the shore of
Illana Bay, and the term Iranun signifies, in general, the people
who live along the shores of that bay. Iranun is also pronounced
and written as Ilanun; hence the corrupted Spanish name given to the
bay. The former Iranun sultanate must have occupied the country in the
vicinity of Malabang. Tubuk is the territory immediately bordering
on Malabang to the north of the Malabang stream. Baras lies a few
miles north of Malabang. Ramitan is in the immediate vicinity of Baras.
Malalis is near Tukurun. Dinas is the principal settlement on the
western coast of Illana Bay. Kumaladan is at the head of Dumanquilas
Bay. Sibugay is the name of the large bay east of the Zamboanga
peninsula.
The word "ranao" means a lake and is the name the Moros give to
the upland lake lying midway between Malabang and Iligan and to the
region surrounding the lake. The mountain range separating the Ranao
table-land from the Rio Grande Valley is called the Kulingtan Range
on account of the resemblance its peaks bear to the knobs of the row
of kulingtan on which the Moros make their music. The highest peak
in this range north of Parang and above Barira is supposed to be
Mount Bita. The highest ridge west of Ranao is called Mount Gurayn,
at the base of which lies the settlement of Bacolod or Bakulud.
The Ranao settlements which are mentioned in the tarsila are
Kadingilan, Bayan, Makadar, and Bakayawan in the south, and the
Bayabaw settlements of Marawi (Marahui), Madaya, and others in the
north; also Sikun, Didagun, and Dupilas.
At the time of the Spanish invasion of Mindanao all the southern and
western shores of the Island of Mindanao except the eastern shore
of Illana Bay were ruled and controlled by the sultan and datus
of Magindanao. The Ranao inhabitants are related to the Iranun in
language and tribal characteristics.
The word Mindanao unless restricted by the sense of the sentence
is generally used to mean the Island of Mindanao, while the term
Magindanao is limited to the old district or town of Cotabato proper.
THE MYTHOLOGY OF MINDANAO
Long ago, before the days of Kabungsuwan, Magindanao was covered
by water and the sea extended all over the lowlands and nothing
could be seen but mountains. The people lived on the highlands on
both sides. They were numerous and prosperous, and many villages and
settlements arose everywhere. But their prosperity and peace did not
last very long. There appeared in the land pernicious monsters which
devoured every human being they could reach. One of these terrible
animals was called Kurita. It had many limbs and lived partly on land
and partly in the sea. It haunted Mount Kabalalan [3] and extirpated
all animal life in its vicinity. The second was called Tarabusaw. This
ugly creature had the form of a man, but was very much larger. It
was extremely voracious and spread terror far and wide. It haunted
Mount Matutun and its neighborhood.
The third was a monstrous bird called Pah. [4] This bird was so
large when on the wing that it covered the sun and produced darkness
underneath. Its egg was as large as a house. It haunted Mount Bita
and the eastern Ranao region. It devoured the people and devastated
the land. The people were awe-struck, and those who escaped hid
themselves in the caves of the mountains.
The fourth was a dreadful bird, also, which had seven heads. It lived
in Mount Gurayn and the adjacent country.
The havoc was complete and the ruin of the land was awful. The sad
news found its way to strange and far lands, and all nations felt
sorry for the fate that befell Mindanao.
When the news reached Raja Indarapatra, the King of Mantapuli,
it grieved him very much and filled his heart with sympathy. Raja
Indarapatra called his brother, Raja Sulayman (Solomon) and asked
him to come to Mindanao to save the land from those destructive
animals. Raja Sulayman was moved with sorrow, mingled with enthusiasm
and zeal, and consented to come. Raja Indarapatra handed to his
brother his ring and his kris, Juru Pakal, [5] and wished him safety
and success. But before they parted Raja Indarapatra took a sapling
and planted it in the ground in front of his window. This he thought
was a sure sign by which he could tell what would happen to Sulayman
after his departure. He said to Sulayman, "If this tree lives, you
will live also; and if this tree dies, you will die too."
Raja Sulayman left Mantapuli and came over to Mindanao in the air. He
neither walked nor used a boat. The first place he reached was
Kabalalan. There he stood on the summit of the mountain and viewed
the land and the villages, but he could not see a single human being
anywhere. The sight was woeful, and Raja Sulayman exclaimed, "Alas,
how pitiful and dreadful is this devastation!" As Sulayman uttered
these words the whole mountain moved and shook, and suddenly there
came out of the ground a dreadful animal which attacked Sulayman and
fixed its claws in his flesh. The minute Sulayman saw the Kurita he
knew that it was the evil scourge of the land, and he immediately
drew his sword and cut the Kurita to pieces.
From there Sulayman went to Matutun. There he saw greater devastation
and a more awful condition of affairs. As he stood on the mountain
he heard a noise in the forest and saw a movement in the trees. Soon
there appeared Tarabusaw, which drew near and gave a loud yell. It
cautioned Sulayman and threatened to devour him. Sulayman in his
turn threatened to kill Tarabusaw. The animal said to Sulayman, "If
you kill me, I shall die the death of a martyr," and as it said these
words it broke large branches from the trees and assailed Sulayman. The
struggle lasted a long while, until at last the animal was exhausted
and fell to the ground; thereupon Sulayman struck it with his sword
and killed it. As the animal was dying it looked up to Sulayman
and congratulated him on his success. Sulayman answered and said,
"Your previous deeds brought this death on you."
The next place Sulayman went to was Mount Bita. Here the devastation
was worse still. Sulayman passed by many houses, but they were
all vacant and not a soul lived there. "Alas, what havoc and what
misfortune has befallen this country!" he exclaimed, as he went
on. But suddenly there came a darkness upon the land and Sulayman
wondered what it could mean. He looked up to the sky and beheld a
wonderful and huge bird descending from the sky upon him. He at once
recognized the bird and understood its purpose, and as quick as he
could draw his sword he struck the bird and cut off its wing. The
bird fell dead, but its wing fell on Sulayman and killed him.
At this same time Raja Indarapatra was sitting in his window, and he
looked and saw the little tree wither and dry up. "Alas!" he said,
"Raja Sulayman is dead;" and he wept.
Sad at heart but full of determination and desire for revenge, he got
up, put on his sword and belt, and came over to Mindanao to search
for his brother. He traveled in the air with wonderful speed and came
to Kabalalan first. There he looked around and saw the bones of the
Kurita and concluded that his brother had been there and had gone. At
Matutun he saw the bones of Tarabusaw, but Sulayman was not there. So
he passed on to Mount Bita and resumed the search. There he saw the
dead bird lying on the ground, and as he lifted the severed wing,
he saw the bones of Sulayman, and recognized them by means of the
sword that was lying by their side. As he looked at the sword and at
the bones he was overwhelmed with grief and wept with tears. Raising
up his head he turned around and beheld a small jar of water near
him. He knew that the jar was sent down from heaven, so he took it
and poured its water on the bones of his brother, and his brother
came to life again. Sulayman stood up, greeted his brother, and
talked with him. Raja Indarapatra had thought that Sulayman was dead,
but Sulayman assured him that he had not been dead, but that he had
been asleep. Raja Indarapatra rejoiced and life and happiness filled
his heart.
Raja Sulayman returned after that to Mantapuli, but Raja Indarapatra
continued his march to Mount Gurayn. There he met the dreadful bird
that had seven heads and killed it with his sword, Juru Pakal.
Having destroyed all these noxious animals, and having restored
peace and safety to the land, Raja Indarapatra set himself searching
for the people that might have escaped destruction. He was of the
opinion that some people must have contrived to hide in the earth
and that they might be alive yet. One day during his search he saw
a beautiful woman at some distance, and as he hastened to meet her
she disappeared quickly through a hole in the ground where she was
standing. Having become tired and pressed with hunger, he sat down on
a rock to rest. Looking around for food, he saw a pot full of uncooked
rice and a big fire on the ground in front of it. Coming to the fire
he placed it between his legs and put the pot over his knees to cook
the rice. While so occupied he heard a person laugh and exclaim,
"Oh, what a powerful person this man is!" He turned around and,
lo, there was an old woman near by looking at him and wondering how
he could cook his rice on a fire between his legs. The woman drew
nearer and conversed with Raja Indarapatra, who ate his rice and
stood talking to her. He inquired of her about her escape and about
the inhabitants of the land. She answered that most of them had been
killed and devoured by the pernicious animals, but that a few were
still alive. She and her old husband, she said, hid in a hollow tree
and could not come out from their hiding place until Raja Sulayman
killed the awful bird, Pah. The rest of the people and the datu, she
continued, hid in a cave in the ground and did not dare to come out
again. He urged her to lead him to the cave and show him the people,
and she did so. The cave was very large, and on one side of it were
the apartments of the datu and his family. He was ushered into the
presence of the datu and was quickly surrounded by all the people who
were in the cave. He related to them his purpose and his mission and
what he had accomplished and asked them to come out and reinhabit the
land. There he saw again the beautiful girl whom he had observed at
the opening of the cave. She was the daughter of the datu, and the
datu gave her to him in marriage in appreciation of the good he had
done for them and the salvation he had brought to the land. The people
came out of the cave and returned to their homes, where they lived
in peace and prosperity again. At this time the sea had withdrawn
and the lowland had appeared.
One day as Raja Indarapatra was considering his return home he
remembered Sulayman's ring and went out to search for it. During
the search he found a net near the water and stopped to fish to
replenish his provisions for the continuation of the march. The net
caught a quantity of buganga fish, some of which he ate. Inside one
of the fish he found his ring. This cheered Raja Indarapatra's heart
and completed his joy. Later he bade his father-in-law and his wife
good-bye and returned to Mantapuli pleased and happy.
Raja Indarapatra's wife was pregnant at the time of their parting and
a few months later gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. The boy's
name was Rinamuntaw and the girl's name was Rinayung. These two persons
are supposed to be the ancestors of some of the Ranao tribes or datus.
This narration was secured from Datu Kali Adam, who learned it from
the late Maharaja Layla of Magindanao and from Alad, one of the oldest
and most intelligent Moros living. Alad says that Mantapuli was a very
great city far in the land of the sunset; where, exactly, he does not
know, but he is sure it was beyond the sea. Mantapuli was so large,
he said, and its people were so numerous, that it blurred the eyes
to look at them move; they crushed the bamboo very fine if it was
laid in the street one day.
Raja Indarapatra is the mythological hero of Magindanao and Mantapuli
is his city. These names are very frequently mentioned in Moro stories,
and various miracles are ascribed to them.
Kabalalan, Matutun, Bita, and Gurayn are the most prominent and
picturesque peaks of Mindanao and Ranao with which the Moros are
familiar. The whole narration is native and genuine, and is typical
of the Magindanao style and superstitions. Some Arabic names and
Mohammedan expressions have crept into the story, but they are really
foreign and scarcely affect the color of the story.
The animal Kurita seems to bear some resemblance to the big crocodiles
that abound in the Rio Grande River. Tarabusaw may signify a large
variety of ape. A heinous bird is still | 557.94443 |
2023-11-16 18:26:22.0192500 | 7,436 | 11 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (University of Virginia)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=hLFEAAAAYAAJ
(University of Virginia)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
Mary _of_ Burgundy.
_By_
G. P. R. James
London
George Routledge
and Sons Limited.
MDCCCCIII.
_The Introduction is written by_ Laurie Magnus, M.A.;
_the Title-page is designed by_ Ivor I. J. Symes.
INTRODUCTION.
George Payne Rainsford James, Historiographer Royal to King William
IV., was born in London in the first year of the nineteenth century,
and died at Venice in 1860. His comparatively short life was
exceptionally full and active. He was historian, politician and
traveller, the reputed author of upwards of a hundred novels, the
compiler and editor of nearly half as many volumes of letters,
memoirs, and biographies, a poet and a pamphleteer, and, during the
last ten years of his life, British Consul successively in
Massachusetts, Norfolk (Virginia), and Venice. He was on terms of
friendship with most of the eminent men of his day. Scott, on whose
style he founded his own, encouraged him to persevere in his career as
a novelist; Washington Irving admired him, and Walter Savage Landor
composed an epitaph to his memory. He achieved the distinction of
being twice burlesqued, by Thackeray, and two columns are devoted to
an account of him in the new "Dictionary of National Biography." Each
generation follows its own gods, and G. P. R. James was, perhaps, too
prolific an author to maintain the popularity which made him "in some
ways the most successful novelist of his time." But his work bears
selection and revival. It possesses the qualities of seriousness and
interest; his best historical novels are faithful in setting and free
in movement. His narrative is clear, his history conscientious, and
his plots are well-conceived. English learning and literature are
enriched by the work of this writer, who made vivid every epoch in the
world's history by the charm of his romance.
The great passage in this book is so magnificently dramatic that James
feels it due to his conscience as an historian to apologise for its
excellence in a footnote. "It may be necessary," he writes at the foot
of page 234, "to inform those who are not deeply read in the
chronicles of France that this fact is minutely accurate." We are
glad of the reminder, for without it the reader might have thought
that here was something fictitious, or at least exaggerated and
'worked-up,' so intense and true is the tragic setting of the scene.
But if Mary of Burgundy's bearing at the execution of the Lord of
Imbercourt, and her grand historical utterance, recorded on page 305,
"You have banished my best friends, and slain my wisest counsellors,
and now what can I do to deliver you?" if these public appearances of
the heiress of Charles the Bold, and the love which she cherished for
the husband who was chosen for her on political grounds, justify James
in raising her to the title-role in this romance, it must be conceded
that the real hero is Albert Maurice, citizen of Ghent, a noble
mediæval prototype of the _citoyens_ of the French Revolution,
Whatever defects in character-study have been ascribed to James, no
one can deny that in Albert Maurice his skill was equal to its
material. The figure of the young President is firmly and consistently
drawn, and the conception touches considerable heights of human daring
and aspiration. Albert Maurice at the time of his fall was many years
younger than Wolsey, but he could say as genuinely as the Cardinal, "I
charge thee, fling away ambition!" In his story we realize to the full
the tragic import of that warning. His splendid dream of patriotism
was fulfilled by blunders and crimes, committed _per se_ or _per
alios_, for which he felt the responsibility, and at the end the
people of Ghent discovered the ancient truth, that worse than the
tyranny of tyrants is the tyranny of tyrannicides. But by that time
Maurice was dead; the victim of self-delusion would not survive his
disappointment; in the sudden knowledge that his goal was
unattainable, he became aware that his steps to it had been unjust.
This romance of the fifteenth century--Mary of Burgundy was married in
1477--is in what Matthew Arnold called the "grand style," and it is
therefore singularly free from faults of diction and false notes of
any kind. It has a certain attractive naturalness from beginning to
end, and it is one of the best, as it is one of the earliest, of the
series of novels in which James went for his plots to the French
Chroniclers of the Middle Ages.
MARY OF BURGUNDY:
OR,
THE REVOLT OF GHENT.
CHAPTER I.
It was on the evening of a beautiful day in the beginning of
September, 1456--one of those fair autumn days that wean us, as it
were, from the passing summer, with the light as bright, and the sky
as full of rays, as in the richest hours of June; and with nothing but
a scarce perceptible shade of yellow in the woods to tell that it is
not the proudest time of the year's prime. It was in the evening, as I
have said; but nothing yet betokened darkness. The sun had glided a
considerable way on his descent down the bright arch of the western
sky, yet without one ray being shadowed, or any lustre lost. He had
reached that degree of declination alone, at which his beams, pouring
from a spot a little above the horizon, produced, as they streamed
over forest and hill, grand masses of light and shade, with every here
and there a point of dazzling brightness, where the clear evening rays
were reflected from stream or lake.
It was in the heart of a deep forest, too, whose immemorial trees,
worn away by time, or felled by the axe, left in various places wide
open spaces of broken ground and turf, brushwood and dingle,--and
amidst whose deep recesses a thousand spots rich in woodland beauty
lay hidden from the eye of man. Those were not, indeed, times when
taste and cultivation had taught the human race to appreciate fully
all the charms and magnificence wherewith nature's hand has robed the
globe which we inhabit; and the only beings that then trod the deeper
glades of the forest were the woodman, the hunter, or those less
fortunate persons who--as we see them represented by the wild pencil
of Salvator Rosa--might greatly increase the picturesque effect of the
scenes they frequented; but, probably, did not particularly feel it
themselves. But there is, nevertheless, in the heart of man, a native
sense of beauty, a latent sympathy, a harmony with all that is lovely
on the earth, which makes him unconsciously seek out spots of peculiar
sweetness, not only for his daily dwelling, but also for both his
temporary resting place, and for the mansion of his long repose,
whether the age or the country be rude or not.
Look at the common cemetery of a village, and you will generally find
that it is pitched in the most picturesque spot to be found in the
neighbourhood. If left to his free will, the peasant will almost
always--without well knowing why--build his cottage where he may have
something fair or bright before his eyes; and the very herd, while
watching his cattle or his sheep, climbs up the face of the crag, to
sit and gaze over the fair expanse of Nature's face.
It was in the heart of a deep forest, then, at the distance of nearly
twenty miles from Louvain, that a boy, of about twelve years of age,
was seen sleeping by the side of a small stream; which, dashing over a
high rock hard by, gathered its bright waters in a deep basin at the
foot, and then rushed, clear and rapidly, through the green turf
beyond. The old trees of the wood were scattered abroad from the
stream, as if to let the little waterfall sparkle at its will in the
sunshine. One young ash tree, alone, self-sown by the side of the
river, waved over the boy's head, and cast a dancing veil of chequered
light and shade upon features as fair as eye ever looked upon.
At about a hundred yards from the spot where he was lying, a sandy
road wound through the savannah, and plunged into the deeper parts of
the wood. On the other side, however, the ground being of a more open
nature, the path might be seen winding up the steep ascent of a high
hill, with the banks, which occasionally flanked it to the east,
surmounted by long lines of tall overhanging trees.
A rude bridge of stone, whose ruinous condition spoke plainly how
rarely the traveller's foot trod the path through the forest, spanned
over the stream at a little distance. And the evening light, as it
poured in from the west, caught bright upon the countenance of the
sleeping boy, upon the dancing cascade above his head, upon many a
flashing turn in the river, and, after gilding the ivy that mantled
the old bridge, passed on to lose itself gradually in the gloom of the
deep masses of forest-ground beyond.
The dress of the sleeper accorded well with the scene in which he was
found; it consisted of a full coat, of forest-green, gathered round
his waist by a broad belt, together with the long tight hose common at
the period. In his belt was a dagger and knife; and on his head he had
no covering, except the glossy curls of his dark brown hair. Though
the material of his garments was of the finest cloth which the looms
of Ypres could produce, yet marks of toil, and even of strife, were
apparent in the dusty and torn state of his habiliments.
He lay, however, in that calm, deep, placid sleep, only known to
youth, toil, and innocence. His breath was so light, and his slumber
was so calm, that he might have seemed dead, but for the rosy hue of
health that overspread his cheeks. No sound appeared at first to have
any effect upon his ear, though, while he lay beside the stream, a
wild, timid stag came rustling through the brushwood to drink of its
waters, and suddenly seeing a human thing amidst the solitude of the
forest, bounded quick away through the long glades of the wood. After
that, the leaves waved over him, and the wind played with the curls of
his hair for nearly half an hour, without any living creature
approaching to disturb his repose. At the end of that time, some
moving objects made their appearance at the most distant point of the
road that was visible, where it sunk over the hill. At first, all that
could be seen was a dark body moving forward down the descent,
enveloped in a cloud of dust; but, gradually, it separated into
distinct parts, and assumed the form of a party of armed horsemen.
Their number might be ten or twelve; and, by the slowness of their
motions, it seemed that they had already travelled far. More than
once, as they descended the <DW72>, they paused, and appeared to gaze
over the country, as if either contemplating its beauty, or doubtful
of the road they ought to take. These pauses, however, always ended in
their resuming their way towards the spot which we have described.
When they at length reached it, they again drew the rein; and it
became evident, that uncertainty, with regard to their onward course,
had been the cause of their several halts upon the hill.
"By my faith, Sir Thibalt of Neufchatel," said one of the horsemen,
who rode a little in advance of the others, "for Marshal of Burgundy,
you know but little of your lord's dominions. By the Holy Virgin!
methinks that you are much better acquainted with every high-road and
by-path of my poor appanage of Dauphiny. At least, so the worthy
burghers of Vienne were wont to assert, when we would fain have
squeezed the double crowns out of their purses. It was then their
invariable reply, that the Marshal of Burgundy had been upon them with
his lances, and drained them as dry as hay: coming no one knew how,
and going no one knew where."
The man who spoke was yet not only in his prime, but in the early part
of that period of life which is called middle age. There was no
peculiar beauty in his countenance, nor in his person; there was
nothing, apparently, either to strike or to please. Yet it was
impossible to stand before him, and not to feel one's self--without
very well knowing why--in the presence of an extraordinary man. There
was in his deportment to be traced the evident habit of command. He
spoke, as if knowing his words were to be obeyed. But that was not
all; from underneath the overhanging penthouse of his thick eyebrows
shone forth two keen grey eyes, which had in them a prying,
inquisitive cunning, which seemed anxiously exerted to discover at
once the thoughts of those they gazed upon, before any veil, of the
many which man uses, could be drawn over motives or feelings, to
conceal them from that searching glance.
Those given to physiognomy might have gathered, from his high and
projecting, but narrow forehead, the indications of a keen and
observing mind, with but little imagination, superstition without
fancy, and talent without wit. The thin, compressed lips, the
naturally firm-set posture of the teeth, the curling line from the
nostril to the corner of the mouth, might have been construed to imply
a heart naturally cruel, which derived not less pleasure from
inflicting wounds by bitter words than from producing mere corporeal
pain. His dress, at this time of his life, was splendid to excess; and
the horse on which he rode showed the high blood that poured through
its veins, by a degree of fire and energy far superior to that
exhibited by the chargers of his companions, though the journey it had
performed was the same which had so wearied them.
As he spoke the words before detailed, he looked back to a gentleman,
who rode a step or two behind him on his right hand; and on his
countenance appeared, what he intended to be, a smile of frank,
good-humoured raillery. The natural expression of his features mingled
with it nevertheless, and gave it an air of sarcasm, which made the
bitter, perhaps, preponderate over the sweet.
The person to whom he addressed himself, however, listened with
respectful good humour. "In truth, my lord," he replied, "so little
have I dwelt in this part of the duke's dominions that I know my way
less than many a footboy. I once was acquainted with every rood of
ground between Brussels and Tirlemont; but, God be thanked, my memory
is short, and I have forgotten it all, as readily as I hope you, sir,
may forget certain marches in Dauphiny, made when Louis the Dauphin
was an enemy to Burgundy, instead of an honoured guest."
"They are forgotten, Lord Marshal, they are forgotten," replied the
Dauphin, afterwards famous as Louis XI.--"and can never more be
remembered but to show me how much more pleasant it is to have the
lord of Neufchatel for a friend rather than an enemy. But, in Heaven's
name," he added, changing the subject quickly, "before we go farther,
let us seek some one to show us the way, or let us halt our horses
here, and wait for the fat citizens of Ghent, whom we left on the
other side of the river."
His companion shook his head with a doubtful smile, as he replied, "It
would be difficult, I trow, to find any guide here, unless Saint
Hubert, or some other of the good saints, were to send us a white stag
with a collar of gold round his neck, to lead us safely home, as the
old legends tell us they used to do of yore."
"The saints have heard your prayer, my lord," cried one of the party
who had strayed a little to the left, but not so far as to be out of
hearing of the conversation which was passing between the other two;
"the saints have heard your prayer; and here is the white stag, in the
form of a fair boy in a green jerkin."
As he spoke, he pointed forward with his hand towards the little
cascade, where the boy, who had been sleeping by its side, had now
started up, awakened by the sound of voices, and of horses' feet, and
was gazing on the travellers, with anxious eyes, and with his hand
resting on his dagger.
"Why, how now, boy!" cried the Dauphin, spurring up towards the
stream. "Thinkest thou that we are Jews, or cut-throats, or wild men
of the woods, that thou clutchest thy knife so fearfully? Say, canst
thou tell how far we are from Tirlemont?"
The boy eyed the party for several moments ere he replied. "How should
I know whether you be cut-throats or not?" he said, at length; "I have
seen cut-throats in as fine clothes. How far is it from Tirlemont? As
far as it is from Liege or Namur."
"Then, by my troth, Sir Marshal," said the Dauphin, turning to his
companion, "our horses will never carry us thither this night. What is
to be done?"
"What is the nearest town or village, boy?" demanded the Marshal of
Burgundy. "If we be at equal distances from Namur and Liege and
Tirlemont, we cannot be far from Hannut."
"Hannut is the nearest place," answered the boy; "but it is two hours'
ride for a tired horse."
"We will try it, however," said the Marshal; and then added, turning
to the Dauphin, "the lord of the castle of Hannut, sir, though first
cousin of the bad Duke of Gueldres, is a noble gentleman as ever
lived; and I can promise you a fair reception. Though once a famous
soldier, he has long cast by the lance and casque; and, buried deep in
studies--which churchmen say are hardly over holy--he passes his whole
time in solitude, except when some ancient friend breaks in upon his
reveries. Such a liberty I may well take. Now, boy, tell us our road,
and there is a silver piece for thy pains."
The boy stooped not to raise the money which the Marshal threw towards
him, but replied eagerly, "If any one will take me on the croup behind
him, I will show you easily the way. Nay, I beseech you, noble lords,
take me with you; for I am wearied and alone, and I must lie in the
forest all night if you refuse me."
"But dost thou know the way well, my fair boy?" demanded the Dauphin,
approaching nearer, and stooping over his saddle-bow to speak to the
boy with an air of increasing kindness. "Thou art so young, methinks
thou scarce canst know all the turnings of a wood like this. Come, let
us hear if thy knowledge is equal to the task of guiding us?"
"That it is," answered the boy at once. "The road is as easy to find
as a heron's nest in a bare tree. One has nothing to do but to follow
on that road over the bridge, take the two first turnings to the
right, and then the next to the left, and at the end of a league more
the castle is in sight."
"Ay," said the Dauphin, "is it so easy as that? Then, by my faith, I
think we can find it ourselves. Come, Sir Marshall, come!" And, so
saying, he struck his spurs into his horse's sides, and cantered over
the bridge.
The Marshal of Burgundy looked back with a lingering glance of
compassion at the poor boy thus unfeelingly treated by his companion.
But, as the Prince dashed forward and waved his hand for him to
follow, he rode on also, though not without a muttered comment on the
conduct of the other, which might not have given great pleasure had it
been vented aloud. The whole train followed; and, left alone, the boy
stood silent, gazing on them as they departed, with a flushed cheek
and a curling lip. "Out upon the traitors!" he exclaimed, at length.
"All men are knaves; yet it is but little honour to their knavery, to
cheat a boy like me."
The train wound onward into the wood, and the last horseman was soon
hidden from his eyes; but the merry sound of laughing voices, borne by
the wind to his ear for some moments after they were out of sight,
spoke painfully how little interest they took in his feelings or
situation.
He listened till all was still, and then, seating himself on the bank
of the stream, gazed vacantly on the bubbling waters as they rushed
hurriedly by him; while the current of his own thoughts held as rapid
and disturbed a course. As memory after memory of many a painful scene
and sorrow--such as infancy has seldom known--came up before his
sight, his eyes filled, the tears rolled rapidly over his cheeks, and,
casting himself prostrate on the ground, he hid his face amongst the
long grass, and sobbed as if his heart would break.
He had not lain there long, however, when a heavy hand, laid firmly on
his shoulder, caused him once more to start up; and, though the figure
which stood by him when he did so, was not one whose aspect was very
prepossessing, yet it would be difficult to describe the sudden
lightning of joy that sparkled in his eyes through the tears with
which they still overflowed.
The person who had roused him from the prostrate despair in which he
had cast himself down, was a middle-sized, broad-made man, with long
sinewy arms, and a chest like that of a mountain-bull. He might be
nearly forty years of age; and his face, which had once been fair, a
fact which was vouched alone by his light brown hair, and clear blue
eye, had now reached a hue nearly approaching to the colour of
mahogany, by constant exposure to the summer's sun and the winter's
cold. There was in it, withal, an expression of daring hardihood,
softened and, as it were, purified by a frank, free, good-humoured
smile, which was not without a touch of droll humour. His garb at once
bespoke him one of those vagrant sons of Mars, with whom war, in some
shape, was a never-failing trade; a class of which we must speak more
hereafter, and which the abuses of the feudal system, the constant
feuds of chieftain with chieftain, and the long and desolating warfare
between France and England, had at that time rendered but too common
in every part of Europe. He was not, indeed, clothed from head to heel
in cold iron, as was customary with the knight or man-at-arms when
ready for the field; but there was quite a sufficient portion of old
steel about his person, in the form of arms both offensive and
defensive, to show that hard blows were the principal merchandise in
which he traded.
He laid his large hairy hand, as I have said, firmly and familiarly on
the boy's shoulder; and the expression of the young wanderer's
countenance, when he started up, and beheld the person who stood near
him, at once showed, not only that they were old acquaintances, but
that their meeting was both unexpected and joyful.
"Matthew Gournay!" exclaimed the boy, "good Matthew Gournay, is it
you, indeed? Oh, why did you not come before? With your fifty good
lances, we might yet have held the castle out, till we were joined by
the troops from Utrecht; but now all is lost, the castle taken, and my
father----"
"I know it all, Master Hugh," interrupted the soldier; "I know it all
better than the paternoster. Bad news flies faster than a swallow; so
I know it all, and a good deal more than you yourself know. You ask,
why I did not come too. By our Lady! for the simplest reason in the
world--because I could not. I was lying like an old rat in a trap,
with four stone walls all round about me, in the good city of Liege.
Duke Philip heard of the haste I was making to give you help, and
cogged with the old bishop--may his skull be broken!--to send out a
couple of hundred reiters to intercept us on our march. What would you
have? We fought like devils, but we were taken at a disadvantage, by a
superior force. All my gallant fellows were killed or dispersed; and
at last, finding my back against a rock, with six spears at my breast,
and not loving the look of such a kind of toasting-fork, I agreed to
take lodging in the town prison of Liege."
"But how got you out, then!" demanded the boy; "did they free you for
good-will?"
"Not they," replied Matthew Gournay: "they gave me cold water and hard
bread, and vowed every day to stick my head upon the gate of the town,
_as a terror to all marauders_, as they said. But the fools showed
themselves rank burghers, by leaving me my arms; and I soon found
means to get the iron bars out of the windows, ventured a leap of
thirty feet, swam the ditch, climbed the wall, and here I am in the
forest of Hannut. But not alone, Master Hugh. I have got a part of my
old comrades together already, and hope soon to have a better band
than ever. The old seneschal, too, from the castle, is with us, and
from him we heard all the bad news. But, though he talked of murder
and putting to death, and flaying alive, and vowed that everybody in
the castle had been killed but himself, I got an inkling from the old
charcoal-burner's wife, at the hut in the wood, of how you had
escaped, and whither you had gone. So, thinking, as you were on foot
and alone, that you might want help and a horse, I tracked you like a
deer to this place: for your father was always a good friend to me in
the time of need; and I will stand by you, Master Hugh, while I have a
hand for my sword, or a sword for my hand."
"Hark!" cried the boy, almost as the other spoke; "there's a bugle on
the hill! It must be the duke's butchers following me."
"A bugle!" cried the soldier; "a cow's-horn blown by a sow-driver, you
mean. None of the duke's bugles ever blew a blast like that, something
between the groaning of a blacksmith's bellows and the grunting of a
hog. But there they are," he continued, "sure enough, lances and all,
as I live. We must to cover, Hugh, we must to cover! Quick--thy hand,
boy--they are coming down, straggling like fallow deer!"
So saying, Matthew Gournay sprang up the high bank, in falling over
which the little stream formed the cascade we have noticed; and, as he
climbed the rock himself, he assisted, or rather dragged up after him,
his young companion, whose hand he held locked in his own, with a
grasp which no slight weight could have unbent.
For a moment, they paused on the top of the crag, to take another look
at the approaching party, and then plunged into the long shrubs and
tangled brushwood that clothed the sides of the winding glen, down
which the stream wandered previous to its fall.
CHAPTER II.
The party, whose approach had interrupted the conversation of Matthew
Gournay and his young companion, were not long before they reached the
little open spot in the forest, from which they had scared the other
two; and, as it was at that point that their road first fell in with
the stream, they paused for a moment, to water their horses ere they
proceeded. Their appearance and demeanour corresponded well with the
peculiar sound of the horn which they had blown upon the hill; for
though the instrument which announced their approach was martial in
itself, yet the sounds which they produced from it were anything but
military; and though swords and lances, casques and breastplates, were
to be seen in profusion amongst them, there was scarcely one of the
party who had not a certain burgher rotundity of figure, or negligence
of gait, far more in harmony with furred gowns and caps _à la mortier_
than with war-steeds and glittering arms.
The first, who paused beside the stream, had nearly been thrown over
his horse's head, by the animal suddenly bending his neck to drink;
and it was long before the rider could sufficiently compose himself
again in the saddle, to proceed with some tale which he had been
telling to one of his companions, who urged him to make an end of his
story, with an eagerness which seemed to show that the matter was one
of great interest to him at least.
"Well-a-day, Master Nicholas, well-a-day!" cried the discomposed
horseman, "let me but settle myself on my stool--saddle, I mean. God
forgive me! but this cursed beast has pulled the bridle out of my
hands. So ho! Bernard, so ho!--there, there, surely thou couldst drink
without bending thy head so low."
While he thus spoke, by a slow and cautious movement--not unlike that
with which a child approaches a sparrow, to perform the difficult task
of throwing salt upon its tail--he regained a grasp of the bridle-rein
which the horse had twitched out of his hand, and then went on with
his story, interrupting it, however, every now and then, to address
sundry admonitions to his horse, somewhat in the following style:--
"Well, where was I, worthy Master Nicholas? I was saying--so ho!
beast! The devil's in thee, thou wilt have me into the river. I was
saying that, after the castle was taken, and every soul put to the
sword, even the poor boy, Hugh,--for which last, I hear, the duke is
very much grieved,--be quiet, Bernard, hold up thy head!--Count
Adolphus himself fled away by a postern-door, and is now a prisoner
in--"
"Nay, but, Master Martin, you said they were all put to death,"
interrupted one of his companions.
"Remember what the doctors say," replied the other; "namely, that
there is no general rule without its exception. They were all killed
but those that ran away, which were only Count Adolphus and his horse,
who got away together, the one upon the other. Fool that he was to
trust himself upon a horse's back! It was his ruin, alack! it was his
ruin."
"How so?" demanded Master Nicholas; "did the horse throw him and break
his pate? Methought you said, but now, that he was alive and a
prisoner."
"And I said truly, too," answered the other. "Nevertheless, his
mounting that horse was the cause of his ruin; for though he got off
quietly enough, yet, at the bridge below Namur--where, if he had had
no horse, he would have passed free--he was obliged to stop to pay
pontage[1] for his beast. A priest, who was talking with the toll-man,
knew him; and he was taken on the spot, and cast into prison."
"Methinks it was more the priest's fault than the horse's, then,"
replied Master Nicholas; "but whoever it was that betrayed him, bad
was the turn they did to the city of Ghent; for, what with his aid,
and that of the good folks of Gueldres, and the worthy burghers of
Utrecht, we might have held the proud duke at bay, and wrung our
rights from him drop by drop, like water from a sponge."
"God knows, God knows!" replied Martin Fruse, the burgher of Ghent, to
whom this was addressed; "God knows! it is a fine thing to have one's
rights, surely; but, somehow, I thought we were very comfortable and
happy in the good old city, before there was any quarrel about rights
at all. Well I know, we have never been happy since; and I have been
forced to ride on horseback by the week together; for which sin, my
flesh and skin do daily penance | 558.03929 |
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ANDREW MELVILLE
BY
WILLIAM MORISON
FAMOUS
SCOTS:
SERIES
PUBLISHED BY
OLIPHANT ANDERSON
FERRIER EDINBVRGH
AND LONDON
The designs and ornaments of this volume are by Mr. Joseph Brown, and
the printing from the press of Messrs. T. and A. Constable, Edinburgh.
Transcriber's notes: Minor typos have been corrected. Footnotes have
been placed at the end of the paragraph to which they refer. Greek has
been changed to Latin letters and placed in brackets.
PREFATORY NOTE
Let it be understood that the quotations in Scots, where the author is
not mentioned, are from the Autobiography and Diary of James Melville.
_March_ 1899.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY 9
CHAPTER II
BIRTH--EDUCATION--YEARS ABROAD 15
CHAPTER III
SERVICES TO SCOTTISH EDUCATION--PRINCIPALSHIP OF
GLASGOW AND ST. ANDREWS 23
CHAPTER IV
THE 'DINGING DOWN' OF THE BISHOPS--MELVILLE
AND MORTON 31
CHAPTER V
THE 'BIGGING UP' OF THE BISHOPS UNDER LENNOX
AND ARRAN--MELVILLE'S FLIGHT TO ENGLAND 43
CHAPTER VI
THE KING'S SURRENDER TO THE CHURCH 56
CHAPTER VII
THE POPISH LORDS--MELVILLE AND THE KING AT
FALKLAND PALACE 71
CHAPTER VIII
THE KING'S GREEK GIFT TO THE CHURCH 93
CHAPTER IX
MELVILLE AT HAMPTON COURT 116
CHAPTER X
THE KING'S ASSEMBLIES 134
CHAPTER XI
THE TOWER: SEDAN 140
ANDREW MELVILLE
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
While Andrew Melville has other claims on the lasting honour of his
countrymen than the part he took in securing for Scotland the
ecclesiastical system which has been the most powerful factor in her
history, it may be held as certain that where this service which filled
his life is disesteemed, his biography, if read at all, will be read
with only a languid interest. It will be our first endeavour, therefore,
to show that such a prejudice in regard to our subject is mistaken and
misleading.
Melville, and all from first to last who joined in the Scottish
resistance to Episcopacy, were persuaded that the controversy in which
they were engaged was one not academic merely but vital, and that, as it
was settled one way or the other, so would the people be left in a
position in which they would be able to develop their religious life
with freedom and effect, or in one which would incalculably <DW36> it.
That is a contention which history has amply vindicated.
The best justification of the struggle carried on during the period
from Melville to the Revolution (1574-1688) to preserve the Presbyterian
system in the Church is to be found in the benefits which that system
has conferred upon the country. It has penetrated the whole Christian
people with a sense of their individual responsibility in connection
with the principles and government of the Church; it has saved the
Church from being dwarfed into a mere clerical corporation; it has laid
for it a broad and strong basis by winning to it the attachment of its
common members, and by exercising their intelligence, sympathy, and
interest in regard to all its institutions and enterprises. It may be
truly said of the Scottish people that their highest patriotism has been
elicited and exercised over the religious problems of the nation; that
they have shown more sensitiveness | 558.039312 |
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THE DUNE COUNTRY
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
THE VOICES OF THE DUNES
QUARTO BOARDS $6.00 NET
ETCHING:
A PRACTICAL TREATISE
CROWN QUARTO CLOTH $2.50 NET
[Illustration:
The Dune Country.]
THE
DUNE COUNTRY
_By_
EARL H. REED
AUTHOR OF
“THE VOICES OF THE DUNES”
“ETCHING: A PRACTICAL TREATISE”
WITH SIXTY ILLUSTRATIONS
BY THE AUTHOR
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
TORONTO: S. B. GUNDY, MCMXVI
COPYRIGHT, 1916
BY JOHN LANE COMPANY
PRESS OF
EATON & GETTINGER
NEW YORK, U.S.A.
_To_ C. C. R.
INTRODUCTION
The text and illustrations in this book are intended to depict a strange
and picturesque country, with some of its interesting wild life, and a
few of the unique human characters that inhabit it.
The big ranges of sand dunes that skirt the southern and eastern shores
of Lake Michigan, and the strip of sparsely settled broken country back
of them, contain a rich fund of material for the artist, poet, and
nature lover, as well as for those who would seek out the oddities of
human kind in by-paths remote from much travelled highways.
In the following pages are some of the results of numerous sketching
trips into this region, covering a series of years. Much material was
found that was beyond the reach of the etching needle or the lead
pencil, but many things seemed to come particularly within the province
of those mediums, and they have both been freely used.
While many interesting volumes could be filled by pencil and pen, this
story of the dunes and the “back country” has been condensed as much as
seems consistent with the portrayal of their essential characteristics.
We are lured into the wilds by a natural instinct. Contact with nature’s
forms and moods is a necessary stimulant to our spiritual and
intellectual life. The untrammelled mind may find inspiration and growth
in congenial isolation, for in it there are no competitive or
antagonistic influences to divert or destroy its fruitage.
Comparatively isolated human types are usually more interesting, for the
reason that individual development and natural ruggedness have not been
rounded and polished by social attrition.
Social attrition would have ruined “old Sipes,” a part of whose story is
in this book, and if it had ever been mentioned to him he probably would
have thought that it was something that lived up in the woods that he
had never seen.
Fictitious names have, for various reasons, been substituted for some of
the characters in the following chapters. One of the old derelicts
objected strenuously to the use of his name. “I don’t want to be in no
book,” said he. “You can draw all the pitchers o’ me you want to, an’
use ’em, but as fer names, there’s nothin’ doin’.”
“Old Sipes” suggested that if “Doc Looney’s pitcher was put in a book,
some o’ them females might see it an’ locate ’im,” but as the “Doc” has
now disappeared this danger is probably remote.
E. H. R.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE DUNE COUNTRY 15
II. THE GULLS AND TERNS 39
III. THE TURTLES 47
IV. THE CROWS 55
V. “OLD SIPES” 73
VI. “HAPPY CAL” 97
VII. “CATFISH JOHN” 115
VIII. “DOC LOONEY” 149
IX. THE MYSTERIOUS PROWLER 169
X. “J. LEDYARD SYMINGTON” 179
XI. THE BACK COUNTRY 193
XII. JUDGE CASSIUS BLOSSOM 229
XIII. THE WINDING RIVER 255
XIV. THE RED ARROW 279
THE DUNE COUNTRY
[Illustration] CHAPTER I
THE DUNE COUNTRY
While there are immense stretches of sand dunes in other parts of the
world, it is of a particular dune country, to which many journeys have
been made, and in which many days have been spent, that this story will
be told.
The dunes sweep for many miles along the Lake Michigan coasts. They are
post-glacial, and are undergoing slow continual changes, both in form
and place,--the loose sand responding lightly to the action of varying
winds.
The “fixed dunes” retain general forms, more or less stable, owing to
the scraggly and irregular vegetation that has obtained a foothold upon
them, but the “wandering dunes” move constantly. The fine sand is wafted
in shimmering veils across the smooth expanses, over the ridges to the
lee <DW72>s. It swirls in soft clouds from the wind-swept summits, and,
in the course of time, whole forests are engulfed. After years of
entombment, the dead trunks and branches occasionally reappear in the
path of the destroyer, and bend back with gnarled arms in self-defence,
seeming to challenge their flinty foe to further conflict.
The general movement is east and southeast, owing to the prevalence of
west and northwest winds in this region, which gather force in coming
over the waters of the lake. The finer grains, which are washed up on
the beach, are carried inland, the coarser particles remaining near the
shore. The off-shore winds, being broken by the topography of the
country, exercise a less but still noticeable influence. The loose
masses retreat perceptibly toward the beach when these winds prevail for
any great length of time.
To many this region simply means a distant line of sandy crests,
tree-flecked and ragged, against the sky on the horizon--a mysterious
and unknown waste, without commercial value, and therefore useless from
a utilitarian standpoint.
It is not the land, but the landscape, not the utility, but the romantic
and interesting wild life among these yellow ranges that is of value. It
is the picturesque and poetic quality that we find in this land of
enchantment that appeals to us, and it is because of this love in our
lives that we now enter this strange country.
The landscapes among the dunes are not for the realist, not for the cold
and discriminating recorder of facts, nor the materialist who would
weigh with exact scales or look with scientific eyes. It is a country
for the dreamer and the poet, who would cherish its secrets, open
enchanted locks, and explore hidden vistas, which the Spirit of the
Dunes has kept for those who understand.
The winds have here fashioned wondrous forms with the shuttles of the
air and the mutable sands. Shadowy fortresses have been reared and
bannered with the pines. Illusive distant towers are tinged by the
subtle hues of the afterglows, as the twilights softly blend them into
the glooms. In the fading light we may fancy the outlines of frowning
castles and weird battlements, with ghostly figures along their heights.
If the desert was of concrete, its mystery and spiritual power would not
exist. The deadly silences which nature leaves among her ruins are
appalling, unless brightened by her voices of enduring hope. It is then
that our spirits revive with her.
There is an unutterable gloom in the hush of the rocky immensities,
where, in dim ages past, the waters have slowly worn away the stony
barriers of the great canyons among the mountains. The countless
centuries seem to hang over them like a pall, when no living green comes
forth among the stones to nourish the soul with faith in life to come.
We walk in these profound solitudes with an irresistible sense of
spiritual depression.
On Nature’s great palette green is the color of hope. We see it in the
leaves when the miracle of the spring unfolds them, and on the ocean’s
troubled waters when the sun comes from behind the curtains of the sky.
Even the tiny mosses cover with their mantles the emblems of despair
when decay begins its subtle work on the fallen tree and broken stump.
We find in the dune country whatever we take to it. The repose of the
yellow hills, which have been sculptured by the winds and the years,
reflects the solemnity of our minds, and eternal hope is sustained by
the expectant life that creeps from every fertile crevice.
While the wandering masses are fascinating, it is among the more
permanent forms, where nature has laid her restraining hand, that we
find the most picturesque material. It is here that the reconstructive
processes have begun which impart life to the waste places. At first,
among these wastes, one is likely to have a sense of loneliness. The
long, undulating lines of ridged sand inspire thoughts of hopeless
melancholy. The sparse vegetation, which in its struggle for life
pathetically seizes and holds the partially fertile spots among these
ever-shifting masses, has the appearance of broken submission. The
wildly tangled roots--derelicts of the sands--which have been deserted
and left to bleach in the sun by the slow movement of the great hills,
emphasize the feeling of isolation. The changing winds may again give
them a winding sheet, but as a part of nature’s refuse, they are slowly
and steadily being resolved back into her crucible.
[Illustration:
“DERELICTS OF THE SANDS”]
To the colorist the dunes present ever-changing panoramas of hue and
tone. Every cloud that trails its purple, phantom-like shadow across
them can call forth the resources of his palette, and he can find
inspiration in the high nooks where the pines cling to their perilous
anchorage.
The etcher may revel in their wealth of line. The harmonic undulations
of the long, serrated crests, with sharp accents of gnarled roots and
stunted trees, offer infinite possibilities in composition. To the
imaginative enthusiast, seeking poetic forms of line expression, these
dwarfed, neglected, crippled, and wasted things become subtle units in
artistic arrangement.
| 558.040584 |
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WOODSTOCK
AN HISTORICAL SKETCH
BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN, PH.D.
READ AT ROSELAND PARK, WOODSTOCK, CONNECTICUT, AT THE BI-CENTENNIAL
CELEBRATION OF THE TOWN, ON TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1886
NEW YORK & LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1886
COPYRIGHT BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN
1886
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
New York
As a full history of Woodstock has been in preparation for several
years and will, it is hoped, be published in the course of another
year, this brief sketch is issued as it was read at the Bi-Centennial
Anniversary of the town.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 7
II. THE SETTLEMENT OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY
AND OF ROXBURY 8
III. THE NIPMUCK COUNTRY AND THE VISIT OF
JOHN ELIOT TO THE INDIANS AT WABBAQUASSET,
OR WOODSTOCK 12
IV. THE SETTLEMENT OF NEW ROXBURY, OR
WOODSTOCK 20
V. THE CHANGE OF THE NAME OF NEW ROXBURY
TO WOODSTOCK 28
VI. THE GROWTH OF THE NEW TOWNSHIP--1690-1731 32
VII. ECCLESIASTICAL AFFAIRS 36
VIII. THE TRANSFER OF WOODSTOCK FROM MASSACHUSETTS
TO CONNECTICUT 43
IX. MILITARY RECORD 46
X. EDUCATIONAL MATTERS 53
XI. DISTINGUISHED CITIZENS 55
XII. CHARACTERISTICS OF WOODSTOCK 58
XIII. CONCLUSION 61
INDEX 63
I.
The history of the town of Woodstock is associated with the beginnings
of history in New England. The ideas of the first settlers of Woodstock
were the ideas of the first settlers of the Colony of Plymouth and
the Province of Massachusetts Bay. The planting of these colonies
was one of the fruits of the Reformation. The antagonism between the
Established Church of England and the Non-Conformists led to the
settlement of New England. The Puritans of Massachusetts, at first
Non-Conformists, became Separatists like the Pilgrims of Plymouth.
Pilgrims and Puritans alike accepted persecution and surrendered the
comforts of home to obtain religious liberty. They found it in New
England; and here, more quickly than in the mother country, they
developed also that civil liberty which is now the birthright of every
Anglo-Saxon.
II.
The settlement of Woodstock is intimately connected with the first
organized settlement on Massachusetts Bay; and how our mother town
of Roxbury was first established is best told in the words of Thomas
Dudley in his letter to the Countess of Lincoln under date of Boston,
March 12, 1630-1:
"About the year 1627 some friends, being together in Lincolnshire,
fell into discourse about New England and the planting of the
gospel there. In 1628 we procured a patent from his Majesty for
our planting between the Massachusetts Bay and Charles River on
the South and the River of Merrimack on the North and three miles
on either side of those rivers and bay... and the same year we
sent Mr. John Endicott and some with him to begin a plantation. In
1629 we sent divers ships over with about three hundred people. Mr.
Winthrop, of Suffolk (who was well known in his own country and
well approved here for his piety, liberality, wisdom, and gravity),
coming in to us we came to such resolution that in April, 1630, we
set sail from Old England.... We were forced to change counsel,
and, for our present shelter, to plant dispersedly."
Settlements were accordingly made at Salem, Charlestown, Boston,
Medford, Watertown, and in several other localities. The sixth
settlement was made, to quote further from the same letter to the
Countess of Lincoln, by "others of us two miles from Boston, in a place
we named Rocksbury."[1]
The date of settlement was September 28, 1630, and just three weeks
later the first General Court that ever sat in America was held in
Boston. The same year the first church in Boston was organized.[2]
Roxbury, like the other settlements of Massachusetts Bay, was a little
republic in itself. The people chose the selectmen and governed
themselves; and as early as 1634, like the seven other organized towns,
they sent three deputies to Boston to attend the first representative
Assembly at which important business was transacted. The government
of Roxbury, like the other plantations, was founded on a theocratic
basis. Church and state were inseparable. No one could be admitted
as a citizen unless he was a member of the church. Many of the first
settlers came from Nazing, a small village in England, about twenty
miles from London, on the river Lee. Morris, Ruggles, Payson, and
Peacock, names read in the earliest records of Woodstock, were old
family names in Nazing. Other first inhabitants of Roxbury came from
Wales and the west of England, or London and its vicinity. Among the
founders were John Johnson, Richard Bugbee, and John Leavens, whose
family names are well known as among the first settlers of Woodstock.
All were men of property[3]; none were "of the poorer sort." In 1631
the Rev. John Eliot, a native of the village of Nazing, arrived with a
company of Nazing pilgrims. Eliot, though earnestly solicited to become
pastor of the church in Boston,[4] accepted the charge of the church
in Roxbury, which was organized in 1632,[5] and was the sixth church,
in order of time, established in New England. Another name equally
prominent in the earliest years of the history of Roxbury was that of
William Pynchon, afterwards known as the founder of Springfield in
Massachusetts. Only Boston excels Roxbury in the number of its citizens
who have made illustrious the early history of the Massachusetts
colony.[6] Among the early settlers of Roxbury who themselves became,
or whose descendants became, the early settlers of Woodstock, were the
Bartholomews, Bowens, Bugbees, Chandlers, Childs, Corbins, Crafts,
Griggses, Gareys, Holmeses, Johnsons, Lyons, Levinses, Mays, Morrises,
Paysons, Peacocks, Peakes, Perrins, Scarboroughs, and Williamses.[7]
In 1643 the towns within the jurisdiction of Massachusetts had grown
to thirty, and Roxbury did more than her share towards the organization
of the new towns. In fact, Roxbury has been called the mother of
towns, no less than fifteen communities having been founded by her
citizens.[8] Among the most important of these settlements was the town
of Woodstock, whose Bicentennial we this day celebrate.
III.
A glance at the country about us previous to the settlement of the
town, in 1686, shows us a land sparsely inhabited by small bands of
peaceful Indians, without an independent chief of their own, but who
paid tribute to the Sachem of the Mohegans, the warriors who had
revolted from the Pequots. Woodstock was a portion of the Nipmuck[9]
country, so-called because it contained fresh ponds or lakes in
contrast to other sections that bordered upon the sea or along running
rivers. Wabbaquasset, or the mat-producing place, was the name of the
principal Indian village, and that name still exists in the corrupted
form of Quasset to designate a section of the town. Indians from
the Nipmuck[10] country took corn to Boston in 1630, soon after the
arrival of the "Bay Colony"; and in 1633[11] John Oldman and his three
Dorchester companions passed through this same section on their way to
learn something of the Connecticut River country; and they may have
rested on yonder "Plaine Hill," for history states that they "lodged
at Indians towns all the way."[12] The old "Connecticut Path" over
which that distinguished band[13] of colonists went in 1635 and 1636 to
settle the towns of Windsor, Wethersfield, and Hartford, passed through
the heart of what is now Woodstock.[14] This path so famous in the
early days of New England history, came out of Thompson Woods, a little
north of Woodstock Lake, and proceeding across the Senexet meadow, ran
west near Plaine Hill, Marcy's Hill, and a little south of the base of
Coatney Hill. For more than fifty years before the settlement of the
town, this historic path near Woodstock Hill was the outlet for the
surplus population of Massachusetts Bay and the line of communication
between Massachusetts and the Connecticut and New Haven colonies.
But the most noteworthy feature in the description of the Indians of
the Nipmuck country is that as early as 1670 they were formed into
Praying Villages. Evidently the instructions of Gov. Cradock in his
letter of March, 1629, to John Endicott had not been forgotten. In that
letter he said: "Be not unmindful of the main end of our plantation
by endeavoring to bring the Indians to the knowledge of the gospel."
In the heart of one man at least that idea was paramount. John Eliot,
the Apostle to the Indians, was not content to be | 558.134195 |
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[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: لا لابرار كلّ شي تبر]
“TO THE PURE ALL THINGS ARE PURE.”
(Puris omnia pura)
—_Arab Proverb._
“Niuna corrotta mente intese mai sanamente parole.”
—“_Decameron_”—_conclusion_.
“Erubuit, posuitque meum Lucretia librum
Sed coram Bruto. Brute! recede, leget.”
—_Martial._
“Mieulx est de ris que de larmes escripre,
Pour ce que rire est le propre des hommes.”
—RABELAIS.
“The pleasure we derive from perusing the Thousand-and-One Stories makes
us regret that we possess only a comparatively small part of these truly
enchanting fictions.”
—CRICHTON’S “_History of Arabia_.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_A PLAIN AND LITERAL TRANSLATION OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS.
NOW ENTITULED_
_THE BOOK OF THE_
Thousand Nights and a Night
_WITH INTRODUCTION EXPLANATORY NOTES ON THE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF
MOSLEM MEN AND A TERMINAL ESSAY UPON THE HISTORY OF THE NIGHTS_
VOLUME VI.
BY
RICHARD F. BURTON
[Illustration]
PRINTED BY THE BURTON CLUB FOR PRIVATE SUBSCRIBERS ONLY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Shammar Edition
Limited to one thousand numbered sets, of which this is
Number _547_
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I INSCRIBE THIS VOLUME
TO MY OLD AND VALUED CORRESPONDENT,
IN WHOSE DEBT I AM DEEP,
PROFESSOR ALOYS SPRENGER
(OF HEIDELBERG),
ARABIST, PHILOSOPHER AND FRIEND.
R. F. BURTON.
CONTENTS OF THE SIXTH VOLUME.
PAGE
SINDBAD THE SEAMAN AND SINDBAD THE LANDSMAN 1
(_Lane, Vol. III., Chapt. XXII., Story of Es Sindbad of the Sea and Es
Sindbad of the Land. pp. 1–78._)
_a._ THE FIRST VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 4
_b._ THE SECOND VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 14
_c._ THE THIRD VOYAGE OF SINDBAD THE SEAMAN 22
_d._ THE FOURTH VOYAGE OF | 558.137713 |
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THE PEACE OF ROARING RIVER
[Illustration: "God bless you, Madge," said the man. "I will come soon."
See page 306]
THE PEACE OF ROARING RIVER
BY
GEORGE VAN SCHAICK
AUTHOR OF
SWEET APPLE COVE, THE SON OF THE OTTER,
A TOP-FLOOR IDOL, ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
W. H. D. KOERNER
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1918
BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
Second Printing
CONTENTS
I. The Woman Scorned 13
II. What Happened to a Telegram 26
III. Out of a Wilderness 42
IV. To Roaring River 71
V. When Gunpowder Speaks 102
VI. Deeper in the Wilderness 124
VII. Carcajou Is Shocked 152
VIII. Doubts 165
IX. For the Good Name of Carcajou 189
X. Stefan Runs 211
XI. A Visit Cut Short 223
XII. Help Comes 237
XIII. A Widening Horizon 251
XIV. The Hoisting 279
XV. The Peace of Roaring River 290
ILLUSTRATIONS
"God bless you, Madge," said the man. "I will come
soon." See page 306 _Frontispiece_
Truth flashed upon her! In a few moments she would
see for the first time the man she was to marry 98
"I'm glad you were not hurt. Rather unexpected,
wasn't it" 122
He put out a brown hand and touched the girl's arm 270
THE PEACE OF ROARING RIVER
THE PEACE OF ROARING RIVER
CHAPTER I
The Woman Scorned
To the village of Carcajou came a young man in the spring. The last
patches of snow were disappearing from under the protecting fronds of
trees bursting into new leaf. From the surface of the lakes the heavy
ice had melted and broken, and still lay in shattered piles on the lee
shores. Black-headed chickadees, a robin or two, and finally swallows
had appeared, following the wedges of geese returning from the south
on their way to the great weedy shoals of James' Bay.
The young man had brought with him a couple of heavy packs and some
tools, but this did not suffice. He entered McGurn's store, after
hesitating between the Hudson's Bay Post and the newer building. A
newcomer he was, and something of a tenderfoot, but he made no
pretence of knowing it all. A gigantic Swede he addressed gave him
valued advice, and Sophy McGurn, daughter of the proprietor, joined
in, smilingly.
She was a rather striking girl, of fiery locks and, it was commonly
reported, of no less flaming temper. To Hugo Ennis, however, she
showed the most engaging traits she possessed. The youth was
good-looking, well built, and his attire showed the merest trifle of
care, such as the men of Carcajou were unused to bestow upon their
garb. The bill finally made out by Sophia amounted to some seventy
dollars.
"Come again, always glad to see you," called the young lady as Hugo
marched out, bearing a part of his purchases.
For a month he disappeared in the wilderness and finally turned up
again, for a few more purchases. On the next day he left once more
with Stefan, the big Swede, and nothing of the two was seen again
until August, when they returned very ragged, looking hungry, their
faces burned to a dull brick color, their limbs lankier and, if
anything, stronger than ever. The two sat on the verandah of the store
and Hugo counted out money | 558.139495 |
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SHIP'S COMPANY
By W.W. Jacobs
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL
[Illustration: "The lodger was standing at the foot o' Ginger's bed,
going through 'is pockets."]
The night-watchman shook his head. "I never met any of these phil--
phil | 558.140716 |
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(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: THE TAJ MAHAL FROM THE RIVER.]
LIFE AND TRAVEL IN INDIA
BEING RECOLLECTIONS OF A JOURNEY
BEFORE THE DAYS OF RAILROADS
BY
ANNA HARRIETTE LEONOWENS
_Author of "Siam and the Siamese"_ | 558.141403 |
2023-11-16 18:26:22.2170650 | 7,436 | 8 |
Produced by David Widger
LIFE OF MOZART
By Otto Jahn.
Translated from The German by Pauline D. Townsend.
With A Preface by George Grove, Esq., D.C.L.
In Three Volumes Vol. II.
London Novello, Ewer & Co.
1881.
CONTENTS:
XVIII.--French Opera.................. 1
XIX.--Paris, 1778.....................34
XX.--The Return Home.................. 71
XXI.--Court Service in Salzburg............84
XXII.--" Idomeneo ".....................126
XXIII.--Release.....................170
XXIV.--First Attempts in Vienna............186
XXV.--" Die Entpuehruno aus dbm Serail ".........216
XXVI.--Courtship.....................249
XXVII.--Married Life..................264
XXVIII.--Mozart's Family and Friends............312
XXIX.--Social Intercourse...............352
XXX.--Van Swieten and Classical Music.........374
XXXI.--Mozart and Freemasonry...............400
XXXII.--Mozart as an Artist...............410
XXXIII.--Mozart's Pianoforte Music............441
VOL. II.
CHAPTER XVIII. FRENCH OPERA.
MOZART and his mother left Mannheim on March 14, and arrived in Paris on
the 23rd, after a journey of nine days and a-half. "We thought we should
never get through it," writes Wolfgang (March 24, 1778),[1] "and I never
in my life was so tired. You can imagine what it was to leave Mannheim
and all our dear, good friends there, and to be obliged to exist for ten
days without a single soul even to speak to. God be praised, however,
we are now at our journey's end. I am in hopes that, with His help, all
will go well. To-day we mean to take a fiacre and go to call on Grimm
and Wendling. Early to-morrow I shall go to the Electoral Minister Herr
von Sickingen, who is a great connoisseur and lover of music, and to
whom I have letters of introduction from Herr von Gemmingen and Herr
Cannabich." L. Mozart was full of hope concerning this visit to Paris,
and believed that Wolfgang could not fail to gain fame and, as a
consequence, money in the French capital. He remembered the brilliant
reception which had been given to him and his children fourteen years
before, and he was convinced that a like support would be accorded to
the youth who had fulfilled his early promise to a degree that to an
intelligent observer must appear even more wonderful than his precocious
performances as a child. He counted upon the support and assistance
of many distinguished and influential persons, whose favour they had
already experienced, and more especially on the tried friendship of
Grimm, who had formerly given them the benefit of all his knowledge and
power, and with whom they had continued in connection ever since. Grimm
had lately passed through Salzburg with two
{FRENCH OPERA.}
(2)
friends, and was pleased to hear his "Amadeo," as he called Wolfgang.
He chanced to arrive at Augsburg on the evening of Wolfgang's concert
there, and was present at it without making himself known, since he
was in haste, and had heard that Wolfgang was on his way to Paris.
L. Mozart, who placed great confidence in Grimm's friendship and
experience, had made no secret to him of his precarious position
in Salzburg, and of how greatly Wolfgang was in need of support; he
commended his son entirely to Grimm's favour (April 6, 1778):--
I recommend you most emphatically to endeavour by childlike confidence
to merit, or rather to preserve, the favour, love, and friendship of
the Baron von Grimm; to take counsel with him on every point, and to do
nothing hastily or from impulse; in all things be careful of your own
interests, which are those of us all. Life in Paris is very different
from life in Germany, and the French ways of expressing oneself
politely, of introducing oneself, of craving patronage, &c., are quite
peculiar; so much so, that Baron von Grimm used always to instruct me as
to what I should say, and how I should express myself. Be sure you tell
him, with my best compliments, that I have reminded you of this, and he
will tell you that I am right.
But, clever as he was, L. Mozart had miscalculated on several points.
He did not reflect that Grimm had grown older, more indolent, and more
stately, and that even formerly a tact and obsequiousness had been
required in order to turn the great man's friendship to account, which,
natural as they were to himself, his son never did and never would
acquire. He had not sufficiently realised that the attention of the
public is far more easily attracted by what is strange and wonderful,
than by the greatest intellectual and artistic endowments. This was
peculiarly the case in Paris, where interest in musical performances
only mounted to enthusiasm when some unusual circumstance accompanied
them. True, such enthusiasm was at its height at the time of Mozart's
visit, but his father could not see that this very fact was against
a young man who had so little of the art of ingratiating himself with
others. To us it must ever appear as an extraordinary coincidence that
Mozart, fresh from Mannheim, and the efforts there being made for the
establishment of a national German opera, should have come to Paris at
{LULLY, 1652-1687.}
(3)
the very height of the struggle between Italian opera and the French
opera, as reformed by Gluck, a struggle which appeared to be on the
point of being fought out. In neither case did his strong feelings on
the subject tempt him to take an active part; he maintained the attitude
of a neutral observer, in preparation for the tasks to which he might be
appointed.
If we are clearly to apprehend the musical situation, we must remind
ourselves in order of the circumstances which had brought it about.
Jean Baptiste de Lully (1633-1687), a native of Florence, had gained
such distinction by his violin-playing and ballet music, that in 1652 he
was appointed kapellmeister by Louis XIV., and in 1672 he received full
power to establish and direct the Academie Royale de Musique. Not
only was he the founder of this still existing institution,* but he
established by its means the grand opera in France. Faithful to the
traditions of his birthplace, Florence, he kept in view the first
attempts which had been made in Italy to revive ancient tragedy in
opera (Vol. I., p. 154 et seq.). As in Italy, so in Paris, operatic
performances were originally designed for court festivals; Lully's
privilege consisted in his being allowed to give public representations
of operas, "even of those which had been produced at court" ("meme
celles qui auront ete representes devant Nous "). They were preceded by
ballets, in which the connection of the action was indicated by vocal
scenes; but the singing was quite subordinate to the long succession of
dances, in which the distinguished part of the audience, and even
the king himself, took part. Dances, therefore, became an essential
ingredient of the opera, and it was the task of the poet and the
composers to give them appropriate connection with the plot; to this
day, as is well known, the ballet is the special prerogative of
the Grand-Opera at Paris. It was not less important to maintain the
reputation of the most brilliant court in the
{FRENCH OPERA.}
(4)
world by means of variety and magnificence of scenery, costumes,
machinery, &c.; in this respect, also, the Grand-Opera has kept true to
its traditions.[2]
But whilst in Italy the musical, and especially the vocal, element of
the opera had always the upper hand, in Paris the dramatic element held
its ground with good success. It was the easier for Lully to found
a national opera in Paris, since he found a poet ready to hand in
Quinault, who had the genius to clothe his mythological subjects in
the dramatic and poetical dress of his own day. To us, indeed, his
productions seem far apart from the spirit of ancient tragedy, and more
rhetorical and epigrammatic than poetical in their conception. But his
operas (or rather tragedies) expressed truly the spirit of the age, and
they became more distinctively national in proportion as the reign of
Louis XIV. came to be considered as the golden age of France. It was
Lully's task to give musical expression to the national spirit, and
in this he succeeded to the admiration of his contemporaries and of
posterity. His music is closely connected' with those first attempts
in Italy. We find none of the set forms of the later opera seria, no
regular arie, no duets, no ensembles. The words are for the most
part simply rendered in recitative. There is sometimes a figured bass
accompaniment; but even then it is not the free movement of Italian
recitative, but is much more precisely apportioned, and the harmonies
of the accompaniment change more frequently. When the sentiment
becomes rather more elevated, a sort of compromise is effected between
recitative and song. The words are rendered with a declamatory spoken
accent; and not only are they strictly in time, but the harmonies are
so arranged that a full orchestral chord is given to every note of the
song. The melodies are therefore limited in every respect; the phrases
are generally too small in compass to be well carried out, and hang
loosely together without any proper design; it was difficult to develop
an elaborate musical form out of such elements as these. Independent
songs occur seldom, and then only in the most precise of forms, tending
generally to dance melodies (airs). When several voices unite they
alternate with each other; or if they
{LULLY'S OPERAS.}
(5)
sing together note follows note, with only exceptionally real ensemble
passages. The choruses are formed by a simple harmony in several
parts, the soprano not being always appointed to give the melody.
The orchestra, except in the dance music, has seldom any independent
significance, but simply gives the full harmony to every note of
the bass. Instrumental effect is seldom aimed at, and the different
instruments are only occasionally employed singly. Lully's merit chiefly
consists in his having accentuated his music in a manner which suited
the French language, and also in his having succeeded in throwing a
certain amount of characteristic pathos into some of his passages. It is
comprehensible that at first, musical cultivation being in its infancy,
this quality should be most readily felt and acknowledged; but in
every art, and especially in music, it is the fate of individual
characteristics to become the soonest incomprehensible, and, therefore,
unpleasing. For this reason, the reaction against Lully's music attacked
just this mode of treating the text. It was considered monotonous,
tiresome, and heavy; and the isolated significant phrases having lost
their power to please, were compared with the plain-song (plain-chant)
of church psalmody.[3]
The delivery of the vocalists, male and female, is described as
dreadful; monotonous droning alternating with violent shrieks and
exaggerated accent (_urlo francese_).[4]
Notwithstanding all this, Lully's operas held undisputed possession of
the stage during his life,[5] and even after his death, a sure proof
that his success was not merely the result of the favour personally
accorded to him. The composers whose operas found favour after his (such
as Campra, Colasse, Desmarets, Blamont, and Mouret) are of less
{FRENCH OPERA.}
(6)
importance historically, because they all copied his manner. Any part of
their works which pointed to the influence of the opera seria, as it
was being formed in the Neapolitan school, was rejected by the national
vanity.[6]
Jean Phil. Rameau (1683-1764) came to Paris from the provinces as an
established musician in 1721. He succeeded by his force of character,
and the powerful protection of the Farmer-General, La Popeliniere,
in placing his operas on a level with those of Lully in the public
estimation. When he produced his "Hippolyte et Aricie" in 1732, he was
met by the most determined opposition on the part of Lully's supporters;
but the very decided success of his acknowledged masterpiece, "Castor
et Pollux," in 1737,[7] placed him, if not above Lully, certainly on
an equality with him during the remainder of his career. His opponents
became gradually reconciled to his supremacy, and acknowledged that
French music had not been essentially altered by Rameau, only developed
and perfected.[8] And there can be no question that this was the case.
Before Rameau had produced any operas he had made his reputation as an
organist and instrumental composer, and more especially as the founder
of a theory of harmony. On this latter point his operas also show
considerable progress--the harmonic treatment is rich and varied, though
sometimes the straining after novelty and effect
{RAMEAU, 1732-1764.}
(7)
leads to affectation and over-elaboration. Rameau's accompaniments are
free and independent; the orchestra is used with striking effect by
means of variety of tone-colour-ing in the instruments as well as
of independent subjects, which serve to accent the details. Rameau's
employment of the orchestra shows a marked improvement, not only on
Lully, but even on Italian opera as then existing. In the same way we
find the choruses released from the fetters of strict thorough-bass, and
the parts moving freely and expressively. In the lyrical portions of the
opera, much is evidently due to the advance in the art of solo singing,
both rhythm and melody move more freely, and embellishment is not wholly
wanting. But Rameau has not avowedly adopted the Italian style, although
he spent a short part of his youth in Italy. The accepted forms of
Italian opera are entirely disregarded, both in the choruses and solos.
The slow, uniform progress of Lully's operas becomes freer and more
animated in Rameau's, the dramatic expression has more energy and life,
and the music has more of individual colouring; but the foundation
remains. The same is the case with the treatment of the dialogue. It is
still severe, stately, recitative-like singing in varied measure, but
Rameau's harmonic art is displayed in his incomparably greater power of
expression. Rameau's opera, notwithstanding its independent invention
and advance in artistic feeling, is the natural development of Lully's
principles, not a revolution against them. It was debated at the time
with much warmth whether Rameau's peculiarities were to be accepted as
improvements, or to be looked upon as injudicious attempts at novelty.
The points which then excited the liveliest interest now seem to us
most trivial. But the main fact is not to be denied, that Rameau, by the
efforts of his own genius, constructed a national French opera upon the
foundations laid by Lully, and that the further development of the grand
opera proceeded along, the lines laid down by him. Not only can the
framework and design of these early operas be recognised in the grand
opera of the present day, but French dramatic music, spite of many
transformations, betrays its relationship with the early masters in many
{FRENCH OPERA.}
(8)
peculiarities of melody, rhythm and harmony; a sure proof that national
feeling lies at the root of the traditions.
The well-wishers of the national French opera were right in settling
their disputes about Lully and Rameau by the recognition of them both;
for both alike were threatened by a formidable irruption of Italian
taste, which now so completely governed the remainder of Europe that
France could not fail to be in some measure affected by it. In August,
1752, a company of Italian singers came to Paris under the direction
of a certain Bambini, and having received permission to represent comic
operas (intermezzi) in the hall of the Grand Opera, were called "Les
Bouffons."[9] Their first representation of Pergolese's "Serva Padrona"
was a failure, but subsequently it was applauded with enthusiasm. The
chief singers of the company, Manelli and Anna Tonelli, were highly
esteemed both for their singing and acting, although they did not reach
to the highest level of Italian opera; the others were indifferent.[10]
But they were Italian throats, Italian ways of singing and acting which
lent all their powers to the interpretation of opera buffa, with its
polished, pleasing form, simply and easily grasped harmonies, and
sustained melodies. They found in Paris an appreciative audience, and
very soon even the Parisian orchestra, where the conductor beat time
audibly,[11] while the Italian conductor only directed from the clavier,
was described, in comparison to the Italian, as a company of uneducated
musicians whose great aim was to make as much noise as possible. The
supporters of the national school of music naturally took up arms
against the
{LES BOUFFONS, 1752.}
(9)
Italian enthusiasts, and so arose the well-known struggle between the
"coin du roi" (nationalists) and the "coin de la reine" (Italians).[12]
Grimm, who always manifested great interest in musical matters, had
become acquainted with Italian opera in Germany, and afterwards in
Paris, where he took up his abode in 1749; his intercourse with Rousseau
and other sympathetic friends increased his partiality for it. His
burlesque of "Le Petit Prophete de Boehmischbroda" (1753), which
foretold in the biblical prophetic style the downfall of good taste if
Paris were not converted to Italian music,[13] proved a powerful ally
to Italian music; he was joined by Diderot, who, like all the
encyclopedists, was personally antagonistic to Rameau on account of his
attack on the "Encyclopedie."[14] Jean Jacques Rousseau, who in his "Devin
du Village" had shown the delighted public how far the treasures of the
Italian opera could be turned to good account in the French (Vol. I., p.
87 et seq.), threw all the weight of his influence into the scale of the
Bouffonists; not content with mercilessly exposing the shortcomings of
the French opera, he undertook to prove that the French language
was unfitted for composition, and French music altogether an
impossibility.[15] The enraged musicians threatened to punish this
daring outrage on the nation[16] with horsewhipping, assassination, or
even the Bastille; but a flood of angry discussion was all that actually
resulted.[17] Those, however, whose interests were
{FRENCH OPERA.}
(10)
attacked, especially the proprietors and singers of the opera-house,
took such measures as obliged the Italian singers to quit Paris in
March, 1754.[18]
It may well be wondered at that men like Rousseau[19] and Diderot,[20]
who upheld simplicity and nature as the true canons of art, should have
evinced a preference for Italian music. For though doubtless the Italian
style was grounded originally on the nature of music, it had already
become conventional, and far removed from what the philosophers called
natural. At the same time it must be remembered that their partiality
always turned in the direction of opera buffa, which sought from its
commencement to free itself from the conventional restraint of
opera seria (Vol. I., p. 203). Then, too, the musical element, as
distinguished from the poetical or dramatic, had always been the
foundation of Italian opera, and an opposition directed against the
French opera, with its poetical and dramatic proclivities, would be sure
to uphold the purely musical development of the Italians, even though
the exaggerations into which it was carried might be displeasing to the
philosophers.
The influence of the Bouffons survived their departure. The Comedie
Italienne (aux Italiens) produced Italian comedies in masquerade, French
comedies, and parodies of qperas, the charm of which consisted mainly
in their vocal parts, on which account they were called operas
comiques.[21] A dangerous rival to the Comedie Italienne was the Theaetre
de la Foire, whose representations took place originally on
{OPERA COMIQUE--DUNI, 1757-1775.}
(11)
the Feasts of St. Germain, St. Laurent, and St. Ovide. The two companies
were always inimical, and the "Comediens de la Foire" were from time to
time suppressed by their stronger rival,[22] but always revived, until
at last in 1762 the two companies were amalgamated.[23] In this soil
was planted opera buffa, and, favoured by circumstances, it grew into
a great national institution.[24] Translations and adaptations of
favourite Italian operas satisfied the public at first, and were decried
by the Bouffonists as travesties of the original.[25] But very soon,
especially after the brilliant success of Vade's "Les Troqueurs" in
1753, a new school of composers sought to reconcile the excellencies
of the Italian music, especially in singing, with the exigencies of
the national taste. It was difficult at first to break loose from the
defined outline and simple design of the intermezzi, but gradually the
French taste became apparent in the greater connection and interest
of the plot, and the delicacy and wit of the composition. The lively
interest of the public induced poets of talent, such as Favart, Sedaine,
and Marmontel, to devote themselves to operatic writing, and the French
comic opera soon surpassed the opera buffa, from a dramatic as well as a
musical point of view. These various impulses were all the more lasting
since they were founded on the national character.[26]
Egidio Romoaldo Duni (1709-1775), born and educated in Naples, having
made his reputation on the Italian stage, was led by his connection with
the court at Parma, which was French in manners and in taste, to compose
French operettas, as, for instance, "Ninette ae la Cour." The applause
with which they were received induced him to go to Paris in 1757, where
he made an exceptionally favourable debut with the "Peintre Amoureux,"
and during the next
{FRENCH OPERA.}
(12)
thirteen years produced a succession of comic operas, the easy style and
simple form of which secured them both the favour of the public and the
imitation of untrained French composers.[27]
Duni was followed by Pierre Alex. Monsigny (1729-1817),[28] a
dilettante, who was so excited by the performances of the Bouffons that
he applied himself to the study of music, and at once began to compose
operas. In 1759 he put his first opera, "Les Aveux Indiscrets," on
the stage, and this was rapidly succeeded by others. Sedaine was so
interested in Monsigny that he intrusted all his operatic librettos to
him.[29] A wider sphere was opened to him with the three-act opera, "Le
Roi et le Fermier," which was the commencement of the most brilliant
success. It must be allowed that the co-operation of a poet to whom even
Grimm allows all the qualities of a good librettist[30] was an important
element in this success; but Monsigny's work was quite on a level with
that of his collaborateur. His music expresses with instinctive truth
the most amiable side of the French character. Monsigny not only had at
his command a wealth of pleasing sympathetic melodies, but possessed as
decided a talent for pathos as for light comedy, and a sure perception
of dramatic effect, combined with life, delicacy, and grace. His natural
feeling for beauty of form concealed the want of thorough artistic
training,[31] and his operas were universally admired, some of them,
such as "Le Deserteur,"[32] acquiring more extended fame.
{PHILIDOR, 1759-1795--GRETRY, 1768-1813.}
(13)
A better theoretical musician was Franc. Andre (Danican) Philidor
(1727-1795), who enjoyed the reputation of extraordinary genius as
a chess-player before appearing as a composer with his first opera,
"Blaise le Savetier," in 1759.[33] His fame as a musician was soon
established, and he ruled the comic stage with Duni and Monsigny until
Gretry took possession of it. He was reproached with justice for
too great a display of musical scholarship, and for making his
accompaniments too prominent.[34] He had more force and energy than
Monsigny, with greater power of passionate expression, but his fun
is coarser, and he is inferior in grace and tenderness. He finally
abandoned music, partly from disinclination to enter into rivalry with
Gretry, and partly from his passion for chess.
It was characteristic that comic opera, the outcome of vaudeville and
chanson, should have been nursed in its infancy by composers like
Duni, who had no pretensions to great genius, Monsigny, who was half a
dilettante, and Philidor, who only composed music as a pastime. Andre
Ern. Gretry, on the contrary (1741-1813), threw himself into the pursuit
with all his powers, and with zealous ardour. He it was who perfected
the comic opera, making it, what it still remains, the representative
of the French national character in the province of dramatic music. As
a boy, he had delighted in the performances of Italian opera singers in
his native town of Liege, and as a youth he had been in Rome during the
most brilliant part of Piccinni's career, had studied there for several
years, and at last produced an intermezzo, "Le Vin-demiatrici," which
was well received, and gained even Pic-cinni's approval. In Paris,
although Monsigny and Philidor received him kindly, he had to contend
with difficulties; but
{FRENCH OPERA.}
(14)
after the complete success of his opera "Le Huron," in 1768,[35] even
his remarkable fertility in production could hardly satisfy the demands
of the public for his works. Marmontel, Sedaine, and other poets offered
him libretti which were in themselves pledges of success. The idea that
dramatic poetry should represent human nature in its naked reality,
which had emanated from the encyclopedists, found its realisation in the
drama of common life, and had considerable influence on the development
of the comic opera.
The strict line of demarcation between opera seria and buffa did not
exist in Paris. The effort to give more dramatic interest and freer
scope to operatic music led to the portrayal of the deeper and noble
emotions, and opera approached more and more nearly to serious comedy
in plot, situations, and psychological intention. Merriment gradually
ceased to be the predominating element, and became nothing more than a
flavouring thrown in; it was replaced by that mixture of seriousness
and playfulness which, in opposition to the former prohibition of
any amalgamation of different styles, was now considered as the true
expression of music.[36] A characteristic distinction between comic
and serious opera in France was the adoption by the former of spoken
dialogue instead of recitative.[37] Any attempt to imitate the free,
declamatory recitative of the Italians would have been thought too
daring, and was perhaps actually prohibited by the privileges of the
Grand-Opera. But in renouncing recitative, the dialogue gained the
freedom of witty and sparkling conversation, without which the French
cannot exist; and this note, once struck, soon regulated the whole
character of
{GRETRY.}
(15)
operatic music, which, elevated as it may be, nevertheless starts from
the idea of a conversation.
No one could be better fitted than Gretry for the development of such a
style as this.[38] His was a pliant and amiable nature, but not a great
one. He was excitable and susceptible to any emotion, but without depth;
his wit was delicate and versatile, and he possessed the power of giving
it the most striking and appropriate expression. He was determined that
his music should always faithfully render some definite emotion, even
to the minutest detail of the dramatic situation and characters. He held
that a composer could only attain this end by working himself up into
a pitch of intense excitement,[39] and living for the time in the drama
that was under his hands.[40] The actual means which he employed was
song, that is, melody. He learnt the art of tuneful song from the
Italians,[41] and made its expressiveness depend upon intonation in
delivery, which it is the composer's part to suggest and control.[42]
He laid great stress upon true and strongly accentuated declamation,[43]
which he had studied under good actors.[44] This lent a liveliness
and piquancy to his musical style,[45] and rendered it essentially
French.[46]
{FRENCH OPERA.}
(16)
Gretry accomplished wonders for musical form, as far as grace and
freshness, lively emotion and wit go, but his powers did not attain
to anything truly great or important to art. The art of melodious
expression was developed by him almost to the exclusion of other means,
such as rich and well-chosen haermonies,[47] artistic accompaniments,
and instrumental effects, all of which he treated as subordinate and
unimportant.
He inveighs against the misuse of the instruments, especially of the
wind instruments, which Gluck's example had introduced, even if he were
not personally responsible for it;[48] but he recommends the moderate
use of them for characterisation,[49] and prides himself on his
very questionable invention in his "Andromaque" of assigning special
instruments to the recitatives of each principal character--Andromache,
for instance, having always three flutes.[50] A saying of Gretry's, that
in opera song is the statue, and the orchestra the pedestal, and that
Mozart sometimes put the pedestal on the stage, has often been repeated.
Whether this is authentic or not, the fact remains that Gretry's neglect
of the orchestra was not altogether of set purpose, but that this branch
of artistic education was unknown to him and interested him as little
as did the minute elaboration and hard study which are dear to all
first-rate musicians. His idea that a musician of genius may spoil his
inventive powers by too much study is truly comical; what he tells of
his own studies shows how shallow they were, and his productions are
all of a piece. On the other hand he lays great weight upon reflection,
which does not properly concern music at all; but his simplicity, which
almost amounted to barrenness, served to heighten his truly excellent
qualities, and to make him the popular idol he was. It is quite
conceivable that the encyclopedists, who were the champions of Italian
music, should have seen in him the man who united beauty and melody with
Italian truth and characteristic expression. Diderot wrote under
{GLUCK.}
(17)
Gretry's portrait the motto: "Irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet,
ut magus";[51] Rousseau thanked him for having reopened his heart to
emotion by his music;[52] Grimm, who had received him with approbation
from the first,[53] declared during the heat of the struggle between
Gluckists and Piccinnists that connoisseurs and others were all agreed
that no composer had succeeded like Gretry in fitting Italian melody to
the French language, and in satisfying the national taste for wit and
delicacy.[54] Suard and Arnaud, Gluck's supporters, stood by Gretry,[55]
as well as Marmontel, who was opposed to Gluck.[56] And with what
enthusiasm the public received his operas! Many of them--to mention
only "Zemire and Azor"--made their way throughout Europe, and had
unquestionably much influence on the formation of musical taste.
While comic opera was thus flourishing more and more richly and
abundantly, the grand opera was confined almost exclusively to Lully and
Rameau; it might almost seem that it had reached its limits, and
that the interest of the public was henceforth to be centred on comic
opera.[57] But fresh trials awaited the grand opera. Doubtless the light
breezes which sprang from the reformed comic opera were precursors of
the coming storm; but the actual impulse to it was not given in Paris
itself.
{FRENCH OPERA.}
(18)
Christ. | 558.237105 |
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
GOLD AND INCENSE
[Illustration]
GOLD AND INCENSE
A West Country Story
by
MARK GUY PEARSE
[Publisher's mark]
Forty-seventh Thousand
London
Horace Marshall & Son
Butler & Tanner,
The Selwood Printing Works,
Frome, and London.
Dedication
TO SIDNEY HILL ESQ.
OF LANGFORD HOUSE
SOMERSET
_It may add to the interest of my story if I state that it is perfectly
true._
Chapter I
To think it is Jennifer Petch of whom I am going to tell--little
Jennifer. How she would laugh if she only knew of it, that shrill,
silvery laugh of hers. It was her great gift. Jennifer was a philosopher
in the matter of laughing; and philosophy is mostly a matter of knowing
how to laugh and when.
[Illustration]
And the village itself would wonder almost as much as Jennifer herself,
for very few of them could see anything to write about in her. Village
people do not see much in what they see always, and Jennifer had lived
among them all her days. There was a time when some of the younger folks
thought they owed her a little bit of a grudge. For Sam Petch was the
tallest, and straightest, and handsomest of the village lads; and the
maidens who strolled down the lane on a summer's evening would go home
with fluttering hearts and delicious dreams if Sam had chanced to come
that way, as somehow he generally did; and if he had loitered laughing
with them in the lane, as he never minded doing.
There was Phyllis, light of hair and blue of eye, light of step and
light of heart, and light of hand, as her butter showed--not one of the
lads had any chance with her so long as Sam was free.
There was Chloe, she of the loose sun-bonnet, with gipsy face and gipsy
eyes, who handled the rake so daintily, and drew the sweet hay together
with such grace that nobody wondered if Sam Petch found it a great deal
easier to turn his head that way than to turn it back again.
And on the Sunday night when the service was over, at the door of the
little chapel, which was the village trysting place, there were half a
dozen of the comeliest of the maidens, who found an excuse to linger
talking, until Sam had gone his way.
It came on them all with an amazement of surprise, especially as events
of that kind were always busily whispered abroad at the slightest hint,
and often without any hint at all--"Sam Petch was going to be married."
"Who to?" asked everybody, brightening with wonder.
After every likely lass had been guessed the voice fell, and the answer
was given almost with a sense of wrong, "Why, to little Jennifer!
Whatever he can see in her I can't think."
For that matter, no more could Jennifer herself. Round and short of
figure, red and brown of face, she had never so much as ventured to
look at Sam, or to think of him either. And even now she was almost
sorry for him that she was only plain little Jennifer, and not like
Phyllis or Chloe.
And because the village maidens could see no reason for it in her looks
they concluded that there must be some hidden wiliness, some depth of
craft for which they were no match. They talked it over as they milked
the cows, the white stream falling with its music into the pail. "She
knew what she was doing, Jennifer did, a regular deep one." It was told
in the lane with a laugh, as if each wanted to show that Sam was
nothing to them, of course.
But the older folks talked of it differently. The women stood in the
doorway of an evening with clusters of children about them, and
according to them it was Sam who was the deep one. He knew what he was
doing, did Sam. There were things, they said, and they spoke feelingly,
that lasted longer than good looks and were worth more. And as the men
came home with heavy steps from the day's work, with a smell about them
like the smell of a field that the Lord hath blessed, they said that a
little thrifty body like Jennifer was a prize for anybody to be proud
of, and Sam Petch was a lucky fellow, that he was.
It was plain enough, whatever Jennifer thought--and she kept her
thoughts mostly to herself--that Sam agreed with these older ones. He
could not do enough to show his pride in Jennifer, and but that she
refused all offers of finery, would have made his plain little
sweetheart as gay as Phyllis or Chloe. Never an evening passed but you
met them walking leisurely together, the declared sign of courtship,
which was also known as "keeping company." It was thus distinguished
from marriage, for which the accepted sign was that the wife kept three
yards behind.
But when Sam and Jennifer were married they still went on "keeping
company;" even though his long stride needed three of Jennifer's short
steps, she was never behind, and Sam would have taken steps as short as
hers before she should be. And if it be true that light hearts make easy
travelling, they might well keep together, up hill and down. A glance
was enough to show that things were flourishing with them. Their
cottage stood on the top of the hill, all set about with a garden fair,
and at the side and back of the house grew "stuff" enough to send to
market. Sam had rented a bit of a meadow where a couple of cows gave
Jennifer the chance of showing her skill at clotted cream and butter.
There, too, a troop of fowls had their run, and away in a corner three
pigs added to the importance of Sam and to the cares of Jennifer. She,
thrifty soul, made enough out of her department to pay the rent; up
early, and always at work, her song only ceasing to make way for her
silvery laugh. The older folks repeated their opinion now as a prophecy
fulfilled, and took to themselves as much credit as if the prediction
had been the chief cause of the prosperity.
Before three years had gone Jennifer's department was increased by the
birth of two sturdy little sons. They were both the image of Sam, so the
women declared; but the men saw in each the image of their mother, and
counted it a pity that they were not girls, for the like of Jennifer
they reckoned scarce.
Chapter II
It was an evening toward the end of August, and the harvest was being
gathered in. The fields on every side were dotted with the tented
sheaves piled up as the custom is in the "catching" weather of the West,
one sheaf reversed on the top of the cluster, so as to form a kind of
roof. The long shadows of the shocks fell across the fields in
the evening light. All the country was beautiful with that rich
restfulness which comes in the autumn, as if the earth had finished its
work. The glories of the sunset gave the sky a hundred delicate tints of
gold and purple.
[Illustration]
Here and there the women brought the sheaves, whilst the men piled them
on the wagons. Away over the hill country in the east the great harvest
moon was rising.
Jennifer, busy as ever, had got her two little ones settled for the
night, and now was preparing a dainty supper for Sam's return; the
savoury smell of it filled the place.
[Illustration]
Then it was that, as to Job of old, one came breathless to the house
with sad tidings. Sam had slipped from the stack and fallen on his head.
"Is--he--dead?" gasped Jennifer.
No, he was not dead; but he had not spoken since his fall, and was quite
unconscious. A messenger had been sent for the doctor, and the men were
bringing Sam home, and would be here in a few minutes.
Up the hill came the group with the injured man in their midst, to all
appearance dead. A great hush fell on the village as they passed slowly
on, men in their shirt sleeves just as they had hurried in from the
harvest field. The women and children stood at the doors with faces full
of sympathy.
They bore him in at the little gate and through the garden and up the
stairs, and laid him on the bed.
* * * * *
For weeks Sam lay on his bed, whilst day and night Jennifer waited on
him.
The neighbours stopped the doctor to ask about him, and the answer was
ever the same:
"He'll pull through; he'll pull through," and the doctor tightened his
mouth and nodded his head; "but he would have been a dead man long ago
if it had not been for that brave little wife of his."
Fracture of the skull and concussion of the brain, and a host of other
ills, made it a desperate fight with death. But Jennifer fought and
won. Even in his unconsciousness Sam seemed to know the touch of her
hand, and it soothed him; and the tone of her voice, and the moaning
ceased.
But bit by bit their little fortune was swept away. The savings of those
three or four years were quickly spent; the cows had to be sold, and the
meadow given up; the pigs and fowls were parted with.
The garden lay untended. And when, at last, the doctor had done with
Sam, it was only to leave him an imbecile--helpless as a baby, and a
great deal more troublesome--sometimes muttering to himself for hours
together a round of unmeaning words; sometimes just crying all day long,
and then again cross and peevish and perverse as any spoilt child.
The cottage was given up; they could not afford the rent of that.
Another was taken, the cheapest in all the village--one that was too bad
for anybody else.
Half a crown a week and a loaf of bread from the parish was all that
came in to supplement Jennifer's poor earnings of sixpence a day in the
fields.
* * * * *
It was some few years after this had happened that I came to know
Jennifer.
There she sat in the little chapel, her round and ruddy face without a | 558.436519 |
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[Frontispiece: The Muzzle of a Revolver was Covering Him]
THE WAY OF THE STRONG
By RIDGWELL CULLUM
Author of "The Twins of Suffering Creek," "The Night Riders," "The One
Way Trail," Etc.
With Four Illustrations by
DOUGLAS DUER
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
114-120 East Twenty-third Street -- New York
Published by Arrangement with George W. Jacobs & Company
Copyright, 1914, By
George W. Jacobs & Company
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
CONTENTS
PART I
CHAP.
I ON SIXTY-MILE CREEK
II THE ROOF OF THE NORTHERN WORLD
III THE DRIVING FORCE
IV LEO
V THE SHADOW OF DEATH
VI ALL-MASTERING PASSION
VII DEAD FIRES
VIII SI-WASH CHUCKLES
IX IN SAN SABATANO
X A PROMISE
XI TWO STRANGERS IN SAN SABATANO
PART II
I AFTER EIGHTEEN YEARS
II ALEXANDER HENDRIE
III THE PENALTY
IV THE BLINDING FIRES
V IN THE SPRINGTIME
VI LIFE THROUGH OTHER EYES
VII HAPPY DAYS
VIII ANGUS HEARS SOME TALK
IX THE WHEAT TRUST
X MONICA'S FALSE STEP
XI WHICH DEALS WITH A CHANCE MEETING
XII THE CLEAN SLATE
XIII HENDRIE'S RETURN
XIV A MAN'S HELL
XV PROGRESS OF AFFAIRS
XVI IN THE MOONLIGHT
XVII PAYING THE PRICE
XVIII A MAN'S HONOR
XIX THE RETURN OF ALEXANDER HENDRIE
XX THE VERDICT
PART III
I THE MARCH OF TIME
II WHEN VOWS MUST YIELD
III TWO LETTERS
IV ON THE RAILROAD
V A YOUNG GIRL'S PURPOSE
VI IN TORONTO
VII THE DECISION
VIII THE SHADOW OF WAR
IX CAPITAL AND LABOR
X STRIKE TROUBLES SPREADING
XI LEYBURN'S INSPIRATION
XII HENDRIE SELLS
XIII FRANK LEARNS HIS DUTY
XIV THE STRIKE
XV PHYLLIS GOES IN SEARCH OF FRANK
XVI THE DAWN OF HOPE
XVII A RAID
XVIII HIS BACK TO THE WALL
XIX TWO MEN
XX THE STORY OF LEO
XXI HENDRIE'S WAY
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE MUZZLE OF A REVOLVER WAS COVERING HIM...... _Frontispiece_
THEN CAME HER ARRIVAL AT DEEP WILLOWS
THE MAN LEAPED FROM HIS SEAT AND FACED ABOUT
PHYLLIS CAUGHT HIS HANDS AND HELD THEM TIGHTLY
THE WAY OF THE STRONG
PART I
CHAPTER I
ON SIXTY-MILE CREEK
It was a grim, gray day; a day which plainly told of the passing of
late fall across the border line of the fierce northern winter. Six
inches of snow had fallen during the night, and the leaden overcast of
the sky threatened many more inches yet to fall.
Five great sled dogs crouched in their harness, with quarters tucked
under them and forelegs outspread. They were waiting the long familiar
command to "mush"; an order they had not heard since the previous
winter.
Their brief summer leisure had passed, lost beneath the white pall
which told of weary toil awaiting them in the immediate future. Unlike
the humans with whom they were associated, however, the coming winter
held no terrors for them. It was the normal condition under which the
sled dog performed its life's work.
The load on the sled was nearing completion. The tough-looking,
keen-eyed man bestowed his chattels with a care and skill which told of
long experience, and a profound knowledge of the country through which
he had to travel. Silently he passed back and forth between the sled
and the weather-battered shelter which had been his home for more than
three years. His moccasined feet gave out no sound; his voice was
silent under the purpose which occupied all his thought. He was leaving
the desert heart of the Yukon to face the perils of the winter trail.
He was about to embark for the storm-riven shores of the Alaskan coast.
A young woman stood silently by, watching his labors with the voiceless
interest of those who live the drear life of silent places. Her
interest was consuming, as her handsome brown eyes told. Her strong,
young heart was full of a profound envy; and a sort of despairing
longing came near to filling her eyes with unaccustomed tears. The
terrors of this man's journey would have been small enough for her if
only she could get out of this wilderness of desolation to which she
had willingly condemned herself.
Her heart ached, and her despair grew as she watched. But she knew only
too well that her limitless prison was of her own seeking, as was her
sharing of the sordid lot of the man she had elected to follow. More
than that she knew that the sentence she had passed upon herself
carried with it the terror of coming motherhood in the midst of this
desolate world, far from the reach of help, far from the companionship
of her sex.
At last the man paused, surveying his work. He tested the raw-hide
bonds which held his load; he glanced at the space still left clear in
the sled, with measuring eye, and stood raking at his beard with
powerful, unclean fingers. It was this pause that drove the woman's
crowding feelings to sudden speech.
"Heavens, how I wish I were going with you, Tug!" she cried.
The man lifted his sharp eyes questioningly.
"Do you, Audie?" he said, in a metallic voice, in which there was no
softening. Then he shook his head. "It'll be a hell of a trip. Guess
I'd change places with you readily enough."
"You would?" the girl laughed mirthlessly. "You're going down with a
big 'wad' of gold to--to a land of--plenty. Oh, God, how I hate this
wilderness!"
The man called Tug surveyed her for a moment with eyes long since
hardened by the merciless struggle of the cruel Yukon world. Then he
shook his head.
"It sounds good when you put it that way. But there's miles to go
before I reach the 'land of plenty.'" He laughed shortly. "I've got to
face the winter trail, and we all know what that means. And more than
that. I'm packing a sick man with me, and I've got to keep him _warm_
the whole way. It's a guess, and a poor one, if he don't die by the
way. That's why I'm going. Say, he's my partner, and I've got to get
him through." He laughed again. "Oh, it's not sentiment. He's useful to
me, and so I want to save him if I can."
Tug's manner was something like the coldly rugged view of the distant
peaks which marked the horizon on every hand. The girl watching his
sturdy figure, with its powerful head and hard, set face, understood
something of this. She understood that he was something in the nature
of a product of that harsh, snow-bound world. He was strong, and she
knew it; and strength appealed to her. It was the only thing that was
worth while in such a country.
"You can't save Charlie," she said decidedly. "They tell you you can't
get consumption in this country--but, well, I'd say you can get
everything that makes life hell. He's got it; and a chill on the way
will add pneumonia to his trouble, and then----" She made a significant
gesture.
"Maybe you're right," Tug admitted. Then he shrugged, and, moving over
to one of the dogs, busy chewing its rawhide harness, kicked it
brutally. "Anyway he's got to take his chance, same as we all have."
The girl sighed.
"Yes." She was thinking of herself. "When do you start?"
The man looked at the sky. Then he glanced down at the land sloping
away to the distant banks of a creek, which in a less monstrous country
would have borne the prouder denomination of "river."
"When your Leo comes up to help me pack Charlie into the sled. Say,
isn't that him coming along up now?" he added, shading his eyes. "This
snow's got me dazzled for a bit."
The girl peered out over the white world. It was an impressive view.
Far as the eye could see a great ring of gray-crested hills spread out,
their <DW72>s massed with patches of forest, and the gleaming beds of
ancient glaciers. Just now the cold of coming winter held pride of
place, and the dark woodlands were crowned with the feathery whiteness
of newly fallen snow. But though impressive the outlook was unyielding
in its severity, and the girl shuddered and, for relief, was glad to
return to speech.
"Yes; he's coming along up."
Tug watched the distant figure for some thoughtful moments.
"He's a great feller," he said at last. But there was no real
appreciation in his tone. Then he laughed. "I should say he'd need to
be a great feller to get a good-looker girl to come right along up to
this devil's playground with him."
Audie's troubled eyes softened.
"He's a | 558.436526 |
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The Power of Concentration
by Theron Q. Dumont
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THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 12. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1840. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: THE TOWN OF ANTRIM.]
Travellers whose only knowledge of our towns is that derived in passing
through the principal street or streets, will be very apt to form an
erroneous estimate of the amount of picturesque beauty which they often
possess, and which is rarely seen save by those who go out of their way
expressly to look for it. This is particularly the case in our smaller
towns, in which the principal thoroughfare has usually a stiff and formal
character, the entrance on either side being generally a range of mud
cabins, which, gradually improving in appearance, merge at length into
houses of a better description, with a public building or two towards
the centre of the town. In these characteristics the highway of one town
is only a repetition of that of another, and in such there is rarely any
combination of picturesque lines or striking features to create a present
interest in the mind, or leave a pleasurable impression on the memory.
Yet in most instances, if we visit the suburbs of these towns, and more
particularly if they happen, as is usually the case, to be placed upon
a river, and we get down to the river banks, we shall most probably be
surprised and gratified at the picturesque combinations of forms, and the
delightful variety of effects, presented to us in the varied outline of
their buildings, contrasted by intervening masses of dark foliage, and
the whole reflected on the tranquil surface of the water, broken only by
the enlivening effect of those silvery streaks of light produced by the
eddies and currents of the stream.
Our prefixed view of the town of Antrim may be taken as an illustration
of the preceding remarks. As seen by the passing traveller, the town
appears situated on a rich, open, but comparatively uninteresting plain,
terminating the well-cultivated vale of the Six-mile-water towards the
flat shore of Loch Neagh; and with the exception of its very handsome
church and castellated entrance into Lord Ferrard’s adjoining demesne,
has little or no attraction; but viewed in connection with its river,
Antrim appears eminently picturesque from several points as well as from
that selected for our view--the prospect of the town looking from the
deer-park of Lord Massarene.
In front, the Six-mile-water river flowing placidly over a broad gravelly
bed, makes a very imposing appearance, not much inferior to that of the
Liffey at Island-bridge. The expanse of water at this point, however,
forms a contrast to the general appearance of the stream, which, although
it brings down a considerable body of water, flows in many parts of its
course between banks of not more than twenty feet asunder. The vale
which it waters is one of the most productive districts of the county,
and towards Antrim is adorned by numerous handsome residences rising
among the enlivening scenery of bleach-greens, for which manufacture
it affords a copious water-power. Scenes of this description impart a
peculiar beauty to landscapes in the north of Ireland. The linen webs of
a snowy whiteness, spread on green closely-shaven lawns sloping to the
sun, and generally bounded by a sparkling outline of running water, have
a delightfully _fresh_ and cheerful effect, seen as they usually are with
their concomitants of well-built factories and handsome mansions; and in
scenery of this description the neighbourhood of Antrim is peculiarly
rich. The Six-mile-water has also its own attraction for the antiquary,
being the _Ollarbha_ of our ancient Irish poems and romances, and flowing
within a short distance of the ancient fortress of Rathmore of Moylinny,
a structure which boasts an antiquity of upwards of 1700 years.
In our view the river appears crossed by a bridge, which through the
upper limbs of its lofty arches affords a pretty prospect of the river
bank beyond. In building a bridge in the same place, a modern county
surveyor would probably erect a less picturesque but more economical
structure, for the arches here are so lofty, that the river, to occupy
the whole space they afford for its passage, must rise to a height that
would carry its waters into an entirely new channel.
But the principal feature in our prospect is the church, the tower and
steeple of which are on so respectable a scale, and of such excellent
proportions, as to render it a very pleasing object as seen from any
quarter or approach of the town. It would be difficult to say in what the
true proportions of a spire consist, whether in its obvious and practical
utility as a penthouse roofing the tower, or in its emblematic aptitude
aspiring to and pointing towards heaven. Still, every cultivated eye will
remark how much more dignified and imposing is the effect of a spire
which is only moderately lofty, as compared with the breadth of its base,
than that of one which is extremely slender. We would point out the spire
of St Patrick’s Cathedral, for example, or that before us, on a smaller
scale, as instances of the former sort. Any one acquainted with the
proportions of those attenuated pinnacles which we so often find perched
on the roofs of churches erected within the last ten years, cannot be
at a loss for examples of the latter. The church itself at Antrim is,
however, rather defective in point of size, as compared with its nobly
proportioned tower and spire.
The suburb of the town, on this side of the bridge, runs up to the
demesne wall of Lord Ferrard’s residence, Antrim Castle, an antique
castellated mansion, seated boldly over the river in a small park laid
out in the taste of Louis XIV., from the terraced walks and stately
avenues of which there are many beautiful views of the surrounding
scenery.
In point of historical interest, there are but two events connected with
Antrim worthy of any particular note--the defeat of the insurgents here
in the rebellion of 1798, on which occasion the late Earl O’Neill lost
his life; and a great battle between the English and native Irish, in the
reign of Edward III., hitherto little spoken of in history, but forming
one in a series of events which exercised a great influence over the
destinies of this country.
Very soon after the first invasion of Ulster by John de Courcy, the
English power was established not only throughout the counties of
Down and Antrim, but even over a large portion of the present county
of Londonderry, then called the county of Coleraine. We find sheriffs
regularly appointed for these counties, and the laws duly administered,
down to the time of Edward III. The native Irish, who had been pushed out
by the advance of this early tide of civilization, took up their abode
west of the Bann, and in the hilly county of Tyrone, from whence they
watched the proceedings of their invaders, and, as opportunities from
time to time presented themselves, crossed the intervening river and
“preyed” the English country. The district around Antrim was from its
situation the one chiefly exposed to these incursions, and the duty of
defending it mainly devolved on the powerful sept of the Savages, who at
that time had extensive possessions in the midland districts of Antrim,
as well as in Down.
The most formidable of these incursions was that which took place
immediately after the murder of William de Burgho, Earl of Ulster, who
was assassinated by some malcontent English at the fords of Belfast, A.
D. 1333. The earl had been a strenuous asserter of the English law, and
had rendered himself obnoxious to the turbulent nobles of the country by
the severity with which he prohibited their adoption of Irish customs,
which, strange to say, had always great charms for the feudal lords of
the English pale, arising probably from the greater facilities which
the Brehon law afforded for exacting exorbitant rents and services from
their tenants. The immediate object of the assassins of the earl was to
prevent him carrying the full rigour of the law into operation against
one of his own _hibernicised_ kinsmen; but the ultimate consequences of
their act were felt throughout all Ireland for two centuries after. For
the Irish, taking advantage of the consternation attendant on the death
of the chief officer of the crown in that province, crossed the Bann
in unexampled numbers, and after a protracted struggle, in which they
were joined by some of the degenerate English, succeeded at length in
recovering the whole of the territory conquered by De Courcy, with the
exception only of Carrickfergus in Antrim, and a portion of the county
of Down, which the Savages with difficulty succeeded in holding after
being expelled from their former possessions at the point of the sword.
It was during this struggle that the battle to which we have alluded was
fought at Antrim. The story is told at considerable length and with much
quaintness by Hollinshed; but want of space obliges us to present it to
our readers in the more concise though still very characteristic language
of Cox:--
“About this time lived Sir Robert Savage, a very considerable gentleman
in Ulster, who began to fortifie his house with strong walls and
bulwarks; but his son derided his father’s prudence and caution,
affirming that “a castle of _bones_ was better than a castle of
_stones_,” and thereupon the old gentleman put a stop to his building.
It happened that this brave man with his neighbours and followers were
to set out against a numerous rabble of Irish that had made incursions
into their territories, and he gave orders to provide plenty of good
cheer against his return; but one of the company reproved him for doing
so, alleging that he could not tell but the enemy might eat what he
should provide; to which the valiant old gentleman replied, that he hoped
better from their courage, but that if it should happen that his very
enemies should come to his house, ‘he should be ashamed if they should
find it void of good cheer.’ The event was suitable to the bravery of the
undertaking: old Savage had the killing of three thousand of the Irish
near Antrim, and returned home joyfully to supper.”
Sir Henry Savage’s “castles of bones” were found insufficient in the end
to resist the multitudes of the Irish; and the English colonists, as we
have mentioned, notwithstanding their victory at Antrim, were finally
obliged to cede the valley of the Six-mile-water to the victorious arms
of the Clan-Hugh-Buide, whose representative, the present Earl O’Neill,
still holds large possessions in the territory thus recovered by his
ancestors.
With respect to the origin of the place, there is little to be said
beyond the fact, that, like that of most of our provincial towns, it
was ecclesiastical. The only remnant of the ancient foundation is the
round tower, which still stands in excellent preservation about half a
mile north of the town. The name is properly “Aen-druim” signifying “the
single hill,” or “one mount.”
A CHAPTER ON CURS.
Without doubt I am a benevolent character: the grudge gratuitous to
my nature is unknown: I never take offence where no offence is given.
Hence, on most animals I look with complacency--for most animals never
intermeddle with my comfort--and on only a few with antipathy, for only
a few so behave as to excite it. High up on the list of the latter--I
was going to say at the very top, but that pestering, pertinacious fly
impudently alighting, through pure mischief alone, on the tickle-tortured
tip of--but he’s gone--no, he’s back--there now I have him under my hat
at last--tut! he’s out again under the rim--up with the window and away
with him! At the head, then, ay, at the very head--how my grievances come
crowding on my brain!--I unhesitatingly place that thrice-confounded
breed of curs, colleys, mongrels, or whatever else they may be called,
with which the rural regions of this therein much-afflicted country are
infested. The milk of my humanity--yea, I may say the cream, for such
it was with me--has in respect to them been changed to very gall--an
unmitigable hostility has possessed me, which--did not the scars of
the wofully-remembered salting, scrubbing, scarifying, and frying (to
say nothing of two months’ maintenance of an hospital establishment of
poultices and plasters), to which my better leg was twice submitted,
counsel me to mingle discretion with my ire--would absolutely make me
turn Don Quixote for their extirpation.
Let flighty philosophers frolic as they list with the flimsy phantasies
no optics save their own can spy--let political economists prate about
public problems, till other people’s pates are nearly as addled as their
own--let flaming patriots propound and placid placemen promise this,
that, and t’other, as grievous burdens or great concessions; but let men
of sense give heed to things of substance--let them exclaim with me,
“Out upon all abstract gammon--out upon all squabbling about what we can
only hear, but neither see nor feel, taste nor smell--bodily boons--real
redress--and first and foremost, ‘to the lamp-post’ with the curs!” I
have suffered more at their teeth, both in blood and broad-cloth, than
all the benefactions I have ever received at the hands of any government
would balance. The inviolable independence of British subjects, forsooth!
the parental guardianship of the constitution, the security for life
and person--faugh!--away with the big inanities, so long as a peaceful
pedestrian cannot take an airing along a highway, much less adventure
on a devious ramble, without exposing person and personalities to the
cruel mercies of a tribe of half-starved tykes issuing from every cabin,
scrambling over every half-door, and almost throttling themselves in
their emulous ambition to be the first to tatter the ill-starred wight
who has stumbled on their haunts. Let no one urge in their behalf
that they are faithful to the misguided men who own them: so much the
worse, since in their small system, fidelity to one must needs manifest
itself in malice, hatred, and uncharitableness to every creature else,
dead or alive. No, there is no redeeming trait--they are _curs_,
essentially biting, barking, cantankrous, crabbed, sneaking, snarling,
treacherous, bullying, cowardly _curs_, and nothing else. This, under all
circumstances, I undertake to maintain against all gainsayers, though
at the same time I am free to confess that I write under considerable
excitement, having just returned from the country (whither--besotted
mortal not to be content with the flag way of a street, and the scenery
of brick and mortar--I had repaired, forsooth, for air, exercise, and
rural sketching) with a couple of new coats, to say nothing of trousers,
curtailed beyond recovery, a bandaged shin smarting beyond description,
and a host of horrid hydrophobic forebodings consequent thereon. It
chanced that in an evil hour I made an engagement with an ailing friend,
whose house was situate in what I may emphatically term a most _canine_
locality, which constrained me to make several calls upon him. Unhappily
it was only approachable by one road, the sides of which were here and
there dotted with a clutch of cabins, in each of which was maintained a
standing force of the aforesaid pests. This ambushed defile, about three
miles in length, dire necessity compelled me to traverse thrice, and
never did general more considerately undertake a march through a hostile
country, or an enemy more vigilantly guard a pass therein, than did I
and they respectively. On each and all of these occasions have I debated
with myself whether I should not fetch a secure though sinuous compass
through the fields, even with the addition of a few miles and other
discomforts to my walk; but as often--with honest, though, as I look upon
my leg, with melancholy pride I write it--did my pluck preserve me from
so disgraceful a detour. What! my indignant manhood would exclaim, shall
I, one of the lords of the creation--shall I, who have dared and have
accomplished so and so--recalling some of my most notable exploits by
flood and field, in crossing the Channel and cantering in the Park--shall
I, one of her majesty’s liege subjects, a grand jury cess-payer and a
freeholder to boot, be driven from the highway which I pay to support,
and obliged to skulk like a criminal from view, scramble over walls and
splutter through swamps, daub my boots, rend mayhap my tights, and risk
other contingencies, and all by reason of such vile scrubs? No, perish
the thought!--though their name be Legion, and their nature impish, I
will face them, ay, and write the fear of me upon their hides too, if
they dare molest me--that I will. Thus spoke the man within me, as I
fiercely griped my cane; and if, as I cooled, an occasional shrinking of
the calves of my legs in fancied supposition of a tooth inserted therein,
betokened aught like quailing, I recalled Marlborough’s saying on the
eve of battle, “How this little body trembles at what this great soul is
about to perform!” and felt that I too was exemplifying that loftiest
courage in which the infirmity of the flesh succumbs to the vigour of the
spirit.
Decided by some such discipline to run the gauntlet, and in a state of
temper alternating between war and peace, inclining, as I remarked,
strange contradiction! to the former when the latter was in prospect, and
to the latter when the former, I proceeded in guarded vigilance. “Hope
deferred maketh the heart sick,” no doubt, but in my case evil deferred
doth oftentimes as much. The substantial presence of danger for me,
before its fearful imminence--the real onset of a canine crew, before the
terrible suspense of passing the open den in which haply they lay wait,
the shrill gamut of attack splitting your ear worse in apprehension than
in action. But attention! yonder is the first position. Egad! I’m in luck
to-day; the coast seems clear, and--the pacific now prevails amain--poor
devils, I won’t make any ruction.
“Ever follow peace
If you’d live at ease,”
saith the tuneful proverb, and I’ll pass inoffensively if I can. Ay,
i’faith, I may well say _if I can_, for if my eyes are worth a turnip,
yonder is an outpost stretched before that sty. No, I’m wrong, it is a
young pig--worthy little fellow, would I had the craft of Circe to change
every cur in the land into your similitude! A grunt before a snarl, a
snore before a snap any day. But what am I gabbling about?--there is
evil at hand indeed, for yonder is a lurching devil squatted behind
that stone, and no mistake. | 558.440916 |
2023-11-16 18:26:22.4209360 | 2,275 | 8 |
Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al
Haines.
THE SEABOARD PARISH
BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D.
VOL. I.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
I. HOMILETIC
II. CONSTANCE'S BIRTHDAY
III. THE SICK CHAMBER
IV. A SUNDAY EVENING
V. MY DREAM
VI. THE NEW BABY
VII. ANOTHER SUNDAY EVENING
VIII. THEODORA'S DOOM
IX. A SPRING CHAPTER
X. AN IMPORTANT LETTER
XI. CONNIE'S DREAM
XII. THE JOURNEY
XIII. WHAT WE DID WHEN WE ARRIVED
XIV. MORE ABOUT KILKHAVEN
XV. THE OLD CHURCH
XVI. CONNIE'S WATCH-TOWER
XVII. MY FIRST SERMON IN THE SEABOARD PARISH
CHAPTER I.
HOMILETIC.
Dear Friends,--I am beginning a new book like an old sermon; but, as
you know, I have been so accustomed to preach all my life, that
whatever I say or write will more or less take the shape of a sermon;
and if you had not by this time learned at least to bear with my
oddities, you would not have wanted any more of my teaching. And,
indeed, I did not think you would want any more. I thought I had bidden
you farewell. But I am seated once again at my writing-table, to write
for you--with a strange feeling, however, that I am in the heart of
some curious, rather awful acoustic contrivance, by means of which the
words which I have a habit of whispering over to myself as I write
them, are heard aloud by multitudes of people whom I cannot see or
hear. I will favour the fancy, that, by a sense of your presence, I may
speak the more truly, as man to man.
But let me, for a moment, suppose that I am your grandfather, and that
you have all come to beg for a story; and that, therefore, as usually
happens in such cases, I am sitting with a puzzled face, indicating a
more puzzled mind. I know that there are a great many stories in the
holes and corners of my brain; indeed, here is one, there is one,
peeping out at me like a rabbit; but alas, like a rabbit, showing me
almost at the same instant the tail-end of it, and vanishing with a
contemptuous _thud_ of its hind feet on the ground. For I must have
suitable regard to the desires of my children. It is a fine thing to be
able to give people what they want, if at the same time you can give
them what you want. To give people what they want, would sometimes be
to give them only dirt and poison. To give them what you want, might be
to set before them something of which they could not eat a mouthful.
What both you and I want, I am willing to think, is a dish of good
wholesome venison. Now I suppose my children around me are neither
young enough nor old enough to care about a fairy tale, go that will
not do. What they want is, I believe, something that I know about--that
has happened to myself. Well, I confess, that is the kind of thing I
like best to hear anybody talk to me about. Let anyone tell me
something that has happened to himself, especially if he will give me a
peep into how his heart took it, as it sat in its own little room with
the closed door, and that person will, so telling, absorb my attention:
he has something true and genuine and valuable to communicate. They are
mostly old people that can do so. Not that young people have nothing
happen to them; but that only when they grow old, are they able to see
things right, to disentangle confusions, and judge righteous judgment.
Things which at the time appeared insignificant or wearisome, then give
out the light that was in them, show their own truth, interest, and
influence: they are far enough off to be seen. It is not when we are
nearest to anything that we know best what it is. How I should like to
write a story for old people! The young are always having stories
written for them. Why should not the old people come in for a share? A
story without a young person in it at all! Nobody under fifty admitted!
It could hardly be a fairy tale, could it? Or a love story either? I am
not so sure about that. The worst of it would be, however, that hardly
a young person would read it. Now, we old people would not like that.
We can read young people's books and enjoy them: they would not try to
read old men's books or old women's books; they would be so sure of
their being dry. My dear old brothers and sisters, we know better, do
we not? We have nice old jokes, with no end of fun in them; only they
cannot see the fun. We have strange tales, that we know to be true, and
which look more and more marvellous every time we turn them over again;
only somehow they do not belong to the ways of this year--I was going
to say _week_,--and so the young people generally do not care to hear
them. I have had one pale-faced boy, to be sure, who will sit at his
mother's feet, and listen for hours to what took place before he was
born. To him his mother's wedding-gown was as old as Eve's coat of
skins. But then he was young enough not yet to have had a chance of
losing the childhood common to the young and the old. Ah! I should like
to write for you, old men, old women, to help you to read the past, to
help you to look for the future. Now is your salvation nearer than when
you believed; for, however your souls may be at peace, however your
quietness and confidence may give you strength, in the decay of your
earthly tabernacle, in the shortening of its cords, in the weakening of
its stakes, in the rents through which you see the stars, you have yet
your share in the cry of the creation after the sonship. But the one
thing I should keep saying to you, my companions in old age, would be,
"Friends, let us not grow old." Old age is but a mask; let us not call
the mask the face. Is the acorn old, because its cup dries and drops it
from its hold--because its skin has grown brown and cracks in the
earth? Then only is a man growing old when he ceases to have sympathy
with the young. That is a sign that his heart has begun to wither. And
that is a dreadful kind of old age. The heart needs never be old.
Indeed it should always be growing younger. Some of us feel younger, do
we not, than when we were nine or ten? It is not necessary to be able
to play at leapfrog to enjoy the game. There are young creatures whose
turn it is, and perhaps whose duty it would be, to play at leap-frog if
there was any necessity for putting the matter in that light; and for
us, we have the privilege, or if we will not accept the privilege, then
I say we have the duty, of enjoying their leap-frog. But if we must
withdraw in a measure from sociable relations with our fellows, let it
be as the wise creatures that creep aside and wrap themselves up and
lay themselves by that their wings may grow and put on the lovely hues
of their coming resurrection. Such a withdrawing is in the name of
youth. And while it is pleasant--no one knows how pleasant except him
who experiences it--to sit apart and see the drama of life going on
around him, while his feelings are calm and free, his vision clear, and
his judgment righteous, the old man must ever be ready, should the
sweep of action catch him in its skirts, to get on his tottering old
legs, and go with brave heart to do the work of a true man, none the
less true that his hands tremble, and that he would gladly return to
his chimney-corner. If he is never thus called out, let him examine
himself, lest he should be falling into the number of those that say,
"I go, sir," and go not; who are content with thinking beautiful things
in an Atlantis, Oceana, Arcadia, or what it may be, but put not forth
one of their fingers to work a salvation in the earth. Better than such
is the man who, using just weights and a true balance, sells good
flour, and never has a thought of his own.
I have been talking--to my reader is it? or to my supposed group of
grandchildren? I remember--to my companions in old age. It is time I
returned to the company who are hearing my whispers at the other side
of the great thundering gallery. I take leave of my old friends with
one word: We have yet a work to do, my friends; but a work we shall
never do aright after ceasing to understand the new generation. We are
not the men, neither shall wisdom die with us. The Lord hath not
forsaken his people because the young ones do not think just as the old
ones choose. The Lord has something fresh to tell them, and is getting
them ready to receive his message. When we are out of sympathy with the
young, then I think our work in this world is over. It might end more
honourably.
Now, readers in general, I have had time to consider what to tell you
about, and how to begin. My story will be rather about my family than
myself now. I was as it were a little withdrawn, even by the time of
which I am about to write. I had settled into a gray-haired, quite
elderly, yet active man--young still, in fact, to what I am now. But
even then, though my faith had grown stronger, life had grown sadder,
and needed all my stronger faith; for the vanishing of beloved faces,
and the trials of them that are | 558.440976 |
2023-11-16 18:26:22.4211630 | 636 | 22 | WHO HAVE WRITTEN FAMOUS BOOKS***
E-text prepared by Dave Kline, Chris Whitehead, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 45610-h.htm or 45610-h.zip:
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or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45610/45610-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/littlepilgrimage00harkiala
LITTLE PILGRIMAGES AMONG THE MEN WHO HAVE WRITTEN FAMOUS BOOKS
* * * * * *
_Book Lovers' Series_
[Illustration]
_Little Pilgrimages Among the Men
Who Have Written Famous Books_
_Little Pilgrimages Among the Women
Who Have Written Famous Books_
[Illustration]
_L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
200 Summer Street
Boston, Mass._
* * * * * *
[Illustration: Reproduced, by permission, from "A Pair of Patient
Lovers."--Copyright, 1901, by Harper & Brothers.
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS.]
LITTLE PILGRIMAGES AMONG THE MEN WHO HAVE WRITTEN FAMOUS BOOKS
by
E. F. Harkins
Illustrated
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
MDCCCCII
Copyright, 1901, by
L. C. Page & Company (Incorporated)
All rights reserved
Typography by
The Heintzemann Press Boston
Presswork by The Colonial Press
C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston
PREFACE
_The aim of this book is to present to the reading public sketches of
some of its American literary heroes. There are heroes young and old;
but in literature, especially, age has little to do with favorites. At
the same time, it will be noted that the subjects of these sketches
occupy places in or near the centre of the literary stage. The lately
dead, like Maurice Thompson; the hero of the last generation, like
Edward Everett Hale; the young man who has made his first successful
flight--these do not come within the scope of the present work. So, if
some reader miss his favorite, let him understand that at least there
was no malice in the exclusion._
_A part of the aim has been to present the social or personal as
well as the professional side of the authors. Many of the anecdotes
commonly told of well-known novelists are apocryphal or imaginary.
Care, therefore | 558.441203 |
2023-11-16 18:26:22.5328900 | 64 | 44 |
Produced by David Widger
DOMINIE DEAN
A Novel
By Ellis Parker Butler
1917
Fleming And Revell Company
My Dear Mr. Dare:
That day when you came to my home and suggested that I write the book to
which I now gratefully prefix this | 558.55293 |
2023-11-16 18:26:22.5413890 | 491 | 58 |
Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THE HEARTS OF MEN
BY H. FIELDING
AUTHOR OF "THE SOUL OF A PEOPLE," ETC.
NEW YORK
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1901
PRINTED BY KELLY'S DIRECTORIES LIMITED,
LONDON AND KINGSTON.
DEDICATION.
To F. W. FOSTER.
As my first book, "The Soul of a People," would probably never have been
completed or published without your encouragement and assistance, so the
latter part of this book would not have been written without your
suggestion. This dedication is a slight acknowledgment of my
indebtedness to you, but I hope that you will accept it, not as any
equivalent for your unvarying kindness, but as a token that I have not
forgotten.
CONTENTS.
DEFINITIONS OF RELIGION 1
INTRODUCTION 4
PART I.
I. OF WHAT USE IS RELIGION? 13
II. EARLY BELIEFS 21
III. IDEAL AND PRACTICE 28
IV. SCIENTIFIC THEOLOGY--I 37
V. SCIENTIFIC THEOLOGY--II 45
VI. WHENCE FAITHS COME 55
VII. THE WISDOM OF BOOKS 64
VIII. GOD 72
IX. LAW 84
X. THE WAY OF LIFE 92
XI. HEAVEN 101
PART II.
XII. THEORIES AND FACTS 113
XIII. CREED AND INSTINCT 124
XIV. RELIGIOUS PEOPLE 136
XV. ENTHUSIASM 145
XVI. STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS 155
XVII. MIND AND BODY 165
XVIII. PERSONALITY 173
XIX. GOD THE SACRIFICE 185
XX. GOD THE MOTHER 196
XXI. CONDUCT 202
XXII. MEN'S FAITH AND WOMEN'S FAITH 212
XXIII. PRAYER AND CONFESSION 221
XXIV. SUNDAY AND SABB | 558.561429 |
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Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV AND HIS COURT AND OF THE REGENCY
BY THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON
VOLUME 4.
CHAPTER XXV
Canaples, brother of the Marechal de Crequi, wished to marry Mademoiselle
de Vivonne who was no longer young, but was distinguished by talent,
virtue and high birth; she had not a penny. The Cardinal de Coislin,
thinking Canaples too old to marry, told him so. Canaples said he wanted
to have children. "Children!" exclaimed the Cardinal. "But she is so
virtuous!" Everybody burst out laughing; and the more willingly, as the
Cardinal, very pure in his manners, was still more so in his language.
His saying was verified by the event: the marriage proved sterile.
The Duc de Coislin died about this time. I have related in its proper
place an adventure that happened to him and his brother, the Chevalier de
Coislin: now I will say something more of the Duke. He was a very little
man, of much humour and virtue, but of a politeness that was unendurable,
and that passed all bounds, though not incompatible with dignity. He had
been lieutenant-general in the army. Upon one occasion, after a battle
in which he had taken part, one of the Rhingraves who had been made
prisoner, fell to his lot. The Duc de Coislin wished to give up to the
other his bed, which consisted indeed of but a mattress. They
complimented each other so much, the one pressing, the other refusing,
that in the end they both slept upon the ground, leaving the mattress
between them. The Rhingrave in due time came to Paris and called on the
Duc de Coislin. When he was going, there was such a profusion of
compliments, and the Duke insisted so much on seeing him out, that the
Rhingrave, as a last resource, ran out of the room, and double locked the
door outside. M. de Coislin was not thus to be outdone. His apartments
were only a | 559.640009 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Clayhanger, by Arnold Bennett
_______________________________________________________________________
This book is one of several written by Bennett about life in the
Staffordshire Potteries in the last quarter of the nineteenth century.
The hero is Edwin Clayhanger, and we see him through his childhood,
adolescence, early working life, when he was working for his martinet
old father, and to the point where he inherits the business, which is
printing.
Bennett comes from that area of industrial Britain, and the book rings
true on every page.
NH
_______________________________________________________________________
CLAYHANGER
BY ARNOLD BENNETT
VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER ONE.
BOOK ONE--HIS VOCATION.
THE LAST OF A SCHOOLBOY.
Edwin Clayhanger stood on the steep-sloping, red-bricked canal bridge,
in the valley between Bursley and its suburb Hillport. In that
neighbourhood the Knype and Mersey canal formed the western boundary of
the industrialism of the Five Towns. To the east rose pitheads,
chimneys, and kilns, tier above tier, dim in their own mists. To the
west, Hillport Fields, grimed but possessing authentic hedgerows and
winding paths, mounted broadly up to the sharp ridge on which stood
Hillport Church, a landmark. Beyond the ridge, and partly protected by
it from the driving smoke of the Five Towns, lay the fine and ancient
Tory borough of Oldcastle, from whose historic Middle School Edwin
Clayhanger was now walking home. The fine and ancient Tory borough
provided education for the whole of the Five Towns, but the relentless
ignorance of its prejudices had blighted the district. A hundred years
earlier the canal had only been obtained after a vicious Parliamentary
fight between industry and the fine and ancient borough, which saw in
canals a menace to its importance as a centre of traffic. Fifty years
earlier the fine and ancient borough had succeeded in forcing the
greatest railway line in England to run through unpopulated country five
miles off instead of through the Five Towns, because it loathed the mere
conception of a railway. And now, people are inquiring | 559.838752 |
2023-11-16 18:26:23.8188780 | 2,276 | 15 |
Produced by Emmy, MFR and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Price 25 Cents
[Illustration]
Christmas at
McCarthy’s
_GUPTILL_
PAINE PUBLISHING CO.
DAYTON, OHIO
New Entertainment Songs
By Edna Randolph Worrell.
These songs can be used in all manner of entertainments. The music is
easy, and both music and words are especially catchy. Children like
them. Everybody likes them. Sheet music. Price =25= cents each. Five
copies, =$1.00=.
WE HOPE YOU’VE BROUGHT YOUR SMILES ALONG. A welcome song that will at
once put the audience in a joyous frame of mind and create a happy
impression that will mean half the success of your entire program.
Words, bright and inspiring. Music, catchy.
WE’LL NOW HAVE TO SAY GOOD-BYE. This beautiful song has snap and go
that will appeal alike to visitors and singers. It is just the song to
send your audience home with happy memories of the occasion.
WE’VE JUST ARRIVED FROM BASHFUL TOWN. This song will bring memories
to the listeners of their own bashful school days. Words, unusually
clever. Music, decidedly melodious. A capital welcome song, or it may
be sung at any time on the program with assured success.
MY OWN AMERICA, I LOVE THEE. A song that will bring a thrill of
patriotism to the heart of every one who hears it. The children and
grown-ups just can’t resist the catchy music. It makes a capital
marching song.
COME AND PARTAKE OF OUR WELCOME CAKE. A merry welcome song and a jolly
one, too. The audience will be immediately curious about the Welcome
Cake, and the children will love to surprise the listeners with the
catchy words. Music, easy and tuneful.
LULLABY LANE. The music and words blend so beautifully that people will
be humming the appealing strains long after they hear this charming
song. A wonderfully effective closing song, whether sung by the school
or as a solo by a little girl, with a chorus of other little girls with
dolls.
JOLLY PICKANINNIES. Words by Elizabeth F. Guptill. Music by Edna R.
Worrell. This spicy <DW53> song will bring down the house, especially if
you use the directions for the motions which accompany the music. The
black faces and shining eyes of the pickaninnies will guarantee a hit.
The words are great and the music just right.
THE LITTLE BIRD’S SECRET. Here is just the song for those two little
folks to sing together. They won’t have to be coaxed to sing it,
especially when they find that the whole school is to whistle the
chorus. This is a decided novelty, and will prove a rare treat to your
audience.
A GARDEN ROMANCE. This is a dainty little song telling of the romance
and wedding of Marigold and Sweet William. It is just the song for
dainty little girls to sing.
COME TO THE NURSERY RHYME GARDEN AND PLAY. Here is something different
for the little folks to sing. The Nursery Rhyme Folk are so familiar to
children, it will be no trick for them to remember the words. The music
has a most captivating swing.
=Paine Publishing Company= =Dayton, Ohio=
Christmas at McCarthy’s
BY
ELIZABETH F. GUPTILL
_Author of “Christmas at Punkin Holler,”
“A Topsy Turvy Christmas,” Etc._
[Illustration]
Copyright, 1916
PAINE PUBLISHING COMPANY
Dayton, Ohio
Cast of Characters
PATRICK MCCARTHY, the most important man in the “tinement”
BRIDGET MCCARTHY His Wife
MR. OPPERMAN A Jew
MRS. OPPERMAN His Wife
LARS A Swede
MRS. CHLOE WASHINGTON
MRS. FERRARI Italian
MR. STRAUSS Elsie’s father, a German
ELSIE “Tinement” Orphan
JIMMIE The News Boy
PATSY }
KATIE }
POMPEY }
CONNIE }
CLEOPATRA }
MICKEY } Other Children of the “Tinement”
CAESAR }
LUIGI }
CARLOTTA }
HILDA }
TONY }
Christmas at McCarthy’s
SCENE I.
(_Setting—The sidewalk outside of “Murphy’s Tinement.” Have a couple
of low, wide steps, if possible. The children are gathered on and
around these steps. Use plenty of children—as many as convenient. Small
children from two to six or seven may be used as little brothers and
sisters to those who have the speaking parts. As curtain rises, some
of the children are playing “Button, button,” on the lowest step, and
others are playing “Hop-scotch” at one side. The smallest ones hug
dilapidated dollies, rolled up from rags. One has a small wheel, such
as might have been on a little cart, once. Enter Jimmy and Elsie—hurry
along to group._)
KATIE—Sold out so soon?
JIMMY—Ivery blissid paper av thim. Sure, ’twas the swate face of Ilsie
did it. I do be a thinkin’. An’ ivery sowl that bought a paper, almost,
axed quistions about her. Guess they thought she was a high-born leddy,
and me a stealthy, crapy kidnapper. Shure, an’ she got a foine chanst
to be a leddy, and she wouldn’t take it, at all, at all! Think av that,
now!
CONNIE—How could she get a chanst to be a leddy, when she’s jist a bit
av a colleen?
CLEOPATRA—Ah reck’n he means to be quality. Did some quality lady
wanter stole yer, honey chile?
ELSIE—Lady wanted to take me ’way fum Jimmy. She said, fere was mine
mutter dat her let me does papers to sell? And I wasn’t selling dose
papers at all! Jimmy was selling ’em. And I telled her mine mutter was
to Himmel gone, and mine fader was all loss, and—
JIMMY—And she wanted to take her home to be her little gel, ’n whin I
said we couldn’t spare the sunny face av her, she tried to wheedle her
away! Bad ’cess to her!
ELSIE—And she said I wasn’t Jimmy’s little sister at all, she did!
JIMMY—And she axed, she did, as purry as a cat, could we afford to kape
a growin’ choild that didn’t belong to us, and I says to her, says I,
“Ilsie belongs to the whole tinement, that she does!” And she axed how
that was, and I told her how Mrs. Ferrari slapes her, and Mrs. Omstrom
ates her, and Aunt Bridget washes her, and Mrs. Washington minds her,
and Mr. Opperman buys her bit clothes, and you girls kape her tidy, and
I buy her hair ribbins, and she laughed, and called her a communerty
orphin.
ELSIE—And I telled her I wasn’t no orfing, I was Jimmy’s little sister,
and she laughed some more, and she said I was pretty, and she gaved me
this. (_shows quarter._)
MICKY—Begorra, what a lot av money! It’s a capitalist ye’ll be afther
being, like the Rocky feller.
JIMMY—And thin, bedad, she began to wheedle, and she promised her foine
drisses, and a babby doll, and a cab to wheel it in, and iverything ye
could think about, and more, too, begorry. And thin if she didn’t up
and offer her a Christmas tree!
KATIE—A Christmas tree! Why didn’t she offer her the earth, with a
noice little pick fince around it? And ye wouldn’t lave us for a
Christmas tree, Elsie darlint?
ELSIE—“No,” I said, “Jimmy will buy me a Christmas tree a’reddy.”
MICKEY—Like fun he will! Does she think Jimmy’s a millionair?
JIMMY—And she asked where did we live, and I said, “over at the South
side,” says I, and I mutters “over the lift” to mesilf and says she,
“I’m a coming to see yer mother,” she says. And says I, wid the face av
me as sober as a praste, “Me mither’s me ant, for the rale mither av
me’s over in Ould Oirland in a churchyard, where she’s been iver since
jist before I was born, or jist afther, I forgit which, its so long
ago.”
ELSIE—And she laughed, and said she was going to haf her pretty baby,
yet a’retty, but I won’t with that lady go. I will stay with my Jimmy.
Jimmy won’t let her get me.
JIMMY—Don’t worry the golden braids av yer, Ilsie love. I gave her
shtrate way out at the South side that isn’t there at all, at all, and
bedad, she’ll hunt awhile before she finds that addriss, and whin she
does, it’ll be the wrong one.
ELSIE—(_confidently_) And Jimmy will buy me a Christmas, won’t you,
Jimmy?
JIMMY—Maybe, Ilsie love, a little one.
ELSIE—No, a big one, with a big, big tree.
CAESAR—Dar don’t no trees grow in de city, Ailsie honey, not cut down
ones.
| 559.838918 |
2023-11-16 18:26:23.9168370 | 1,101 | 108 | STEAM MAN, OR, THE YOUNG INVENTOR'S TRIP TO THE FAR WEST***
E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 53932-h.htm or 53932-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53932/53932-h/53932-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53932/53932-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/Frank_Reade_-_01
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
“Noname’s” Latest and Best Stories are Published in This Library.
[Illustration: FRANK READE LIBRARY]
═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
_Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class
Matter._
═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
=No. 1.= {=COMPLETE.=} FRANK TOUSEY, {=PRICE=} =Vol. I=
PUBLISHED, 34 & 36 {=5 CENTS.=}
NORTH MOORE STREET, NEW
YORK.
New York, ISSUED
September WEEKLY.
24, 1892.
═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
_Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1892, by FRANK
TOUSEY, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington,
D. C._
═════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
FRANK READE, JR., AND HIS NEW STEAM MAN;
OR, THE
YOUNG INVENTOR’S TRIP TO THE FAR WEST.
By “NONAME.”
[Illustration]
The Subscription Price of the FRANK READE LIBRARY by the Year is $2.50:
$1.25 per six months, post-paid. Address FRANK TOUSEY, PUBLISHER, 34 and
36 North Moore Street, New York. Box 2730.
Frank Reade Jr., and His New Steam Man;
OR,
THE YOUNG INVENTOR’S TRIP TO THE FAR WEST.
By “NONAME”,
Author of Frank Reade Jr.’s Electric Cyclone; or, Thrilling Adventures
in No Man’s Land, etc.
CHAPTER I.
A GREAT WRONG.
Frank Reade was noted the world over as a wonderful and distinguished
inventor of marvelous machines in the line of steam and electricity. But
he had grown old and unable to knock about the world, as he had been
wont once to do.
So it happened that his son, Frank Reade, Jr., a handsome and talented
young man, succeeded his father as a great inventor, even excelling him
in variety and complexity of invention. The son speedily outstripped his
sire.
The great machine shops in Readestown were enlarged by young Frank, and
new flying machines, electric wonders, and so forth, were brought into
being.
But the elder Frank would maintain that, inasmuch as electricity at the
time was an undeveloped factor, his invention of the Steam Man was
really the most wonderful of all.
“It cannot be improved upon,” he declared, positively. “Not if steam is
used as a motive power.”
Frank, Jr. laughed quietly, and patted his father on the back.
“Dad,” he said, with an affectionate, though bantering air, “what would
you think if I should produce a most remarkable improvement upon your
Steam Man?”
“You can’t do it!” declared the senior Reade.
Frank, Jr., said no more, but smiled in a significant manner. One day
later, the doors of the secret draughting-room of design were tightly
locked and young Frank came forth only to his meals.
For three months this matter of closed doors continued. In the machine
shop department, where the parts of machinery were secretly put
together, the ring of hammers might have been heard, and a big sign was
upon the door:
No admittance!
Thus matters were when one evening Frank left his arduous duties to
spend a few hours with his wife and little boy.
But | 559.936877 |
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Produced by the Mormon Texts Project
(MormonTextsProject.org), with thanks to Paul Freebairn
and Cheryl Jennings for proofreading.
[Frontispiece Image: Mount Calvary.]
THE HAND OF
PROVIDENCE,
AS SHOWN IN THE
HISTORY OF
NATIONS AND INDIVIDUALS,
From the Great Apostasy to the Restoration of the Gospel.
ILLUSTRATED.
BY ELDER J. H. WARD.
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH:
Published at the Juvenile Instructor Office. 1883.
PREFACE.
Don't throw this book down carelessly. It will do you no harm. It
assumes no dictation. It may benefit you if you will read it carefully.
"We have plenty of histories."
True. But most are too large to be of practical value to the sons and
daughters of toil. Many are written in the interest of some party or
sect, and in order to gain favor, they flatter the vanity of men.
"But they tell of wonderful deeds, and thrilling adventures."
Very true. Some of them are mostly composed of recitals of legalized
slaughter, and praise of tyrants who have climbed to power over the
mangled bodies of their fellow-men, and whose names will not live
in one grateful memory; while the real benefactors of the race, the
unfolding of new and higher truths and, above all, the over-ruling hand
of God are unnoticed, or, at most, barely mentioned.
"Does God rule the world?"
Yes, verily. The greatest actors on the theatre of the world are only
instruments in the hand of God, for the execution of His purposes.
"Where have you obtained the facts contained in this volume?"
From many authentic works, some of them not easily accessible to most
readers.
{IV.}
"This will be a good book for the young, and all those who have not the
opportunity to consult larger works, will it not?"
With this idea it has been written and to this end I dedicate it to my
children as heirs in the kingdom of God, to the youth of Zion and to my
earnest friends everywhere.
THE AUTHOR.
Salt Lake City,
March 16th, 1883.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Injustice of Roman Governors--Nero Emperor--Vespasian and Titus
Sent to Judea--Fortifications of Jerusalem--Titus Offers Terms of
Peace--Horrors of the Siege--Women Devour their own Children--Temple
Burned--City Destroyed--Dispersion of the Jews--Universal
Apostasy--Priesthood no More--Ideas of God Perverted--Worship
Corrupted with Heathen Rites--Persecution of Christians--Emperor
Constantine--Rise of Monastic Order.
CHAPTER II.
Description of Arabia--Arabian Customs--Birth of Mahomet--Early
Life--Journey to Syria--Christian Sects--Doctrines Taught by
Mahomet--His Marriage--Proclaims Himself a Prophet--Persecution--Flees
to Medina--Becomes Powerful--Sickness and Death--Personal Appearance.
CHAPTER III.
Causes of Triumphs--Abou-Beker Elected Caliph--War Declared--Fall of
Bozrah--Battle of Aiznadin--Siege of Jerusalem--Departure of Roman
Emperor--Saracen Fleet--Eastern Conquests--Fall of Alexandria--Conquest
of Northern Africa--Conquest of Spain--Battle of Poictiers--Extent of
Saracen Empire.
CHAPTER IV.
Intellectual Stagnation--Saracens and Jews Revive Learning--University
of Bagdad--Public Schools--Medical College of Cairo--Circulating
Library--Modern Form of Books--Arabic Notation--Discoveries in
Chemistry--Rotundity of the Earth--Mariner's Compass--Discoveries of
Alhazin--Astronomical Observatories--Golden Age of Judaism--Cities of
Andalusia--Saracen Dwellings--Condition of Women--Female Physicians.
CHAPTER V.
Jerusalem the Sacred City--Alexandria Noted for Philosophy--School of
Hypatia--Mob Murders Her--Doctrines of Cyril--Jerusalem a Scene of
Suffering--Fulfillment of Prophecy--Herculaneum and Pompeii--Their
Destruction--Evidences {VI.} of their Wickedness--Excavations--Roman
Rule--Removal of Capital--Crimes of Constantine--Commencement
of Greek Empire--Description of Constantinople--Its
Capture by Crusaders--Taken by the Turks--Intellectual
Degradation--Priestcraft--Debauchery--Turkish Rule.
CHAPTER VI.
Growth of Relic-Worship--Schemes of the Roman Pontiffs--Manufacture
of Relics--Their Great Variety--Value of Relics--Insults Offered to
Pilgrims--Peter the Hermit--Crusades--Disorderly Rabble--Terrible
Suffering--Capture of Jerusalem--Terrible Massacre--Capture
of Constantinople--Crusades of the Children--Results of the
Crusades--Revival of Learning.
CHAPTER VII.
The Morning Dawns--Rise of Knighthood--Principles of
Knights--Apostate Priests Held in Contempt--Waldenses--Persecutions
in Southern France--Rise of the Inquisition--Liberal Policy of
Frederick--"Everlasting Gospel"--Its Remarkable Teachings--Bacon's
Discoveries--Geographical Knowledge--Azores and Canary Islands--Travels
of Marco Polo--Condition of European States--Modern States.
CHAPTER VIII.
Lesson from Heathen Mythology--Vicissitudes of Roman Church--Boniface
Pope--Advancement in Civilization--Work of the Roman Church--Invention
of Printing--Gutenberg--Bible First Printed--Columbus--His Wonderful
Dream--His Great Voyage--Discovery of America--Trials and Triumphs.
CHAPTER IX.
History in Words--British Coat of Arms--The Ten Tribes--Account
of Esdras--Dispersion of the Tribes--Mixed Seed of Israel--Effect
on European Society--Jewish Influence--Discovery of Cape of Good
Hope--Pacific Ocean Discovered--Magellan's Voyage--Discovers Cape
Horn--Distance Sailed--Death of Magellan--Voyage Completed--Its Effect
on the Public--Huss and Jerome Burned--John Ziska--Persecutions
of Waldenses--Capture of Mentz--Dispersion of Printers--Hans
Boheim--Joss Fritz--Sale of Indulgences--Martin Luther Burns the Pope's
Letter--Grand Council at Worms--Rome in a Rage--Luther Kidnapped.
CHAPTER X.
Germany Aroused--Peasants' War--Muntzer's Proclamation--Emperor
Quarrels With the Pope--Results in Other {VII.} Countries--Growth
in Modern Languages--Luther's Crowning Work--Power of
Superstition--Witchcraft--Reformers not Inspired--Extracts from
Mosheim--Battle-Ax of God--Copernicus--Galileo--Newton--Death of
Bruno--Change in Commercial Affairs--Spanish Armada--Blessed by the
Pope--Destroyed by a Storm--Its Effect on Europe--England's Influence
and Position--America the Land of Refuge.
CHAPTER XI.
Columbus Destroyed Papal Dogmas--Cruelty of Spaniards--Their
Retribution--Relics in Massachusetts--Newport Tower--Mounds in
Ohio--Remains Found in Iowa--Plates Found in Illinois--Ancient Mexican
Pyramids--Human Sacrifices--View from the Great Pyramid--Ancient
American Sculptures--Mammoths--Mexican Customs--Religious
Rites--Computation of Time--Arts and Sciences--Description of Peru--Its
Civilization--Massacre of the Incas--Testimony of Travellers--Indian
Traditions.
CHAPTER XII.
England's Development--Reign of Elizabeth--Influence of the
Bible--Tyranny of the Kings--Jacques Cartier--Discovery of the
St. Lawrence--Quebec Founded--Acadia Colonized--Transferred to
England--Extracts from Longfellow's Poem--Virginia Settled.
CHAPTER XIII.
Character of the Colonists--They Leave England--Sojourn in
Holland--Brewster's Printing Press--Puritans Embark for America--Their
Trust in God--Robinson's Prophecy--Plymouth Founded--Sufferings of the
Colonists--Conflict in England--Peculiarities of the Puritans--Harvard
College Founded--Extent of Settlements--First Confederation.
CHAPTER XIV.
Description of Holland--A Land of Refuge--Tyranny of Alva--The Struggle
for Independence--Siege of Leyden--The Country Submerged--Famine in the
City--Speech of the Mayor--Heroic Conduct--Trust in God--Storm Raises
the Waters--Spaniards Retreat--Leyden is Saved--Thanksgiving--Waters
Retire.
CHAPTER XV.
Rise of Quakerism--George Fox--William Penn--Founds
Pennsylvania--Kindness to the Indians--Philadelphia Founded--Maryland,
Carolina and Georgia Settled--Roger Williams--Rhode Island Founded--Its
Toleration.
{VIII.}
CHAPTER XVI.
Condition of English Society--Manufacture of Gin and Rum--Origin of
Methodism--Eloquence of Whitfield--John and Charles Wesley--Remarkable
Teachings--Robert Raikes--John Howard--William Wilberforce--Mechanical
Inventions--Growth of American Freedom--Three Great Battles--Cook's
Voyages--Extension of the English Language--Greatness of
Pitt--Washington's Early Life--Benjamin Franklin.
CHAPTER XVII.
Gathering of Political Forces--General Revolution--Civil
Reformers--Decay of Old Institutions--Rosseau and His
Writings--Voltaire--Holland, a Political Refuge--American
Settlers--Lines of Albert B. Street--Growth of the Colonies--Love for
England--Causes of Revolution--Manufactures Forbidden--Stamp Act--Tax
on Tea--Philadelphia Convention--Address to the King--Appeal To
England--To Canada--Incident in Old South Church, Boston--Paul Revere's
Ride.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Battle of Lexington--Officers Chosen--A Year of Discussion--Declaration
of Independence--Spirit of English Nobility--Defeat of American
Forces--Success at Trenton and Princeton--Sufferings at Valley
Forge--Washington's Prayer--Burgoyne's Campaign--Arrival of La
Fayette--Arnold's Treason--Andre's Death--Siege of Yorktown--Close
of the War--Treaty of Peace--Army Disbanded--Washington Resigns
his Commission--Constitutional Convention--Washington Elected
President--His Death--His Tomb.
CHAPTER XIX.
Influence of La Fayette--Despotism in France--The Bastile--Corruption
of the Church--Commencement of the Revolution--The Marseillaise--Its
Wonderful Influence--Reign of Terror--Napoleon Bonaparte--His Wonderful
Career--Jewish Sanhedrim--Fall of Napoleon--His Death--Progress of
Liberty.
CHAPTER XX.
The Genius of the Age--European Wars--American
Tranquil--Declaration of War--Divisions of North America--United
States--Canada--Mexico--American Common Schools--Their
Influence--Progress of Invention--First Steamboat--First
Locomotive--Electric Telegraph--Improvements in Printing--Spiritual
Darkness--The Kingdom of God--Wants of the Present Age--Joseph
Smith--His Tragic Death--Conclusion.
{9}
THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE.
CHAPTER I.
THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM AND APOSTASY OF THE EARLY CHURCH.
INJUSTICE OF ROMAN GOVERNORS--NERO EMPEROR--VESPASIAN AND TITUS
SENT TO JUDEA--FORTIFICATIONS OF JERUSALEM--TITUS OFFERS TERMS OF
PEACE--HORRORS OF THE SIEGE--WOMEN DEVOUR THEIR OWN CHILDREN--TEMPLE
BURNED--CITY DESTROYED--DISPERSION OF THE JEWS--UNIVERSAL
APOSTASY--PRIESTHOOD NO MORE--IDEAS OF GOD PERVERTED--WORSHIP
CORRUPTED WITH HEATHEN RITES--PERSECUTION OF CHRISTIANS--EMPEROR
CONSTANTINE--RISE OF MONASTIC ORDER.
According to the best records that have come down to us, the last book
of the New Testament (commonly called the Apocalypse of St. John) was
written about sixty years after the ascension of our Savior.
At that time the gospel of Jesus Christ had been preached in all the
principal cities and countries of the known world. Numerous branches of
the primitive church had been planted in Palestine, Syria, Egypt, Asia
Minor, Greece and Italy.
In the meantime the awful doom which the Savior predicted against
Jerusalem had been literally fulfilled. Shortly after the crucifixion
and ascension of the Savior, Judea became the theatre of many cruelties
and oppressions arising from contentions between the Jewish priests,
the depredations of numerous bands of robbers, which infested the
country; but more than all from the injustice and avarice of the Roman
governors.
{10} The last of these governors was Gessius Floras, whom Josephus
represents as a monster in wickedness and cruelty, and whom the Jews
regarded rather as a bloody executioner, sent to torture, than as a
magistrate to govern them.
[Image: Jerusalem.]
During the government of Felix, his predecessor, a dispute having
arisen between the Jews and Syrians about the city of Caesarea, their
respective claims were referred to the emperor, Nero, at Rome. The
decision was in favor of the Syrians, and the Jews immediately took up
arms to avenge their cause.
{11} In this state of things, Nero gave orders to Vespasian to march
into Judea with a powerful army. Accordingly, Vespasian, accompanied
by his son Titus, marched into Palestine at the head of 60,000
well-disciplined troops. While Vespasian was thus preparing more
effectually to curb the still unbroken spirit of the Jews, intelligence
arrived of the death of the emperor and his own election to the throne.
Departing therefore for Rome he left the best of his troops with his
son, ordering him to besiege and utterly destroy Jerusalem.
Titus lost no time in carrying into effect his father's injunction.
Jerusalem was strongly fortified both by nature and art. Three walls
surrounded it which were considered impregnable; besides which it had
numerous towers outside of the walls, lofty, firm and strong. The
circumference was nearly four miles.
Desirous of saving the city, Titus repeatedly sent offers of peace to
the inhabitants; but they were indignantly rejected. At length finding
all efforts at treaty ineffectual, he entered upon the siege determined
not to leave it until he had razed the city to its foundation.
The internal state of the city soon became horrible. The inhabitants
being divided in their counsels fought with one another, and the
streets were often deluged with blood shed by the hands of kindred.
In the meantime famine spread its horrors abroad, and pestilence its
ravages. Thousands died daily and were carried out of the gates to be
buried at the public expense; until being unable to hurry them to the
grave the wretched victims were thrown into houses as fast as they
fell, and there shut up.
During the prevalence of the famine, the house of a certain woman by
the name of Miriam was repeatedly plundered of such provisions as she
had been able to procure. So extreme did her suffering become, that she
entreated those around her, to put an end to her miserable existence.
At length frantic with fury and despair she snatched her infant from
her bosom, killed and cooked it; and having satiated her present
hunger, concealed the rest. The smell of food soon drew the voracious
human tigers to her house; they threatened her with tortures; she hid
her provisions from them. Being thus compelled {12} she set before them
the relics of her mangled babe. At the sight of this horrid spectacle,
inhuman as they were, they stood aghast, petrified with horror, and at
length rushed precipitately from the house.
When the report of this spread through the city, the consternation was
universal and inexpressible. The people now, for the first time, began
to think themselves forsaken of God. In the mind of Titus the recital
awakened both horror and indignation, and he resolved to push the siege
with still greater vigor, aiming particularly to obtain possession of
the temple. The preservation of this noble edifice was strongly desired
by him; but one of the Roman soldiers being exasperated by the Jews,
or, as Josephus says, "pushed on by the hand of Providence," seized
a blazing firebrand, and getting on his comrades' shoulders, threw
it through a window, and soon the whole north side was in a flame.
Titus immediately gave order to extinguish the fire; but the enraged
soldiers, bent on destroying the city and all it contained, either did
not hear or did not regard him. The flames continued to spread until
this consecrated edifice, the glory of the nation, became one mingled
heap of ruins. Then followed a terrible massacre in which thousands
perished, some in the flames and others by the sword of the enemy. At
length the city was abandoned to the fury of the soldiers. It is said
that nearly one million five hundred thousand persons perished in the
siege.
The conquest of the city being achieved, Titus proceeded to demolish
its noble structures, its fortifications, palaces and walls. So
literally were the predictions of the Savior fulfilled respecting its
destruction that not one stone was left upon another that was not
thrown down.
From that day the Jews have been dispersed through | 559.936929 |
2023-11-16 18:26:23.9190440 | 5,744 | 13 |
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THE STRAND MAGAZINE
_An Illustrated Monthly_
EDITED BY GEORGE NEWNES
Vol VII., Issue 39.
March, 1894
[Illustration: MR. THOMAS SIDNEY COOPER, R.A.
_From a Photo. by Elliot & Fry._]
_Illustrated Interviews._
XXXI.--MR. T. SIDNEY COOPER, R.A.
[Illustration]
The first sight I obtained of Mr. Cooper was of considerable
interest. He lives in a beautiful spot, about a mile and a half from
Canterbury--at Vernon Holme, Harbledown; and as I entered the gate
I caught sight of Mr. Cooper before his easel in his studio, taking
advantage of the light of a glorious winter's day, and working away at
a canvas which I subsequently learnt was intended, with another, to
form his contribution to this year's exhibition at the Royal Academy.
I stood for a moment quietly and respectfully looking on before
ringing the bell at the front door. The canvas presented a landscape,
and the cattle were just outlined in with pencil. The painter was
working without the aid of glasses, and this for a man who is in his
ninety-first year may certainly be said to be highly respectable.
Somewhat below the medium height, with marvellously penetrating eyes,
scarcely the sign of the stoop of old age, a hand as steady as in '35,
when he was just beginning to make a name, and silvery white hair about
his head--it was an impressive picture. T. Sidney Cooper's brilliant
work of the past and to-day calls for all recognition of his gifts, but
it is only when one catches sight of him as I did--snow, nothing but
snow, everywhere outside, and the painter, now in the winter of life,
clinging with all the old love to his sheep and cattle--it is only then
that one realizes the great respect due to the Grand Old Academician.
[Illustration: VERNON HOLME--FROM THE POND. _From a Photo. by Elliott &
Fry._]
So I shook my snow-covered boots outside and entered the hall of Vernon
Holme. The artist left his easel. It was a hearty welcome to Vernon
Holme. There was no mistaking the man. He was living there a quiet,
happy, contented, and work-a-day life; rising at half-past seven every
morning in the winter, and in the summer months at seven o'clock.
Before breakfast the palettes are set and the paints made ready. He
will work steadily up to dusk. His recreation is his Bible, and twice
a day, after lunch and dinner, a chapter is read aloud. His voice is
clear, and he reads every word, and suggests its meaning. I heard
Sidney Cooper read. His birthdays are _thinking_ days--_thankful_ days
too, it would seem. The lines he wrote on September 26th, 1889, reveal
much. He calls them "Musings on My Eighty-sixth Birthday," and they
run:--
Another birthday dawns--the eighty-sixth,
How little take we note of fleeting time!
Since last this day of joyful glee was here
What blessings have been mine; alas! how oft
Have unrequited been! The cares of life
Engross my thoughts when holy things my heart
Should fill. Thou who hast made my way of life
So full of mercies, be Thou still my help.
When o'er this day of life the night shall fall,
And called my feet to pass thro' ways unknown,
Be near me still; be Thou my strength; and when
The walls decay leave not the tenant lone,
But by Thy Spirit comfort and uphold;
I have but Thee, I have no claim of Gate
Of Pearl, or Street of Glittering Gold, but thro'
Thy boundless grace, my good and bad are both
Forgiven. In humble fitting place among
The many mansions, where there is no sin,
And by Thy Crystal River flowing on
Through Heaven's green expanse, I'll learn the new
And holy song of Worthy is the Lamb,
And 'neath the Healing Tree shall find that life
Wished for so long!!!
Then he loves to take you about his house, for it is a very beautiful
home, and the man who owns it enjoys its comforts the more, for he will
honestly tell you that it meant working for.
"I don't do anything without authority," he told me; "I have authority
for everything I paint. If I want a sky for any particular picture, I
do it from my house. I have windows from all four sides, so that I can
see always. Then in the summer I can sit on the lawn and paint. There
are some of my sheep--my'models'!"
We were standing in the recess of the dining-room. Before us were the
fields covered with snow, and some sheep were labouring hard to find
a stray tuft of grass here and there. Ever since the artist built the
house--forty-five years ago--he has kept sheep here and painted them
every year. These finely coated creatures before us now are admirable
representatives of some ninety ewes and a similar number of lambs.
Of bullocks, the great cattle painter has few, though he invariably
fattens up three or four every autumn.
Some hours later we again stood in this corner and watched the setting
sun. A great cloud edged with gold hung over a black patch of trees.
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Cooper, enthusiastically, "it was in that very
wood that I first began to study trees. There were some fine old trees
there--too far gone to cut for timber. A farm stood on the opposite
side of the hill, which I have put in three of my pictures. How well I
remember seeing the chains and the gibbet in the road which skirts the
wood there--used for hanging Charles Storey, who committed murder the
year after I was born."
It is not necessary to say that the interior of Vernon Holme is
in every way worthy of its owner. The land on which it stands was
originally a hop ground, and Mr. Cooper tells with great gusto that
whilst the people were picking the hops his men were getting the ground
ready for the foundation of the house. The house was built from Mr.
Cooper's own designs. The hall, of solid oak, is very fine and massive,
and the carving about the ceiling and staircases exquisite. The bosses
on the ceiling were cut from Nature's models of hops and wild flowers.
The antlers over the doors were a present from Sir Edwin Landseer,
and are reminiscences of deer shot by him in Scotland. The engravings
comprise proofs after Sir Edwin and Tom Landseer, and Leslie's
"Coronation of Queen Victoria."
"There is a little story," said Mr. Cooper, "as to how I came into
possession of that engraving--a very rare one--of Tom Landseer's. I
painted a little picture for him, and Tom liked it. So it was agreed
that I should have some of his proofs in exchange for it. He was very
deaf, and he wrote on a piece of paper: 'There's my portfolio; choose
one, and I'll sign it.' I did so.
"'Why,' he exclaimed, 'you have chosen the one I put aside for myself.'
"I had selected the 'Deer and Dog in the Snow.'"
[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE HALL.
_From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry._]
Only three pictures by Mr. Cooper hang in the hall proper. These
are over the mantelpiece. One of these is peculiarly interesting--a
group of three sheep, a calf, and a cow, painted three years ago. The
work was the result of a dream. The Royal Academician dreamt he was
painting this very scene. In the morning he got up and chronicled it
on canvas. Ascending the grand old staircase, a huge space is taken up
by "Separated, but not Divorced," painted in 1875, and is a study of a
magnificent short-horn bull, "Charlie" by name. It was exhibited, but
proved too big to sell. Just by the bull's foreleg is a raven pecking
at a bone. The artist was asked why he put it there.
"Oh!" he replied, "I wanted a little bit of relieving black and white.
Besides, if there is a Crown case over it, it will typify the lawyers
picking at the bones."
But "Charlie" is interesting for other reasons. It represents a
triumph of art. Mrs. Cooper did not like the bull's head, and said
so. Mr. Cooper made up his mind to paint in another head. It took a
long time--many and many were the attempts to put a new head on old
shoulders, and the one now in the picture took as long to paint as
all the rest of the picture. It is a remarkably real and brilliant
effort. The other large picture by Mr. Cooper is "Isaac's Substitute,"
painted in 1880--a Scotch ram the only object in the picture being
Isaac's substitute. It was suggested one day after reading the words
from Genesis xxii. 13: "And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and
behold behind him a ram caught in a thicket by his horns." Close by are
some sheep painted on the 26th September, 1874, on the occasion of the
artist's seventy-first birthday. It was completed in five hours, and
here it should be mentioned that for the last twenty years Mr. Cooper
has always painted a finished canvas on his birthday--pictures which
are never sold.
[Illustration: SIDNEY COOPER, AGE 38.
_From a Painting by Scott._]
A peep into Mrs. Cooper's room revealed something that says much for
the continued determination of purpose which has always characterized
the great painter's life, and his extraordinary and persistent powers
of endurance under great suffering. I had noted some excellent copies
of his father's works by Mr. Neville Cooper, and a portrait of the
Royal Academician himself, painted by Scott in 1841. Also an old
donkey, done in 1835, belonging to Mrs. Cooper--Mr. Cooper has been
twice married--seeing that it was painted in the year in which she
was born. Two water colour drawings were then shown to me. They were
artistic reminiscences of his severe illness last year. Beneath a
group of cows were written these words: "Painted in bed, November,
1893, for my dear wife for her nursing.--T.S.C., R.A." The other was
some sheep in the snow--reproduced in these pages--and inscribed: "To
Neville. Painted in bed, with bronchitis, November, 1893.--T.S.C.,
R.A." Such efforts as these betoken much. It is a significant fact
that Sidney Cooper was the last country patient the late Sir Andrew
Clark ever visited, for he was struck down four days afterwards. The
great physician's words on saying "Good-bye" to Mrs. Cooper were: "I
never met a man at eighty with more vitality in him than your husband,
and he is ninety!" and he added, upon being thanked for his prompt
attendance: "I look upon this as being one of the events of my life."
[Illustration: PICTURE PAINTED DURING LAST ILLNESS.]
[Illustration: THE DINING-ROOM.
_From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry._]
The dining-room is perhaps the finest room in the house--being 35ft.
long and 35ft. high. Its carved oak arched ceiling is superb--and the
carved fireplace, round which ivy is trailing, is also a fine sample of
this particular art. It was in this apartment that I had the privilege
of going through portfolio after portfolio of the daintiest of pencil
studies--little artistic efforts which seemed to have life and breath
of their own. There are many personal works here--at one end of the
room hangs "Scotch Mountains and Sheep," the opposite side being
occupied by the largest picture the artist has ever painted--the canvas
measures 11ft, by 7ft.--"Pushing Off for Tilbury Fort, on the Thames,"
painted in 1883, and exhibited in the Academy of the following year.
As we stood before this beautiful work--a scene of perfect calmness in
the meadows, with a group of cattle lazily lying in the foreground,
and a boat full of soldiers being rowed towards the guard-ship,
_Ramilies_, in the distance--Mr. Cooper said:
"I saw that very scene on my fortieth birthday, when seeing a friend
off from Tilbury. Its beauty impressed me in a way few such scenes
have done, and I said within myself, 'Should I ever reach my eightieth
birthday, I will paint that.' And I did. I started it on September 26,
1883, and it took me exactly forty-nine days to paint."
[Illustration: THE DINING-ROOM.
_From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry._]
There is much of interest in the drawing-room, with its fine statues by
P. MacDowell, R.A., its family portraits intermingled with great bowls
of winter blossoms and grasses gathered from the adjoining fields, its
many artistic treasures--not omitting the tiny canvas which the artist
painted at the age of seventy.
"I painted it," he said, very quietly, "because I thought I had got to
the end!"
[Illustration: THE DRAWING-ROOM.
_From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry._]
But we only spend a moment or so there, for Mr. Cooper is leading the
way to the studio. We cross the great hall, through the library, whose
walls are completely hidden by sketches of, surely, every animal that
ever enjoyed the green fare provided by the meadows of Britain--the
artist opens the door and bids me enter. It is a remarkable studio--and
I should say stands alone and distinct amongst those pertaining to
Royal Academicians. There are a few studies hanging on the woodwork
which surrounds the window--there are the two diplomas, one of which,
dated November 3rd, 1845, made its possessor an Associate of the Royal
Academy, and the other a Royal Academician on March 23rd, 1867--but
otherwise the blue walls are bare, perfectly bare. There may be a
reason for this--a very simple one; an honest recollection of the days
that have been is not to be forgotten in the comforts and successes of
the days that are now! When I left Mr. Cooper, and after I learnt what
I did, I could only put these bare walls in the studio at Vernon Holme
down to such thoughts as these.
[Illustration: THE LIBRARY.
_From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry._]
He told me that the easels and palettes are all old friends--the
Academy box on the floor is chipped and cut about, and goes back to the
forties. It is not worth a shilling; but a big cheque wouldn't buy it.
Packed against the walls near the floor are scores of canvases, studies
innumerable, old time and present-time first artistic "thoughts."
"Nancy Macintosh" is particularly interesting, because it is one of the
artist's figure studies of the time when his work was just becoming to
be recognised--1836. Nancy was painted in Cumberland under Cross Fell,
and is a good type of the women who used to go up and milk the cows for
the drovers, who--it is much to be regretted--used to exchange their
employers' milk for nips of whisky! The Academy pictures are even now
well forward. I was just looking at one of these--a bridge scene, and a
subject the artist assured me he had long been wanting to paint--when I
turned towards Mr. Cooper again and found him in the act of lifting a
large canvas on to the easel. He would not allow me to assist him.
[Illustration: THE STUDIO.
_From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry._]
"That," he said, after it had been securely placed on the easel, "is
to be the picture of my life! The subject is 'The High Hills, or the
Refuge for the Wild Goats,' from the 104th Psalm. It is not finished
yet. The notion occurred to me when last in Switzerland. I had to go
up the mountain some four hours' journey before I reached the spot from
which the idea is partly composed. We went as high as the goats would
go in order to get the moss, heather, and different grasses on which
they feed. As far as the goats are concerned, I obtained the principal
ones when in North Wales."
[Illustration: NANCY MACINTOSH.
_From an early Drawing by T.S. Cooper, R.A._]
A flood of renewed light came in at the studio window--for the
afternoon was still young--and Mr. Cooper stood for a moment by the
side of the picture and was thus photographed. The light lit up the
canvas--so I left Mr. Cooper at work, and spent the afternoon in
wandering about the Brotherhood Farm, where some of his sheep and cows
are to be found. It is a farm possessing a distinct interest, for on a
grassy <DW72> by the side of one of its meadows is situated the well of
the Black Prince--a well roofed in by modern brick, over which the ivy
is growing, a sublimely picturesque corner, where the first bearer of
the motto "Ich Dien" was wont to come and bathe his eyes.
"Why, sir," said the old Sub-Prior with pardonable pride when showing
me the well, "people send from all over the world for that water, and
the last gentleman that had it was Mr. Sidney Cooper, the painter."
Mr. Cooper told me that he obtained the water for a young lady in his
family.
It was nearing dusk when I returned to Vernon Holme, and once again I
saw the great artist through the window of his studio, packing up his
things and taking a last look for the day at his work on the easel. We
met in the hall.
Then I learnt something of his eventful life. He looked back on his
career very quietly--never striving to make "points," never yearning
for effect, though every incident was in reality a picture in itself.
Imagine the little fellow--deserted by his father at the age of
five--with the tiniest of prospects before him of ever cultivating the
gift which was born with him when he first opened his eyes in a little
room in St. Peter's Street, Canterbury, on September 26th, 1803.
The mother was left with five young children--at the time of the long
war--terrible days for them. But the mother worked hard, and her
youngest boy never forgot it, as will be seen later. He was christened
Thomas, and the name of Sidney was added some time after--in this
wise: The little fellow's great-uncle was in the Navy, and had been
at Acre with Sir Sidney Smith, who had a great love for Kent and its
surroundings.
"Any news from Kent?" asked Sir Sidney of his great-uncle one day.
"No, Admiral. Only Cooper's got another boy."
"Indeed; then let him take my name!"
So "Sidney" was set down in the church registry.
"They never would call me 'Sidney,'" said Mr. Cooper, as he remembered
this; "but when I commenced to draw on my slate, at the age of eight,
I always used to put 'T.S.C.' in the corner. The very first drawing
I ever did was with a slate pencil, of the Bell Tower of Canterbury
Cathedral, and one of my schoolfellows used to encourage me by doing my
sums for me, if I would draw him a house with a bird on the chimney.
"I was always in the fields--my heart was in the green valleys and
meadows. I loved to sit by the streams, and on my Wednesday and
Saturday half-holidays from school I would seek out some nook and draw
horses and dogs and sheep on my slate. I had no paper and pencil. It
was not until I was twelve or thirteen that my career really commenced.
Then I started to paint coaches for Mr. Burgess, of Canterbury, at 12s.
a week. Every moment I could spare I was trying to improve myself in
drawing but even then I still had to cling to my slate and pencil. But,
I got some lead pencils at last. Let me tell you the story, and its
sequel.
[Illustration: BLACK PRINCE'S WELL.
_From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry._]
"I was sketching the central tower of the Cathedral. A gentleman was
also drawing another part of the sacred edifice. We met often, without
speaking. One day he came up to me and asked me what I was doing. I
told him. He laughed merrily at the idea of thus working on a slate,
and some two or three days afterwards he made me a present of his
bundle of pencils and paper. I could scarcely contain myself. He patted
me on the head and went his way. But, I had no knife! One day I saw
a gentleman near the Cathedral--a very solemn-looking gentleman in
clerical attire. I went up to him.
"'Please sir,' I said, 'have you a knife?'
"'Yes, my lad--what do you want it for?'
"I told him. And he sharpened all my pencils for me--every one of the
dozen. Who was he? The Archbishop of Canterbury!"
Young Cooper was destined to discover who it was that gave him his
first pencils. A pleasant little party was assembled in London--Mr.
Cooper was now well known--and amongst those gathered at the board
were Stanfield, Tom Landseer, and George Cattermole. They were telling
little stories of the early days, and the cattle painter related the
incident of the slate and pencils.
Cattermole jumped up.
"Why, Sidney," he cried, "are you the slate? _I am the pencils!_"
"Then," continued Mr. Cooper, "came my work at the theatre. It was one
evening and I was sketching--when I heard a cough behind me. I turned
and saw a man looking over me.
"'Ah!' he exclaimed, 'you draw well, my boy. You have a good eye--but
you must learn perspective.'
"'What is that, sir? I have never heard of it before.'
"'Well,' he replied, 'it shows the proper size of objects at a
distance--how to draw a street, a road, a distant hill or tree, etc. If
you like to call on me, I'll show you.'
"'Where do you live, please, sir?' I asked.
"'In Canterbury--at the theatre!' he answered.
"'Oh! my mother wouldn't let me go to the theatre!' I assured him.
[Illustration: GATEWAY--ST. AUGUSTINE'S MONASTERY.
_From an early Drawing by T.S. Cooper, R.A._]
[Illustration: HIGH STREET, CANTERBURY.
_From an early Drawing by T.S. Cooper, R.A._]
[Illustration: ROTTERDAM.
_From an early Drawing by T.S. Cooper, R.A._]
[Illustration: TUNFORD FARM.
_From the Painting by T.S. Cooper, R.A._]
"However, I went. I vividly remember it. When I entered, there was
the canvas laid down on the stage for a Roman scene. The actors were
rehearsing on the space in front. So Mr. Doyle--for that was the man's
name--instructed me in perspective, and I learnt the artistic value of
things that I had long seen in Nature. The theatrical company left--it
used to go a sort of circuit to Canterbury, Faversham, Hastings,
and Maidstone, and when they came again next year I helped him once
more. I still continued coach-painting--Mr. Burgess employing me
to do the rough work--rubbing down the carriages, lying on my back
underneath--grinding colours, etc. When I was sixteen the company
returned. Poor Doyle died, and I was engaged as scene painter at a
guinea a week. So I went with them to Faversham. I well remember my
only appearance as an actor. The piece to be played was 'Macbeth,' and
the scenery used was some I had painted for 'Rob Roy.' The manager
told me I must play the part of the bleeding Captain, and I wore a
Scotch dress--intended for _Norval_--which Mr. Smollet, an actor, had
given to me for painting some imitation lace on a dark dress he had.
Well, I simply broke down, and was positively conducted off the stage.
Buckstone played _Ross_ in this production. It was the first time I
ever met him. He was a dapper little fellow--very lively and brimming
over with fun. We remained bosom friends to the day of his death. When
he got prosperous and had married a second wife, every other Sunday I
used to go and dine with him. He was just then beginning to get very
deaf.
"One night I said to him: 'Buck, I want a private box.'
"'All right, Sidney, whenever you like.'
"'Next Tuesday, eh?'
"'All right, my boy--next Tuesday.'
"After dinner we were chatting, and I said: 'Well, I've got my
sketch-book with me, and in return for the box I'll draw your wife's
portrait and the baby. It won't take a quarter of an hour.' So they
sat. I drew a sheep and a lamb suckling."
[Illustr | 559.939084 |
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THE STORY HOUR
A BOOK FOR THE HOME AND THE KINDERGARTEN
By Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith
Therefore ear and heart open to the genuine story teller, as flowers
open to the spring sun and the May rain.
FRIEDRICH FROEBEL
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION. Kate Douglas Wiggin
PREFACE. Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith
THE ORIOLE'S NEST. Kate Douglas Wiggin
DICKY SMILY'S BIRTHDAY. Kate Douglas Wiggin
AQUA; OR, THE WATER BABY. Kate Douglas Wiggin
MOUFFLOU. Adapted from Ouida by Nora A. Smith
BENJY IN BEASTLAND. Adapted from Mrs. Ewing by Kate Douglas Wiggin and
Nora A. Smith
THE PORCELAIN STOVE. Adapted from Ouida by Kate Douglas Wiggin
THE BABES IN THE WOOD. E. S. Smith
THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS. Nora A. Smith
THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY. Nora A. Smith
LITTLE GEORGE WASHINGTON. Part I. Nora A. Smith
GREAT GEORGE WASHINGTON. Part II. Nora A. Smith
THE MAPLE-LEAF AND THE VIOLET. Nora A. Smith
MRS. CHINCHILLA. Kate Douglas Wiggin
A STORY OF THE FOREST. Nora A. Smith
PICCOLA. Nora A. Smith
THE CHILD AND THE WORLD. Kate Douglas Wiggin
WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL. Kate Douglas Wiggin
FROEBEL'S BIRTHDAY. Nora A. Smith
INTRODUCTION.
Story-telling, like letter-writing, is going out of fashion. There are
no modern Scheherezades, and the Sultans nowadays have to be amused in
a different fashion. But, for that matter, a hundred poetic pastimes
of leisure have fled before the relentless Hurry Demon who governs this
prosaic nineteenth century. The Wandering Minstrel is gone, and the
Troubadour, and the Court of Love, and the King's Fool, and the Round
Table, and with them the Story-Teller.
"Come, tell us a story!" It is the familiar plea of childhood. Unhappy
he who has not been assailed with it again and again. Thrice miserable
she who can be consigned to worse than oblivion by the scathing
criticism, "She doesn't know any stories!" and thrice blessed she who
is recognized at a glance as a person likely to be full to the brim of
them.
There are few preliminaries and no formalities when the Person with a
Story is found. The motherly little sister stands by the side of her
chair, two or three of the smaller fry perch on the arms, and the baby
climbs up into her lap (such a person always has a capacious lap), and
folds his fat hands placidly. Then there is a deep sigh of blissful
expectation and an expressive silence, which means, "Now we are ready,
please; and if you would be kind enough to begin it with 'Once upon a
time,' we should be much obliged; though of course we understand that
all the stories in the world can't commence that way, delightful as it
would be."
The Person with a Story smiles obligingly (at least it is to be hoped
that she does), and retires into a little corner of her brain, to
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A PSYCHOLOGICAL COUNTER-CURRENT IN RECENT FICTION.
by
William Dean Howells
It is consoling as often as dismaying to find in what seems a
cataclysmal tide of a certain direction a strong drift to the opposite
quarter. It is so divinable, if not so perceptible, that its presence
may usually be recognized as a beginning of the turn in every tide
which is sure, sooner or later, to come. In reform, it is the menace
of reaction; in reaction, it is the promise of reform; we may take
heart as we must lose heart from it. A few years ago, when a movement
which carried fiction to the highest place in literature was
apparently of such onward and upward sweep that there could be no
return or descent, there was a counter-current in it which stayed it
at last, and pulled it back to that lamentable level where fiction is
now sunk, and the word "novel" is again the synonym of all that is
morally false and mentally despicable. Yet that this, too, is partly
apparent, I think can be shown from some phases of actual fiction
which happen to be its very latest phases, and which are of a
significance as hopeful as it is interesting. Quite as surely as
romanticism lurked at the heart of realism, something that we may call
"psychologism" has been present in the romanticism of the last four or
five years, and has now begun to evolve itself in examples which it is
the pleasure as well as the duty of criticism to deal with.
I.
No one in his day has done more to popularize the romanticism, now
decadent, than Mr. Gilbert Parker; and he made way for it at its worst
just because he was so much better than it was at its worst, because he
was a poet of undeniable quality, and because he could bring to its
intellectual squalor the graces and the powers which charm, though they
could not avail to save it from final contempt. He saves himself in
his latest novel, because, though still so largely romanticistic, its
prevalent effect is psychologistic, which is the finer analogue of
realistic, and which gave realism whatever was vital in it, as now it
gives romanticism whatever will survive it. In "The Right of Way" Mr.
Parker is not in a world where mere determinism rules, where there is
nothing but the happening of things, and where this one or that one is
important or unimportant according as things are happening to him or
not, but has in himself no claim upon the reader's attention. Once
more the novel begins to rise to its higher function, and to teach that
men are somehow masters of their fate. His Charley Steele is, indeed,
as unpromising material for the experiment, in certain ways, as could
well be chosen. One of the few memorable things that Bulwer said, who
said so many quotable things, was that pure intellectuality is the
devil, and on his plane Charley Steele comes near being pure
intellectual. He apprehends all things from the mind, and does the
effects even of goodness from the pride of mental strength. Add to
these conditions of his personality that pathologically he is from time
to time a drunkard, with always the danger of remaining a drunkard, and
you have a figure of which so much may be despaired that it might
almost be called hopeless. I confess that in the beginning this
brilliant, pitiless lawyer, this consciencelessly powerful advocate, at
once mocker and poseur, all but failed to interest me. A little of him
and his monocle went such a great way with me that I thought I had
enough of him by the end of the trial, where he gets off a man charged
with murder, and then cruelly snubs the homicide in his gratitude; and
I do not quite know how I kept on to the point where Steele in his
drunkenness first dazzles and then insults the gang of drunken
lumbermen, and begins his second life in the river where they have
thrown him, and where his former client finds him. From that point I
could not forsake him to the end, though I found myself more than once
in the world where things happen of themselves and do not happen from
the temperaments of its inhabitants. In a better and wiser world, the
homicide would not perhaps be at hand so opportunely to save the life
of the advocate who had saved his; but one consents to this, as one
consents to a great deal besides in the story, which is imaginably the
survival of a former method. The artist's affair is to report the
appearance, the effect; and in the real world, the appearance, the
effect, is that of law and not of miracle. Nature employs the miracle
so very sparingly that most of us go through life without seeing one,
and some of us contract such a prejudice against miracles that when
they are performed for us we suspect a trick. When I suffered from
this suspicion in "The Right of Way" I was the more vexed because I
felt that I was in the hands of a connoisseur of character who had no
need of miracles.
I have liked Mr. Parker's treatment of French-Canadian life, as far as
I have known it; and in this novel it is one of the principal pleasures
for me. He may not have his habitant, his seigneur or his cure down
cold, but he makes me believe that he has, and I can ask no more than
that of him. In like manner, he makes the ambient, physical as well as
social, sensible around me: the cold rivers, the hard, clear skies,
the snowy woods and fields, the little frozen villages of Canada. In
this book, which is historical of the present rather than the past, he
gives one a realizing sense of the Canadians, not only in the country
but in the city, at least so far as they affect each other
psychologically in society, and makes one feel their interesting
temperamental difference from Americans. His Montrealers are still
Englishmen in their strenuous individuality; but in the frank
expression of character, of eccentricity, Charley Steele is like a type
of lawyer in our West, of an epoch when people were not yet content to
witness ideals of themselves, but when they wished to be their poetry
rather than to read it. In his second life he has the charm for the
imagination that a disembodied spirit might have, if it could be made
known to us in the circumstances of another world. He has, indeed,
made almost as clean a break with his past as if he had really been
drowned in the river. When, after the term of oblivion, in which he
knows nothing of his past self, he is restored to his identity by a
famous surgeon too opportunely out of Paris, on a visit to his brother,
the cure, the problem is how he shall expiate the errors of his past,
work out his redemption in his new life; and the author solves it for
him by appointing him to a life of unselfish labor, illumined by
actions of positive beneficence. It is something like the solution
which Goethe imagines for Faust, and perhaps no other is imaginable.
In contriving it, Mr. Parker indulges the weaker brethren with an
abundance of accident and a luxury of catastrophe, which the reader
interested in the psychology of the story may take as little account of
as he likes. Without so much of them he might have made a
sculpturesque romance as clearly and nobly definite as "The Scarlet
Letter"; with them he has made a most picturesque romantic novel. His
work, as I began by saying, or hinting, is the work of a poet, in
conception, and I wish that in some details of diction it were as elect
as the author's verse is. But one must not expect everything; and in
what it is, "The Right of Way" satisfies a reasonable demand on the
side of literature, while it more than meets a reasonable expectation
on the side of psychological interest. Distinctly it marks an epoch in
contemporary noveling, and mounts far above the average best toward the
day of better things which I hope it is not rash to image dawning.
II.
I am sure I do not merely fancy the auroral light in a group of stories
by another poet. "The Ruling Passion," Dr. Henry Van <DW18> calls his
book, which relates itself by a double tie to Mr. Parker's novel
through kinship of Canadian landscape and character, and through the
prevalence of psychologism over determinism in it. In the situations
and incidents studied with sentiment that saves itself from
sentimentality sometimes with greater and sometimes with less ease, but
saves itself, the appeal is from the soul in the character to the soul
in the reader, and not from brute event to his sensation. I believe
that I like best among these charming things the two sketches--they are
hardly stories--"A Year of Nobility" and "The Keeper of the Dight,"
though if I were asked to say why, I should be puzzled. Perhaps it is
because I find in the two pieces named a greater detachment than I find
in some others of Dr. Van <DW18>'s delightful volume, and greater
evidence that he has himself so thoroughly and finally mastered his
material that he is no longer in danger of being unduly affected by it.
That is a danger which in his very quality of lyrical poet he is most
liable to, for he is above all a lyrical poet, and such drama as the
chorus usually comments is the drama next his heart. The pieces, in
fact, are so many idyls, and their realism is an effect which he has
felt rather than reasoned his way to. It is implicational rather than
intentional. It is none the worse but all the better on that account,
and I cannot say that the psychologism is the worse for being frankly,
however uninsistently, moralized. A humor, delicate and genuine as the
poetry of the stories, plays through them, and the milde macht of
sympathy with everything human transfers to the pleasant pages the
foresters and fishermen from their native woods and waters. Canada
seems the home of primitive character; the seventeenth century survives
there among the habitants, with their steadfast faith, their
picturesque superstitions, their old world traditions and their new
world customs. It is the land | 560.039469 |
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
FOR THE WEEK ENDING SEPTEMBER 25, 1841.
* * * * *
THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE.
CHAPTER V.
SHOWS THAT "THERE'S MANY A SLIP" BETWEEN OTHER THINGS BESIDE "THE CUP AND
THE LIP."
[Illustration: T]The heir of Applebite continued to squall and thrive, to
the infinite delight of his youthful mamma, who was determined that the
joyful occasion of his cutting his first tooth should be duly celebrated
by an evening party of great splendour; and accordingly cards were issued
to the following effect:--
MR. AND MRS. APPLEBITE
REQUEST THE HONOUR OF
---- ----'s
COMPANY TO AN EVENING PARTY,
On Thursday, the 12th inst.
_Quadrilles_. _An Answer will oblige_.
It was the first home-made party that Collumpsion had ever given; for
though during his bachelorhood he had been no niggard of his hospitality,
yet the confectioner had supplied the edibles, and the upholsterer
arranged the decorations; but now Mrs. Applebite, with a laudable spirit
of economy, converted No. 24, Pleasant-terrace, into a perfect _cuisine_
for a week preceding the eventful evening; and old John was kept in a
constant state of excitement by Mrs. Waddledot, who superintended the
ornamental department of these elaborate preparations.
Agamemnon felt that he was a cipher in the house, for no one condescended
to notice him for three whole days, and it was with extreme difficulty
that he could procure the means of "recruiting exhausted nature" at those
particular hours which had hitherto been devoted to the necessary
operation.
On the morning of the 12th, Agamemnon was anxiously engaged in
endeavouring to acquire a knowledge of the last alterations in the figure
of _La Pastorale_, when he fancied he heard an unusual commotion in the
lower apartments of his establishment. In a few moments his name was
vociferously pronounced by Mrs. Applebite, and the affrighted Collumpsion
rushed down stairs, expecting to find himself another Thyestes, whose
children, it is recorded, were made into a pie for his own consumption.
On entering the kitchen he perceived the cause of the uproar, although he
could see nothing else, for the dense suffocating vapour with which the
room was filled.
"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Applebite, "the chimney's on fire; one pound of fresh
butter--"
"And two pound o'lard's done it!" exclaimed Susan.
"What's to be done?" inquired Collumpsion.
"Send for my brother, sir," said Betty.
"Where does he live?" cried old John.
"On No. 746," replied Betty.
"Where's that?" cried the whole assembled party.
"I don't know, but it's a hackney-coach as he drives," said Betty.
A general chorus of "Pshaw!" greeted this very unsatisfactory rejoinder.
Another rush of smoke into the kitchen rendered some more active measures
necessary, and, after a short discussion, it was decided that John and
Betty should proceed to the roof of the house with two pailsful of water,
whilst Agamemnon remained below to watch the effects of the measure. When
John and Betty arrived at the chimney-pots, the pother was so confusing,
that they were undecided which was the rebellious flue! but, in order to
render assurance doubly sure, they each selected the one they conceived to
be the delinquent, and discharged the contents of their buckets
accordingly, without any apparent diminution of the intestine war which
was raging in the chimney. A fresh supply from a cistern on the roof,
similarly applied, produced no better effects, and Agamemnon, in an agony
of doubt, rushed up-stairs to ascertain the cause of non-abatement.
Accidentally popping his head into the drawing-room, what was his horror
at beholding the beautiful Brussels carpet, so lately "redolent of
brilliant hues," | 560.136122 |
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THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM
by Tobias Smollett
COMPLETE IN TWO PARTS
PART I.
With the Author's Preface, and an Introduction by G. H. Maynadier, Ph.D.
Department of English, Harvard University.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
PREFATORY ADDRESS
CHAPTER
I Some sage Observations that naturally introduce our important
History
II A superficial View of our Hero's Infancy
III He is initiated in a Military Life, and has the good Fortune
to acquire a generous Patron
IV His Mother's Prowess and Death; together with some Instances
of his own Sagacity
V A brief Detail of his Education
VI He med | 560.137148 |
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Produced by Stan Goodman, Turgut Dincer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's note: The source text contained inconsistencies in
spelling, punctuation, capitalization, and italicization; these
inconsistencies have been retained in this etext.]
Franco-Gallia:
OR, AN
ACCOUNT
OF THE
Ancient Free State
OF
_FRANCE_,
AND
Most other Parts of EUROPE,
before the Loss of their Liberties.
* * * * *
_Written Originally in Latin by the Famous Civilian_
FRANCIS HOTOMAN,
In the Year 1574.
_And Translated into_ English _by the Author of the_
Account of DENMARK.
* * * * *
The SECOND EDITION, with Additions, and
a _New Preface_ by the Translator.
* * * * *
LONDON:
Printed for Edward Valentine, at the Queen's Head
against St. Dunstan's Church, Fleetstreet, 1721.
Translated by
The Author of the _Account
of_ DENMARK.
The BOOKSELLER
TO THE
READER.
_The following Translation of the Famous_ Hotoman's Franco-Gallia _was
written in the Year 1705, and first publish'd in the Year 1711. The
Author was then at a great Distance from_ London, _and the Publisher of
his Work, for Reasons needless to repeat, did not think fit to print the
Prefatory Discourse sent along with the Original. But this Piece being
seasonable at all Times for the Perusal of_ Englishmen _and more
particularly at this Time, I wou'd no longer keep back from the Publick,
what I more than conjecture will be acceptable to all true Lovers of
their Country._
THE
TRANSLATOR's
PREFACE.
Many Books and Papers have been publish'd since the late _Revolution_,
tending to justify the Proceedings of the People of _England_ at that
happy juncture; by setting in a true Light our just Rights and
Liberties, together with the solid Foundations of our _Constitution:_
Which, in truth, is not ours only, but that of almost all _Europe_
besides; so wisely restor'd and establish'd (if not introduced) by the
_Goths_ and _Franks_, whose Descendants we are.
These Books have as constantly had some things, called _Answers_,
written to them, by Persons of different Sentiments; who certainly
either never seriously consider'd, that the were thereby endeavouring to
destroy their own Happiness, and overthrow her Majesty's Title to the
Crown: or (if they knew what they did) presumed upon the _Lenity_ of
that Government they decry'd; which (were there no better Reason) ought
to have recommended it to their Approbation, since it could patiently
bear with such, as were doing all they could to undermine it.
Not to mention the Railing, Virulency, or personal false Reflections in
many of those Answers, (which were always the Signs of a weak Cause, or
a feeble Champion) some of them asserted the _Divine Right_ of an
_Hereditary Monarch_, and the Impiety of _Resistance_ upon any Terms
whatever, notwithstanding any _Authorities_ to the contrary.
Others (and those the more judicious) deny'd positively, that sufficient
_Authorities_ could be produced to prove, that a _free People_ have a
_just Power_ to defend themselves, by opposing their | 560.741129 |
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MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV AND HIS COURT AND OF THE REGENCY
BY THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON
VOLUME 4.
CHAPTER XXV
Canaples, brother of the Marechal de Crequi, wished to marry Mademoiselle
de Vivonne who was no longer young, but was distinguished by talent,
virtue and high birth; she had not a penny. The Cardinal de Coislin,
thinking Canaples too old to marry, told him so. Canaples said he wanted
to have children. "Children!" exclaimed the Cardinal. "But she is so
virtuous!" Everybody burst out laughing; and the more willingly, as the
Cardinal, very pure in his manners, was still more so in his language.
His saying was verified by the event: the marriage proved sterile.
The Duc de Coislin died about this time. I have related in its proper
place an adventure that happened to him and his brother, the Chevalier de
Coislin: now I will say something more of the Duke. He was a very little
man, of much humour and virtue, but of a politeness that was unendurable,
and that passed all bounds, though not incompatible with dignity. He had
been lieutenant-general in the army. Upon one occasion, after a battle
in which he had taken part, one of the Rhingraves who had been made
prisoner, fell to his lot. The Duc de Coislin wished to give up to the
other his bed, which consisted indeed of but a mattress. They
complimented each other so much, the one pressing, the other refusing,
that in the end they both slept upon the ground, leaving the mattress
between them. The Rhingrave in due time came to Paris and called on the
Duc de Coislin. When he was going, there was such a profusion of
compliments, and the Duke insisted so much on seeing him out, that the
Rhingrave, as a last resource, ran out of the room, and double locked the
door outside. M. de Coislin was not thus to be outdone. His apartments
were only a few feet above the ground. He opened the window accordingly,
leaped out into the court, and arrived thus at the entrance-door before
the Rhingrave, who thought the devil must have carried him there. The
Duc de Coislin, however, had managed to put his thumb out of joint by
this leap. He called in Felix, chief surgeon of the King, who soon put
the thumb to rights. Soon afterwards Felix made a call upon M. de
Coislin to see how he was, and found that the cure was perfect. As he
was about to leave, M. de Coislin must needs open the door for him.
Felix, with a shower of bows, tried hard to prevent this, and while they
were thus vying in politeness, each with a hand upon the door, the Duke
suddenly drew back; he had put his thumb out of joint again, and Felix
was obliged to attend to it on the spot! It may be imagined what
laughter this story caused the King, and everybody else, when it became
known.
There was no end to the outrageous civilities of M. de Coislin. On
returning from Fontainebleau one day, we, that is Madame de Saint-Simon
and myself, encountered M. de Coislin and his son, M. de Metz, on foot
upon the pavement of Ponthierry, where their coach had broken down. We
sent word, accordingly, that we should be glad to accommodate them in
ours. But message followed message on both sides; and at last I was
compelled to alight and to walk through the mud, begging them to mount
into my coach. M. de Coislin, yielding to my prayers, consented to this.
M. de Metz was furious with him for his compliments, and at last
prevailed on him. When M. de Coislin had accepted my offer and we had
nothing more to do than to gain the coach, | 560.743425 |
2023-11-16 18:26:24.8174890 | 7,437 | 7 |
Produced by Steve Pond
HERO TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE RHINE
By Lewis Spence (1874-1955)
Originally published: Hero tales & legends of the Rhine.
London; New York:
George C. Harrap, 1915.
CONTENTS:
INTRODUCTION
I TOPOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL
II THE RHINE IN FOLKLORE AND LITERATURE
III CLEVES TO THE LOeWENBURG
IV DRACHENFELS TO RHEINSTEIN
V FALKENBURG TO AUERBACH
VI WORMS AND THE NIBELUNGENLIED
VII HEIDELBERG TO SAeCKINGEN
INTRODUCTION
An abundance of literature exists on the subject of the Rhine and its
legends, but with few exceptions the works on it which are accessible
to English-speaking peoples are antiquated in spirit and verbiage, and
their authors have been content to accept the first version of such
legends and traditions as came their way without submitting them to
any critical examination. It is claimed for this book that much of its
matter was collected on the spot, or that at least most of the
tales here presented were perused in other works at the scene of the
occurrences related. This volume is thus something more than a
mere compilation, and when it is further stated that only the most
characteristic and original versions and variants of the many tales here
given have gained admittance to the collection, its value will become
apparent.
It is, of course, no easy task to infuse a spirit of originality into
matter which has already achieved such a measure of celebrity as have
these wild and wondrous tales of Rhineland. But it is hoped that the
treatment to which these stories have been subjected is not without a
novelty of its own. One circumstance may be alluded to as characteristic
of the manner of their treatment in this work. In most English books
on Rhine legend the tales themselves are presented in a form so brief,
succinct, and uninspiring as to rob them entirely of that mysterious
glamour lacking which they become mere material by which to add to and
illustrate the guide-book. The absence of the romantic spirit in most
English and American compilations dealing with the Rhine legends is
noteworthy, and in writing this book the author's intention has been to
supply this striking defect by retaining as much of the atmosphere
of mystery so dear to the German heart as will convey to the
English-speaking reader a true conception of the spirit of German
legend.
But it is not contended that because greater space and freedom of
narrative scope than is usual has been taken by the author the volume
would not prove itself an acceptable companion upon a voyage on Rhine
waters undertaken in holiday times of peace. Indeed, every attempt has
been made so to arrange the legends that they will illustrate a Rhine
journey from sea to source--the manner in which the majority of visitors
to Germany will make the voyage--and to this end the tales have been
marshalled in such form that a reader sitting on the deck of a Rhine
steamer may be able to peruse the legends relating to the various
localities in their proper order as he passes them. There are included,
however, several tales relating to places which cannot be viewed from
the deck of a steamer, but which may be visited at the cost of a short
inland excursion. These are such as from their celebrity could not be
omitted from any work on the legends of Rhineland, but they are few in
number.
The historical development, folklore, poetry, and art of the
Rhine-country have been dealt with in a special introductory chapter.
The history of the Rhine basin is a complicated and uneven one, chiefly
consisting in the rapid and perplexing rise and fall of dynasties and
the alternate confiscation of one or both banks of the devoted stream
to the empires of France or Germany. But the evolution of a reasoned
narrative has been attempted from this chaotic material, and, so far
as the author is aware, it is the only one existing in English. The
folklore and romance elements in Rhine legend have been carefully
examined, and the best poetic material upon the storied river has been
critically collected and reviewed. To those who may one day visit the
Rhine it is hoped that the volume may afford a suitable introduction to
a fascinating field of travel, while to such as have already viewed
its glories it may serve to renew old associations and awaken cherished
memories of a river without peer or parallel in its wealth of story, its
boundless mystery, and the hold which it has exercised upon all who
have lingered by the hero-trodden paths that wind among its mysterious
promontories and song-haunted strands.
--L.S.
CHAPTER I--TOPOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL
There are many rivers whose celebrity is of much greater antiquity than
that of the Rhine. The Nile and the Ganges are intimately associated
with the early history of civilization and the mysterious beginnings
of wisdom; the Tiber is eloquent of that vanished Empire which was
the first to carry the torch of advancement into the dark places of
barbarian Europe; the name of the Jordan is sacred to thousands as that
first heard in infancy and linked with lives and memories divine. But,
universal as is the fame of these rivers, none of them has awakened in
the breasts of the dwellers on their banks such a fervent devotion,
such intense enthusiasm, or such a powerful patriotic appeal as has the
Rhine, at once the river, the frontier, and the palladium of the German
folk.
The Magic of the Rhine
But the appeal is wider, for the Rhine is peculiarly the home of a
legendary mysticism almost unique. Those whose lives are spent in their
creation and interpretation know that song and legend have a particular
affinity for water. Hogg, the friend of Shelley, was wont to tell how
the bright eyes of his comrade would dilate at the sight of even a
puddle by the roadside. Has water a hypnotic attraction for certain
minds? Be that as it may, there has crystallized round the great
waterways of the world a traditionary lore which preserves the thought
and feeling of the past, and retains many a circumstance of wonder and
marvel from olden epochs which the modern world could ill have spared.
Varied and valuable as are the traditional tales of other streams, none
possess that colour of intensity and mystery, that spell of ancient
profundity which belong to the legends of the Rhine. In perusing these
we feel our very souls plunged in darkness as that of the carven gloom
of some Gothic cathedral or the Cimmerian depths of some ancient forest
unpierced by sun-shafts. It is the Teutonic mystery which has us in
its grip, a thing as readily recognizable as the Celtic glamour or the
Egyptian gloom--a thing of the shadows of eld, stern, ancient, of a
ponderous fantasy, instinct with the spirit of nature, of dwarfs,
elves, kobolds, erlkings, the wraiths and shades of forest and flood, of
mountain and mere, of castled height and swift whirlpool, the denizens
of the deep valleys and mines, the bergs and heaths of this great
province of romance, this rich satrapy of Faery.
A Land of Legend
Nowhere is legend so thickly strewn as on the banks of the Rhine. Each
step is eloquent of tradition, each town, village, and valley. No hill,
no castle but has its story, true or legendary. The Teuton is easily the
world's master in the art of conserving local lore. As one speeds down
the broad breast of this wondrous river, gay with summer and flushed
with the laughter of early vineyards, so close is the network of legend
that the swiftly read or spoken tale of one locality is scarce over ere
the traveller is confronted by another. It is a surfeit of romance, an
inexhaustible hoard of the matter of marvel.
This noble stream with its wealth of tradition has made such a powerful
impression upon the national imagination that it has become intimate in
the soul of the people and commands a reverence and affection which
is not given by any other modern nation to its greatest and most
characteristic river. The Englishman has only a mitigated pride in the
Thames, as a great commercial asset or, its metropolitan borders once
passed, a river of peculiarly restful character; the Frenchman evinces
no very great enthusiasm toward the Seine; and if there are many Spanish
songs about the "chainless Guadalquivir," the dons have been content
to retain its Arabic name. But what German heart does not thrill at the
name of the Rhine? What German cheek does not flush at the sound of that
mighty thunder-hymn which tells of his determination to preserve the
river of his fathers at the cost of his best blood? Nay, what man of
patriotic temperament but feels a responsive chord awake within him
at the thought of that majestic song, so stern, so strong, "clad in
armour," vibrant with the clang of swords, instinct with the universal
accord of a united people? To those who have heard it sung by
multitudinous voices to the accompaniment of golden harps and silver
trumpets it is a thing which can never be forgotten, this world-song
that is at once a hymn of union, a song of the deepest love of country,
a defiance and an intimation of resistance to the death.
The Song of the 'Iron Chancellor'
How potent Die Wacht am Rhein is to stir the hearts of the children of
the Fatherland is proven abundantly by an apposite story regarding the
great Bismarck, the'man of blood and iron.' The scene is the German
Reichstag, and the time is that curious juncture in history when the
Germans, having realized that union is strength, were beginning to weld
together the petty kingdoms and duchies of which their mighty empire
was once composed. Gradually this task was becoming accomplished, and
meanwhile Germany grew eager to assert her power in Europe, wherefore
her rulers commenced to create a vast army. But Bismarck was not
satisfied, and in his eyes Germany's safety was still unassured; so
he appealed to the Reichstag to augment largely their armaments. The
deputies looked at him askance, for a vast army meant ruinous taxation;
even von Moltke and von Roon shook their heads, well aware though they
were that a great European conflict might break out at any time; and,
in short, Bismarck's proposal was met by a determined negative from
the whole House. "Ach, mein Gott!" he cried, holding out his hands in a
superb gesture of despair. "Ach, mein Gott! but these soldiers we must
have." His hearers still demurred, reminding him that the people far and
near were groaning under the weight of taxation, and assuring him that
this could not possibly be increased, when he suddenly changed his
despairing gesture for a martial attitude, and with sublime eloquence
recited the lines:
"Es braust ein Ruf wie Donnerhall,
Wie Schwertgeklirr und Wogenprall;
Zum Rhein, zum Rhein, zum deutschen Rhein,
Wer will die Stroemes Hueter sein?
Lieb Vaterland, magst ruhig sein,
Fest steht und treu die Wacht am Rhein."
The effect was magical; the entire House resounded with cheers, and the
most unbounded enthusiasm prevailed. And ere the members dispersed
they had told Bismarck he might have, not ten thousand, but a hundred
thousand soldiers, such was the power of association awakened by this
famous hymn, such the spell it is capable of exercising on German
hearers.
Topography of the Rhine
Ere we set sail upon the dark sea of legend before us it is necessary
that, like prudent mariners, we should know whence and whither we are
faring. To this end it will be well that we should glance briefly at
the topography of the great river we are about to explore, and that we
should sketch rapidly the most salient occurrences in the strange
and varied pageant of its history, in order that we may the better
appreciate the wondrous tales of worldwide renown which have found birth
on its banks.
Although the most German of rivers, the Rhine does not run its entire
course through German territory, but takes its rise in Switzerland and
finds the sea in Holland. For no less than 233 miles it flows through
Swiss country, rising in the mountains of the canton of Grisons, and
irrigates every canton of the Alpine republic save that of Geneva.
Indeed, it waters over 14,000 square miles of Swiss territory in the
flow of its two main branches, the Nearer Rhine and the Farther Rhine,
which unite at Reichenau, near Coire. The Nearer Rhine issues at the
height of over 7000 feet from the glaciers of the Rheinwaldhorn
group, and flows for some thirty-five miles, first in a north-easterly
direction through the Rheinwald Valley, then northward through the
Schams Valley, by way of the Via Mala gorge, and Tomleschg Valley, and
so to Reichenau, where it is joined by its sister stream, the Farther
Rhine. The latter, rising in the little Alpine lake of Toma near the
Pass of St. Gotthard, flows in a north-easterly direction to Reichenau.
The Nearer Rhine is generally considered to be the more important
branch, though the Farther Rhine is the longer by some seven miles. From
Reichenau the Rhine flows north-eastward to Coire, and thence northward
to the Lake of Constance, receiving on its way two tributaries, the
Landquart and the Ill, both on the right bank. Indeed, from source to
sea the Rhine receives a vast number of tributaries, amounting, with
their branches, to over 12,000. Leaving the Lake of Constance at the
town of that name, the river flows westward to Basel, having as
the principal towns on its banks Constance, Schaffhausen, Waldshut,
Laufenburg, Saeckingen, Rheinfelden, and Basel.
Not far from the town of Schaffhausen the river precipitates itself from
a height of 60 feet, in three leaps, forming the famous Falls of the
Rhine. At Coblentz a strange thing happens, for at this place the river
receives the waters of the Aar, swollen by the Reuss and the Limmat, and
of greater volume than the stream in which it loses itself.
It is at Basel that the Rhine, taking a northward trend, enters
Germany. By this time it has made a descent of nearly 7000 feet, and has
traversed about a third of its course. Between Basel and Mainz it flows
between the mountains of the Black Forest and the Vosges, the distance
between which forms a shallow valley of some width. Here and there it is
islanded, and its expanse averages about 1200 feet. The Taunus Mountains
divert it at Mainz, where it widens, and it flows westward for about
twenty miles, but at Bingen it once more takes its course northward, and
enters a narrow valley where the enclosing hills look down sheer upon
the water.
It is in this valley, probably one of the most romantic in the world,
that we find the legendary lore of the river packed in such richness
that every foot of its banks has its place in tradition. But that is not
to say that this portion of the Rhine is wanting in natural beauty. Here
are situated some of its sunniest vineyards, its most wildly romantic
heights, and its most picturesque ruins. This part of its course may be
said to end at the Siebengebirge, or 'Seven Mountains,' where the river
again widens and the banks become more bare and uninteresting. Passing
Bonn and Cologne, the bareness of the landscape is remarkable after the
variety of that from which we have just emerged, and henceforward the
river takes on what may be called a 'Dutch' appearance. After entering
Holland it divides into two branches, the Waal flowing to the west and
uniting with the Maas. The smaller branch to the right is still called
the Rhine, and throws off another branch, the Yssel, which flows into
the Zuider Zee. Once more the river bifurcates into insignificant
streams, one of which is called the Kromme Rijn, and beyond Utrecht, and
under the name of the Oude Rijn, or Old Rhine, it becomes so stagnant
that it requires the aid of a canal to drain it into the sea. Anciently
the Rhine at this part of its course was an abounding stream, but by the
ninth century the sands at Katwijk had silted it up, and it was only in
the beginning of last century that its way to the sea was made clear.
The Sunken City
More than six centuries ago Stavoren was one of the chief commercial
towns of Holland. Its merchants traded with all parts of the world, and
brought back their ships laden with rich cargoes, and the city became
ever more prosperous.
The majority of the people of Stavoren were well-to-do, and as their
wealth increased they became luxurious and dissipated, each striving to
outdo the others in the magnificence of their homes and the extravagance
of their hospitality.
Many of their houses, we are told, were like the palaces of princes,
built of white marble, furnished with the greatest sumptuousness, and
decorated with the costliest hangings and the rarest statuary.
But, says the legend, of all the Stavoren folk there was none
wealthier than young Richberta. This maiden owned a fleet of the finest
merchant-vessels of the city, and loved to ornament her palace with the
rich merchandise which these brought from foreign ports. With all her
jewels and gold and silver treasures, however, Richberta was not happy.
She gave gorgeous banquets to the other merchant-princes of the place,
each more magnificent than the last, not because she received any
pleasure from thus dispensing hospitality, but because she desired to
create envy and astonishment in the breasts of her guests.
On one occasion while such a feast was in progress Richberta was
informed that a stranger was waiting without who was desirous of
speaking with her. When she was told that the man had come all the way
from a distant land simply to admire her wonderful treasures, of which
he had heard so much, the maiden was highly flattered and gave orders
that he should be admitted without delay. An aged and decrepit man, clad
in a picturesque Eastern costume, was led into the room, and Richberta
bade him be seated at her side. He expected to receive from the young
lady the symbol of welcome--bread and salt. But no such common fare was
to be found on her table--all was rich and luxurious food.
The stranger seated himself in silence. At length he began to talk. He
had travelled in many lands, and now he told of his changing fortunes
in these far-off countries, always drawing a moral from his
adventures--that all things earthly were evanescent as the dews of
morning. The company listened attentively to the discourse of the sage;
all, that is, but their hostess, who was angry and disappointed that he
had said no word of the wealth and magnificence displayed in her palace,
the rich fare on her table, and all the signs of luxury with which he
was surrounded. At length she could conceal her chagrin no longer, and
asked the stranger directly whether he had ever seen such splendour in
his wanderings as that he now beheld.
"Tell me," she said, "is there to be found in the courts of your Eastern
kings such rare treasures as these of mine?"
"Nay," replied the sage, "they have no pearls and rich embroideries to
match thine. Nevertheless, there is one thing missing from your board,
and that the best and most valuable of all earthly gifts."
In vain Richberta begged that he would tell her what that most precious
of treasures might be. He answered all her inquiries in an evasive
manner, and at last, when her question could no longer be evaded, he
rose abruptly and left the room. And, seek as she might, Richberta could
find no trace of her mysterious visitor.
Richberta strove to discover the meaning of the old man's words. She was
rich--she possessed greater treasures than any in Stavoren, at a time
when that city was among the wealthiest in Europe--and yet she lacked
the most precious of earth's treasures. The memory of the words galled
her pride and excited her curiosity to an extraordinary pitch. In vain
she asked the wise men of her time--the priests and philosophers--to
read her the riddle of the mysterious traveller. None could name a
treasure that was not already hers.
In her anxiety to obtain the precious thing, whatever it might be,
Richberta sent all her ships to sea, telling the captain of each not
to return until he had found some treasure that she did not already
possess. The vessels were victualled for seven years, so that the
mariners might have ample time in which to pursue their quest. So their
commander sent one division of the fleet to the east, another to the
west, while he left his own vessel to the hazard of the winds, letting
it drift wheresoever the fates decreed. His ship as well as the others
was laden heavily with provisions, and during the first storm they
encountered it was necessary to cast a considerable portion of the food
overboard, so that the ship might right itself. As it was, the remaining
provisions were so damaged by the sea-water that they rotted in a few
days and became unfit for food. A pestilence would surely follow the use
of such unwholesome stuff, and consequently the entire cargo of bread
had to be cast into the sea.
The commander saw his crew ravaged by the dreaded scurvy, suffering from
the lack of bread. Then only did he begin to perceive the real meaning
of the sage's words. The most valuable of all earthly treasures was not
the pearls from the depths of the sea, gold or silver from the heart of
the mountains, nor the rich spices of the Indies. The most common of all
earth's, products, that which was to be found in every country, which
flourished in every clime, on which the lives of millions depended--this
was the greatest treasure, and its name was--bread.
Having reached this conclusion, the commander of Richberta's fleet set
sail for a Baltic port, where he took on board a cargo of corn, and
returned immediately to Stavoren.
Richberta was astonished and delighted to see that he had achieved his
purpose so soon, and bade him tell her of what the treasure consisted
which he had brought with him. The commander thereupon recounted his
adventures--the storm, the throwing overboard of their store of bread,
and the consequent sufferings of the crew--and told how he at length
discovered what was the greatest treasure on earth, the priceless
possession which the stranger had looked for in vain at her rich board.
It was bread, he said simply, and the cargo he had brought home was
corn.
Richberta was beside herself with passion. When she had recovered
herself sufficiently to speak she asked him:
"At which side of the ship did you take in the cargo?"
"At the right side," he replied.
"Then," she exclaimed angrily, "I order you to cast it into the sea from
the left side."
It was a cruel decision. Stavoren, like every other city, had its quota
of poor families, and these were in much distress at the time, many of
them dying from sheer starvation. The cargo of corn would have provided
bread for them throughout the whole winter, and the commander urged
Richberta to reconsider her decision. As a last resort he sent the
barefooted children of the city to her, thinking that their mute misery
would move her to alleviate their distress and give them the shipload
of corn. But all was in vain. Richberta remained adamantine, and in full
view of the starving multitude she had the precious cargo cast into the
sea.
But the curses of the despairing people had their effect. Far down in
the bed of the sea the grains of corn germinated, and a harvest of bare
stalks grew until it reached the surface of the water. The shifting
quicksands at the bottom of the sea were bound together by the
overspreading stalks into a mighty sand-bank which rose above the
surface in front of the town of Stavoren.
No longer were the merchant-vessels able to enter the harbour, for
it was blocked by the impassable bank. Nay, instead of finding refuge
there, many a ship was dashed to pieces by the fury of the breakers, and
Stavoren became a place of ill-fame to the mariner.
All the wealth and commerce of this proud city were at an end. Richberta
herself, whose wanton act had raised the sand-bank, had her ships
wrecked there one by one, and was reduced to begging for bread in the
city whose wealthiest inhabitant she had once been. Then, perhaps, she
could appreciate the words of the old traveller, that bread was the
greatest of earthly treasures.
At last the ocean, dashing against the huge mound with ever-increasing
fury, burst through the <DW18> which Richberta had raised, overwhelmed the
town, and buried it for ever under the waves.
And now the mariner, sailing on the Zuider Zee, passes above the
engulfed city and sees with wonderment the towers and spires of the
'Sunken Land.'
Historical Sketch
Like other world-rivers, the Rhine has attracted to its banks a
succession of races of widely divergent origin. Celt, Teuton, Slav, and
Roman have contested for the territories which it waters, and if the
most enduring of these races has finally achieved dominion over the
fairest river-province in Europe, who shall say that it has emerged from
the struggle as a homogeneous people, having absorbed none of the blood
of those with whom it strove for the lordship of this vine-clad valley?
He would indeed be a courageous ethnologist who would suggest a purely
Germanic origin for the Rhine race. As the historical period dawns upon
Middle Europe we find the Rhine basin in the possession of a people of
Celtic blood. As in Britain and France, this folk has left its indelible
mark upon the countryside in a wealth of place-names embodying its
characteristic titles for flood, village, and hill. In such prefixes and
terminations as magh, brig, dun, and etc we espy the influence of Celtic
occupants, and Maguntiacum, or Mainz, and Borbetomagus, or Worms, are
examples of that 'Gallic' idiom which has indelibly starred the map of
Western Europe.
Prehistoric Miners
The remains of this people which are unearthed from beneath the
superincumbent strata of their Teutonic successors in the country show
them to have been typical of their race. Like their kindred in Britain,
they had successfully exploited the mineral treasures of the country,
and their skill as miners is eloquently upheld by the mute witness of
age-old cinder-heaps by which are found the once busy bronze hammer and
the apparatus of the smelting-furnace, speaking of the slow but steady
smith-toil upon which the foundation of civilization arose. There was
scarcely a mineral beneath the loamy soil which masked the metalliferous
rock which they did not work. From Schoenebeck to Duerkheim lies an
immense bed of salt, and this the Celtic population of the district dug
and condensed by aid of fires fed by huge logs cut from the giant trees
of the vast and mysterious forests which have from time immemorial
shadowed the whole existence of the German race. The salt, moulded or
cut into blocks, was transported to Gaul as an article of commerce. But
the Celts of the Rhine achieved distinction in other arts of life, for
their pottery, weapons, and jewellery will bear comparison with those of
prehistoric peoples in any part of Europe.
As has been remarked, at the dawn of history we find the Rhine Celts
everywhere in full retreat before the rude and more virile Teutons.
They lingered latterly about the Moselle and in the district of Eifel,
offering a desperate resistance to the onrushing hordes of Germanic
warriors. In all likelihood they were outnumbered, if not outmatched
in skill and valour, and they melted away before the savage ferocity of
their foes, probably seeking asylum with their kindred in Gaul.
Probably the Teutonic tribes had already commenced to apply pressure to
the Celtic inhabitants of Rhine-land in the fourth century before the
Christian era. As was their wont, they displaced the original possessors
of the soil as much by a process of infiltration as by direct conquest.
The waves of emigration seem to have come from Rhaetia and Pannonia,
broad-headed folk, who were in a somewhat lower condition of barbarism
than the race whose territory they usurped, restless, assertive, and
irritable. Says Beddoe:[1]
[Footnote 1: The Anthropological History of Europe, p. 100.]
"The mass of tall, blond, vigorous barbarians multiplied, seethed,
and fretted behind the barrier thus imposed. Tacitus and several other
classic authors speak of the remarkable uniformity in their appearance;
how they were all tall and handsome, with fierce blue eyes and yellow
hair. Humboldt remarks the tendency we all have to see only the
single type in a strange foreign people, and to shut our eyes to the
differences among them. Thus some of us think sheep all alike, but the
shepherd knows better; and many think all Chinamen are alike, whereas
they differ, in reality, quite as much as we do, or rather more. But
with respect to the ancient Germans, there certainly was among them one
very prevalent form of head, and even the varieties of feature which
occur among the Marcomans--for example, on Marcus Aurelius' column--all
seem to oscillate round one central type.
The 'Graverow' Type
"This is the Graverow type of Ecker, the Hohberg type of His and
Rutimeyer, the Swiss anatomists. In it the head is long, narrow (say
from 70 to 76 in. breadth-index), as high or higher than it is broad,
with the upper part of the occiput very prominent, the forehead rather
high than broad, often dome-shaped, often receding, with prominent
brows, the nose long, narrow, and prominent, the cheek-bones narrow and
not prominent, the chin well marked, the mouth apt to be prominent in
women. In Germany persons with these characters have almost always light
eyes and hair.... This Graverow type is almost exclusively what is
found in the burying-places of the fifth, sixth, and seventh centuries,
whether of the Alemanni, the Bavarians, the Franks, the Saxons, or the
Burgundians. Schetelig dug out a graveyard in Southern Spain which is
attributed to the Visigoths. Still the same harmonious elliptic form,
the same indices, breadth 73, height 74."
Early German Society
Tacitus in his Germania gives a vivid if condensed picture of Teutonic
life in the latter part of the first century:
"The face of the country, though in some parts varied, presents a
cheerless scene, covered with the gloom of forests, or deformed with
wide-extended marshes; toward the boundaries of Gaul, moist and swampy;
on the side of Noricum and Pannonia, more exposed to the fury of the
winds. Vegetation thrives with sufficient vigour. The soil produces
grain, but is unkind to fruit-trees; well stocked with cattle, but of an
under-size, and deprived by nature of the usual growth and ornament of
the head. The pride of a German consists in the number of his flocks
and herds; they are his only riches, and in these he places his chief
delight. Gold and silver are withheld from them: is it by the favour or
the wrath of Heaven? I do not, however, mean to assert that in Germany
there are no veins of precious ore; for who has been a miner in these
regions? Certain it is they do not enjoy the possession and use of those
metals with our sensibility. There are, indeed, silver vessels to be
seen among them, but they were presents to their chiefs or ambassadors;
the Germans regard them in no better light than common earthenware.
It is, however, observable that near the borders of the empire the
inhabitants set a value upon gold and silver, finding them subservient
to the purposes of commerce. The Roman coin is known in those parts, and
some of our specie is not only current, but in request. In places more
remote the simplicity of ancient manners still prevails: commutation of
property is their only traffic. Where | 560.837529 |
2023-11-16 18:26:26.5177030 | 3,985 | 6 |
Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF MADAME LA MARQUISE DE MONTESPAN
Written by Herself
Being the Historic Memoirs of the Court of Louis XIV.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Madame de Montespan----Etching by Mercier
Hortense Mancini----Drawing in the Louvre
Madame de la Valliere----Painting by Francois
Moliere----Original Etching by Lalauze
Boileau----Etching by Lalauze
A French Courtier----Photogravure from a Painting
Madame de Maintenon----Etching by Mercier from Painting by Hule
Charles II.----Original Etching by Ben Damman
Bosseut----Etching by Lalauze
Louis XIV. Knighting a Subject----Photogravure from a Rare Print
A French Actress----Painting by Leon Comerre
Racine----Etching by Lalauze
BOOK 1.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
Historians have, on the whole, dealt somewhat harshly with the
fascinating Madame de Montespan, perhaps taking their impressions from
the judgments, often narrow and malicious, of her contemporaries. To help
us to get a fairer estimate, her own "Memoirs," written by herself, and
now first given to readers in an English dress, should surely serve.
Avowedly compiled in a vague, desultory way, with no particular regard to
chronological sequence, these random recollections should interest us, in
the first place, as a piece of unconscious self-portraiture. The cynical
Court lady, whose beauty bewitched a great King, and whose ruthless
sarcasm made Duchesses quail, is here drawn for us in vivid fashion by
her own hand, and while concerned with depicting other figures she really
portrays her own. Certainly, in these Memoirs she is generally content
to keep herself in the background, while giving us a faithful picture of
the brilliant Court at which she was for long the most lustrous ornament.
It is only by stray touches, a casual remark, a chance phrase, that we,
as it were, gauge her temperament in all its wiliness, its egoism, its
love of supremacy, and its shallow worldly wisdom. Yet it could have
been no ordinary woman that held the handsome Louis so long her captive.
The fair Marquise was more than a mere leader of wit and fashion. If she
set the mode in the shape of a petticoat, or devised the sumptuous
splendours of a garden fete, her talent was not merely devoted to things
frivolous and trivial. She had the proverbial 'esprit des Mortemart'.
Armed with beauty and sarcasm, she won a leading place for herself at
Court, and held it in the teeth of all detractors.
Her beauty was for the King, her sarcasm for his courtiers. Perhaps
little of this latter quality appears in the pages bequeathed to us,
written, as they are, in a somewhat cold, formal style, and we may assume
that her much-dreaded irony resided in her tongue rather than in her pen.
Yet we are glad to possess these pages, if only as a reliable record of
Court life during the brightest period of the reign of Louis Quatorze.
As we have hinted, they are more, indeed, than this. For if we look
closer we shall perceive, as in a glass, darkly, the contour of a subtle,
even a perplexing, personality.
P. E. P.
HISTORIC COURT MEMOIRS.
MADAME DE MONTESPAN.
CHAPTER I.
The Reason for Writing These Memoirs.--Gabrielle d'Estrees.
The reign of the King who now so happily and so gloriously rules over
France will one day exercise the talent of the most skilful historians.
But these men of genius, deprived of the advantage of seeing the great
monarch whose portrait they fain would draw, will search everywhere among
the souvenirs of contemporaries and base their judgments upon our
testimony. It is this great consideration which has made me determined
to devote some of my hours of leisure to narrating, in these accurate and
truthful Memoirs, the events of which I myself am witness.
Naturally enough, the position which I fill at the great theatre of the
Court has made me the object of much false admiration, and much real
satire. Many men who owed to me their elevation or their success have
defamed me; many women have belittled my position after vain efforts to
secure the King's regard. In what I now write, scant notice will be
taken of all such ingratitude. Before my establishment at Court I had
met with hypocrisy of this sort in the world; and a man must, indeed, be
reckless of expense who daily entertains at his board a score of insolent
detractors.
I have too much wit to be blind to the fact that I am not precisely in my
proper place. But, all things considered, I flatter myself that
posterity will let certain weighty circumstances tell in my favour. An
accomplished monarch, to greet whom the Queen of Sheba would have come
from the uttermost ends of the earth, has deemed me worthy of his
entertainment, and has found amusement in my society. He has told me of
the esteem which the French have for Gabrielle d'Estrees, and, like that
of Gabrielle, my heart has let itself be captured, not by a great king,
but by the most honest man of his realm.
To France, Gabrielle gave the Vendome, to-day our support. The princes,
my sons, give promise of virtues as excellent, and will be worthy to
aspire to destinies as noble. It is my desire and my duty to give no
thought to my private griefs begotten of an ill-assorted marriage. May
the King ever be adored by his people; may my children ever be beloved
and cherished by the King; I am happy, and I desire to be so.
CHAPTER II.
That Which Often It is Best to Ignore.--A Marriage Such as One Constantly
Sees.--It is Too Late.
My sisters thought it of extreme importance to possess positive knowledge
as to their future condition and the events which fate held in store for
them. They managed to be secretly taken to a woman famed for her talent
in casting the horoscope. But on seeing how overwhelmed by chagrin they
both were after consulting the oracle, I felt fearful as regarded myself,
and determined to let my star take its own course, heedless of its
existence, and allowing it complete liberty.
My mother occasionally took me out into society after the marriage of my
sister, De Thianges; and I was not slow to perceive that there was in my
person something slightly superior to the average intelligence,--certain
qualities of distinction which drew upon me the attention and the
sympathy of men of taste. Had any liberty been granted to it, my heart
would have made a choice worthy alike of my family and of myself. They
were eager to impose the Marquis de Montespan upon me as a husband; and
albeit he was far from possessing those mental perfections and that
cultured charm which alone make an indefinite period of companionship
endurable, I was not slow to reconcile myself to a temperament which,
fortunately, was very variable, and which thus served to console me on
the morrow for what had troubled me to-day.
Hardly had my marriage been arranged and celebrated than a score of the
most brilliant suitors expressed, in prose and in verse, their regret at
having lost beyond recall Mademoiselle de Tonnai-Charente. Such elegiac
effusions seemed to me unspeakably ridiculous; they should have explained
matters earlier, while the lists were still open. For persons of this
sort I conceived aversion, who were actually so clumsy as to dare to tell
me that they had forgotten to ask my hand in marriage!
CHAPTER III.
Madame de Montespan at the Palace.--M. de Montespan.--His Indiscreet
Language.--His Absence.--Specimen of His Way of Writing.--A Refractory
Cousin.--The King Interferes.--M. de Montespan a Widower.--Amusement of
the King.--Clemency of Madame de Montespan.
The Duc and Duchesse de Navailles had long been friends of my father's
and of my family. When the Queen-mother proceeded to form the new
household of her niece and daughter-in-law, the Infanta, the Duchesse de
Navailles, chief of the ladies-in-waiting, bethought herself of me, and
soon the Court and Paris learnt that I was one of the six ladies in
attendance on the young Queen.
This princess, who while yet at the Escurial had been made familiar
with the notable names of the French monarchy, honoured me during the
journey by alluding in terms of regard to the Mortemarts and
Rochechouarts,--kinsmen of mine. She was even careful to quote matters
of history concerning my ancestors. By such marks of good sense and good
will I perceived that she would not be out of place at a Court where
politeness of spirit and politeness of heart ever go side by side, or, to
put it better, where these qualities are fused and united.
M. le Marquis de Montespan, scion of the old house of Pardaillan de
Gondrin, had preferred what he styled "my grace and beauty" to the most
wealthy partis of France. He was himself possessed of wealth, and his
fortune gave him every facility for maintaining at Court a position of
advantage and distinction.
At first the honour which both Queens were graciously pleased to confer
upon me gave my husband intense satisfaction. He affectionately thanked
the Duc and Duchesse de Navailles, and expressed his most humble
gratitude to the two Queens and to the King. But it was not long before
I perceived that he had altered his opinion.
The love-affair between Mademoiselle de la Valliere and the King having
now become public, M. de Montespan condemned this attachment in terms of
such vehemence that I perforce felt afraid of the consequences of such
censure. He talked openly about the matter in society, airing his views
thereanent. Impetuously and with positive hardihood, he expressed his
disapproval in unstinted terms, criticising and condemning the prince's
conduct. Once, at the ballet, when within two feet of the Queen, it was
with the utmost difficulty that he could be prevented from discussing so
obviously unfitting a question, or from sententiously moralising upon the
subject.
All at once the news of an inheritance in the country served to occupy
his attention. He did all that he could to make me accompany him on this
journey. He pointed out to me that it behoved no young wife to be
anywhere without her husband. I, for my part, represented to him all
that in my official capacity I owed to the Queen. And as at that time I
still loved him heartily (M. de Montespan, I mean), and was sincerely
attached to him, I advised him to sell off the whole of the newly
inherited estate to some worthy member of his own family, so that he
might remain with us in the vast arena wherein I desired and hoped to
achieve his rapid advance.
Never was there man more obstinate or more selfwilled than the Marquis.
Despite all my friendly persuasion, he was determined to go. And when
once settled at the other end of France, he launched out into all sorts
of agricultural schemes and enterprises, without even knowing why he did
so. He constructed roads, built windmills, bridged over a large torrent,
completed the pavilions of his castle, replanted coppices and vineyards,
and, besides all this, hunted the chamois, bears, and boars of the
Nebouzan and the Pyrenees. Four or five months after his departure I
received a letter from him of so singular a kind that I kept it in spite
of myself, and in the Memoirs it will not prove out of place. Far better
than any words of mine, it will depict the sort of mind, the logic, and
the curious character of the man who was my husband.
MONTESPAN,--May 15, 1667.
I count more than ever, madame, upon your journey to the Pyrenees. If you
love me, as all your letters assure me, you should promptly take a good
coach and come. We are possessed of considerable property here, which of
late years my family have much neglected. These domains require my
presence, and my presence requires yours. Enough is yours of wit or of
good sense to understand that.
The Court is, no doubt, a fine country,--finer than ever under the
present reign. The more magnificent the Court is, the more uneasy do I
become. Wealth and opulence are needed there; and to your family I never
figured as a Croesus. By dint of order and thrift, we shall ere long
have satisfactorily settled our affairs; and I promise you that our stay
in the Provinces shall last no longer than is necessary to achieve that
desirable result. Three, four, five,--let us say, six years. Well, that
is not an eternity! By the time we come back we shall both of us still
be young. Come, then, my dearest Athenais, come, and make closer
acquaintance with these imposing Pyrenees, every ravine of which is a
landscape and every valley an Eden. To all these beauties, yours is
missing; you shall be here, like Dian, the goddess of these noble
forests. All our gentlefolk await you, admiring your picture on the
sweetmeat-box. They are minded to hold many pleasant festivals in your
honour; you may count upon having a veritable Court. Here it is that you
will meet the old Warnais nobility that followed Henri IV. and placed the
sceptre in his hand. Messieurs de Grammont and de Biron are our
neighbours; their grim castles dominate the whole district, so that they
seem like kings.
Our Chateau de Montespan will offer you something less severe; the
additions made for my mother twenty years ago are infinitely better than
anything that you will leave behind you in Paris. We have here the
finest fruits that ever grew in any earthly paradise. Our huge, luscious
peaches are composed of sugar, violets, carnations, amber, and jessamine;
strawberries and raspberries grow everywhere; and naught may vie with the
excellence of the water, the vegetables, and the milk.
You are fond of scenery and of sketching from nature; there are half a
dozen landscapes here for you that leave Claude Lorrain far behind. I
mean to take you to see a waterfall, twelve hundred and seventy feet in
height, neither more nor less. What are your fountains at Saint Germain
and Chambord compared with such marvellous things as these?
Now, madame, I am really tired of coaxing and flattering you, as I have
done in this letter and in preceding ones. Do you want me, or do you
not? Your position as Court lady, so you say, keeps you near the
monarch; ask, then, or let me ask, for leave of absence. After having
been for four consecutive years Lady of the Palace, consent to become
Lady of the Castle, since your duties towards your spouse require it.
The young King, favourite as he is with the ladies, will soon find ten
others to replace you. And I, dearest Athenais, find it hard even to
think of replacing you, in spite of your cruel absence, which at once
annoys and grieves me. I am--no, I shall be--always and ever yours, when
you are always and ever mine.
MONTESPAN.
I hastened to tell my husband in reply that his impatience and ill-humour
made me most unhappy; that as, through sickness or leave of absence, five
or six of the Court ladies were away, I could not possibly absent myself
just then; that I believed that I sufficiently merited his confidence to
let me count upon his attachment and esteem, whether far or near. And I
gave him my word of honour that I would join him after the Court moved to
Fontainebleau, that is to say, in the autumn.
My answer, far from soothing or calming him, produced quite a contrary
effect. I received the following letter, which greatly alarmed and
agitated me:
Your allegations are only vain pretexts, your pretexts mask your
falsehoods, your falsehoods confirm all my suspicions; you are deceiving
me, madame, and it is your intention to dishonour me. My cousin, who saw
through you better than I did before my wretched marriage,--my cousin,
whom you dislike and who is no whit afraid of you,--informs me that,
under the pretext of going to keep Madame de la Valliere company, you
never stir from her apartments during the time allotted to her by the
King, that is to say, three whole hours every evening. There you pose as
sovereign arbiter; as oracle, uttering a thousand divers decisions; as
supreme purveyor of news and gossip; the scourge of all who are absent;
the complacent promoter of scandal; the soul and the leader of sparkling
conversation.
One only of these ladies became ill, owing to an extremely favourable
confinement, from which she recovered a week ago. At the outset, the King
fought shy of your raillery, but in a thousand discreditable ways you set
your cap at him and forced him to pay you attention. If all the letters
written to me (all of them in the same strain) | 562.537743 |
2023-11-16 18:26:26.6179510 | 18 | 12 |
The Life Of
William Ewart Gladstone
By
| 562.637991 |
2023-11-16 18:26:26.6188640 | 181 | 8 |
Produced by Donald Cummings 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.)
ST. PATRICK
ST. PATRICK,
THE FATHER OF A SACRED NATION
A LECTURE
BY
Rev. J. F. LOUGHLIN, D.D.
PUBLISHED FOR THE BENEFIT OF
THE CHURCH OF OUR LADY OF THE ROSARY
PHILADELPHIA
_Copyright, 1889, by Rev. J. F. Loughlin, D.D._
[Illustration]
ST. PATRICK,
The Father of a Sacred Nation.
“And the Lord said to Abram: ‘Go forth | 562.638904 |
2023-11-16 18:26:26.6189950 | 493 | 25 |
CLOTELLE: A TALE OF THE SOUTHERN STATES
by
William Wells Brown
CONTENTS
I THE SLAVE'S SOCIAL CIRCLE.
II THE <DW64> SALE.
III THE SLAVE SPECULATOR.
IV THE BOAT-RACE.
V THE YOUNG MOTHER.
VI THE SLAVE-MARKET.
VII THE SLAVE-HOLDING PARSON.
VIII A NIGHT IN THE PARSON'S KITCHEN.
IX THE MAN OF HONOR.
X THE QUADROON'S HOME
XI TO-DAY A MISTRESS, TO-MORROW A SLAVE
XII THE MOTHER-IN-LAW.
XIII A HARD-HEARTED WOMAN.
XIV THE PRISON.
XV THE ARREST.
XVI DEATH IS FREEDOM.
XVII CLOTELLE.
XVIII A SLAVE-HUNTING PARSON.
XIX THE TRUE HEROINE.
XX THE HERO OF MANY ADVENTURES.
XXI SELF-SACRIFICE.
XXII LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT AND WHAT FOLLOWED.
XXIII MEETING OF THE COUSINS.
XXIV THE LAW AND ITS VICTIM.
XXV THE FLIGHT.
XXVI THE HERO OF A NIGHT.
XXVII TRUE FREEDOM.
XXVIII FAREWELL TO AMERICA.
XXIX A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND.
XXX NEW FRIENDS.
XXXI THE MYSTERIOUS MEETING.
XXXII THE HAPPY MEETING.
XXXIII THE HAPPY DAY.
XXXIV CLOTELLE MEETS HER FATHER.
XXXV THE FATHER'S RESOLVE.
CHAPTER I
THE SLAVE'S SOCIAL CIRCLE.
With the growing population in the Southern States, the increase of
mulattoes has been very great. Society does not frown upon the man who
sits with his half-white child upon his knee whilst the mother stands,
a slave, behind his chair. In nearly all the cities and towns of the
Slave States, the real <DW64>, or clear black, does | 562.639035 |
2023-11-16 18:26:26.7179430 | 7,435 | 11 | NORTH-WEST PASSAGE***
Transcribed from the 1892 Cassell & Co. edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
CASSELL'S NATIONAL LIBRARY.
VOYAGES
IN SEARCH OF THE
NORTH-WEST PASSAGE.
_From the Collection of_
RICHARD HAKLUYT.
CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited:
_LONDON_, _PARIS & MELBOURNE_.
1892.
INTRODUCTION.
Thirty-five years ago I made a voyage to the Arctic Seas in what Chaucer
calls
A little bote
No bigger than a manne's thought;
it was a Phantom Ship that made some voyages to different parts of the
world which were recorded in early numbers of Charles Dickens's
"Household Words." As preface to Richard Hakluyt's records of the first
endeavour of our bold Elizabethan mariners to find North-West Passage to
the East, let me repeat here that old voyage of mine from No. 55 of
"Household Words," dated the 12th of April, 1851: The _Phantom_ is fitted
out for Arctic exploration, with instructions to find her way, by the
north-west, to Behring Straits, and take the South Pole on her passage
home. Just now we steer due north, and yonder is the coast of Norway.
From that coast parted Hugh Willoughby, three hundred years ago; the
first of our countrymen who wrought an ice-bound highway to Cathay. Two
years afterwards his ships were found, in the haven of Arzina, in
Lapland, by some Russian fishermen; near and about them Willoughby and
his companions--seventy dead men. The ships were freighted with their
frozen crews, and sailed for England; but, "being unstaunch, as it is
supposed, by their two years' wintering in Lapland, sunk, by the way,
with their dead, and them also that brought them."
Ice floats about us now, and here is a whale blowing; a whale, too, very
near Spitzbergen. When first Spitzbergen was discovered, in the good old
times, there were whales here in abundance; then a hundred Dutch ships,
in a crowd, might go to work, and boats might jostle with each other, and
the only thing deficient would be stowage room for all the produce of the
fishery. Now one ship may have the whole field to itself, and travel
home with an imperfect cargo. It was fine fun in the good old times;
there was no need to cruise. Coppers and boilers were fitted on the
island, and little colonies about them, in the fishing season, had
nothing to do but tow the whales in, with a boat, as fast as they were
wanted by the copper. No wonder that so enviable a Tom Tidler's ground
was claimed by all who had a love for gold and silver. The English
called it theirs, for they first fished; the Dutch said, nay, but the
island was of their discovery; Danes, Hamburghers, Bisayans, Spaniards,
and French put in their claims; and at length it was agreed to make
partitions. The numerous bays and harbours which indent the coast were
divided among the rival nations; and, to this day, many of them bear,
accordingly, such names as English Bay, Danes Bay, and so forth. One bay
there is, with graves in it, named Sorrow. For it seemed to the fishers
most desirable, if possible, to plant upon this island permanent
establishments, and condemned convicts were offered, by the Russians,
life and pardon, if they would winter in Spitzbergen. They agreed; but,
when they saw the icy mountains and the stormy sea, repented, and went
back, to meet a death exempt from torture. The Dutch tempted free men,
by high rewards, to try the dangerous experiment. One of their victims
left a journal, which describes his suffering and that of his companions.
Their mouths, he says, became so sore that, if they had food, they could
not eat; their limbs were swollen and disabled with excruciating pain;
they died of scurvy. Those who died first were coffined by their dying
friends; a row of coffins was found, in the spring, each with a man in
it; two men uncoffined, side by side, were dead upon the floor. The
journal told how once the traces of a bear excited their hope of fresh
meat and amended health; how, with a lantern, two or three had limped
upon the track, until the light became extinguished, and they came back
in despair to die. We might speak, also, of eight English sailors, left,
by accident, upon Spitzbergen, who lived to return and tell their
winter's tale; but a long journey is before us and we must not linger on
the way. As for our whalers, it need scarcely be related that the
multitude of whales diminished as the slaughtering went on, until it was
no longer possible to keep the coppers full. The whales had to be
searched for by the vessels, and thereafter it was not worth while to
take the blubber to Spitzbergen to be boiled; and the different nations,
having carried home their coppers, left the apparatus of those fishing
stations to decay.
Take heed. There is a noise like thunder, and a mountain snaps in two.
The upper half comes, crashing, grinding, down into the sea, and loosened
streams of water follow it. The sea is displaced before the mighty heap;
it boils and scatters up a cloud of spray; it rushes back, and violently
beats upon the shore. The mountain rises from its bath, sways to and
fro, while water pours along its mighty sides; now it is tolerably quiet,
letting crackers off as air escapes out of its cavities. That is an
iceberg, and in that way are all icebergs formed. Mountains of ice
formed by rain and snow--grand Arctic glaciers, undermined by the sea or
by accumulation over-balanced--topple down upon the slightest provocation
(moved by a shout, perhaps), and where they float, as this black-looking
fellow does, they need deep water. This berg in height is about ninety
feet, and a due balance requires that a mass nine times as large as the
part visible should be submerged. Icebergs are seen about us now which
rise two hundred feet above the water's level.
There are above head plenty of aquatic birds; ashore, or on the ice, are
bears, foxes, reindeer; and in the sea there are innumerable animals. We
shall not see so much life near the North Pole, that is certain. It
would be worth while to go ashore upon an islet there, near Vogel Sang,
to pay a visit to the eider-ducks. Their nests are so abundant that one
cannot avoid treading on them. When the duck is driven by a hungry fox
to leave her eggs, she covers them with down, in order that they may not
cool during her absence, and, moreover, glues the down into a case with a
secretion supplied to her by Nature for that purpose. The deserted eggs
are safe, for that secretion has an odour very disagreeable to the
intruder's nose.
We still sail northward, among sheets of ice, whose boundaries are not
beyond our vision from the masthead--these are "floes;" between them we
find easy way, it is fair "sailing ice." In the clear sky to the north a
streak of lucid white light is the reflection from an icy surface; that
is, "ice-blink," in the language of these seas. The glare from snow is
yellow, while open water gives a dark reflection.
Northward still; but now we are in fog the ice is troublesome; a gale is
rising. Now, if our ship had timbers they would crack, and if she had a
bell it would be tolling; if we were shouting to each other we should not
hear, the sea is in a fury. With wild force its breakers dash against a
heaped-up wall of broken ice, that grinds and strains and battles
fiercely with the water. This is "the pack," the edge of a great
ice-field broken by the swell. It is a perilous and an exciting thing to
push through pack ice in a gale.
Now there is ice as far as eye can see, that is "an ice-field." Masses
are forced up like colossal tombstones on all sides; our sailors call
them "hummocks;" here and there the broken ice displays large "holes of
water." Shall we go on? Upon this field, in 1827, Parry adventured with
his men to reach the North Pole, if that should be possible. With
sledges and portable boats they laboured on through snow and over
hummocks, launching their boats over the larger holes of water. With
stout hearts, undaunted by toil or danger, they went boldly on, though by
degrees it became clear to the leaders of the expedition that they were
almost like mice upon a treadmill cage, making a great expenditure of leg
for little gain. The ice was floating to the south with them, as they
were walking to the north; still they went on. Sleeping by day to avoid
the glare, and to get greater warmth during the time of rest, and
travelling by night--watch-makers' days and nights, for it was all one
polar day--the men soon were unable to distinguish noon from midnight.
The great event of one day on this dreary waste was the discovery of two
flies upon an ice hummock; these, says Parry, became at once a topic of
ridiculous importance. Presently, after twenty-three miles' walking,
they had only gone one mile forward, the ice having industriously floated
twenty-two miles in the opposite direction; and then, after walking
forward eleven miles, they found themselves to be three miles behind the
place from which they started. The party accordingly returned, not
having reached the Pole, not having reached the eighty-third parallel,
for the attainment of which there was a reward of a thousand pounds held
out by government. They reached the parallel of eighty-two degrees
forty-five minutes, which was the most northerly point trodden by the
foot of man.
From that point they returned. In those high latitudes they met with a
phenomenon, common in alpine regions, as well as at the Pole, red snow;
the red colour being caused by the abundance of a minute plant, of low
development, the last dweller on the borders of the vegetable kingdom.
More interesting to the sailors was a fat she bear which they killed and
devoured with a zeal to be repented of; for on reaching navigable sea,
and pushing in their boats to Table Island, where some stones were left,
they found that the bears had eaten all their bread, whereon the men
agreed that "Bruin was now square with them." An islet next to Table
Island--they are both mere rocks--is the most northern land discovered.
Therefore, Parry applied to it the name of lieutenant--afterwards Sir
James--Ross. This compliment Sir James Ross acknowledged in the most
emphatic manner, by discovering on his part, at the other Pole, the most
southern land yet seen, and giving to it the name of Parry: "Parry
Mountains."
It very probably would not be difficult, under such circumstances as Sir
W. Parry has since recommended, to reach the North Pole along this route.
Then (especially if it be true, as many believe, that there is a region
of open sea about the Pole itself) we might find it as easy to reach
Behring Straits by travelling in a straight line over the North Pole, as
by threading the straits and bays north of America.
We turn our course until we have in sight a portion of the ice-barred
eastern coast of Greenland, Shannon Island. Somewhere about this spot in
the seventy-fifth parallel is the most northern part of that coast known
to us. Colonel--then Captain--Sabine in the _Griper_ was landed there to
make magnetic, and other observations; for the same purpose he had
previously visited Sierra Leone. That is where we differ from our
forefathers. They commissioned hardy seamen to encounter peril for the
search of gold ore, or for a near road to Cathay; but our peril is
encountered for the gain of knowledge, for the highest kind of service
that can now be rendered to the human race.
Before we leave the Northern Sea, we must not omit to mention the voyage
by Spitzbergen northward, in 1818, of Captain Buchan in the _Dorothea_,
accompanied by Lieutenant Franklin, in the _Trent_. It was Sir John
Franklin's first voyage to the Arctic regions. This trip forms the
subject of a delightful book by Captain Beechey.
On our way to the south point of Greenland we pass near Cape North, a
point of Iceland. Iceland, we know, is the centre of a volcanic region,
whereof Norway and Greenland are at opposite points of the circumference.
In connection with this district there is a remarkable fact; that by the
agency of subterranean forces, a large portion of Norway and Sweden is
being slowly upheaved. While Greenland, on the west coast, as gradually
sinks into the sea, Norway rises at the rate of about four feet in a
century. In Greenland, the sinking is so well known that the natives
never build close to the water's edge, and the Moravian missionaries more
than once have had to move farther inland the poles on which their boats
are rested.
Our Phantom Ship stands fairly now along the western coast of Greenland
into Davis Straits. We observe that upon this western coast there is, by
a great deal, less ice than on the eastern. That is a rule generally.
Not only the configuration of the straits and bays, but also the earth's
rotation from west to east, causes the currents here to set towards the
west, and wash the western coasts, while they act very little on the
eastern. We steer across Davis Strait, among "an infinite number of
great countreys and islands of yce;" there, near the entrance, we find
Hudson Strait, which does not now concern us. Islands probably separate
this well-known channel from Frobisher Strait to the north of it, yet
unexplored. Here let us recall to mind the fleet of fifteen sail, under
Sir Martin Frobisher, in 1578, tossing about and parting company among
the ice. Let us remember how the crew of the _Anne Frances_, in that
expedition, built a pinnace when their vessel struck upon a rock, stock,
although they wanted main timber and nails. How they made a mimic forge,
and "for the easier making of nails, were forced to break their tongs,
gridiron, and fire-shovel, in pieces." How Master Captain Best, in this
frail bark, with its imperfect timbers held together by the metamorphosed
gridiron and fire-shovel, continued in his duty, and did depart up the
straights as before was pretended." How a terrific storm arose, and the
fleet parted and the intrepid captain was towed "in his small pinnesse,
at the stern of the _Michael_, thorow the raging seas; for the bark was
not able to receive, or relieve half his company." The "tongs, gridyron,
and fire-shovell," performed their work only for as many minutes as were
absolutely necessary, for the pinnesse came no sooner aboard the ship,
and the men entred, but she presently shivered and fell in pieces, and
sunke at the ship's stern with all the poor men's furniture."
Now, too, as we sail up the strait, explored a few years after these
events by Master John Davis, how proudly we remember him as a right
worthy forerunner of those countrymen of his and ours who since have
sailed over his track. Nor ought we to pass on without calling to mind
the melancholy fate, in 1606, of Master John Knight, driven, in the
_Hopewell_, among huge masses of ice with a tremendous surf, his rudder
knocked away, his ship half full of water, at the entrance to these
straits. Hoping to find a harbour, he set forth to explore a large
island, and landed, leaving two men to watch the boat, while he, with
three men and the mate, set forth and disappeared over a hill. For
thirteen hours the watchers kept their post; one had his trumpet with
him, for he was a trumpeter, the other had a gun. They trumpeted often
and loudly; they fired, but no answer came. They watched ashore all
night for the return of their captain and his party, "but they came not
at all."
The season is advanced. As we sail on, the sea steams like a line-kiln,
"frost-smoke" covers it. The water, cooled less rapidly, is warmer now
than the surrounding air, and yields this vapour in consequence. By the
time our vessel has reached Baffin's Bay, still coasting along Greenland,
in addition to old floes and bergs, the water is beset with "pancake
ice." That is the young ice when it first begins to cake upon the
surface. Innocent enough it seems, but it is sadly clogging to the
ships. It sticks about their sides like treacle on a fly's wing;
collecting unequally, it destroys all equilibrium, and impedes the
efforts of the steersman. Rocks split on the Greenland coast with loud
explosions, and more icebergs fall. Icebergs we soon shall take our
leave of; they are only found where there is a coast on which glaciers
can form; they are good for nothing but to yield fresh water to the
vessels; it will be all field, pack, and saltwater ice presently.
Now we are in Baffin's Bay, explored in the voyages of Bylot and Baffin,
1615-16. When, in 1817, a great movement in the Greenland ice caused
many to believe that the northern passages would be found comparatively
clear; and when, in consequence of this impression, Sir John Barrow
succeeded in setting afoot that course of modern Arctic exploration which
has been continued to the present day, Sir John Ross was the first man
sent to find the North-West Passage. Buchan and Parry were commissioned
at the same the to attempt the North Sea route. Sir John Ross did little
more on that occasion than effect a survey of Baffin's Bay, and prove the
accuracy of the ancient pilot. In the extreme north of the bay there is
an inlet or a channel, called by Baffin Smith's Sound; this Sir John saw,
but did not enter. It never yet has been explored. It may be an inlet
only; but it is also very possible that by this channel ships might get
into the Polar Sea and sail by the north shore of Greenland to
Spitzbergen. Turning that corner, and descending along the western coast
of Baffin's Bay, there is another inlet called Jones' Sound by Baffin,
also unexplored. These two inlets, with their very British titles, Smith
and Jones, are of exceeding interest. Jones' Sound may lead by a back
way to Melville Island. South of Jones' Sound there is a wide break in
the shore, a great sound, named by Baffin, Lancaster's, which Sir John
Ross, in that first expedition, failed also to explore. Like our
transatlantic friends at the South Pole, he laid down a range of clouds
as mountains, and considered the way impervious; so he came home. Parry
went out next year, as a lieutenant, in command of his first and most
successful expedition. He sailed up Lancaster Sound, which was in that
year (1819) unusually clear of ice; and he is the discoverer whose track
we now follow in our Phantom Ship. The whole ground being new, he had to
name the points of country right and left of him. The way was broad and
open, due west, a most prosperous beginning for a North-West Passage. If
this continued, he would soon reach Behring Strait. A broad channel to
the right, directed, that is to say, southward, he entered on the Prince
of Wales's birthday, and so called it the "Prince Regent's Inlet." After
exploring this for some miles, he turned back to resume his western
course, for still there was a broad strait leading westward. This second
part of Lancaster Sound he called after the Secretary of the Admiralty
who had so indefatigably laboured to promote the expeditions, Barrow's
Strait. Then he came to a channel, turning to the right or northward,
and he named that Wellington Channel. Then he had on his right hand ice,
islands large and small, and intervening channels; on the left, ice, and
a cape visible, Cape Walker. At an island, named after the First Lord of
the Admiralty Melville Island, the great frozen wilderness barred farther
progress. There he wintered. On the coast of Melville Island they had
passed the latitude of one hundred and ten degrees, and the men had
become entitled to a royal bounty of five thousand pounds. This group of
islands Parry called North Georgian, but they are usually called by his
own name, Parry Islands. This was the first European winter party in the
Arctic circle. Its details are familiar enough. How the men cut in
three days, through ice seven inches thick, a canal two miles and a half
long, and so brought the ships into safe harbour. How the genius of
Parry equalled the occasion; how there was established a theatre and a
_North Georgian Gazette_, to cheer the tediousness of a night which
continued for two thousand hours. The dreary, dazzling waste in which
there was that little patch of life, the stars, the fog, the moonlight,
the glittering wonder of the northern lights, in which, as Greenlanders
believe, souls of the wicked dance tormented, are familiar to us. The
she-bear stays at home; but the he-bear hungers, and looks in vain for a
stray seal or walrus--woe to the unarmed man who meets him in his hungry
mood! Wolves are abroad, and pretty white arctic foxes. The reindeer
have sought other pasture-ground. The thermometer runs down to more than
sixty degrees below freezing, a temperature tolerable in calm weather,
but distressing in a wind. The eye-piece of the telescope must be
protected now with leather, for the skin is destroyed that comes in
contact with cold metal. The voice at a mile's distance can be heard
distinctly. Happy the day when first the sun is seen to graze the edge
of the horizon; but summer must come, and the heat of a constant day must
accumulate, and summer wane, before the ice is melted. Then the ice
cracks, like cannons over-charged, and moves with a loud grinding noise.
But not yet is escape to be made with safety. After a detention of ten
months, Parry got free; but, in escaping, narrowly missed the destruction
of both ships, by their being "nipped" between the mighty mass and the
unyielding shore. What animals are found on Melville Island we may judge
from the results of sport during ten months' detention. The island
exceeds five thousand miles square, and yielded to the gun, three musk
oxen, twenty-four deer, sixty-eight hares, fifty-three geese, fifty-nine
ducks, and one hundred and forty-four ptarmigans, weighing together three
thousand seven hundred and sixty-six pounds--not quite two ounces of meat
per day to every man. Lichens, stunted grass, saxifrage, and a feeble
willow, are the plants of Melville Island, but in sheltered nooks there
are found sorrel, poppy, and a yellow buttercup. Halos and double suns
are very common consequences of refraction in this quarter of the world.
Franklin returned from his first and most famous voyage with his men all
safe and sound, except the loss of a few fingers, frost-bitten. We sail
back only as far as Regent's Inlet, being bound for Behring Strait.
The reputation of Sir John Ross being clouded by discontent expressed
against his first expedition, Felix Booth, a rich distiller, provided
seventeen thousand pounds to enable his friend to redeem his credit. Sir
John accordingly, in 1829, went out in the _Victory_, provided with
steam-machinery that did not answer well. He was accompanied by Sir
James Ross, his nephew. He it was who, on this occasion, first surveyed
Regent's Inlet, down which we are now sailing with our Phantom Ship. The
coast on our right hand, westward, which Parry saw, is called North
Somerset, but farther south, where the inlet widens, the land is named
Boothia Felix. Five years before this, Parry, in his third voyage, had
attempted to pass down Regent's Inlet, where among ice and storm, one of
his ships, the _Hecla_, had been driven violently ashore, and of
necessity abandoned. The stores had been removed, and Sir John was able
now to replenish his own vessel from them. Rounding a point at the
bottom of Prince Regent's Inlet, we find Felix Harbour, where Sir John
Ross wintered. His nephew made from this point scientific explorations;
discovered a strait, called after him the Strait of James Ross, and on
the northern shore of this strait, on the main land of Boothia, planted
the British flag on the Northern Magnetic Pole. The ice broke up, so did
the _Victory_; after a hairbreadth escape, the party found a searching
vessel and arrived home after an absence of four years and five months,
Sir John Ross having lost his ship, and won his reputation, The friend in
need was made a baronet for his munificence; Sir John was reimbursed for
all his losses, and the crew liberally taken care of. Sir James Ross had
a rod and flag signifying "Magnetic Pole," given to him for a new crest,
by the Heralds' College, for which he was no doubt greatly the better.
We have sailed northward to get into Hudson Strait, the high road into
Hudson Bay. Along the shore are Esquimaux in boats, extremely active,
but these filthy creatures we pass by; the Esquimaux in Hudson Strait are
like the <DW64>s of the coast, demoralised by intercourse with European
traders. These are not true pictures of the loving children of the
north. Our "Phantom" floats on the wide waters of Hudson Bay--the grave
of its discoverer. Familiar as the story is of Henry Hudson's fate, for
John King's sake how gladly we repeat it. While sailing on the waters he
discovered, in 1611, his men mutinied; the mutiny was aided by Henry
Green, a prodigal, whom Hudson had generously shielded from ruin.
Hudson, the master, and his son, with six sick or disabled members of the
crew, were driven from their cabins, forced into a little shallop, and
committed helpless to the water and the ice. But there was one stout
man, John King, the carpenter, who stepped into the boat, abjuring his
companions, and chose rather to die than even passively be partaker in so
foul a crime. John King, we who live after will remember you.
Here on aim island, Charlton Island, near our entrance to the bay, in
1631, wintered poor Captain James with his wrecked crew. This is a point
outside the Arctic circle, but quite cold enough. Of nights, with a good
fire in the house they built, hoar frost covered their beds, and the
cook's water in a metal pan before the fire was warm on one side and
froze on the other. Here "it snowed and froze extremely, at which time
we, looking from the shore towards the ship, she appeared a piece of ice
in the fashion of a ship, or a ship resembling a piece of ice." Here the
gunner, who hand lost his leg, besought that, "for the little the he had
to live, he might drink sack altogether." He died and was buried in the
ice far from the vessel, but when afterwards two more were dead of
scurvy, and the others, in a miserable state, were working with faint
hope about their shattered vessel, the gunner was found to have returned
home to the old vessel; his leg had penetrated through a port-hole. They
"digged him clear out, and he was as free from noisomeness," the record
says, "as when we first committed him to the sea. This alteration had
the ice, and water, and time, only wrought on him, that his flesh would
slip up and down upon his bones, like a glove on a man's hand. In the
evening we buried him by the others." These worthy souls, laid up with
the agonies of scurvy, knew that in action was their only hope; they
forced their limbs to labour, among ice and water, every day. They set
about the building of a boat, but the hard frozen wood had broken their
axes, so they made shift with the pieces. To fell a tree, it was first
requisite to light in fire around it, and the carpenter could only labour
with his wood over a fire, or else it was like stone under his tools.
Before the boat was made they buried the carpenter. The captain exhorted
them to put their trust in God; "His will be done. If it be our fortune
to end our days here, we are as near Heaven as in England. They all
protested to work to the utmost of their strength, and that they would
refuse nothing that I should order them to do to the utmost hazard of
their lives. I thanked them all." Truly the North Pole has its
triumphs. If we took no account of the fields of trade opened by our
Arctic explorers, if we thought nothing of the wants of science in
comparison with the lives lost in supplying them, is not the loss of life
a gain, which proves and tests the fortitude of noble hearts, and teaches
us respect for human nature? All the lives that have been lost among
these Polar regions are less in number than the dead upon a battle-field.
The battle-field inflicted shame upon our race--is it with shame that our
hearts throb in following these Arctic heroes? March 31st, says Captain
James, "was very cold, with snow and hail, which pinched our sick men
more than any time this year. This evening, being May eve, we returned
late from our work to our house, and made a good fire, and chose ladies,
and ceremoniously wore their names in our caps, endeavouring to revive
ourselves by any means. On the 15th, I manured a little patch of ground
that was bare of snow, and sowed it with pease, hoping to have some
shortly to eat, for as yet we could see no green thing to comfort us."
Those pease saved the party; as they came up the young shoots were boiled
and eaten, so their health began to mend, and they recovered from their
scurvy. Eventually, after other perils, they succeeded in making their
escape.
A strait, called Sir Thomas Rowe's Welcome, leads due north out of Hudson
Bay, being parted by Southampton Island from the strait through which we
entered. Its name is quaint, for so was its discoverer, Luke Fox, a
worthy man, addicted much to euphuism. Fox sailed from London in the
same year in which James sailed from Bristol. They were rivals. Meeting
in Davis Straits, Fox dined on board his friendly rival's vessel, which
was very unfit for the service upon which it went. The sea washed over
them and came into the cabin, so says Fox, "sauce would not have been
wanted if there had been roast mutton." Luke Fox, being ice-bound and in
peril, writes, "God thinks upon our imprisonment within a _supersedeas_;"
but he was a good and honourable man as wall as euphuist. His "Sir
Thomas Rowe's Welcome" leads into Fox Channel: our "Phantom Ship" is
pushing through the welcome passes on the left-hand Repulse Bay. This
portion of the Arctic regions, with Fox Channel, is extremely perilous.
Here Captain Lyon, in the _Griper_, was | 562.737983 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
FLORENCE ON A CERTAIN NIGHT
AND OTHER POEMS
By Coningsby Dawson
New York: Henry Holt and Company
1914
TO
_JOHN KEATS_
WHO, IN EXCUSE FOR A LIKE OCCASION,
WROTE:
_"WERE I DEAD, I SHOULD LIKE A BOOK DEDICATED TO ME."_
A WARNING TO THE READER
Here thou shalt find grave thought--the shade of thine Most is of earth,
some little all divine. By hands God-given, mine, this tower doth
thrive; Thine are the clouds which round my turrets drive.
FLORENCE ON A CERTAIN NIGHT
I
(October, 1504)
_[Someone sings in the street below]_
Fair-fleeting Youth must snatch at happiness,
He knows not if To-morrow curse or bless,
Nor round what bend upon his travel-way
The bandit Death lurks armed--of Yesterday
His palely featured griefs he knows too well;
Therefore with jests To-day, come Heaven, come Hell,
He plucks with either hand what joys he may.
Joy is a flower
White-leafd or red,
None knows which colour
Till it is dead:
White gives forth fragrance
Pure as God's breath;
Red in its dying
Yields the gatherer death.
_[Leonardo da Vinci speaks]_
So 'tis Lorenzo's song they sing to-night,
That haunting song which long years since he sang
When | 562.835421 |
2023-11-16 18:26:27.2342100 | 3,381 | 16 |
Produced by Bryan Ness, Melissa McDaniel and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has
been preserved. Inconsistent spelling in the original
(e.g. "Holmencollen" and "Holmenkollen") has been preserved.
The following spelling corrections were made:
- "Bjornstjerne Bjornsen" changed to "Bjornstjerne Bjornson"
- "Armed with his mighty hammer Mjolmer" changed to "Armed with
his mighty hammer Mjolnir"
- "Moldoen" changed to "Moldoeen"
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
NORWAY
BY THE SAME ARTIST AND
AUTHOR
Holland
CONTAINING 76 FULL-PAGE
ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
PRICE 20c. NET
Agents in America
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 and 66 Fifth Avenue, New York
[Illustration: COUNTRY GIRL FROM DALEN]
NORWAY BY NICO
JUNGMAN. TEXT BY
BEATRIX JUNGMAN
PUBLISHED BY A. & C.
BLACK LONDON W
Published April 1905
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
PRECARIOUS TRAVEL 3
CHAPTER II
BROTTEM, AUNE, SLIPER, GJORA, SUNDALSOREN, ETC. 23
CHAPTER III
ON THE FJORDS 45
CHAPTER IV
MINOR ROMANTIC EPISODES 63
CHAPTER V
MAINLY ABOUT SAINTS 85
CHAPTER VI
ARTS AND CRAFTS 107
CHAPTER VII
FARM-HOUSES: WEDDING FESTIVITIES 129
CHAPTER VIII
FORESTRY: REINDEER: LAND TENURES 149
CHAPTER IX
FISHERIES: THE LAPPS: RELIGION AND MORALS: MUSIC 169
CHAPTER X
LEGENDS AND LITERATURE 187
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
1. Country Girl from Dalen _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
2. Trondhjem--Old Boats 4
3. Costume worn in the Bergen District 6
4. The Road to Hell, near Trondhjem 8
5. White Cap worn in the Bergen District 10
6. Trondhjem 12
7. Little Girl of Telemarken 14
8. Making the Dinner--a Cottage Interior at Saelbo 16
9. Bergen 18
10. On the Fjord, Sundalsoren 20
11. Country-women selling Berries on the Road to
Storen 24
12. Norwegian Captain 26
13. Farm-house and Mill at Gjora 28
14. Mountains and River at Gjora 30
15. A Little Farm on the Riverside at Gjora 32
16. Ostre Kanalhavn, Trondhjem 34
17. The Town of Molde 36
18. Woman Spinning, Sundalsoren 38
19. Snow-capped Mountain at Sundalsoren 40
20. Old Warehouse and Boats, Molde 46
21. Mountains and Fjord facing Molde 48
22. Moldoeen 50
23. Bergen 52
24. A Fair Maiden of North Bergen 54
25. Bergen Boats and Warehouses 56
26. Vaefos, Hildal, Hardanger 58
27. A Hardanger Country Girl 64
28. Skjaeggedalsfos, Hardanger 66
29. Hardanger Headdress 68
30. River at Haukeli 70
31. A Peasant of Saetersdalen 72
32. Espelandsfos, Hardanger 74
33. A Boy of Saetersdalen 76
34. Sundalsfjord 78
35. Saetersdalen Girl in National Costume 80
36. Saetersdalen Peasant Girl 86
37. Moldoeen 88
38. A Cottage Interior, Telemarken 90
39. A Norwegian Girl 92
40. Kjendalsbrae 94
41. A Typical Norwegian Maiden 96
42. A Baby of Telemarken 98
43. Romsdals Horn 100
44. Old Age, Telemarken 102
45. Romsdals Waterfall 108
46. The Houses of Parliament (Storthing),
Christiania 110
47. Ski Sports--the Great Holmencollen Day
outside Christiania 112
48. Room by Munthe at Holmencollen 114
49. Skiers drinking Goosewine 116
50. Girls on Overturned Sledge, Holmencollen 118
51. Old Canal, Christiania 120
52. Sledging by Torchlight 122
53. Making Native Tapestry 124
54. Bird's-eye View of Christiania 126
55. A Vosse Bride 130
56. Farm-houses built of Poles 132
57. Country Girl, Bergen District 138
58. Saetersdalen Bride 140
59. A Hardanger Bride 142
60. Making "Flad-Brod"--a Cottage Interior 144
61. Snow Plough drawn by Eight or Ten Horses 150
62. Fishing through the Ice on Christiania Fjord 152
63. Fishing-nets at Sundalsoren 156
64. The Midnight Sun 158
65. Mundal, Fjaerland, Sognefjord 162
66. Fishing-boats at Lofoten 170
67. A Little Saetersdalen Peasant Girl 172
68. Buerbrae, Odde Hardanger 174
69. A Lapp Mother and Child 176
70. Snow-capped Mountains at Aune 178
71. River at Gjora 182
72. Grieg 184
73. Henrik Ibsen 188
74. Bjornstjerne Bjornson 190
75. Fridtjof Nansen 192
PRECARIOUS TRAVEL
NORWAY
CHAPTER I
PRECARIOUS TRAVEL
Of the sea voyage to Norway the less said the better. It is my habit
to be ill when I am at sea. That is unfortunate; but habit in itself
engenders a mode of philosophy that makes many of the evils of life
more easily bearable than they might otherwise be. I expect to be ill,
and literally lay myself out for it; but Nico takes up an attitude of
aggrieved surprise that the ocean should thus overcome him, and
consequently is a far greater sufferer than I am. However, it is easy
to assume a more or less frivolous tone when all is over, and the fact
must be admitted that the voyage to Norway is almost invariably
unpleasant to the majority. From the Continent, one can go overland;
but such a country as Norway should be approached by sea. Still, many
a valiant sportsman prefers the land for his return when the autumn
winds begin to blow, and so it is not surprising that less hardy
natures are inclined to do the same. It was summer when I visited
Norway for the first time; and, although one has frequent chances of
viewing the coast as one steams along it from Stavanger to Trondhjem,
I did not really begin to take any interest in the country until I had
rested and eaten for some days in the latter town. Certainly I had one
experience in Bergen during the two or three hours that we stopped
there on our way north. With my usual insatiable thirst for
dissipation, I insisted on visiting a circus I had discovered upon the
outskirts of the town. The performance was not very thrilling; but we
are neither of us difficult to please, and we stayed rather late.
Thus, when we returned to the quay the gangway of our vessel was being
pulled up. Nico made a rush for it, and was saved; but could not
prevent the sailors from completing their task, and thus I was left
lamenting. However, the sailors finally threw me a rope, and I managed
to scramble on to the deck. It was most undignified, and, I am afraid,
from the safety of the deck a most laughable spectacle; and I fled
to hide my embarrassment in my cabin, ultimately going supperless to
bed.
[Illustration: TRONDHJEM--OLD BOATS
The form of the ancient Viking ships is still preserved in these
boats]
In Trondhjem it rained all day and all night, and the inhabitants
cheerfully told us that it was always so. Nico, however, painted in
the rain, enveloped in mackintoshes and encompassed by umbrellas, and
was much disgusted to find that he attracted no attention at all.
Accustomed as I am to be an object of inquisitive interest to the
inhabitants of small Dutch towns, I was rather relieved to be taken so
absolutely for granted in Norway, in spots unfrequented even by ardent
fishermen.
At Trondhjem we were delighted with the delicious salmon and
sea-trout; but after some weeks of salmon for breakfast, salmon for
dinner, and salmon for supper, I found myself wondering whether it was
all that it had seemed to me at first. I am rather ashamed to have to
confess that, in spite of the fact that wherever English was spoken
the chances were that the conversation turned upon salmon or trout
fishing, neither Nico nor I know anything of those earlier and more
exciting passages in the salmon's career which culminate in his
presence at the table. It may be said that, with the exception of the
Germans, who visit the coast-line in ship-loads, there are
practically no _tourists_ in Norway. Fish seem to be the main object
of the stranger within her gates; and, as I have long despaired of
grafting a sporting taste upon the artistic temperament, I decided
then and there to leave the subject severely alone.
Besides the anglers, many men go over for shooting. There are still
wild animals to be found; licences are very cheap; and the Government
even offers a reward for the slaughter of certain beasts. In the case
of the rarer animals, such as the elk and the wild reindeer, certain
restrictions are placed upon the foreign hunter. On the payment of a
sum between ten and twelve pounds he is allowed to kill three reindeer
and one elk. The native hunter suffers from the same restrictions; but
his licence costs him very much less.
[Illustration: COSTUME WORN IN THE BERGEN DISTRICT]
All this has little to do with Trondhjem. We were rather unlucky
there, and were not, perhaps, so much impressed as we ought to have
been. Calculations based upon careful study of the guide-book proved
to be incorrect, and we found the doors of the Cathedral constantly
closed against us. As it is _the_ object of interest in the place, we
were somewhat impatient, and, when we did contrive to obtain entrance,
were not in any way mollified to find the building pervaded by
spectacled and reverential Germans, who bestowed superciliously
indignant glances upon us, as on persons who were unjustly sharing a
view arranged for their party specially. It is certainly a most
beautiful building, and is being restored in a worthy manner. I
remarked as much to Nico at the moment, but was immediately suppressed
by the ancient guardian acting as our guide, who begged me in very
stately broken English not to interrupt his discourse. Later we went
to a music-hall and sat through a most extraordinary programme twice
repeated. Nico ordered beer, and was served with an immense plate of
variegated sandwiches in addition. This, I believe, was in accordance
with the law that forbids the sale of intoxicating liquors unless food
is served with them. All over Norway the most complicated laws are in
force with respect to drink, and these laws seem to be different in
every town and village. I have not gone into the subject deeply; but
it is certainly a rare thing to meet with a drunken Norwegian in the
country parts.
Trondhjem always has been, and still is, the crowning place of the
Norwegian kings. It seems to me that it is a long way to go for such a
purpose; but I concluded that it was an affair in which the kings
alone were concerned. We walked out to a beautiful waterfall near the
town, called the Lerfos, and came back by rail. Some idea of the speed
attained by the trains may be gathered from the fact that, although
the train had started when we reached the station, we were able to
board it quite easily after it had gone some distance. Then, one very
wet morning we decided that we had had enough of the place, and,
shaking the mud from our boots, we took train to Hell. I refrain from
the obvious little jokes that may be made upon such a journey, and
merely record the fact that we arrived very cold, and soon became very
wet during our stay there. The station buildings were all locked up;
and we wandered about disconsolately, waiting for the cart which was
to meet us and drive us to Saelbo, where we had decided to spend a few
days. The vehicle which we had chosen was a _stolkjaerre_, and I must
here explain some of the difficulties of locomotion peculiar to
Norway. The mileage of railway is small in proportion to the size of
the country: the natural formation of the land presents immense
difficulties to the engineer. To these obstacles must be added the
very hard winters, the heavy rainfall, and the exceeding scantiness
of the population in many parts of the country. Consequently, almost
all travelling is carried out by means of an admirably arranged
posting system. On all the roads, at distances varying from seven to
eleven miles, may be found posting stations where | 563.25425 |
2023-11-16 18:26:27.5361740 | 7,270 | 10 |
Produced by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
THE MISCHIEF-MAKER
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
AUTHOR OF "THE LIGHTED WAY," "THE TEMPTING OF TAVERNAKE," "HAVOC," ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HANSON BOOTH
1913
CONTENTS
BOOK ONE
CHAPTER
I SYMPATHY AND SELFISHNESS
II AN INDISCREET LETTER
III A RUINED CAREER
IV A BUNCH OF VIOLETS
V A SENTIMENTAL EPISODE
VI AT THE CAFE L'ATHENEE
VII COFFEE FOR THREE
VIII IN PARIS
IX MADAME CHRISTOPHOR
X BETTER ACQUAINTANCE
XI THE TOYMAKER FROM LEIPZIG
XII AT THE RAT MORT
XIII POLITICS AND PATRIOTISM
XIV THE MORNING AFTER
XV BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
XVI "HAVE YOU EVER LOVED?"
XVII KENDRICKS IS HOST
XVIII A MEETING OF SOCIALISTS
XIX AN OFFER
XX FALKENBERG ACTS
BOOK TWO
CHAPTER
I THE FLIGHT OF LADY ANNE
II "TO OUR NEW SELVES"
III WORK FOR JULIEN
IV A STARTLING DISCLOSURE
V THE FIRST ARTICLE
VI FALKENBERG FAILS
VII LADY ANNE DECLINES
VIII A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
IX FOOLHARDY JULIEN
X THE SECOND ATTEMPT
XI BY THE PRINCE'S ORDERS
XII DISTRESSING NEWS
XIII ESTERMEN'S DEATH WARRANT
XIV SANCTUARY
XV NEARING A CRISIS
XVI FALKENBERG'S LAST REPORT
XVII DEFEAT FOR FALKENBERG
XVIII THE ONE WAY OUT
XIX ALL ENDS WELL
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Really," he said, "I thought better of Herr Freudenberg"
"At least," she reminded him, "you are going to see Madame
Christophor?"
"Splendid!" he muttered, rising to his feet. "If only I can do it!"
"Let me present to you Monsieur Bourgan of the French Detective
Service"
BOOK ONE
CHAPTER I
SYMPATHY AND SELFISHNESS
The girl who was dying lay in an invalid chair piled up with cushions
in a sheltered corner of the lawn. The woman who had come to visit her
had deliberately turned away her head with a murmured word about the
sunshine and the field of buttercups. Behind them was the little
sanitarium, a gray stone villa built in the style of a chateau,
overgrown with creepers, and with terraced lawns stretching down to the
sunny corner to which the girl had been carried earlier in the day.
There were flowers everywhere--beds of hyacinths, and borders of purple
and yellow crocuses. A lilac tree was bursting into blossom, the breeze
was soft and full of life. Below, beyond the yellow-starred field of
which the woman had spoken, flowed the Seine, and in the distance one
could see the outskirts of Paris.
"The doctor says I am better," the girl whispered plaintively. "This
morning he was quite cheerful. I suppose he knows, but it is strange
that I should feel so weak--weaker even day by day. And my cough--it
tears me to pieces all the time."
The woman who was bending over her gulped something down in her throat
and turned her head. Although older than the invalid whom she had come
to visit, she was young and very beautiful. Her cheeks were a trifle
pale, but even without the tears her eyes were almost the color of
violets.
"The doctor must know, dear Lucie," she declared. "Our own feelings so
often mean nothing at all."
The girl moved a little uneasily in her chair. She, also, had once been
pretty. Her hair was still an exquisite shade of red-gold, but her
cheeks were thin and pinched, her complexion had gone, her clothes fell
about her. She seemed somehow shapeless.
"Yes," she agreed, "the doctor knows--he must know. I see it in his
manner every time he comes to visit me. In his heart," she added,
dropping her voice, "he must know that I am going to die."
Her eyes seemed to have stiffened in their sockets, to have become
dilated. Her lips trembled, but her eyes remained steadfast.
"Oh! madame," she sobbed, "is it not cruel that one should die like
this! I am so young. I have seen so little of life. It is not just,
madame--it is not just!"
The woman who sat by her side was shaking. Her heart was torn with
pity. Everywhere in the soft, sunlit air, wherever she looked, she
seemed to read in letters of fire the history of this girl, the history
of so many others.
"We will not talk of death, dear," she said. "Doctors are so wonderful,
nowadays. There are so few diseases which they cannot cure. They seem
to snatch one back even from the grave. Besides, you are so young. One
does not die at nineteen. Tell me about this man--Eugene, you called
him. He has never once been to see you--not even when you were in the
hospital?"
The girl began to tremble.
"Not once," she murmured.
"You are sure that he had your letters? He knows that you are out here
and alone?"
"Yes, he knows!"
There was a short silence. The woman found it hard to know what to say.
Somewhere down along the white, dusty road a man was grinding the music
of a threadbare waltz from an ancient barrel-organ. The girl closed her
eyes.
"We used to hear that sometimes," she whispered, "at the cafes. At one
where we went often they used to know that I liked it and they always
played it when we came. It is queer to hear it again--like this....
Oh, when I close my eyes," she muttered, "I am afraid! It is like
shutting out life for always."
The woman by her side got up. Lucie caught at her skirt.
"Madame, you are not going yet?" she pleaded. "Am I selfish? Yet you
have not stayed with me so long as yesterday, and I am so lonely."
The woman's face had hardened a little.
"I am going to find that man," she replied. "I have his address. I want
to bring him to you."
The girl's hold upon her skirt tightened.
"Sit down," she begged. "Do not leave me. Indeed it is useless. He
knows. He does not choose to come. Men are like that. Oh! madame, I
have learned my lesson. I know now that love is a vain thing. Men do
not often really feel it. They come to us when we please them, but
afterwards that does not count. I suppose we were meant to be
sacrificed. I have given up thinking of Eugene. He is afraid, perhaps,
of the infection. I think that I would sooner go out of life as I lie
here, cold and unloved, than have him come to me unwillingly."
The woman could not hide her tears any longer. There was something so
exquisitely fragile, so strangely pathetic, in that prostrate figure by
her side.
"But, my dear," she faltered,--
"Madame," the girl interrupted, "hold my hand for a moment. That is the
doctor coming. I hear his footstep. I think that I must sleep."
Madame Christophor--she had another name, but there were few occasions
on which she cared to use it--was driven back to Paris, in accordance
with her murmured word of instruction, at a pace which took little heed
of police regulations or even of safety. Through the peaceful lanes,
across the hills into the suburbs, and into the city itself she passed,
at a speed which was scarcely slackened even when she turned into the
Boulevard which was her destination. Glancing at the slip of paper
which she held in her hand, she pulled the checkstring before a tall
block of buildings. She hurried inside, ascended two flights of stairs,
and rang the bell of a door immediately opposite her. A very
German-looking manservant opened it after the briefest of delays--a man
with fair moustache, fat, stolid face and inquisitive eyes.
"Is your master in," she demanded, "Monsieur Estermen?"
The man stared at her, then bowed. The appearance of Madame Christophor
was, without doubt, impressive.
"I will inquire, madame," he replied.
"I am in a hurry," she said curtly. "Be so good as to let your master
know that."
A moment later she was ushered into a sitting-room--a man's apartment,
untidy, reeking of cigarette smoke and stale air. There were
photographs and souvenirs of women everywhere. The windows were
fast-closed and the curtains half-drawn. The man who stood upon the
hearthrug was of medium height, dark, with close-cropped hair and a
black, drooping moustache. His first glance at his visitor, as the door
opened, was one of impertinent curiosity.
"Madame?" he inquired.
"You are Monsieur Estermen?"
He bowed. He was very much impressed and he endeavored to assume a
manner.
"That is my name. Pray be seated."
She waved away the chair he offered.
"My automobile is in the street below," she said. "I wish you to come
with me at once to see a poor girl who is dying."
He looked at her in amazement.
"Are you serious, madame?"
"I am very serious indeed," she replied. "The girl's name is Lucie
Renault."
For the moment he seemed perplexed. Then his eyebrows were slowly
raised.
"Lucie Renault," he repeated. "What do you know about her?"
"Only that she is a poor child who has suffered at your hands and who
is dying in a private hospital," Madame Christophor answered. "She has
been taken there out of charity. She has no friends, she is dying
alone. Come with me. I will take you to her. You shall save her at
least from that terror."
It was the aim of the man with whom she spoke to be considered modern.
A perfect and invincible selfishness had enabled him to reach the
topmost heights of callousness, and to remain there without
affectation.
"If the little girl is dying," he said, "I am sorry, for she was pretty
and companionable, although I have lost sight of her lately. But as to
my going out to see her, why, that is absurd. I hate illness of all
sorts."
The woman looked at him steadfastly, looked at him as though she had
come into contact with some strange creature.
"Do you understand what it is that I am saying?" she demanded. "This
girl was once your little friend, is it not so? It was for your sake
that she gave up the simple life she was living when you first knew
her, and went upon the stage. The life was too strenuous for her. She
broke down, took no care of herself, developed a cough and alas!
tuberculosis."
The man sighed. He had adopted an expression of abstract sympathy.
"A terrible disease," he murmured.
"A terrible disease indeed," Madame Christophor repeated. "Do you not
understand what I mean when I tell you that she is dying of it? Very
likely she will not live a week--perhaps not a day. She lies there
alone in the garden of the hospital and she is afraid. There are none
who knew her, whom she cares for, to take her into their arms and to
bid her have no fear. Is it not your place to do this? You have held
her in your arms in life. Don't you see that it is your duty to cheer
her a little way on this last dark journey?"
The man threw away his cigarette and moved to the mantelpiece, where he
helped himself to a fresh one from the box.
"Madame," he said, "I perceive that you are a sentimentalist."
She did not speak--she could not. She only looked at him.
"Death," he continued, lighting his cigarette, "is an ugly thing. If it
came to me I should probably be quite as much afraid--perhaps
more--than any one else. But it has not come to me just yet. It has
come, you tell me, to little Lucie. Well, I am sorry, but there is
nothing I can do about it. I have no intention whatever of making
myself miserable. I do not wish to see her. I do not wish to look upon
death, I simply wish to forget it. If it were not, madame," he added,
with a bow and a meaning glance from his dark eyes, "that you bring
with you something of your own so well worth looking upon, I could
almost find myself regretting your visit."
She still regarded him fixedly. There was in her face something of that
shrinking curiosity with which one looks upon an unclean and horrible
thing.
"That is your answer?" she murmured.
The man had little understanding and he replied boldly.
"It is my answer, without a doubt. Lucie, if what you tell me is true,
as I do not for a moment doubt, is dying from a disease the ravages of
which are hideous to watch, and which many people believe, too, to be
infectious. Let me advise you, madame, to learn also a little wisdom.
Let me beg of you not to be led away by these efforts of sentiment,
however picturesque and delightful they may seem. The only life that is
worth considering is our own. The only death that we need fear is our
own. We ought to live like that."
The woman stood quite still. She was tall and she was slim. Her figure
was exquisite. She was famous throughout the city for her beauty. The
man's eyes dwelt upon her and the eternal expression crept slowly into
his face. He seemed to understand nothing of the shivering horror with
which she was regarding him.
"If it were upon any other errand, madame," he continued, leaning
towards her, "believe, I pray you, that no one would leave this room to
become your escort more willingly than I."
She turned away.
"You will not leave me already?" he begged.
"Monsieur," she declared, as she threw open the door before he could
reach it, "if I thought that there were many men like you in the world,
if I thought--"
She never finished her sentence. The emotions which had seized her were
entirely inexpressible. He shrugged his shoulders.
"My dear lady," he said, "let me assure you that there is not a man of
the world in this city who, if he spoke honestly, would not feel
exactly as I do. Allow me at least to see you to your automobile."
"If you dare to move," she muttered, "if you dare--"
She swept past him and down the stairs into the street. She threw
herself into the corner of the automobile. The chauffeur looked around.
"Where to, madame?" he inquired.
She hesitated for a moment. She had affairs of her own, but the thought
of the child's eyes came up before her.
"Back to the hospital," she ordered. "Drive quickly."
They rushed from Paris once more into the country, with its spring
perfumes, its soft breezes, its restful green, but fast though they
drove another messenger had outstripped them. From the little chapel,
as the car rolled up the avenue, came the slow tolling of a bell.
Madame Christophor stood on the corner of the lawn alone. The invalid
chair was empty. The blinds of the villa were being slowly lowered. She
turned around and looked toward the city. It seemed to her that she
could see into the rooms of the man whom she had left a few minutes
ago. A lark was singing over her head. She lifted her eyes and looked
past him up to the blue sky. Her lips moved, but never a sound escaped
her. Yet the man who sat in his rooms at that moment, yawning and
wondering where to spend the evening, and which companion he should
summon by telephone to amuse him, felt a sudden shiver in his veins.
CHAPTER II
AN INDISCREET LETTER
The library of the house in Grosvenor Square was spacious, handsome and
ornate. Mr. Algernon H. Carraby, M.P., who sat dictating letters to a
secretary in an attitude which his favorite photographer had rendered
exceedingly familiar, at any rate among his constituents, was also, in
his way, handsome and ornate. Mrs. Carraby, who had just entered the
room, fulfilled in an even greater degree these same characteristics.
It was acknowledged to be a very satisfactory household.
"I should like to speak to you for a moment, Algernon," his wife
announced.
Mr. Carraby noticed for the first time that she was carrying a letter
in her hand. He turned at once to his secretary.
"Haskwell," he said, "kindly return in ten minutes."
The young man quitted the room. Mrs. Carraby advanced a few steps
further towards her husband. She was tall, beautifully dressed in the
latest extreme of fashion. Her movements were quiet, her skin a little
pale, and her eyebrows a little light. Nevertheless, she was quite a
famous beauty. Men all admired her without any reservations. The best
sort of women rather mistrusted her.
"Is that the letter, Mabel?" her husband asked, with an eagerness which
he seemed to be making some effort to conceal.
She nodded slowly. He held out his hand, but she did not at once part
with it.
"Algernon," she said quietly, "you know that I am not very scrupulous.
We both of us want success--a certain sort of success--and we have both
of us been content to pay the price. You have spent a good deal of
money and you have succeeded very well indeed. Somehow or other, I feel
to-day as though I were spending more than money."
He laughed a little uncomfortably.
"My dear Mabel!" he protested. "You are not going to back out, are
you?"
"No," she replied, "I do not think that I shall back out. There is
nothing in the whole world I want so much as to have you a Cabinet
Minister. If there had been any other way--"
"But there is no other way," her husband interrupted. "So long as
Julien Portel lives, I should never get my chance. He holds the post I
want. Every one knows that he is clever. He has the ear of the Prime
Minister and he hates me. My only chance is his retirement."
Mrs. Carraby looked at the letter.
"Well," she said, "I have played your game for you. I have gone even to
the extent of being talked about with Julien Portel."
Her husband moved uneasily in his chair.
"That will all blow over directly," he declared. "Besides, if--if
things go our way, we shan't see much more of Portel. Give me the
letter."
Still she hesitated. It was curious that throughout the slow evolution
of this scheme to break a man's life, for which she was mainly
responsible, she had never hesitated until this moment. Always it had
been fixed in her mind that Algernon was to be a Cabinet Minister; she
was to be the wife of a Cabinet Minister. That there were any other
things greater in life than the gratification of so reasonable an
ambition had never seemed possible. Now she hesitated. She looked at
her husband and she saw him with new eyes. He seemed suddenly a mean
little person. She thought of the other man and there was a strange
quiver in her heart--a very unexpected sensation indeed. There was a
difference in the breed. It came home to her at that moment. She found
herself even wondering, as she swung the letter idly between her thumb
and fore-finger, whether she would have been a different woman if she
had had a different manner of husband.
"The letter!" he repeated.
She laid it calmly on the desk before him.
"Of course," she said coldly, "if you find the contents affectionate
you must remember that I am in no way responsible. This was your
scheme. I have done my best."
The man's fingers trembled slightly as he broke the seal.
"Naturally," he agreed, pausing for an instant and looking up at her.
"I knew that I could trust you or I would never have put such an idea
into your head."
She laughed; a characteristic laugh it was, quite cold, quite
mirthless, apparently quite meaningless. Carraby turned back to the
letter, tore open the envelope and spread it out before them. He read
it out aloud in a sing-song voice.
_Downing Street. Tuesday_
MY DEAREST MABEL,
I had your sweet little note an hour ago. Of course I was disappointed
about luncheon, as I always am when I cannot see you. Your promise to
repay me, however, almost reconciles me.
The man looked up at his wife.
"Promise?" he repeated hoarsely. "What does he mean?"
"Go on," she said, with unchanged expression. "See if what you want is
there."
The man continued to read:
I am going to ask you a very great favor, Mabel. When we are alone
together, I talk to you with absolute freedom. To write you on matters
connected with my office is different. I know very well how deep and
sincere your interest in politics really is, and it has always been one
of my greatest pleasures, when with you, to talk things over and hear
your point of view. Without flattery, dear, I have really more than
once found your advice useful. It is your understanding which makes our
companionship always a pleasure to me, and I rely upon that when I beg
you not to ask me to write you again on matters to which I have really
no right to allude. You do not mind this, dear? And having read you my
little lecture, I will answer your question. Yes, the Cabinet Council
was held exactly as you surmise. With great difficulty I persuaded
B---- to adopt my view of the situation. They are all much too
terrified of this war bogey. For once I had my own way. Our answer to
this latest demand from Berlin was a prompt and decisive negative.
Nothing of this is to be known for at least a week.
I am sorry your husband is such a bear. Perhaps on Monday we may meet
at Cardington House?
Please destroy this letter at once.
Ever affectionately yours,
JULIEN.
The man's eyes, as he read, grew brighter.
"It is enough?" the woman asked.
"It is more than enough!"
Slowly he replaced it in its envelope and thrust it into the
breast-pocket of his coat.
"What are you going to do with it?" she inquired.
"I have made my plans," he answered. "I know exactly how to make the
best and most dignified use of it."
He rose to his feet. Something in his wife's expression seemed to
disturb him. He walked a few steps toward the door and came back again.
"Mabel," he said, "are you glad?"
"Naturally I am glad," she replied.
"You have no regrets?"
Again she laughed.
"Regrets?" she echoed. "What are they? One doesn't think about such
things, nowadays."
They stood quite still in the centre of that very handsome apartment.
They were almost alien figures in the world in which they moved,
Carraby, the rankest of newcomers, carried into political life by his
wife's ambitions, his own self-amassed fortune, and a sort of subtle
cunning--a very common substitute for brains; Mrs. Carraby, on whom had
been plastered an expensive and ultra-fashionable education, although
she was able perhaps more effectually to conceal her origin, the
daughter of a rich Yorkshire manufacturer, who had secured a paid
entrance into Society. They were purely artificial figures for the very
reason that they never admitted any one of these facts to themselves,
but talked always the jargon of the world to which they aspired, as
though they were indeed denizens therein by right. At that moment,
though, a single natural feeling shook the man, shook his faith in
himself, in life, in his destiny. There was Jewish blood in his veins
and it made itself felt.
"Mabel," he began, "this man Portel--you've flirted with him, you say?"
"I have most certainly flirted with him," she admitted quietly.
"He hasn't dared--"
A flash of scorn lit her cold eyes.
"I think," she said, "that you had better ask me no questions of that
sort."
Carraby went slowly out. Already the moment was passing. Of course he
could trust his wife! Besides, in his letter was the death warrant of
the man who stood between him and his ambitions. Mrs. Carraby listened
to his footsteps in the hall, heard his suave reply to his secretary,
heard his orders to the footman who let him out. From where she stood
she watched him cross the square. Already he had recovered his alert
bearing. His shoes and his hat were glossy, his coat was of an
excellent fit. The woman watched him without movement or any change of
expression.
CHAPTER III
A RUINED CAREER
Sir Julien Portel stood in the middle of his bedroom, dressed in shirt
and trousers only. The sofa and chairs around him were littered with
portions of the brilliant uniform which he had torn from his person a
few minutes before with almost feverish haste. His perplexed servant,
who had only just arrived, was doing his best to restore the room to
some appearance of order.
"You needn't mind those wretched things for the present, Richards," his
master ordered sharply. "Bring the rest of the tweed traveling suit
like the trousers I have on, and then see about packing some clothes."
The man ceased his task. He looked around, a little bewildered.
"Do I understand that you are going out of town tonight, Sir Julien?"
he asked.
"I am going on to the continent by the nine o'clock train," was the
curt reply.
Richards was a perfectly trained servant, but the situation was too
much for him.
"You will excuse me, Sir Julien," he said, "but there is Lord
Cardington's dinner tonight, and the reception afterwards at the
Foreign Office. I have your court clothes ready."
His master laughed shortly.
"I am not attending the dinner or the reception, Richards. You can put
those things back again and get me the traveling clothes."
The man seemed a little dazed, but turned automatically towards the
wardrobe.
"Shall you require me to accompany you, sir?" he inquired.
"Not at present," Sir Julien replied. "You will have to come on with
the rest of my luggage when I have decided what to do."
Richards was not more than ordinarily inquisitive, but the
circumstances were certainly unusual.
"Do you mean, sir, that you will not be returning to London at
present?" he ventured to ask.
"I shall not be returning to London for some time," Sir Julien answered
sharply. "Get on with the packing as quickly as you can. Put the
whiskey and soda on the table in the sitting-room, and the cigarettes.
Remember, if any one comes I am not at home."
"Too late, my dear fellow," a voice called out from the adjoining room.
"You see, I have found my way up unannounced--a bad habit, but my
profession excuses everything."
The man stood on the threshold of the room opening out from the
bedroom--tall, florid, untidily dressed, with clean-shaven, humorous
face, ungloved hands, and a terribly shabby hat. He looked around the
room and shrugged his shoulders.
"What an infernal mess!" he exclaimed. "Come along out into the
sitting-room, Julien. I want to talk to you."
"I should like to know how the devil you got in here!" Sir Julien
muttered. "I told the fellow downstairs that no one was to be allowed
up."
"He did try to make himself disagreeable," the newcomer replied.
"However, here I am--that's enough."
Sir Julien turned to his servant.
"Get on with your packing, Richards," he directed, "and let me know
when you have finished."
Sir Julien followed his visitor into the sitting-room, closing the door
behind him. His manner was not in the least cordial.
"Look here, Kendricks, old fellow," he said, "I don't want to be rude,
but I am not in the humor to talk to any one. I have had a rotten week
of it and just about as much as I can stand. Help yourself to a whiskey
and soda, say what you have to say and then go."
The newcomer nodded. He helped himself to the whiskey and soda, but he
seemed in no hurry to speak. On the contrary, he settled himself down
in an easy-chair with the appearance of a man who had come to stay.
"Julien," he remarked presently, "you are up against it--up against it
rather hard. Don't trouble to interrupt me. I know pretty well all
about it. I said from the first you'd have to resign. There wasn't any
other way out of it."
"Quite right," Julien agreed. "There wasn't. I've finished up
everything to-day--resigned my office, applied for the Chiltern
Hundreds, and I am going to clear out of the country to-night."
"And all because you wrote a foolish letter to a woman!" Kendricks
murmured, half to himself. "By the bye, there's no doubt about the
letter, I suppose?"
"None in the world," Julien replied.
"There's nothing that the Press can do to set you right?"
"Great heavens, no!" Julien declared. "No one can help me. I've no one
to blame but myself. I wrote the letter--there the matter ends."
"And she passed it on to that shocking little bounder of a husband of
hers! What a creature! Did it ever occur to you that it was a plot?"
Julien shrugged his shoulders.
"It makes so little difference."
"You were in Carraby's way," Kendricks continued, producing a pipe from
his pocket and leisurely filling it. "There was no getting past you and
you were a young man. It's a dirty business."
"If you don't mind," Julien said coldly, "we won't discuss it any
further. So far as I am concerned, the whole matter is at an end. I was
compelled to take part in to-day's mummery. I hated it--that they all
knew. I suppose it's foolish to mind such things, David," he went on
bitterly, taking up a cigarette and throwing himself into a chair, "but
a year ago--it was just after I came back from Berlin and you may
remember it was the fancy of the people to believe that I had saved the
country from war--they cheered me all the way from Whitehall to the
Mansion House. To-day there was only a dull murmur of voices--a sort of
doubting groan. I felt it, Kendricks. It was like Hell, that ride!"
Kendricks nodded sympathetically.
"I suppose you know that a version of the letter is in the evening
papers?" he asked.
"My resignation will be in the later issues," Julien told him. "It was
pretty well known yesterday afternoon. I leave for the continent
to-night."
There was a short silence between the two men. In a sense they had been
friends all their lives. Sir Julien Portel had been a successful
politician, the youngest Cabinet Minister for some years. Kendricks had
never aspired to be more than a clever journalist of the vigorous type.
Nevertheless, they had been more than ordinarily intimate.
"Have you made any plans?" Kendricks inquired presently. "Of course,
you would have to resign office, but don't you think there might be a
chance of living it down?"
"Not a chance on earth," Julien replied. "As to what I am going to do,
don't ask me. For the immediate present I am going to lose myself in
Normandy or somewhere. Afterwards I think I shall move on to my old
quarters in Paris. There's always a little excitement to be got out of
life there."
Kendricks looked at his friend through the cloud of tobacco smoke.
"It's excitement of rather a dangerous order," he remarked slowly.
"I shall never be likely to forget that I am an Englishman," Julien
said. "Perhaps I may be able to do something to set matters right
again. One | 563.556214 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
FORGED EGYPTIAN
ANTIQUITIES
------------------------------------------------------------------------
AGENTS
AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
AUSTRALASIA THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
205 FLINDERS LANE, MELBOURNE
CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA LTD.
ST. MARTIN’S HOUSE, 70 BOND STREET, TORONTO
INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY LTD.
MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY
309 BOW BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: PLATE 1. A BLUE CANOPIC JAR, WITH ANUBIS HEAD. This is an
imitation of porcelain and shows very well the unevenness of the modern
glaze. Such jars were used to contain the internal organs of the dead
and were placed in the tomb beside the mummy.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
FORGED
EGYPTIAN
ANTIQUITIES
BY
T. G. WAKELING
AUTHOR OF “THE WHITE KNIGHTS”
ETC.
[Illustration: Decoration]
ADAM & CHARLES BLACK
4 SOHO SQUARE LONDON
1912
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BALLANTYNE & COMPANY LTD
TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN
LONDON
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFATORY NOTE
I WISH to express my indebtedness to Mr. and Mrs. Firth, of the Nubian
Archæological Survey, and to Dr. G. A. Reisner, of the Harvard
University Expedition, for their kindness in assisting me.
Plates I, II, XII and XVI were prepared from water-colour drawings made
by Miss Enid Stoddard, but all of the others have been reproduced direct
from the objects themselves.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCTORY 1
II. GOLD ORNAMENTS 11
III. LAPIS LAZULI FIGURES AND IRIDESCENT GLASS 27
IV. FIGURES IN WOOD 35
V. STONE FIGURES 45
VI. PORCELAIN FIGURES 61
VII. SCARABS 67
VIII. ALABASTER 95
IX. PORCELAIN, SERPENTINE AND GRANITE 99
X. MUMMIES AND MUMMY CASES 113
XI. A FORGED TOMB 119
XII. THE MAKERS AND SELLERS OF FORGED ANTIQUITIES 125
XIII. EGYPTOLOGISTS 135
REFERENCES 151
INDEX 153
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
IN COLOUR
PLATE PAGE
I. A BLUE CANOPIC JAR WITH ANUBIS HEAD Frontispiece
II. NECKLACES AND A BRACELET 24
III. WOODEN USHEBTI FIGURES 33
IV. FUNERARY FIGURES IN WOOD AND PLASTER 40
V. WOODEN ARTICLES 49
VI. STONE AND COMPOSITION FIGURES 56
VII. STONE AND OTHER FIGURES 65
VIII. SCARABS AND AMULETS 72
IX. ALABASTER 97
X. PORCELAIN, WOOD AND GLASS 104
XI. BLUE PORCELAIN 107
XII. PORCELAIN 110
XIII. BLUE PORCELAIN 113
XIV. A PIECE OF MUMMY CASE 120
XV. BEADS AND MUMMY CLOTH 137
XVI. REPRODUCTIONS FOUND IN NUBIA 114
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LIST OF FIGURES
PRINTED IN THE TEXT
PAGE
MODEL OF A FUNERARY CHAMBER; VIEW OF INTERIOR 35
MODEL OF A FUNERARY CHAMBER; COMPLETE OBJECT 37
HORUS HAWK 40
BES 41
FIGURE OF A NUBIAN, MADE OF SLATE 42
SANDSTONE TABLET AND KNEELING FIGURE 54
A WINGED SCARAB AND THE FOUR GENII 94
A SEALED JAR, MADE OF WOOD, AND PAINTED TO 101
REPRESENT STONE; PERIOD, 20TH DYNASTY
A HAWK’S HEAD, THE LID OF A CANOPIC JAR 102
SMALL ROUGH MODEL OF AN IBIS, IN PORCELAIN 106a
HATHOR 106b
JAR MADE OF SERPENTINE 108
| 563.558839 |
2023-11-16 18:26:27.6148520 | 7,382 | 51 | TOMO III (OF 3)***
E-text prepared by Carlo Traverso, Claudio Paganelli, Barbara Magni, and
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images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/lapromessasposad00scot
All three volumes are included in this one book.
Project Gutenberg has the other two volumes of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42881
Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42882
ROMANZI STORICI
DI
WALTER SCOTT
_TOMO TERZO_
LA PROMESSA SPOSA
DI
LAMMERMOOR
O NUOVI RACCONTI DEL MIO OSTIERE
RACCOLTI E PUBBLICATI
DA JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM
MAESTRO DI SCUOLA, E SAGRESTANO
DELLA PARROCCHIA DI GANDERCLEUGH
VOLGARIZZATI
_DAL PROFESSORE_
GAETANO BARBIERI
_TOMO III._
FIRENZE
TIPOGRAFIA COEN E COMP.
MDCCCXXVI.
LA PROMESSA SPOSA DI LAMMERMOOR
CAPITOLO PRIMO.
„ Tal de' suoi figli al numeroso stuolo
Segnò d'angosce miserando calle
Il primo padre! Almen compagna al duolo
In questo dell'esilio amara valle
Ebbe una sposa; io derelitto e solo
All'albergo natio volgo le spalle. „
_Waller._
Non m'arresterò a descrivere, perchè superiori ad ogni descrizione, i
sentimenti di sdegno e di cordoglio che si straziavano a vicenda il
cuore del sere di Ravenswood nell'allontanarsi dal castello de' suoi
antenati. Il biglietto di lady Asthon era concepito in termini sì
sgradevoli, che non gli sarebbe stato permesso il rimanere un istante
di più entro il recinto di quelle mura, e mostrarsi consentaneo a
quella alterezza, che in lui anche troppo allignava.
Il marchese di Athol ravvisava in parte, come arrecato a se stesso,
l'affronto sofferto dal suo parente; ma coll'animo di far qualche
tentativo a fine di riconciliare gli animi delle due parti, lo lasciò
partir solo, dopo averne ottenuta la promessa che lo aspetterebbe alla
_Tana della Volpe_, picciola osteria situata, i leggitori se ne
ricorderanno, quasi a mezza strada fra il castello di Ravenswood e la
torre di Wolfcrag, vale a dire lontana in circa quattro miglia da
ciascuno de' due castelli. Si prefiggea il Marchese di raggiungere
colà Edgardo nella sera medesima, o al più tardi alla domane del dì
successivo. Se avesse ascoltate soltanto le voci del proprio
risentimento, sarebbesi partito in quell'istante dalla casa del lord
Cancelliere; ma la sua visita nascondea in oltre politici divisamenti,
che non gli piacea metter da banda, senza avere almeno fatto prova di
mandarli ad esecuzione. Lo stesso sere di Ravenswood, ad onta della
rabbia che il lacerava, non volea chiudere ogni adito a quella
pacificazione, che poteano dare a sperare e l'opera del nobile suo
congiunto, e i sentimenti del lord Cancelliere, sempre manifestatisi
allo stesso Ravenswood favorevoli. Quindi avea confermato il Marchese
nell'intenzione di trattenersi ancora per alcune ore nell'abitazione
di ser Guglielmo, senza poi arrestarvisi egli più lungo tempo di
quello che fu necessario per concertare col parente il luogo dello
scambievol ritrovo.
Trascorse tutto il viale del castello di gran galoppo, quasi sperasse
colla rapidità del fuggire sottrarsi al tumulto degli affetti ai quali
trovavasi in preda il suo cuore; ma ogni sforzo a tal fine era vano, e
a poco a poco divenne più lento il suo corso. Poichè gli alberi ebbero
nascoste ai suoi sguardi le alte torri del castello d'onde partì, e
impotente a sbandire le penose considerazioni che gl'ingombravano
l'animo, finalmente si abbandonò alle medesime, senza prendersi veruno
studio di allontanarle. Il sentiero su cui trovavasi in quel momento,
guidava alla fontana della Sirena e alla capanna di Alisa; circostanza
per cui gli si svegliarono con forza nella mente le idee superstiziose
che in generale aveansi allora circa il preteso influsso di questa
fonte sulla casa di Ravenswood, e i suggerimenti di cui indarno la
vecchia cieca lo aveva munito.
„ Gli antichi proverbj, pensava fra se medesimo, talvolta dicono la
verità. La fontana della Sirena è stata anche di recente fatale alla
famiglia di Ravenswood, e ha veduto l'ultimo atto di follia dell'erede
della medesima. Alisa ebbe ragione, e mi trovo nello stato che da essa
mi fu predetto, in uno stato anzi più deplorabile. Lo scorno cui
soggiacio, è maggiore di quanto ella avea presagito. Se non mi sono
collegato in nodi di parentela colla famiglia del perditore della mia
gente, nondimeno mi sono avvilito a desiderarlo, ed ho provata
l'umiliazione di uno sprezzante rifiuto. „
É nostro obbligo il narrare la storia siccome ne fu raccontata, e se
verrà posto mente ai tempi ne' quali accaddero gli avvenimenti or
descritti, e alla propensione che al maraviglioso aveano coloro, per
cui opera furono successivamente di labbro in labbro trasmessi, non
arrecherà stupore, se questa leggenda è tinta dei colori della
superstizione; altrimenti, sarebb'ella mai una storia scozzese?
Presenteremo pertanto ai nostri leggitori, priva di glose, una
straordinaria avventura accaduta a Ravenswood in vicinanza della
solitaria fontana; straordinaria avventura che si ebbe in quel tempo,
e che si ha tuttavia fra gli Scozzesi, per un'apparizione
soprannaturale. Noi crediamo cionnullameno che possa venire spiegata
senza ricorrere ad un sovvertimento delle leggi ordinarie della
natura; e forse i nostri leggitori verranno, io credo, di tal avviso,
prima che si termini questo capitolo; ma abbandoniamo un tal soggetto
alle loro meditazioni, lasciando così anche agli amatori de' prodigj
la soddisfazione di trovar qualche pagina di questa storia ai loro
gusti conforme.
Circa dugento passi lontano dalla fontana, il cavallo di Edgardo,
fermatosi d'improvviso, rizzò le orecchie, impennossi e per due volte,
punto dagli speroni, ricusò di andare avanti, come se gli fosse
dinanzi qualche oggetto che lo spaventasse. Ravenswood, dopo avere
vôlti gli occhi per ogni intorno, vide fra mezzo agli alberi e alle
rovine, una donna seduta sulla stessa pietra, ove si stette in
compagnia di Lucia, quando l'un l'altro il giuramento di eterno amore
si diedero. La prima idea offertasigli all'animo fu, che Lucia avendo
immaginato che egli si terrebbe su quel sentiero, si fosse colà
trasferita per confortarlo almeno a sostenere la comune sciagura, e
per congedarsi l'estrema volta da lui. Dopo aver fatti nuovi inutili
sforzi per mandare innanzi il cavallo, finalmente ne scese, e legato
l'animale ad un albero, corse alla fonte gridando: „ Miss Asthon!
Lucia! „
L'oggetto di femminili forme che egli avea colà contemplato, si volse
immantinente verso di lui. Ma qual fu la sorpresa di Edgardo! In vece
di scorgere i lineamenti della figlia del lord Cancelliere, gli si
pararono agli occhi le luride sembianze della vecchia Alisa. Rimase
attonito per lo stupore, e più grave e misto d'involontario
atterrimento il rendettero e la singolarità dell'abito, che era un
drappo bianco, o piuttosto bigio, affatto simile a funereo lenzuolo,
entro cui avvolgeasi da capo a piè le fantasima e la statura che parea
più grande e diritta della statura consueta di Alisa, e soprattutto lo
strano fenomeno di veder sola e lontana quasi un miglio dalla sua
dimora una donna inferma, cieca e decrepita. Continuando egli ad
avviarsi verso quella visione di femmina, questa mise innanzi una mano
come per vietargli di procedere oltre. Un pallor di morte coprivale il
volto, e movea le labbra, come se articolasse parole, benchè non
facesse udire suono veruno. Egli proseguiva nondimeno, allorchè si
alzò in piede la larva, e camminando all'indietro sparve e si nascose,
non v'ha dubbio, fra i diroccamenti, o fra le vicine boscaglie.
Non mancava certamente di coraggio il sere di Ravenswood; ma il suo
spirito non essendo inaccessibile alle idee superstiziose che
generalmente allor dominavano, si persuase con facilità di avere avuta
una soprannaturale apparizione, e rimase alcuni istanti immobile sul
sito ove avea cessato di scorgerla. Per ultimo, chiamando intorno
all'animo tutta l'intrepidezza di cui era capace, si avvicinò alla
pietra su della quale avea veduto assiso lo spettro; ma nulla
annunziava che un ente mortale vi si fosse avvicinato, e l'erbe che le
crescevano attorno, non apparivano pêste di sorte alcuna. E parimente
addentratosi nelle boscaglie, per mezzo a cui gli sembrò sparisse la
straordinaria visione, nemmeno ivi scorse verun indizio che vi fosse
trascorsa, o vi stesse.
Colla mente ingombra di tutte quelle idee stravaganti e confuse che
vanno unite alla persuasione di aver veduto un tremendo prodigio, il
sere di Ravenswood ritornò laddove lasciato avea il cavallo, non senza
guardarsi addietro più di una volta, per verificare se il misterioso
ente fosse ricomparso. Ma o avess'egli veduto una creatura viva,
o uno Spirito, o non fosse che giuoco d'un'agitata fantasia
cotest'apparizione, certamente il prodigio non si rinnovellò a' suoi
sguardi, e trovò il suo cavallo tutto molle di sudore, e tremante, in
sentenza del cavaliere, di quella angoscia e paura che supponeasi
inspirare agli animali la presenza di uno Spirito o di una fantasma.
Benchè lo facesse camminar di passo, e lo accarezzasse colla mano per
acchetarlo, durarono per qualche tempo nel palafreno i moti convulsi,
come se avesse paventato di scorgere fra ciascun albero qualche nuova
cagione di atterrimento.
„ É egli possibile, pensava fra se medesimo, che i miei occhi m'abbiano
in tal guisa ingannato? Non ho io riconosciuti i lineamenti della
vecchia Alisa, benchè, a quanto pareami si tenesse più ritta del
solito, e più alta ne apparisse la statura, e il camminar più
leggiero? Che mai le infermità di questa vecchia fossero finte a solo
fine di eccitare l'altrui compassione? O dovrei io prestar fede a
quanto finora chiamai pregiudizj del volgo, e pensare che costei tenga
commercio collo spirito delle tenebre, o che qualche ente
soprannaturale ne abbia prese le sembianze per comparire al mio
sguardo? Voglio schiarire un tale mistero, e procurarmi un dato
stabile su cui fondar le mie idee. „
Fermo in tale proposito, si condusse all'orto di Alisa. Aperta erane
la porta, ma benchè facesse bellissima giornata, e il sole in
quell'ora scaldasse con più copiosi raggi la terra, non vide la
vecchia seduta sullo scanno, ov'era solita a trascorrere sotto il
salce piangente il suo tempo. Accostatosi alla casupola, udì una voce
femminile che mandava gemiti e grida. Picchiò alla porta, ma niun gli
rispose; onde dopo avere aspettato alcuni istanti, alzò il saliscendi,
entrò nella camera, e si trovò nel soggiorno del lutto e della
desolazione. Vedeasi steso sul letticciuolo, ove la misera cieca avea
esalato l'ultimo respiro, il corpo della medesima inanime, nè ancor
per intero agghiacciato dal freddo di morte. La giovinetta che
dimorava con essa, seduta ad un angolo della stanza, si contorcea le
mani, mettea singulti, e parea lottasse fra il dolore inspiratole
dalla morte della sua vecchia compagna, e la tema che l'idea di starsi
presso un cadavere in lei risvegliava.
Lungi dall'apportarle calma la presenza del sere di Ravenswood, parve
che le eccitasse moti di sorpresa, e pressochè di spavento. Poichè il
Sere si fu adoperato a confortarla e a farla tranquilla, questa
finalmente gli disse: „ Vi siete sollecitato, lo vedo; pure giungete
ancor troppo tardi. „ Non potendo Edgardo comprendere il significato di
queste espressioni, le mosse varie domande, e venne per ultimo a
sapere, che Alisa, sentitasi assai male tutta la notte, aveva mandato
a chiamare una vecchia sua vicina, colla quale s'intertenne quanto
tempo le forze sue le permisero; e che accorgendosi dell'approssimare
del momento estremo, l'avea incaricata di correre al castello di
Ravenswood per pregare il sere di questo nome a trasferirsi da lei; e
calcolando il tempo, la vecchia messaggiera poteva appena esservi
arrivata, mentre la giovinetta parlava. Ma i corrieri spediti dai
poveri sono per lo più negligenti, e fu verificato in appresso che la
donna scelta a tale ufizio dalla moribonda, nemmeno si lasciò vedere
al castello.
„ Intanto, continuava il suo racconto Barbara, mistress Alisa
manifestava somma impazienza; e l'agitazione del suo spirito sembrava
aumentarsi a proporzione del diminuir delle forze. Pochi istanti prima
di morire, l'ho udita volgere al cielo ferventissimi voti, perchè gli
concedesse di vedervi anche una volta, e di potervi di nuovo
rammentare le cose che vi aveva raccomandate. Ella è morta quando la
campana del vicino villaggio sonava un'ora. „
Ultimi detti della giovinetta che trassero a fremere Ravenswood, il
quale avea udito il tocco dell'ora pochi istanti prima della visione
che atterrì sì fattamente il suo cavallo; onde quasi più non potea
starsi dal dubitare, che questo non fosse stato lo spettro della
defunta.
Per un riguardo, così ai doveri della umanità, come alla memoria di
una donna mostratasi sempre affezionatissima alla casa di Ravenswood,
Edgardo si prese cura delle esequie da celebrarsele. Udì da Barbara il
desiderio espresso per più riprese dalla defunta di essere sepolta in
un cimiterio situato presso l'osteria della _Tana della Volpe_, in
mezzo a cui trovavasi la tomba edificata ab antico per accogliere le
mortali spoglie de' Ravenswood. Ed era tal cosa conforme alle usanze
dei vassalli di Scozia, i quali per lo più bramavano che le loro
ceneri andassero a giuocare vicino a quelle degli antichi lor
feudatarj; ultima prova d'affetto che ad essi porgevano, e ricompensa
ad un tempo di questo affetto. Premuroso Edgardo di compiere gli
estremi voti di quella meschina, incaricò Barbara di ricercare nel
vicino villaggio alcune donne che venissero a prestare gli ultimi
ufizj a que' mortali avanzi, offerendosi, finch'ella tornasse, di far
la guardia al cadavere; rito che aveasi per indispensabile nella
Scozia, come il fu altre volte nella Tessaglia.
Partita Barbara, Ravenswood si trovò per circa mezz'ora da solo a solo
a custodire il corpo esanime di colei che pochi istanti prima gli era
comparsa in ispirito; così egli credea, a meno che i suoi occhi e la
sua immaginazione non lo avessero nella più strana delle guise
abbagliato; complesso inusitato di circostanze che, ad onta di
posseduto naturale coraggio, in un vivissimo orgasmo il tenea.
„ Ella è morta, ei pensava, pregando fervorosamente il cielo che le
concedesse di vedermi anche una volta. Sarebb'egli dunque possibile
che un voto concepito con vivacità ed ardore nell'ultima agonia della
natura, potesse, anche dopo il nostro scioglimento, esser compiuto?
Sarebbe possibile che l'anima, prima di lanciarsi fuor dei limiti di
questo mondo mortale, serbasse la facoltà di mostrarsi a chi vi abita
tuttavia, vestita delle forme da essa un tempo animate? E perchè, e a
qual fine, tale sovvertimento delle leggi della natura sarebbe
permesso? Vane ricerche! La morte sola può appagarle, e ne fa d'uopo a
tal fine essere privi del calore di vita come quest'ente inanimato che
mi sta innanzi agli occhi. „
Così parlando, volse un guardo sul cadavere, e provando tal quale
ribrezzo a contemplare più a lungo quelle morte sembianze, le coperse
con un lenzuolo. Indi si assise sopra una scranna di scolto legno, che
portava gli stemmi della famiglia di Ravenswood; vecchio arnese di cui
era riuscita ad impossessarsi Alisa, mentre i creditori, gli ufiziali
della curia e i servi faceano preda delle suppellettili del castello
che il defunto Lord costretto videsi abbandonare. Cercò intanto di
sbandire, quanto il poteva, dalla sua mente, le superstiziose idee di
cui l'aveano le dianzi narrate cose ingombrata. E per vero dire,
stavano già in quella mente assai lugubri pensieri senza che ne
accrescessero la tetraggine i terrori derivati da soprannaturali
avvenimenti. Non bastava forse, dopo essersi veduto l'amante riamato
di lady Asthon, l'amico apprezzato e onorato dal padre della medesima,
trovarsi solo, abbandonato, e custode del cadavere di una vecchia
morta nello squallore lagrimevole dell'indigenza?
Fu nondimeno liberato d'un incarico sì penoso, più presto di quanto
avrebbe potuto ragionevolmente sperare, mediante il ritorno di
Barbara, che veniva, per valermi di una espressione militare, a
cambiarlo, accompagnata da tre donne del vicino villaggio, situato
alla distanza circa di un quarto di miglio di lì, e che erano accorse
con maggior sollecitudine di quanta poteva da esse aspettarsi.
Certamente, in qual si fosse altra occasione, si sarebbero affrettate
meno, essendo una di queste paralitica, l'altra zoppa, più che
ottuagenaria la terza. Quest'ultima, grande, fornita di forte
complessione, e ad onta degli anni, non priva affatto dell'antico
vigore, era quella medesima che avea trascorsa una parte della mattina
colla defunta. Compiacendosi le menzionate femmine della preferenza
che Barbara avea lor conceduta nel chiederle a questo funebre
incarico, non perdettero un istante per venirlo ad assumere; perchè
non avvi nella Scozia contadino d'entrambi i sessi che non faccia a
gara per vedersi scelto alla cerimonia di prestar le esequie ad un
morto. Non saprei dire, se ciò fosse per una conseguenza dell'indole
grave ed entusiastica, caratteristica, non v'ha dubbio, del popolo
scozzese, o se per una ricordanza di antiche idee, giusta le quali
l'istante degli onori funerei prestati ai morti ne diveniva uno di
godimento pei vivi; ond'è che i lauti pasti, ed anche l'ubbriachezza,
andavano e vanno per lo più in questo paese congiunti alle esequie de'
trapassati. Ma quanto piacere gli uomini provavano nella parte
sollazzevole di cotal festa, detta _Dirgie_, altrettanto ne traevan le
donne, dalla più trista; dalle cure cioè che voglionsi dare al defunto
prima di consegnarlo alla terra. Aggiustare le membra irrigidite dalla
morte sopra una tavola preparata a tal uopo, avvolgere in un bianco
lenzuolo il cadavere, collocarlo entro la bara, erano fazioni che
affidate venivano alle vecchie, e in cui le vecchie singolarmente si
deliziavano.
Giunte le tre sibille insieme a Barbara, salutarono il sere di
Ravenswood con un cupo sorriso, per cui gli tornò alla memoria lo
scontro che Amleto fe' colle streghe in mezzo al prato inaridito di
Forrer. Le fornì d'alcun po' di danaro, e raccomandò loro di prestare
gli usati ufizj al cadavere di Alisa; commissione che di tutto buon
grado accettarono, non senza fargli intendere come fosse necessario
ch'egli abbandonasse quella casupola, prima di incominciar elleno i
loro riti. Nulla di meglio Edgardo auguravasi, e rimase ivi sol quanto
facea di mestieri per chiedere in qual parte avrebbe potuto trovare il
custode del cimiterio, ove lasciò la defunta di essere sepolta, e
chiamato l'Eremitaggio, a fine d'avvertirlo che le preparasse il luogo
dell'ultimo domicilio.
„ Non faticherete molto a trovare John Mortsheugh, gli disse la
decrepita fra le tre parche; egli abita vicino alla _Tana della
Volpe_, luogo ove si sono celebrati di gran bei banchetti a motivo di
funerali; che già una cosa non può starsi senza dell'altra. „
„ É ben vero, commare, disse la zoppa appoggiandosi ad una stampella
che correggea il difetto di una gamba più di tre pollici corta
dell'altra, e mi ricordo ancora che ad uno di questi banchetti il
padre del sere di Ravenswood, qui presente, stese morto di una
stoccata per traverso al corpo il giovine Blackhall per un disparere
nato fra loro bevendo vino, o acquavite, ciò poco serve. Povero
giovine! arrivato a quella osteria allegro come un fringuello, e gli
toccò uscirne coi piedi innanzi! Spettò a me l'incarico di
seppellirlo. Quando n'ebbi ben bene asciugato il sangue, era il più
bel cadavere che mai si fosse veduto! „
Ognuno crederà senza fatica che il racconto di questa storiella
affrettò la partenza di Ravenswood; anche senza di ciò, infastidito a
morte di una tal compagnia. Ma nel tempo impiegato per andare a
ripigliare il cavallo, che lasciò legato ad un albero presso la siepe
di cinta dell'orto di Alisa, e per istringere le cinghie della sella,
e per apparecchiarsi a montarvi sopra, non potè a meno di udire un
dialogo di cui erano, interlocutrici la ottuagenaria e la zoppa, egli
argomento. La degna coppia erasi trasferita nell'orto per cogliervi
ramerino, timo e altre erbe aromatiche, una parte delle quali doveva
andare sul corpo della defunta, e la parte superflua venire adoperata
ad uso di suffumigi alla stanza. La paralitica, già stanca per la
corsa fatta, rimaneva intanto a custodire il cadavere, per paura che
le streghe, o gli Spiriti, o i demonj se ne venissero ad impadronire.
Dunque il sere di Ravenswood intese per necessità il seguente tratto
di scena.
„ Bel gambo di cicuta, o Ersilia! la zoppa dicea. Quante streghe ne'
tempi andati non avrebbero abbisognato di migliore cavalcatura per
attraversar l'aria a chiaro di luna e discendere fino nelle cantine
del re di Francia! „
„ Dite bene, Lavinia, rispondeva l'ottuagenaria. Ma oggidì, anche il
diavolo è divenuto duro quanto il lord Cancelliere e i signori del
Consiglio privato, che hanno tutti cuori di sasso. Fino i ragazzi ci
trattano come streghe; e sì! potremmo ben venti volte dire il
paternostro al rovescio, e il diavolo non ci comparirebbe nemmeno. „
„ L'avete mai veduto, Ersilia? „
„ No; altro che in sogno qualche volta, e m'aspetto bene, un dì o
l'altro, di essere bruciata per questo. Ma tanto fa! Lavinia, guarda
il bel dollaro datoci dal sere di Ravenswood! Con questo manderemo a
provvederci di pane, di birra e di tabacco, d'un po' d'acquavite che
brucieremo collo zucchero, e venga, non venga il diavolo, commare, ad
ogni modo non passeremo meno allegramente la notte. „
Accompagnò questi detti di un riso, onde la pergamena grinza delle sue
guance fece udire uno scroscio molto simile al verso di un
barbaggianni.
„ Il sere di Ravenswood, riprese a dire la zoppa, è una persona di
garbo, un uom generoso, e soprattutto un bel giovine, largo di spalle
e stretto di arnioni. Oh sarà pure il bel cadavere! Vorrei io la
commissione di seppellirlo. „
„ Eh, sorella mia! soggiunse l'ottuagenaria. Gli sta scritto in fronte,
che nè man d'uomo, nè man di donna lo stenderà sulla bara; potete
esserne certa; lo so da buona banda. „
„ Morirà dunque sul campo di battaglia, come la maggior parte de' suoi
vecchi hanno fatto? O morirà di ferro, o di fuoco? „
„ Non mi fate altre interrogazioni; credo però che non avrà lo stesso
onore che ebbero i suoi vecchi. „
„ Voi sapete, è vero, quelle cose che tanti non sanno, Ersilia; ma chi
dunque vi ha contate tutte queste particolarità intorno al sere di
Ravenswood? „
„ Non pensate a ciò: badate solo a quel che vi dico. „
„ Però, mi assicurate di non avere mai veduto il diavolo? „
„ Oh! quel che dico lo tengo da buon canale, come se l'avessi veduto.
La sorte di quel giovine era stata predetta, che egli non aveva anche
addossata la prima camicia. Le predizioni mi sono state spiegate sol
questa mattina, e si verificheranno, benchè abbiam fatto tutto il
poter nostro per impedirlo | 563.634892 |
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Produced by Julia Miller, Turgut Dincer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
A
COMMONPLACE BOOK
OF
Thoughts, Memories, and Fancies.
[Illustration]
A COMMONPLACE BOOK--
OF
Thoughts, Memories, and Fancies.
ORIGINAL AND SELECTED.
PART I.--ETHICS AND CHARACTER.
PART II.--LITERATURE AND ART.
BY MRS. JAMESON.
"Un peu de chaque chose, et rien du tout,--a la francaise!"--MONTAIGNE.
With Illustrations and Etchings.
SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED.
LONDON:
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS.
1855.
[Illustration]
PREFACE.
I must be allowed to say a few words in explanation of the contents of
this little volume, which is truly what its name sets forth--a book of
common-places, and nothing more. If I have never, in any work I have
ventured to place before the public, aspired to _teach_, (being myself a
_learner_ in all things,) at least I have hitherto done my best to
deserve the indulgence I have met with; and it would pain me if it could
be supposed that such indulgence had rendered me presumptuous or
careless.
For many years I have been accustomed to make a memorandum of any
thought which might come across me--(if pen and paper were at hand), and
to mark (and _remark_) any passage in a book which excited either a
sympathetic or an antagonistic feeling. This collection of notes
accumulated insensibly from day to day. The volumes on Shakspeare's
Women, on Sacred and Legendary Art, and various other productions,
sprung from seed thus lightly and casually sown, which, I hardly know
how, grew up and expanded into a regular, readable form, with a
beginning, a middle, and an end. But what was to be done with the
fragments which remained--without beginning, and without end--links of a
hidden or a | 563.63505 |
2023-11-16 18:26:27.6222200 | 7,435 | 61 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Note:
1. Moritz von Reichenbach is the pseudonymn for Valeska
(von Reiswitz-Kaderzin) Bethusy-Huc
2. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=bXs5AAAAMAAJ&dq
3. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
Mrs. A. L. Wister's Translations.
12mo. Cloth, $1.00 per volume.
Countess Erika's Apprenticeship By Ossip Schubin.
"O Thou, My Austria!" By Ossip Schubin.
Erlach Court By Ossip Schubin.
The Alpine Fay By E. Werner.
The Owl's Nest By E. Marlitt.
Picked Up In The Streets By H. Schobert.
Saint Michael By E. Werner.
Violetta By Ursula Zoge von Manteufel.
The Lady With The Rubies By E. Marlitt.
Vain Forebodings By E. Oswald.
A Penniless Girl By W. Heimburg.
Quicksands By Adolph Streckfuss.
Banned And Blessed By E. Werner.
A Noble Name By Claire von Gluemer.
From Hand To Hand By Golo Raimund.
Severa By E. Hartner.
A New Race By Golo Raimund.
The Eichhofs By Moritz von Reichenbach.
Castle Hohenwald By Adolph Streckfuss.
Margarethe By E. Juncker.
Too Rich By Adolph Streckfuss.
A Family Feud By Ludwig Harder.
The Green Gate By Ernst Wichert.
Only A Girl By Wilhelmine von Hillern.
Why Did He Not Die? By Ad. von Volckhauser.
Hulda By Fanny Lewald.
The Bailiff's Maid By E. Marlitt.
In The Schillingscourt By E. Marlitt.
Countess Gisela By E. Marlitt.
At The Councillor's By E. Marlitt.
The Second Wife By E. Marlitt.
The Old Mam'selle's Secret By E. Marlitt.
Gold Elsie By E. Marlitt.
The Little Moorland Princess By E. Marlitt.
* * * * *
"Mrs. A. L. Wister, through her many translations of novels from the
German, has established a reputation of the highest order for literary
judgment, and for a long time her name upon the title-page of such a
translation has been a sufficient guarantee to the lovers of fiction of
a pure and elevating character, that the novel would be a cherished
home favorite. This faith in Mrs. Wister is fully justified by the fact
that among her more than thirty translations that have been published
by Lippincott's there has not been a single disappointment. And to the
exquisite judgment of selection is to be added the rare excellence of
her translations, which has commanded the admiration of literary and
linguistic scholars."--_Boston Home Journal_.
* * * * *
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA.
THE EICHHOFS
A ROMANCE
FROM THE GERMAN
OF
MORITZ VON REICHENBACH
BY
MRS. A. L. WISTER
TRANSLATOR OF "THE SECOND WIFE," "THE OLD MAM'SELLE'S SECRET,"
"ONLY A GIRL," ETC., ETC.
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
1896.
* * * * *
Copyright, 1881, by J. B. Lippincott & Co.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. Shadows of Coming Events
II. Two Discontented Fathers
III. Hidden Springs
IV. Gossip
V. Marriage
VI. A Farewell Glass and a Death-bed
VII. Unexpected
VIII. At The Tomb
IX. Cloudy Weather at Eichhof
X. Found and Lost
XI. Thea Rounds her First Promontory
XII. Another Promontory Comes In Sight
XIII. A Period put to a Long Row of Figures
XIV. The Mistress of Eichhof and her Guests
XV. In Berlin
XVI. Revelations and their Consequences
XVII. The Consequences begin to Appear
XVIII. An Eventful Day
XIX. The Shadows Gather
XX. Dr. Nordstedt
XXI. Summer Days
XXII. A Crisis
XXIII. A Short Chapter, with a Far Glance into the Future
XXIV. Per Crucem ad Lucem
CONCLUSION
THE EICHHOFS.
CHAPTER I.
SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS.
In a box of the Berlin Opera-House sat three young officers. All wore
the uniform of the same regiment of the Guards, and all three were
directing their opera-glasses towards the same opposite box.
"The girl has just got home from boarding-school, and will have a _dot_
of half a million in cash," observed Lieutenant von Hohenstein,
dropping his opera-glass.
"The deuce she will! No end of pity that I am such an infernal
aristocrat,--it would be such a fine morsel for a poor younger son,"
said the younger of the Von Eichhof brothers, with a laugh, as he
stroked his blonde moustache. "She has a good figure, too, and any
amount of fire in her eyes."
"True," said his elder brother; "but why under heaven does the portly
mamma, with her double chin, and huge satin-clad bust, plant herself so
close to her Rose of Sharon, proclaiming to all the world, 'As she is
now so was I once, and as I am now so shall she one day be'?"
"Take warning, Hohenstein," laughed Lothar Eichhof.
"Pshaw! there's no danger," the other replied, leaning back in his
comfortable chair and stretching his long legs as far out as the limits
of the box would allow.
"Councillor Kohnheim greeted you with extreme affability, I thought,
just now, and you are well informed as to the financial affairs of the
family," Lothar persisted, in a teasing tone.
Hohenstein put up his hand to conceal a yawn. Among his peculiarities
was that of being bored everywhere and always.
"Kohnheim thinks wealth no disgrace, and loves to acquaint people with
the amount of his own," he said. "Besides, he is my landlord; of course
we are acquainted. To my German eyes, however, the ladies are of too
Oriental a type. I have no desire to know them."
"Thank heaven! then there is nothing to fear from that quarter. I
confess it vexes me when one of our good old names is allied to such a
family."
"Make your mind easy on my account," rejoined Herr von Hohenstein. "I
do not undervalue wealth, but I prize blood rather more."
Lothar Eichhof meanwhile was scanning the house, while his elder
brother, Bernhard, had withdrawn into the shadow, and was steadily
scrutinizing through his glass the foreign ambassadors' box. He now
dropped his glass, shook his head, then put up his glass again, and
finally said, more to himself than to his companions, "That is--Marzell
Wronsky--and---- He bit his lip, and did not finish the sentence.
"Marzell Wronsky?" Lothar repeated. "Where?" But as he spoke he
discovered him. "I did not know he had come back!" he exclaimed. "I
wonder if the handsome blonde beside him is his wife?"
"Probably," said Hohenstein. "Where does the lady come from? Marzell's
marriage was so sudden that one hardly knows anything about it."
"She is a kind of cousin of his," said Lothar, "with a Polish name,
ending in 'ky' or 'ka,' and was formerly married to a Hungarian, who
either died or was divorced from her. Marzell met her last year at
Wiesbaden, and shortly afterwards they were betrothed and married."
"And where has he been hiding since?"
"He has been travelling with his bride. I must go over and see them in
the next entr'acte. You will come, too?"
"Of course; this new addition to society must be inspected."
Bernhard Eichhof had taken no part in the conversation, but had
frequently glanced towards the box where the persons under discussion
were sitting. When, at the close of the act, the other two men arose,
with the evident intention of visiting its occupants, he sat still, in
apparent indecision.
"Well, are you not coming?" asked Lothar "Marzell is more your friend
than ours. I confess I am going more from curiosity than from
friendship."
Bernhard looked over at the box once more. "They are just rising;
perhaps they are going to leave the house," he said, hesitating.
"Yes, they seem to be going," said Hohenstein, resuming his seat.
"Well, then, I will go and reconnoitre," said Lothar, "and if you see
me in the box you two can come over."
In five minutes he returned. "The Wronskys are really gone. Marzell
seems to have adopted high and mighty manners since his marriage. He
puts in an appearance only during a single act. However, we shall
certainly see his wife at Eichhof, if we should fail to meet her here."
"Quite time enough for the acquaintance. I have scarcely seen Marzell
since the old school-boy days, and am not at all intimate with him
now," Bernhard remarked.
If his two companions had been less occupied with the new prima-donna,
and with the champagne supper at a noted restaurant after the opera was
over, they must have noticed that Bernhard was unusually absent-minded
and monosyllabic all through the evening. But his mood was entirely
unnoticed by them,--all the more since several brother officers joined
their party, which did not break up until long past midnight.
When at last the young men separated, the two brothers Von Eichhof
walked together to their apartments, at present beneath the same roof,
and for a while not a word was exchanged between them.
Then the younger asked, suddenly, "Shall I tell you the news, Bernhard?
I'm at the end of my income,--the last thaler went to-night."
Bernhard turned with some impatience. "Lothar," he exclaimed,
reproachfully, "this is really too much! When I helped you out last
month you promised me----"
"Come, come, my dear fellow, there's no use in that," Lothar
interrupted him. "I know as well as you do that I partake largely of
the character of the domestic fly, provided, indeed, that that insect
is endowed with a character. I frisk in the sunshine and buzz or
grumble in the shade."
"I cannot understand your jesting in such a matter, Lothar."
"But what am I to do, then?" the other rejoined. "Whether I indulge in
poor jokes or sit in sackcloth and ashes, the confounded fact remains
the same. 'All I have is gone, gone, gone,'" he hummed, _sotto voce_;
but suddenly he grew grave and sighed. "Shall I go to-morrow to Herr
Solomon Landsberger, who has often and with great kindness offered to
give me his valuable assistance?" he asked.
They walked a few steps farther in silence, and then Bernhard said, "I
can't understand what becomes of your money. You have apartments just
like mine and live very much the same life that I do."
"With the exception of the extra bills, which I dare not send to
Eichhof."
Bernhard made an impatient gesture, but Lothar went on: "I know what
you mean. You mean that I ought to think of the future, when our
positions will be so different. I ought to consider that what is all
right for the future possessor of Eichhof is supreme folly for a petty
lieutenant. All true and just; but why the deuce, then, did our father
put me in the same regiment with yourself? and why does every one
expect exactly the same from the poor lieutenant as from the eldest son
and heir? and why are people so infernally stupid as not to take into
account the immense difference between us?"
"It was certainly unfortunate," said Bernhard, "that you joined just
this regiment; no doubt you are led here into many expenses that can
hardly be avoided; but still----"
"Well, then, I'd better go to friend Solomon to-morrow, and try my luck
with him," Lothar interrupted him.
Bernhard stamped his foot impatiently.
"Don't talk nonsense!" he exclaimed. "Of course I shall help you out,
since, as you justly remark, I may send in extra accounts when I
please; but pray listen to reason, Lothar. You know that we shall
shortly cease to live here together. When I marry I can no longer
place my means at your disposal as at present."
"Ah, when Thea is your wife, I shall quarter myself upon you so soon as
my money is gone. It usually lasts until the twentieth of the month,
and then I shall ensconce myself in your happy home. But I have not
thanked you yet. Indeed, old fellow, you are a brick of a brother. Then
I need not pay my respects to friend Solomon to-morrow?"
Meanwhile they had reached their lodgings, and, as Bernhard was putting
his key in the lock, he said, "I will help you through this time,
Lothar, but remember it is the last. You must learn prudence, and it is
in direct opposition to my principles to encourage this perpetual
getting into debt. I did not, as you know, make the laws controlling
inheritance, and I cannot alter the fact that our circumstances will be
very different in the future. But I say now only just what I should say
were you in my place and I in yours. Every man must cut his coat
according to his cloth."
"And if one is a six-footer and has only a scrap of cloth, he is in a
desperate case," thought Lothar; but he kept his thought to himself,
and softly whistled an opera air as he entered their apartments with
his brother.
"It's no end of a pity that we must leave our charming quarters so
soon," he sighed, as he threw himself upon a lounge in their joint
drawing-room, which was certainly most luxuriously fitted up for a
bachelor establishment, while Bernhard opened and read, with a smile, a
letter lying upon his table.
Lothar watched him for a moment, then folded his arms and raised his
eyes to the ceiling, with an expression half resignation and half
disdain, while his thoughts ran somewhat thus: "Of course that is a
letter from Thea. What under the sun can that little country girl have
to say to him? A deuced pretty girl, and she'll make a capital wife.
It's very odd that I'm not angry with her, for there's not another
creature in the world so confoundedly in my way. If it were not for
her, we should keep our comfortable lodgings, and Bernhard, who is
certainly a trump, would go on paying my bills; and, besides, he has
grown so infernally serious since he has had that little witch's
betrothal-ring on his finger; before then we lived a jolly life enough.
It is all Thea's fault,--his immense gravity, his ceasing to pay my
debts, and our having to give up our delightful rooms. It is,
therefore, Thea who prevents my enjoying my youth, as I should do
otherwise, and yet, in spite of all this, I am rather fond of her. But
it is not my nature to bear malice towards any woman, even although she
be such an unformed little country girl as Thea, who certainly might
have been content to wait a few years longer."
"Bernhard," he suddenly said aloud, "I will withdraw to my inmost
apartment, and leave you to your letter and to dreams of future
petticoat rule."
Bernhard put his letter in his pocket. "I have finished," he said, "and
am going to bed. Thea sends her love to you."
"Of course," yawned Lothar; "thanks. We'll talk about the other matter
to-morrow?"
"Yes. Good-night, Lothar."
"Good-night, old fellow."
CHAPTER II.
TWO DISCONTENTED FATHERS.
A forest bridle-path. The ground is covered with gnarled, twisted
roots, and the way is bordered with dark pines, and firs somewhat
lighter in tone, between which only a narrow strip of spring sky shines
down upon the two riders pursuing the dim pathway. Their horses, slowly
walking abreast, seem by no means content to saunter thus; the chestnut
upon which the man is mounted champs its bit impatiently, and the gray
by its side pricks its ears, but the girl upon the back of the latter
is as interested as her companion in the conversation going on between
them, and neither pays any heed to the signs of their steeds'
impatience, while the groom riding at some distance behind them is
enjoying a huge sandwich that he has produced from his pocket, in full
security from observation.
"It is too vexatious to know nothing about it all!" the girl exclaimed.
"I am almost ashamed never to have been in Berlin."
"But, good heavens, you are so young, Adela!" her companion rejoined.
"If we are to continue friends, Walter, you will not begin again about
my fifteen years, of which there can be no further mention after next
month, when I shall be sixteen," was the irritated reply. "I am in
reality much, much older, as you know, and I know that I look older.
Only the other day Lieutenant Muellheim took me for eighteen; and if
papa would only allow me to dress suitably, and if it were not for that
stupid Almanach de Gotha that tells everybody our ages----!" She sighed
pathetically.
Walter laughed. "That sigh would sound more natural from the lips of a
lady past her prime than from those of a budding girl in her teens," he
said; adding instantly, with a meaning glance at his companion, "You
must not look so angry with me, Adela dear. If you refuse to allow me
more license in speaking than you accord to the rest of the world, I
shall address you as Fraeulein von Hohenstein and think all our
good-comradeship at an end. Must I do so? In fact, you certainly are
too much of a great lady to be my 'good comrade' any longer." He spoke
without irony, and there was a mournful earnestness in his fine eyes.
She gave her horse a light cut with her whip, that his sudden start
might give her the chance to conceal the bright blush that overspread
her face. Then she looked up, half pouting, half in entreaty, and said,
"If you want to tease me, Walter, I can't see why you came for me to
ride; you might as well have stayed at home."
Walter smiled, and saluted with his riding-whip. "Well, then, let us be
good comrades for the future, as neighbors' children ought to be," he
cried.
Her reply was a merry glance from her blue eyes.
They had reached the borders of the forest, and before them a well-kept
road, bordered by fine old trees, led directly up to an imposing pile
of buildings.
"Let us have one more canter," said Adela; and away flew the two horses
so suddenly that the groom behind them was, in his surprise, nearly
choked by his last mouthful of sandwich, and followed his mistress
coughing and gasping all the way up the avenue to the court-yard, where
the two riders drew rein.
"It has really grown so late that I cannot come in with you," said
Walter. "I must hurry home; you know we are terribly punctual about our
meals at Eichhof."
"Well, then, good-by; for only a short time, I hope," said Adela,
giving her comrade her hand, and then vanishing with the groom behind
the court-yard gate, while Walter took the road to Eichhof.
He was the third and youngest son of the Baron or Freiherr von Eichhof.
A few days previously he had passed a brilliant preparatory examination
in Berlin, and was now spending a few weeks at Eichhof before leaving
home for some university.
As he rode on he looked so grave and thoughtful that one would hardly
have suspected in him the budding student for whom, so thinks the
world, everything must be _couleur de rose_. And yet it was the thought
of this very student-time that occupied Walter now day and night. He
knew that his father had destined him for the study of law, whilst his
own wishes led him in a contrary direction. He knew further that his
wishes would meet with obstinate opposition, and he had therefore
avoided hitherto all explanations with his father. This state of things
he felt could not possibly continue longer, and he was pondering, as he
rode on thus thoughtfully, how he should clearly explain his views.
Whilst Walter was preparing for a conversation with his father that
would in all probability be far from agreeable, Adela was in the midst
of an interview of a like nature.
The Baron von Hohenstein was in fact standing at the hall door as his
young daughter reached it. He was just inspecting some young horses of
his own breeding, from which he wished to select one for the use of his
son in the capital. A magnificent gelding that had been judged by him
quite worthy to support his son's soldierly form, and to maintain the
reputation of his stud, had just been discovered to be lame. The
Freiherr turned angrily from the horse to his daughter.
"You have been gone very long, Adela," he called to her. "And it's
great nonsense your riding half the day with Walter Eichhof; you're too
old for such pranks."
Adela curled her lip rebelliously as she dismounted, and without a word
took her father's arm and drew him with her into the house.
"Papa," she said, "you are always saying, 'You are not old enough for
this, you are too young for that,' and so on. What is the matter with
me, then, that I am always too old or too young?"
But the Freiherr was not disposed to jest to-day.
"Nonsense!" he growled. "I may not think you old enough to wear a
train, but you look sufficiently like a young lady to make people stare
when they see you always with that school-boy."
"I beg pardon, papa, Walter has passed his examination."
"What is that to me? The long and the short of it is, that I won't have
you riding with him."
"But, papa, Thea Rosen rode with Bernhard Eichhof when he was a
lieutenant and she was only sixteen."
"That's an entirely different affair. Theresa Rosen was afterwards
betrothed to Bernhard Eichhof, and has done very well for herself. But
when such rides end in no betrothal they are a great folly; and if a
fledgling scarcely out of the nest should have any entanglement with a
young fellow who has neither money nor prospects, it would be a greater
folly still; and I am not the man to allow my daughter to make such a
fool of herself."
Adela had grown pale, and she looked at her father in a kind of terror
as she left his side and slipped out of the room. What was all this?
Betrothal? Such a thing had never entered her head. And to Walter? It
was all perfect nonsense. Walter was her good comrade. What could put
such ideas into her papa's head? And must she give up the rides which
had been such a pleasure to her? No; it was simply impossible. She
would tell Thea and Alma Rosen about it. What would they say? And
Walter? Should she tell Walter too? She blushed, and discovered that it
would not be easy to tell Walter. And he really had grown very tall and
handsome since his last vacation. She must watch him, and see if he had
any idea of falling in love with her. How hard it was to have no mother
to turn to at such a time! Mademoiselle Belmont, her governess, was not
at all a person to invite confidence. Adela fell into a revery, and
then looked into her mirror.
"I wonder whether Walter noticed that I dress my hair differently?" she
thought; "and does he think it becoming? I can ask him that, at all
events, when I see him next."
Meanwhile poor Walter was thinking of anything rather than of the
fashion of Adela's hair.
The Countess Eichhof, his mother, had withdrawn to her room after
dinner, and Walter was sitting on the castle terrace with his father,
or, more correctly speaking, was walking restlessly to and fro, while
his father, leaning hack in a comfortable arm-chair, was smoking a
cigarette. Count Eichhof, in spite of his years and silvery hair, was a
tall, handsome man, with sparkling eyes and ruddy complexion. The early
bleaching of his locks was a family inheritance, and became excellently
well the present representative of the Eichhof estate and title.
In his youth the Count had been an officer in the Guards, in the same
regiment where were his two elder sons at present, and where he had so
enjoyed life as to become convinced that it was altogether a capital
invention, and might still be very entertaining even with three
grown-up sons about him. He was now watching with a kind of curiosity
the manner in which these same sons would turn it to account.
The eldest had betrothed himself quite young.
"He is a susceptible fellow,--he gets his temperament from me," the
Count said, with a laugh.
The second, Lothar, was forever at odds with his income, which never
sufficed for his expenses.
"He is sowing his wild oats with a free hand,--a regular
spendthrift,--but he gets that from me. I was just like him," the Count
said, and laughed again.
And now it was Walter's turn.
In conformity to the wishes of his mother, whose family were all
diplomatists and courtiers, he was not destined to enter the army, but
was to pursue a juridical career. The Countess already saw in him a
future ambassador or minister; the Count regarded him with a curious
mixture of compassion and resignation.
"Our youngest child really should have been a daughter," he was wont to
say. "Since that's impossible, they are going to make a quill-driver of
him. Well, well, there's no help for it. I must make some concessions,
and I had my own way with the two elder boys."
Thus, instead of entering a military school, Walter had been placed
under the care of a distant relative of the Count, residing in Berlin,
where he enjoyed the advantages of the principal preparatory school in
the capital, to the surprise of his father's 'good friends and
neighbors,' who thought that a first-class provincial establishment
would have served the boy's turn quite as well, and even better.
"It is a good thing for Walter to become familiar with the capital, and
to feel at home there while he is young," the Countess observed,
without explaining, or indeed understanding herself, in what this 'good
thing' consisted.
"Let him go to Berlin," thought the Count; "he'll have a chance there
to see his brothers and his cousins in the Guards more often than
elsewhere; and the deuce is in it if, after passing his examinations,
the boy does not 'boot and saddle' and be a soldier. I know I should
have done so in his place."
And now the 'boy' had reached this point of his career, and had already
been one week at home without uttering a word upon the subject.
"There's not much of me in him," the Count thought, smoking his
cigarette, as he watched his youngest son pace the terrace to and
fro,--"not much of me; but he's a handsome fellow for all."
"'Tis a pity; your figure would suit a hussar's uniform much better
than that dress-coat," he said aloud, involuntarily. "Walter stood
still, and observed, smiling, that he could easily serve his year in
the hussars.
"Are you really determined then to stick to the quill?" his father
asked, incredulously. "You mean to go to the university?"
"Most certainly, father," Walter replied, seating himself beside the
Count. "And, since we are upon the subject, let me tell you that I have
long desired to discuss my future career with you."
"Aha! you want to change the programme?"
"Yes, father, it is my sincere desire to do so; but----"
"Now, that you get from me, Walter," the Count interrupted his son,
with a laugh. "I should have done just so; there's no ignoring this
soldier-blood of ours."
Walter leaned forward and fixed his eyes upon the marble pavement of
the terrace. "I did not mean that, sir," he said, in a low tone.
The Count looked at him in surprise.
"You don't mean that?" he repeated. "What the deuce do you mean, then?"
"I wish to continue my studies, but I have not the slightest
predilection for the law," the young man began again.
The Count looked at his son as though he were speaking some unknown
tongue.
"What is there for one of your name save the law or the army?" he
asked, his expression, which had hitherto been one of amusement,
suddenly becoming very serious. "You must be aware that those are the
only careers open to a nobleman."
"Both cost too much money and insure no independence. As a lieutenant
of the Guards, or as an ambassadorial attache, my expenses would be
very great."
"The like of this I never before imagined!" the Count exclaimed, with a
resounding slap upon his knee. "The fellow is my son, nineteen years
old; and is thinking of the amount of his expenses. What the deuce put
that into your head?"
"I know that our property lies chiefly in real estate, and that Lothar
uses a great deal of money," Walter replied, shyly.
"Ha, ha!" laughed the Count. "You are a most extraordinary specimen of
an Eichhof. I can't tell where you got that economic vein; but since
there it is, let me tell you something, my boy. The net income of the
Eichhof estates amounts to some hundred and fifty thousand marks. I
have so improved and repaired everywhere that nothing more is required
in that quarter; and we are not going to Berlin any more, it is too
much for your mother's nerves. Well, then, we can easily live, and live
well, upon sixty thousand marks a year. Therefore, if you use only
sixty thousand marks yearly for the next five years, we shall have laid
up a capital of four hundred and fifty thousand marks, without
reckoning the interest. Add to that about a hundred thousand marks of
income derived from other sources, and--you need not tell Lothar, for
he spends quite enough,--but you can easily see that you will be very
comfortable one of these days. We enjoyed our youth. Age exacts less of
life; it will not be hard for us to retrench our expenses somewhat.
And since there never was an Eichhof who died before he was at least
fifty-five,--most of them live to be seventy or eighty,--there is quite
time enough to save money. Poor fellow! your prudence is quite thrown
away."
The Count was always rather inclined to pity his youngest son, and he
did so now from the bottom of his heart, as he twisted himself a fresh
cigarette.
But Walter did not yet seem quite satisfied.
"You are very kind to your children, sir," he began once more, after a
pause; "but it was not only pecuniary considerations that influenced my
desire to change my studies. There is a profession which I should
embrace with enthusiasm, yes, which would even be more attractive to
me, could I cease to see in it a means of income. There is a study that
interests me far more than that of law,--a science to which I should
gladly devote any talent that I may possess."
"Well, well, if we must discuss the matter, at least speak
intelligibly, Walter," the Count exclaimed, impatiently. "What's all
this about profession and science?"
"Father," Walter said, taking his hand and looking full into his face
| 563.64226 |
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THE TEACHER
ESSAYS AND ADDRESSES ON EDUCATION
BY GEORGE HERBERT PALMER AND ALICE FREEMAN PALMER
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1908
COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY GEORGE HERBERT PALMER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published November 1908_
SECOND IMPRESSION
PREFACE
The papers of this volume fall into three groups, two of the three being
written by myself. From my writings on education I have selected only
those which may have some claim to permanent interest, and all but two
have been tested by previous publication. Those of the first group deal
with questions about which we teachers, eager about our immeasurable art
beyond most professional persons, never cease to wonder and debate: What
is teaching? How far may it influence character? Can it be practiced on
persons too busy or too poor to come to our class-rooms? To subjects of
what scope should it be applied? And how shall we content ourselves with
its necessary limitations? Under these diverse headings a kind of
philosophy of education is outlined. The last two papers, having been
given as lectures and stenographically reported, I have left in their
original colloquial form. A group of papers on Harvard follows, preceded
by an explanatory note, and the volume closes with a few papers by Mrs.
Palmer. She and I often talked of preparing together a book on
education. Now, alone, I gather up these fragments.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. PROBLEMS OF SCHOOL AND COLLEGE
I. The Ideal Teacher 3
II. Ethical Instruction in the Schools 31
III. Moral Instruction in the Schools 49
IV. Self-Cultivation in English 72
V. Doubts About University Extension 105
VI. Specialization 123
VII. The Glory of the Imperfect 143
II. HARVARD PAPERS
VIII. The New Education 173
IX. Erroneous Limitations of the Elective System 200
X. Necessary Limitations of the Elective System 239
XI. College Expenses 272
XII. A Teacher of the Olden Time 283
III. PAPERS BY ALICE FREEMAN PALMER
XIII. Three Types of Women's Colleges 313
XIV. Women's Education in the Nineteenth Century 337
XV. Women's Education at the World's Fair 351
XVI. Why Go to College? 364
I
PROBLEMS OF SCHOOL AND COLLEGE
I
THE IDEAL TEACHER
In America, a land of idealism, the profession of teaching has become
one of the greatest of human employments. In 1903-04 half a million
teachers were in charge of sixteen million pupils. Stating the same
facts differently, we may say that a fifth of our entire population is
constantly at school; and that wherever one hundred and sixty men,
women, and children are gathered, a teacher is sure to be among them.
But figures fail to express the importance of the work. If each year an
equal number of persons should come in contact with as many lawyers, no
such social consequences would follow. The touch of the teacher, like
that of no other person, is formative. Our young people are for long
periods associated with those who are expected to fashion them into men
and women of an approved type. A charge so influential is committed to
nobody else in the community, not even to the ministers; for though
these have a more searching aim, they are directly occupied with it but
one day instead of six, but one hour instead of five. Accordingly, as
the tract of knowledge has widened, and the creative opportunities
involved in conducting a young person over it have correspondingly
become apparent, the profession of teaching has risen to a notable
height of dignity and attractiveness. It has moved from a subordinate to
a central place in social influence, and now undertakes much of the work
which formerly fell to the church. Each year divinity schools attract
fewer students, graduate and normal schools more. On school and college
instruction the community now bestows its choicest minds, its highest
hopes, and its largest sums. During the year 1903-04 the United States
spent for teaching not less than $350,000,000.
Such weighty work is ill adapted for amateurs. Those who take it up for
brief times and to make money usually find it unsatisfactory. Success is
rare, the hours are fixed and long, there is repetition and monotony,
and the teacher passes his days among inferiors. Nor are the pecuniary
gains considerable. There are few prizes, and neither in school nor in
college will a teacher's ordinary income carry him much above want.
College teaching is falling more and more into the hands of men of
independent means. The poor can hardly afford to engage in it. Private
schools, it is true, often show large incomes; but they are earned by
the proprietors, not the teachers. On the whole, teaching as a trade is
poor and disappointing business.
When, however, it is entered as a profession, as a serious and difficult
fine art, there are few employments more satisfying. All over the
country thousands of men and women are following it with a passionate
devotion which takes little account of the income received. A trade aims
primarily at personal gain; a profession at the exercise of powers
beneficial to mankind. This prime aim of the one, it is true, often
properly becomes a subordinate aim of the other. Professional men may
even be said to offer wares of their own--cures, conversions, court
victories, learning--much as traders do, and to receive in return a kind
of reward. But the business of the lawyer, doctor, preacher, and teacher
never squares itself by equivalent exchange. These men do not give so
much for so much. They give in lump and they get in lump, without
precise balance. The whole notion of bargain is inapplicable in a sphere
where the gains of him who serves and him who is served coincide; and
that is largely the case with the professions. Each of them furnishes
its special opportunity for the use of powers which the possessor takes
delight in exercising. Harvard College pays me for doing what I would
gladly pay it for allowing me to do. No professional man, then, thinks
of giving according to measure. Once engaged, he gives his best, gives
his personal interest, himself. His heart is in his work, and for this
no equivalent is possible; what is accepted is in the nature of a fee,
gratuity, or consideration, which enables him who receives it to
maintain a certain expected mode of life. The real payment is the work
itself, this and the chance to join with other members of the profession
in guiding and enlarging the sphere of its activities.
The idea, sometimes advanced, that the professions might be ennobled by
paying them powerfully, is fantastic. Their great attraction is their
removal from sordid aims. More money should certainly be spent on
several of them. Their members should be better protected against want,
anxiety, neglect, and bad conditions of labor. To do his best work one
needs not merely to live, but to live well. Yet in that increase of
salaries which is urgently needed, care should be used not to allow the
attention of the professional man to be diverted from what is
important,--the outgo of his work,--and become fixed on what is merely
incidental,--his income. When a professor in one of our large
universities, angered by the refusal of the president to raise his
salary on his being called elsewhere, impatiently exclaimed, "Mr.
President, you are banking on the devotion of us teachers, knowing that
we do not willingly leave this place," the president properly replied,
"Certainly, and no college can be managed on any other principle."
Professional men are not so silly as to despise money; but after all, it
is interest in their work, and not the thought of salary, which
predominantly holds them.
Accordingly in this paper I address those only who are drawn to teaching
by the love of it, who regard it as the most vital of the Fine Arts, who
intend to give their lives to mastering its subtleties, and who are
ready to meet some hardships and to put up with moderate fare if they
may win its rich opportunities.
But supposing such a temper, what special qualifications will the work
require? The question asked thus broadly admits no precise answer; for
in reality there is no human excellence which is not useful for us
teachers. No good quality can be thought of which we can afford to
drop. Some day we shall discover a disturbing vacuum in the spot which
it left. But I propose a more limited problem: what are those
characteristics of the teacher without which he must fail, and what
those which, once his, will almost certainly insure him success? Are
there any such essentials, and how many? On this matter I have pondered
long; for, teaching thirty-nine years in Harvard College, I have each
year found out a little more fully my own incompetence. I have thus
been forced to ask myself the double question, through what lacks do
I fail, and in what direction lie the roots of my small successes? Of
late years I think I have hit on these roots of success and have
come to believe that there are four of them,--four characteristics which
every teacher must possess. Of course he may possess as many more as
he likes,--indeed, the more the better. But these four appear
fundamental. I will briefly name them.
First, a teacher must have an aptitude for vicariousness; and second, an
already accumulated | 563.654548 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=NTQPAAAAQAAJ.
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
Miss Arnott's
Marriage
|-------------------------------|
| BY THE SAME AUTHOR |
| |
| * * * |
| |
| CURIOS |
| ADA VERNHAM, ACTRESS |
| MRS MUSGRAVE AND HER HUSBAND |
| THE MAGNETIC GIRL |
| |
| * * * |
| |
| John Long, Publisher, London |
|_______________________________|
Miss Arnott's Marriage
By
Richard Marsh
Author of "The Beetle," etc.
London
John Long
13 & 14 Norris Street, Haymarket
1904
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. ROBERT CHAMPION'S WIFE.
II. THE WOMAN ON THE PAVEMENT.
III. THE HEIRESS ENTERS INTO HER OWN.
IV. THE EARL OF PECKHAM'S PROPOSAL.
V. TRESPASSING.
VI. AN AUTHORITY ON THE LAW OF MARRIAGE.
VII. MR MORICE PRESUMES.
VIII. THE LADY WANDERS.
IX. THE BEECH TREE.
X. THE TALE WHICH WAS TOLD.
XI. THE MAN ON THE FENCE.
XII. WHAT SHE HEARD, SAW AND FOUND.
XIII. AFTERWARDS.
XIV. ON THE HIGH ROAD.
XV. COOPER'S SPINNEY.
XVI. JIM BAKER.
XVII. INJURED INNOCENCE.
XVIII. AT THE FOUR CROSS ROADS.
XIX. THE BUTTONS OFF THE FOILS.
XX. THE SOLICITOR'S CLERK.
XXI. THE "NOTE".
XXII. ERNEST GILBERT.
XXIII. THE TWO MEN.
XXIV. THE SOMNAMBULIST.
XXV. HUGH MORICE EXPLAINS.
XXVI. THE TWO MAIDS.
XXVII. A CONFIDANT.
XXVIII. MRS DARCY SUTHERLAND.
XXIX. SOME PASSAGES OF ARMS.
XXX. MISS ARNOTT IS EXAMINED.
XXXI. THE TWO POLICEMEN.
XXXII. THE HOUSEMAID'S TALE.
XXXIII. ON HIS OWN CONFESSION.
XXXIV. MR DAY WALKS HOME.
XXXV. IN THE LADY'S CHAMBER.
XXXVI. OUT OF SLEEP.
XXXVII. WHAT WAS WRITTEN.
XXXVIII. MISS ARNOTT'S MARRIAGE.
Miss Arnott's Marriage
CHAPTER I
ROBERT CHAMPION'S WIFE
"Robert Champion, you are sentenced to twelve months' hard labour."
As the chairman of the Sessions Court pronounced the words, the
prisoner turned right round in the dock, and glanced towards where he
knew his wife was standing. He caught her eye, and smiled. What
meaning, if any, the smile conveyed, he perhaps knew. She could only
guess. It was possibly intended to be a more careless, a more
light-hearted smile than it in reality appeared. Robert Champion had
probably not such complete control over his facial muscles as he would
have desired. There was a hunted, anxious look about the eyes, a
suggestion of uncomfortable pallor about the whole countenance which
rather detracted from the impression which she had no doubt that he had
intended to make. She knew the man well enough to be aware that nothing
would please him better than that she should suppose that he regarded
the whole proceedings with gay bravado, with complete indifference,
both for the powers that were and for the punishment which they had
meted out to him. But even if the expression on his face had not shown
that the cur in the man had, for the moment, the upper hand, the
unceremonious fashion in which the warders bundled him down the
staircase, and out of sight, would have been sufficient to prevent any
impression being left behind that he had departed from the scene in a
halo of dignity.
As regards his wife, the effect made upon her by the whole proceedings
was an overwhelming consciousness of unbearable shame. When the man
with the cheap good looks was hustled away, as if he were some inferior
thing, the realisation that this was indeed her husband, was more than
she could endure. She reached out with her hand, as if in search of
some support, and, finding none, sank to the floor of the court in a
swoon.
"Poor dear!" said a woman, standing near. "I expect she's something to
do with that scamp of a fellow--maybe she's his wife."
"This sort of thing often is hardest on those who are left behind,"
chimed in a man. "Sometimes it isn't those who are in prison who suffer
most; it's those who are outside."
When, having regained some of her senses, Violet Champion found herself
in the street, she was inclined to call herself hard names for having
gone near the court at all. She had only gone because she feared that
if she stayed away she might not have learned how the thing had ended.
This crime of which Robert Champion had been guilty was such a petty,
such a paltry thing, that, so far as she knew, the earlier stages of
the case had not been reported at all. One or other of the few score
journals which London issues might have noticed it at some time,
somewhere. If so, it had escaped her observation. Her knowledge of
London papers was limited. They contained little which was likely to be
of interest to her. She hardly knew where to look for such comments.
The idea was not to be borne that she should be left in ignorance as to
how the case had gone, as to what had become of Robert Champion.
Anything rather than that. Her want of knowledge would have been to her
as a perpetual nightmare. She would have scarcely dared to show herself
in the streets for fear of encountering him.
Yet, now that it was all over, and she knew the worst--or best--her
disposition was to blame herself for having strayed within the tainted
purlieus of that crime-haunted court. She felt as if the atmosphere of
the place had infected her with some loathsome bacillus. She also
thought it possible that he might have misconstrued the meaning of her
presence. He was in error if he had supposed that it was intended as a
mark of sympathy. In her complete ignorance of such matters she had no
notion as to the nature of the punishment to which he had rendered
himself liable. If he were sentenced to a long term of penal servitude
she simply wished to know it, that was all. In such a situation any
sort of certainty was better than none. But sympathy! If he had been
sentenced to be hung, her dominant sensation would have been one of
relief. The gallows would have been a way of escape.
No one seeing the tall, handsome girl strolling listlessly along the
street would have connected her with such a sordid tragedy. But it
seemed to her that the stigma of Robert Champion's shame was branded
large all over her, that passers-by had only to glance at her to
perceive at once the depths into which she had fallen.
And they were depths. Only just turned twenty-one; still a girl, and
already a wife who was no wife. For what sort of wife can she be called
who is mated to a convicted felon? And Robert Champion was one of
nature's felons; a rogue who preferred to be a rogue, who loved crooked
ways because of their crookedness, who would not run straight though
the chance were offered him. He was a man who, to the end of his life,
though he might manage to keep his carcase out of the actual hands of
the law, would render himself continually liable to its penalties.
Twelve months ago he was still a stranger. The next twelve months he
was to spend in gaol. When his term of imprisonment was completed would
their acquaintance be recommenced?
At the thought of such a prospect the dizziness which had prostrated
her in court returned. At present she dared not dwell on it.
She came at last to the house in Percy Street in which she had hired a
lodging. A single room, at the top of the house, the rent of which,
little though it was, was already proving a severe drain on her limited
resources. From the moment in which, at an early hour in the morning,
her husband had been dragged out of bed by policemen, she had
relinquished his name. There was nothing else of his she could
relinquish. The rent for the rooms they occupied was in arrears;
debts were due on every side. Broadly speaking, they owed for
everything--always had done since the day they were married. There were
a few articles of dress, and of personal adornment, which she felt that
she was reasonably justified in considering her own. Most of these she
had turned into cash, and had been living--or starving--on the proceeds
ever since. The occupant of the "top floor back" was known as Miss
Arnott. She had returned to her maiden name. She paid six shillings a
week for the accommodation she received, which consisted of the bare
lodging, and what--ironically--was called "attendance." Her rent had
been settled up to yesterday, and she was still in possession of
twenty-seven shillings.
When she reached her room she became conscious that she was
hungry--which was not strange, since she had eaten nothing since breakfast,
which had consisted of a cup of tea and some bread and butter. But of
late she had been nearly always hungry. Exhausted, mentally and bodily,
she sank on to the side of the bed, which made a more comfortable seat
than the only chair which the room contained; and thought and thought
and thought. If only certain puzzles could be solved by dint of sheer
hard thinking! But her brain was in such a state of chaos that she
could only think confusedly, in a vicious circle, from which her
mind was incapable of escaping. To only one conclusion could she
arrive--that it would be a very good thing if she might be permitted to
lie down on the bed, just as she was, and stay there till she was dead.
For her life was at an end already at twenty-one. She had put a period
to it when she had suffered herself to become that man's wife.
She was still vaguely wondering if it might not be possible for her to
take advantage of some such means of escape when she was startled by a
sudden knocking at the door. Taken unawares, she sprang up from the
bed, and, without pausing to consider who might be there, she cried,--
"Come in!"
Her invitation was accepted just as she was beginning to realise that
it had been precipitately made. The door was opened; a voice--a
masculine voice--inquired,--
"May I see Miss Arnott?"
The speaker remained on the other side of the open door, in such a
position that, from where she was, he was still invisible.
"What do you want? Who are you?" she demanded.
"My name is Gardner--Edward Gardner. I occupy the dining-room. If you
will allow me to come in I will explain the reason of my intrusion. I
think you will find my explanation a sufficient one."
She hesitated. The fact that the speaker was a man made her at once
distrustful. Since her marriage day she had been developing a
continually increasing distaste for everything masculine--seeing in
every male creature a possible replica of her husband. The moment, too,
was unpropitious. Yet, since the stranger was already partly in the
room, she saw no alternative to letting him come a little farther.
"Come in," she repeated.
There entered an undersized, sparely-built man, probably between forty
and fifty years of age. He was clean-shaven, nearly bald--what little
hair he had was iron grey--and was plainly but neatly dressed in black.
He spoke with an air of nervous deprecation, as if conscious that he
was taking what might be regarded as a liberty, and was anxious to show
cause why it should not be resented.
"As I said just now, I occupy the dining-rooms and my name is Gardner.
I am a solicitor's clerk. My employers are Messrs Stacey, Morris &
Binns, of Bedford Row. Perhaps you are acquainted with the firm?"
He paused as if for a reply. She was still wondering more and more what
the man could possibly be wanting; oppressed by the foreboding, as he
mentioned that he was a solicitor's clerk, that he was a harbinger of
further trouble. With her law and trouble were synonyms. He went on,
his nervousness visibly increasing. He was rendered uneasy by the
statuesque immobility of her attitude, by the strange fashion in which
she kept her eyes fixed on his face. It was also almost with a sense of
shock that he perceived how young she was, and how beautiful.
"It is only within the last few minutes that I learned, from the
landlady, that your name was Arnott. It is a somewhat unusual name;
and, as my employers have been for some time searching for a person
bearing it, I beg that you will allow me to ask you one or two
questions. Of course, I understand that my errand will quite probably
prove to be a futile one; but, at the same time, let me assure you that
any information you may give will only be used for your advantage; and
should you, by a strange coincidence, turn out to be a member of the
family for whom search has been made, you will benefit by the discovery
of the fact. May I ask if, to your knowledge, you ever had a relation
named Septimus Arnott?"
"He was my uncle. My father's name was Sextus Arnott. My grandfather
had seven sons and no daughters. He was an eccentric man, I believe--I
never saw him; and he called them all by Latin numerals. My father was
the sixth son, Sextus; the brother to whom you refer, the seventh and
youngest, Septimus."
"Dear, dear! how extraordinary! almost wonderful!"
"I don't know why you should call it wonderful. It was perhaps curious;
but, in this world, people do curious things."
"Quite so!--exactly!--not a doubt of it! It was the coincidence which I
was speaking of as almost wonderful, not your grandfather's method of
naming his sons; I should not presume so far. And where, may I further
be allowed to ask, is your father now, and his brothers?"
"They are all dead."
"All dead! Dear! dear!"
"My father's brothers all died when they were young men. My father
himself died three years ago--at Scarsdale, in Cumberland. My mother
died twelve months afterwards. I am their only child."
"Their only child! You must suffer me to say, Miss Arnott, that it
almost seems as if the hand of God had brought you to this house and
moved me to intrude myself upon you. I take it that you can furnish
proofs of the correctness of what you say?"
"Of course I can prove who I am, and who my father was, and his
father."
"Just so; that is precisely what I mean--exactly. Miss Arnott, Mr
Stacey, the senior partner in our firm, resides in Pembridge Gardens,
Bayswater. I have reason to believe that, if I go at once, I shall find
him at home. When I tell him what I have learnt I am sure that he will
come to you at once. May I ask you to await his arrival? I think I can
assure you that you shall not be kept waiting more than an hour."
"What can the person of whom you speak have to say to me?"
"As I have told you, I am only a servant. It is not for me to betray my
employer's confidence; but so much I may tell you--if you are the niece
of the Septimus Arnott for whom we are acting you are a very fortunate
young lady. And, in any case, I do assure you that you will not regret
affording Mr Stacey an opportunity of an immediate interview."
Mr Gardner went; the girl consented to await his return. Almost as soon
as he was gone the landlady--Mrs Sayers--paid her a visit. It soon
appeared that she had been prompted by the solicitor's clerk.
"I understand, Miss Arnott, from Mr Gardner, who has had my dining-room
now going on for five years, that his chief governor, Mr Stacey, is
coming to call on you, as it were, at any moment. If you'd like to
receive him in my sitting-room, I'm sure you're very welcome; and you
shall be as private as you please."
The girl eyed the speaker. Hitherto civility had not been her strongest
point. Her sudden friendly impulse could only have been induced by some
very sufficient reason of her own. The girl declined her offer. Mrs
Sayers became effusive, almost insistent.
"I am sure, my dear, that you will see for yourself that it's not quite
the thing for a young lady to receive a gentleman, and maybe two, in a
room like this, which she uses for sleeping. You're perfectly welcome
to my little sitting-room for half an hour, or even more, where you'll
be most snug and comfortable; and as for making you a charge, or
anything of that sort, I shouldn't think of it, so don't let yourself
be influenced by any fears of that kind."
But the girl would have nothing to do with Mrs Sayers' sitting-room.
This woman had regarded her askance ever since she had entered the
house, had treated her with something worse than incivility. Miss
Arnott was not disposed, even in so trifling a matter, to place herself
under an obligation to her now. Mrs Sayers was difficult to convince;
but the girl was rid of her at last, and was alone to ask herself what
this new turn of fortune's wheel might portend. On this already
sufficiently eventful day, of what new experiment was she to be made
the subject? What was this stranger coming to tell her about Septimus
Arnott--the uncle from whom her father had differed, as he himself was
wont to phrase | 563.754306 |
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Produced by Walter Moore from page images generously
provided by the HathiTrust
THE LITTLE BLACK PRINCESS
By Jeannie Gunn
CONTENTS
Chapter 1.- Bett-Bett
Chapter 2.- Shimy Shirts
Chapter 3.- Shut-Him-Eye Quickfellow
Chapter 4.- Me King Alright
Chapter 5.- Goodfellow Missus
Chapter 6.- The Debbil-Debbil Dance
Chapter 7.- Mumma A And Mumma B
Chapter 8.- A Walkabout
Chapter 9.- The Coronation Playabout
Chapter 10.- Looking-Out Lily-Root
Chapter 11.- Newfellow Piccaninny Boy
Chapter 12.- Goggle-Eye Sung Deadfellow
Chapter 13.- Bett-Bett Is Bush-Hungry
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Frontispiece. Old No-More-Hearem Fishing
Page 3. Bett-Bett And Sue
Page 5. The Homestead
Page 6. Belts Of Red Feathers To Please
Mr. Thunder-Debbil-DebbilBett-Betts Shimy-Shirt
BagSticks For Procuring Fire
Page 17. Goggle-Eye Turned To Laugh
Page 27. Dilly-Bags Used By Blackfellow Women In The Bush
Page 33. Bett-Betts Favourite Quart PotHank Of Hair
For A Son-In-Laws Use Hobbles For The Horses
Page 37. Dressing For The Debbil-Debbil Dance
Page 39. Making His Legs Look Exactly Like The Figure 4
Page 41. Goggle-Eyes Belt And TasselHeads Of Bull-Roarers
Or Corrobboree Sticks
Page 43. The Great-Great-Greatest Grandfather Of The Kangaroo Men
Page 45. The Great-Great-Greatest Grandfather Of The Iguana Men
Page 60. Sea-Going Crocodiles Are Cheeky-Fellow
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Transcriber's note:
Page numbers in this book are indicated by numbers enclosed
in curly braces, e.g. {99}. They have been located where page
breaks occurred in the original book. For its Index, a page
number has been placed only at the start of that section.
THE BOOKS OF THE NEW TESTAMENT
by the
REV. LEIGHTON PULLAN
Fellow and Tutor of St. John Baptist's College, Oxford.
"If you choose to obey your Bibles, you will
never care who attacks them."--RUSKIN.
Fourth Edition Revised
Rivingtons
34 King Street, Covent Garden
London
1912
{v}
PREFACE
This book is intended to meet the widely prevalent need of an
introduction to the New Testament which is neither a mere hand-book nor
an elaborate treatise for specialists. It is written in a conservative
spirit, and at the same time an ample use has been made of recent
critical investigation.
It has been impossible to give an exhaustive proof of the position
maintained, but no matter of great importance has been overlooked. The
arguments will be intelligible to educated persons who are unacquainted
with the Greek language.
The author has sometimes derived much help from the articles in Dr.
Hastings' _Dictionary of the Bible_. The dates which have been adopted
are in most cases those adopted in {vi} that Dictionary by Dr. Sanday
and Mr. C. H. Turner.
His best thanks are due to the Rev. E. W. Pullan, Mr. J. F. Briscoe,
and Mr. E. W. Corbett, for the kind help which they have given him in
the preparation of the book.
{vii}
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
TABLE OF APPROXIMATE DATES............. x
I. THE NEW TESTAMENT ................. 1
II. THE GOSPELS .................... 9
III. THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO ST. MATTHEW ........ 33
IV. THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO ST. MARK.......... 49
V. THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO ST. LUKE.......... 64
VI. THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO ST. JOHN.......... 80
VII. THE ACTS OF THE APOSTLES.............. 102
VIII. THE EPISTLES OF ST. PAUL.............. 116
IX. 1 AND 2 THESSALONIANS ............... 125
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Paul Clark and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
RADA
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN
DRAKE
THE FOREST OF WILD THYME
FORTY SINGING SEAMEN
THE ENCHANTED ISLAND
THE WINE PRESS
[Illustration: THE BAYONETS]
RADA
A BELGIAN CHRISTMAS EVE
BY
ALFRED NOYES
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS AFTER GOYA
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published in 1915_
DEDICATION
Thou whose deep ways are in the sea,
Whose footsteps are not known,
To-night a world that turned from Thee
Is waiting--at Thy Throne.
The towering Babels that we raised
Where scoffing sophists brawl,
The little Antichrists we praised--
The night is on them all.
The fool hath said... The fool hath said...
And we, who deemed him wise,
We, who believed that Thou wast dead,
How should we seek Thine eyes?
How should we seek to Thee for power,
Who scorned Thee yesterday?
How should we kneel in this dread hour?
Lord, teach us how to pray.
Grant us the single heart once more
That mocks no sacred thing,
The Sword of Truth our fathers wore
When Thou wast Lord and King.
Let darkness unto darkness tell
Our deep unspoken prayer;
For, while our souls in darkness dwell,
We know that Thou art there.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE BAYONETS _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
OVER THE JAWS OF THE CROWD 16
THE OLD DANCE OF CHARLATANS AND BEASTS 22
THE VAMPIRE 56
_Reproduced from etchings by Goya_
PRELUDE
Under which banner? It was night
Beyond all nights that ever were.
The Cross was broken. Blood-stained Might
Moved like a tiger from its lair,
And all that heaven had died to quell
Awoke, and mingled earth with hell.
For Europe, if it held a creed,
Held it thro' custom, not thro' faith.
Chaos returned in dream and deed,
Right was a legend--Love, a wraith;
And That from which the world began
Was less than even the best in man.
God in the image of a snake
Dethroned that dream, too fond, too blind,
The man-shaped God whose heart could break,
Live, die and triumph with mankind;
A Super-snake, a Juggernaut,
Dethroned the Highest of human thought.
Choose, England! For the eternal foe
Within thee, as without, grew strong,
By many a super-subtle blow
Blurring the lines of right and wrong
In Art and Thought, till nought seemed true
But that soul-slaughtering cry of _New!_
New wreckage of the shrines we made
Thro' centuries of forgotten tears....
We knew not where their hands had laid
Our Master. Twice a thousand years
Had dulled the uncapricious sun.
Manifold worlds obscured the One;
Obscured the reign of Law, our stay,
Our compass thro' the uncharted sea,
The one sure light, the one sure way,
The one firm base of Liberty;
The one firm road that men have trod
Thro' Chaos to the Throne of God.
_Choose ye!_ A hundred legions cried
Dishonour, or the instant sword!
Ye chose. Ye met that blood-stained tide,
A little kingdom kept its word;
And, dying, cried across the night,
_Hear us, O earth, we chose the Right._
Whose is the victory? Though ye stood
Alone against the unmeasured foe,
By all the tears, by all the blood,
That flowed, and have not ceased to flow,
By all the legions that ye hurled
Back thro' the thunder-shaken world;
By the old that have not where to rest,
By lands laid waste and hearths defiled,
By every lacerated breast,
And every mutilated child,
Whose is the victory? Answer, ye
Who, dying, smiled at tyranny:--
_Under the sky's triumphal arch
The glories of the dawn begin.
Our dead, our shadowy armies, march
E'en | 563.938681 |
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Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS
or, KRZYZACY
Historical Romance
By HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
Author Of "Quo Vadis," "The Deluge," "With Fire And Sword,"
"Pan Michael," Etc., Etc.
Translated From The Original Polish By Samuel A. Binion
Author Of "Ancient Egypt," Etc. Translator Of "Quo Vadis," Etc.
[Illustration: BUST OF HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ]
HON. WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL.D.
Commissioner of Education
My Dear Doctor:--
This translation, of one of the greatest novels of Poland's foremost
modern writer, Henryk Sienkiewicz, I beg to dedicate to you. Apart for my
high personal regard for you, my reason for selecting you among all my
literary friends, is: that you are a historian and philosopher, and can
therefore best appreciate works of this kind.
SAMUEL A. BINION,
New York City.
To the Reader.
Here you have, gentle reader--old writers always called you
gentle--something very much more than a novel to amuse an idle hour. To
read it will be enjoyable pastime, no doubt; but the brilliant romance of
the brilliant author calls upon you for some exercise of the finest
sympathy and intelligence; sympathy for a glorious nation which, with
only one exception, has suffered beyond all other nations; intelligence,
of the sources of that unspeakable and immeasurable love and of the great
things that may yet befall before those woes are atoned for and due
punishment for them meted out to their guilty authors.
Poland! Poland! The very name carries with it sighings and groanings,
nation-murder, brilliance, beauty, patriotism, splendors, self-sacrifice
through generations of gallant men and exquisite women; indomitable
endurance of bands of noble people carrying through world-wide exile the
sacred fire of wrath against the oppressor, and uttering in every clime a
cry of appeal to Humanity to rescue Poland.
It was indeed a terrible moment in history, when the three military
monarchies of Europe, Russia, Austria and Prussia, swooped down upon the
glorious but unhappy country, torn by internal trouble, and determined to
kill it and divide up its dominions. All were alike guilty, as far as
motive went. But Holy Russia--Holy!--since that horrible time has taken
upon herself by far the greatest burden of political crime in her
dealings with that noble nation. Every evil passion bred of despotism, of
theological hatred, of rancorous ancient enmities, and the ghastliest
official corruption, have combined in Russian action for more than one
hundred and fifty years, to turn Poland into a hell on earth. Her very
language was proscribed.
This is not the place to give details of that unhappy country's woes. But
suffice it to say, that Poland, in spite of fatuous prohibitions, has had
a great literature since the loss of her independence, and that
literature has so kept alive the soul of the nation, that with justice
Poland sings her great patriotic song:
"Poland is not yet lost
As long as we live...."
The nation is still alive in its writers and their works, their splendid
poetry and prose.
It is a pity that so few of these great writers are widely known. But
most people have heard of Jan Kochanowski, of Mikolaj Rey, of Rubinski,
of Szymanowicz, of Poland's great genius in this century, one of the
supreme poets of the world, Adam Mickiewicz, of Joseph Ignac, of
Kraszewski, who is as prolific in literary and scientific works as
Alexander von Humboldt, and of hundreds of others in all branches of
science and art, too numerous to mention here.
And it is remarkable that the author of this book, Henryk Sienkiewicz,
should of late have attained such prominence in the public eye and found
a place in the heart of mankind. It is of good omen. Thus, Poland, in
spite of her fetters, is keeping step in the very van of the most
progressive nations.
The romance of Sienkiewicz in this volume is perhaps the most interesting
and fascinating he has yet produced. It is in the very first rank of
imaginative and historical romance. The time and scene of the noble story
are laid in the middle ages during the conquest of Pagan Lithuania by the
military and priestly order of the "Krzyzacy" Knights of the Cross. And
the story exhibits with splendid force the collision of race passions and
fierce, violent individualities which accompanied that struggle. Those
who read it will, in addition to their thrilling interest in the tragical
and varied incidents, gain no little insight into the origin and working
of the inextinguishable race hatred between Teuton and Slav. It was an
unfortunate thing surely, that the conversion of the heathen Lithuanians
and Zmudzians was committed so largely to that curious variety of the
missionary, the armed knight, banded in brotherhood, sacred and military.
To say the least, his sword was a weapon dangerous to his evangelizing
purpose. He was always in doubt whether to present to the heathen the one
end of it, as a cross for adoration, or the other, as a point _to kill
with_. And so, if Poland _was_ made a Catholic nation, she was also made
an undying and unalterable hater of the German, the Teutonic name and
person.
And so this noble, historical tale, surpassed perhaps by none in
literature, is commended to the thoughtful attention and appreciation of
the reader.
SAMUEL A. BINION.
NEW YORK, May 9, 1899.
KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS.
PART FIRST
CHAPTER I.
In Tyniec,[1] in the inn under "Dreadful Urus," which belonged to the
abbey, a few people were sitting, listening to the talk of a military man
who had come from afar, and was telling them of the adventures which he
had experienced during the war and his journey.
He had a large beard but he was not yet old, and he was almost gigantic
but thin, with broad shoulders; he wore his hair in a net ornamented with
beads; he was dressed in a leather jacket, which was marked by the
cuirass, and he wore a belt composed of brass buckles; in the belt he had
a knife in a horn scabbard, and at his side a short traveling sword.
Near by him at the table, was sitting a youth with long hair and joyful
look, evidently his comrade, or perhaps a shield-bearer, because he also
was dressed as for a journey in a similar leather jacket. The rest of the
company was composed of two noblemen from the vicinity of Krakow and of
three townsmen with red folding caps, the thin tops of which were hanging
down their sides to their elbows.
The host, a German, dressed in a faded cowl with large, white collar, was
pouring beer for them from a bucket into earthen mugs, and in the
meanwhile he was listening with great curiosity to the military
adventures.
The burghers were listening with still greater curiosity. In these times,
the hatred, which during the time of King Lokietek had separated the city
and the knighthood, had been very much quenched, and the burghers were
prouder than in the following centuries. They called them still _des
allerdurchluchtigsten Kuniges und Herren_ and they appreciated their
readiness _ad concessionem pecuniarum_; therefore one would very often
see in the inns, the merchants drinking with the noblemen like brothers.
They were even welcome, because having plenty of money, usually they paid
for those who had coats of arms.
Therefore they were sitting there and talking, from time to time winking
at the host to fill up the mugs.
"Noble knight, you have seen a good piece of the world!" said one of the
merchants.
"Not many of those who are now coming to Krakow from all parts, have seen
as much," answered the knight.
"There will be plenty of them," said the merchant. "There is to be a
great feast and great pleasure for the king and the queen! The king has
ordered the queen's chamber to be upholstered with golden brocade,
embroidered with pearls, and a canopy of the same material over her.
There will be such entertainments and tournaments, as the world has never
seen before."
"Uncle Gamroth, don't interrupt the knight," said the second merchant.
"Friend Eyertreter, I am not interrupting; only I think that he also will
be glad to know about what they are talking, because I am sure he is
going to Krakow. We cannot return to the city to-day at any rate, because
they will shut the gates."
"And you speak twenty words, in reply to one. You are growing old, Uncle
Gamroth!"
"But I can carry a whole piece of wet broadcloth just the same."
"Great thing! the cloth through which one can see, as through a sieve."
But further dispute was stopped by the knight, who said:
"Yes, I will stay in Krakow because I have heard about the tournaments
and I will be glad to try my strength in the lists during the combats;
and this youth, my nephew, who although young and smooth faced, has
already seen many cuirasses on the ground, will also enter the lists."
The guests glanced at the youth who laughed mirthfully, and putting his
long hair behind his ears, placed the mug of beer to his mouth.
The older knight added:
"Even if we would like to return, we have no place to go."
"How is that?" asked one of the nobles.
"Where are you from, and what do they call you?"
"I am Macko of Bogdaniec, and this lad, the son of my brother, calls
himself Zbyszko. Our coat of arms is Tempa Podkowa, and our war-cry is
Grady!"
"Where is Bogdaniec?"
"Bah! better ask, lord brother, where it was, because it is no more.
During the war between Grzymalczyks and Nalenczs,[2] Bogdaniec was
burned, and we were robbed of everything; the servants ran away. Only the
bare soil remained, because even the farmers who were in the
neighborhood, fled into the forests. The father of this lad, rebuilt; but
the next year, a flood took everything. Then my brother died, and after
his death I remained with the orphan. Then I thought: 'I can't stay!' I
heard about the war for which Jasko of Olesnica, whom the king,
Wladyslaw, sent to Wilno after he sent Mikolaj of Moskorzowo, was
collecting soldiers. I knew a worthy abbot, Janko of Tulcza, to whom I
gave my land as security for the money I needed to buy armor and horses,
necessary for a war expedition. The boy, twelve years old, I put on a
young horse and we went to Jasko of Olesnica."
"With the youth?"
"He was not even a youth then, but he has been strong since childhood.
When he was twelve, he used to rest a crossbow on the ground, press it
against his chest and turn the crank. None of the Englishmen, whom I have
seen in Wilno, could do better."
"Was he so strong?"
"He used to carry my helmet, and when he passed thirteen winters, he
could carry my spear also."
"You had plenty of fighting there!"
"Because of Witold. The prince was with the Knights of the Cross, and
every year they used to make an expedition against Lithuania, as far as
Wilno. Different people went with them: Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen,
who are the best bowmen, Czechs, Swiss and Burgundians. They cut down the
forests, burned the castles on their way and finally they devastated
Lithuania with fire and sword so badly, that the people who were living
in that country, wanted to leave it and search for another land, even to
the end of the world, even among Belial's children, only far from the
Germans."
"We heard here, that the Lithuanians wanted to go away with their wives
and children, but we did not believe it."
"And I looked at it. Hej! If not for Mikolaj of Moskorzowo, for Jasko of
Olesnica, and without any boasting, if not for us, there would be no
Wilno now."
"We know. You did not surrender the castle."
"We did not. And now notice what I am going to say, because I have
experience in military matters. The old people used to say: 'furious
Litwa'[3]--and it's true! They fight well, but they cannot withstand the
knights in the field. When the horses of the Germans are sunk in the
marshes, or when there is a thick forest--that's different."
"The Germans are good soldiers!" exclaimed the burghers.
"They stay like a wall, man beside man, in their iron armor. They advance
in one compact body. They strike, and the Litwa are scattered like sand,
or throw themselves flat on the ground and are trampled down. There are
not only Germans among them, because men of all nations serve with the
Knights of the Cross. And they are brave! Often before a battle a knight
stoops, stretches his lance, and rushes alone against the whole army."
"Christ!" exclaimed Gamroth. "And who among them are the best soldiers?"
"It depends. With the crossbow, the best is the Englishman, who can
pierce a suit of armor through and through, and at a hundred steps he
will not miss a dove. Czechowie (Bohemians) cut dreadfully with axes. For
the big two-handed sword the German is the best. The Swiss is glad to
strike the helmets with an iron flail, but the greatest knights are those
who come from France. These will fight on horseback and on foot, and in
the meanwhile they will speak very brave words, which however you will
not understand, because it is such a strange language. They are pious
people. They criticise us through the Germans. They say we are defending
the heathen and the Turks against the cross, and they want to prove it by
a knightly duel. And such God's judgment is going to be held between four
knights from their side, and four from our side, and they are going to
fight at the the court of Waclaw, the Roman and Bohemian king."[4]
Here the curiosity so increased among the noblemen and merchants, that
they stretched their necks in the direction of Macko of Bogdaniec and
they asked:
"And who are the knights from our side? Speak quickly!" Macko raised the
mug to his mouth, drank and then answered:
"Ej, don't be afraid about them. There is Jan of Wloszczowa, castellan of
Dobrzyn; there's Mikolaj of Waszmuntow; there are Jasko of Zdakow and
Jarosz of Czechow: all glorious knights and sturdy fellows. No matter
which weapons they choose,--swords or axes--nothing new to them! It will
be worth while for human eyes to see it and for human ears to hear
it--because, as I said, even if you press the throat of a Frenchman with
your foot, he will still reply with knightly words. Therefore so help me
God and Holy Cross they will outtalk us, but our knights will defeat
them."
"That will be glory, if God will bless us," said one of the nobles.
"And Saint Stanislaw!" added another. Then turning toward Macko, he asked
him further:
"Well! tell us some more! You praised the Germans and other knights
because they are valiant and have conquered Litwa easily. Did they not
have harder work with you? Did they go against you readily? How did it
happen? Praise our knights."
But evidently Macko of Bogdaniec was not a braggart, because he answered
modestly:
"Those who had just returned from foreign lands, attacked us readily; but
after they tried once or twice, they attacked us with less assurance,
because our people are hardened and they reproached us for that hardness:
'You despise,' they used to say,'death, but you help the Saracens, and
you will be damned for it.' And with us the deadly grudge increased,
because their taunt is not true! The king and the queen have christened
Litwa and everyone there tries to worship the Lord Christ although not
everyone knows how. And it is known also, that our gracious lord, when in
the cathedral of Plock they threw down the devil, ordered them to put a
candle before him--and the priests were obliged to tell him that he ought
not to do it. No wonder then about an ordinary man! Therefore many of
them say to themselves:
"'The _kniaz_[5] ordered us to be baptized, therefore I was baptized; he
ordered us to bow before the Christ, and I bowed; but why should I grudge
a little piece of cheese to the old heathen devils, or why should I not
throw them some turnips; why should I not pour the foam off of the beer?
If I do not do it, then my horses will die; or my cows will be sick, or
their milk will turn into blood--or there will be some trouble with the
harvest.' And many of them do this, and they are suspected. But they are
doing it because of their ignorance and their fear of the devils. Those
devils were better off in times of yore. They used to have their own
groves and they used to take the horses which they rode for their tithe.
But to-day, the groves are cut down and they have nothing to eat--in the
cities the bells ring, therefore the devils are hiding in the thickest
forest, and they howl there from loneliness. If a Litwin[6] goes to the
forest, then they pull him by his sheep-skin overcoat and they say:
'Give!' Some of them give, but there are also courageous boys, who will
not give and then the devils catch them. One of the boys put some beans
in an ox bladder and immediately three hundred devils entered there. And
he stuffed the bladder with a service-tree peg, brought them to Wilno and
sold them to the Franciscan priests, who gave him twenty _skojcow_[7] he
did this to destroy the enemies of | 564.135948 |
2023-11-16 18:26:28.1172480 | 679 | 149 |
Produced by Clare Graham
The Etiquette of Engagement and Marriage
Describing Modern Manners and Customs of Courtship and Marriage, and
giving Full Details regarding the Wedding Ceremony and Arrangements
By G.R.M. Devereux
Author of "Etiquette for Women," etc, etc.
First published January 1903
This etext prepared from the reprint of March 1919 published by C.
Arthur Pearson Ltd., Henrietta Street London and printed by Neill
and Co. Ltd., Edinburgh.
LIST OF CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS 13
CHAPTER I
THE BEGINNINGS OF COURTSHIP--FAVOURABLE OPPORTUNITIES--INTELLECTUAL
AFFINITY--ARTISTIC FELLOWSHIP--ATHLETIC COMRADESHIP--AMATEUR
ACTING--SOCIAL INTERCOURSE--DIFFERENT IDEAS OF ETIQUETTE 16
CHAPTER II
INTRODUCTIONS--RECOGNITION OF AFFINITY, OR LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT--HOW TO
FOLLOW UP AN ACQUAINTANCE--KINDLY OFFICES OF RELATIONS AND
FRIENDS 21
CHAPTER III
INTERCOURSE BETWEEN UNCONFESSED LOVERS--THE QUESTION OF
PRESENTS--EXCHANGE OF HOSPITALITY--THE MAN WHO LIVES AT HOME--THE MAN
IN ROOMS 25
CHAPTER IV
INTERCOURSE WITH (1) THE HOME GIRL; (2) THE BACHELOR GIRL; (3) THE
BUSINESS GIRL; (4) THE STUDENT OR PROFESSIONAL GIRL--FRIENDS WHO
BECOME LOVERS 30
CHAPTER V
FLIRTS, MALE AND FEMALE--HE CHANGES HIS MIND ON THE VERGE OF A
PROPOSAL--HOW SHE ACCEPTS THE SITUATION--HOW SHE MAY GIVE
ENCOURAGEMENT OR WARD OFF AN UNWELCOME OFFER 36
CHAPTER VI
THE QUESTION OF AGE--YOUNG LOVERS--YOUNG MEN WHO WOO MATURITY--OLD MEN
WHO COURT YOUTH--MIDDLE-AGED LOVERS 41
CHAPTER VII
PROPOSALS: PREMEDITATED, SPONTANEOUS, PRACTICAL, OR ROMANTIC--NO RULE
POSSIBLE--TACT WANTED IN CHOICE OF OPPORTUNITY--UNSEEMLY HASTE AN
INSULT TO A WOMAN--KEEN SENSE OF HUMOUR DANGEROUS TO SENTIMENT--SOME
THINGS TO AVOID--VAGUELY WORDED OFFERS--WHEN SHE MAY TAKE THE
INITIATIVE 46
CHAPTER VIII
ENGAGEMENTS--THE ATTITUDE OF PARENTS AND GUARDIANS--MAKING IT KNOWN IN
THE FAMILY, TO OUTSIDE FRIENDS--CONGRATULATIONS--THE CHOICE AND GIVING
OF THE RING--MAKING ACQUAINTANCE WITH FUTURE RELATIONS-IN-LAW,
PERSONALLY OR BY LETTER 51
CHAPTER IX
HIS VISITS TO HER HOME--THE ENGAGED COUPLE | 564.137288 |
2023-11-16 18:26:28.1217780 | 492 | 130 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: With Eyes Wide and Staring She Looked About Her]
THE SON OF HIS FATHER
BY
RIDGWELL CULLUM
AUTHOR OF
"THE MEN WHO WROUGHT," "THE WAY OF THE STRONG," "THE NIGHT-RIDERS,"
"THE WATCHERS OF THE PLAINS," ETC.
Illustrations by
DOUGLAS DUER
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1915, by
George W. Jacobs & Company
_Published March, 1917_
All rights reserved
_Printed in U. S. A._
TO
G. RALPH HALL-CAINE
WHOSE SYMPATHY WITH MY WORK HAS NEVER
FAILED TO CHEER ME THROUGHOUT
OUR LONG AND VALUED
FRIENDSHIP
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I Unrepentant
II In Chastened Mood
III Gordon Arrives
IV Gordon Lands at Snake's Fall
V A Letter Home
VI Gordon Prospects Snake's Fall
VII "Miss Hazel"
VIII At Buffalo Point
IX The First Check
X Gordon Makes His Bid for Fortune
XI Hazel Mallinsbee's Campaign
XII Thinking Hard
XIII Slosson Snatches at Opportunity
XIV The Reward of Victory
XV In Council
XVI Something Doing
XVII The Code Book
XVIII Ways that are Dark
XIX James Carbhoy Arrives
XX The Boom in Earnest
XXI A Trifle
XXII On the Trail
XXIII In New York
XXIV Preparing for the Finale
XXV The Rescue
XXVI Cashing In
ILLUSTRATIONS
With eyes wide and staring she looked about her... _Frontispiece_
Hazel was waiting for that sign
He drew her gently towards his father
CHAPTER I
UNREPENTANT
"To wine, women and gambling, at the age of twenty-four--one hundred
thousand dollars. That's your bill, my | 564.141818 |
2023-11-16 18:26:28.1240970 | 1,726 | 16 |
Produced by Barbara Tozier, Carla Foust, Bill Tozier and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note
All apparent printer's errors have been retained.
In this version the superscript is indicated by ^.
THE GALAXY.
A MAGAZINE OF ENTERTAINING READING.
VOL. XXIII.
JANUARY, 1877, TO JUNE, 1877.
NEW YORK: Sheldon & Company,
1877.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by
SHELDON & COMPANY,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
Typography of CHURCHWELL & TEALL. Electrotyped by SMITH & MCDOUGAL.
INDEX TO VOLUME XXIII.
PAGE.
Administration of Abraham Lincoln _Gideon Welles_ 5, 149
Almanacs, Some Old _Charles Wyllys Elliott_ 24
Alnaschar. 1876 _Bret Harte_ 217
Alfred de Musset _Henry James, Jr._ 790
Applied Science _Charles Barnard_ 79, 160
Art's Limitations _Margaret J. Preston_ 159
Assja _Ivan Tourgueneff_ 368
Aut Diabolus aut Nihil 218
Ballad of Constance _William Winter_ 109
Balzac, Letters of _Henry James, Jr._ 183
Battalion, The _J. W. De Forest_ 817
Beer _S. G. Young_ 62
Beethoven, To _Sidney Lanier_ 394
Cigarettes 471
Cleopatra's Soliloquy _Mary Bayard Clarke_ 506
Climbing Rose, The 596
Cossacks, An Evening Party with the _David Ker_ 406
Dead Star, The _John James Piatt_ 660
Dead Vashti, A _Louise Stockton_ 428
Defeated _Mary L. Ritter_ 354
Dramatic Canons, The _Frederick Whittaker_ 396, 508
DRIFT-WOOD _Philip Quilibet_ 125, 265,
411, 553,
695, 842
The Twelve-Month Sermon; Ribbons and Coronets at Market Rates; The
Spinning of Literature; Growth of American Taste for Art; The Wills
of the Triumvirate; The Duel and the Newspapers; The Industry of
Interviewers; Talk about Novels; Primogeniture and Public Bequests;
The Times and the Customs; Victor Hugo; Evolutionary Hints for
Novelists; The Travellers; Swindlers and Dupes; Pegasus in Harness.
Eastern Question, The _A. H. Guernsey_ 359
English Peerage, The _E. C. Grenville Murray_ 293
English Traits _Richard Grant White_ 520
English Women _Richard Grant White_ 675
Executive Patronage and Civil
Service Reform _J. L. M. Curry_ 826
Fascinations of Angling, The _George Dawson_ 818
Fallen Among Thieves 809
Great Seal of the United States _John D. Champlin, Jr._ 691
Hard Times _Charles Wyllys Elliott_ 474
Head of Hercules, The _James M. Floyd_ 52
Heartbreak Cameo _Lizzie W. Champney_ 111
Home of My Heart _F. W. Bourdillon_ 543
Influences _Charles Carroll_ 124
Juliet on the Balcony _Howard Glyndon_ 42
Lassie's Complaint, The _James Kennedy_ 367
Libraries, Public in the United
States _John A. Church_ 639
Life Insurance 686, 803
LITERATURE, CURRENT 137, 279,
425, 567,
708, 855
Love's Messengers _Mary Ainge De Vere_ 51
Love's Requiem _William Winter_ 182
Lucille's Letter 23
Madcap Violet. Chapters XLIV. to
End _William Black_ 30
Margary, The Murder of _Walter A. Burlingame_ 175
Miss Misanthrope. Chapters I. to
XX. _Justin McCarthy_ 244, 302,
450, 597,
746
Miss Tinsel _Henry Sedley_ 337
Mohegan-Hudson _James Manning Winchell_ 637
Monsieur Delille _T. S. Fay_ 119
National Bank Notes, How Redeemed _Frank W. Lautz_ 647
NEBULAE _By The Editor_ 144, 288,
431, 576,
720, 864
Normandy and Pyrenees _Henry James, Jr._ 95
On Being Born Away from Home _Titus Munson Coan_ 533
Our Rural Divinity _John Burroughs_ 43
Philter, The _Mary B. Dodge_ 242
Portrait D'une Jeune Femme
Inconnue _M. E. W. S._ 336
Progressive Baby, A _S. F. Hopkins_ 81, 727
Punished, The _Ella Wheeler_ 789
Pythia, The Modern _S. B. Luce_ 209
Renunciation _Kate Hillard_ 358
Reflected Light _Mary Ainge De Vere_ 802
Romance _J. W. De Forest_ 61
Roman Picture, A _Mary Lowe Dickinson_ 674
Saint Lambert's Coal _Margaret J. Preston_ 519
SCIENTIFIC MISCELLANY _Prof. John A.
Church_ 129, 269,
415, 558,
699, 846
Complications of the Channel Tunnel; A Town of Dwarfs; Whooping
Cough; British Association Notes; An English Crop; Influence of
White Colors; An Involved Accident; An Old Aqueduct System;
Galvanism Cannot Restore Exhausted Vitality; Curious Optical
Experiments; Ice Machines; American Antiquities; Protection from
Lightning; Steam Machinery and Privateering; Man and Animals; The
Limbs of Whales; Our Educational Standing; Surface Markings; The
Oldest Stone Tools; Origin of the Spanish People; The English
Meteorite; The Boomerang; A Western Lava Field; The Principle of
Cephalization; Curiosities of the Herring Fishery; Natural Gas in
Furnaces; South Carolina Phosphates; Rare Metals from Old Coins; A
French Mountain Weather Station; Migration of the Lemming; New
Discovery of Neolithic Remains; October Weather; French National
Antiquities; The Force of Crystallization; Frozen Nitro-Glycerine;
English Great Guns; Ear Trumpets for Pilots; Hot Water in Dressing
Ores; Ocean Echo | 564.144137 |
2023-11-16 18:26:28.1613840 | 43 | 24 |
Produced by V. L. Simpson, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by | 564.181424 |
2023-11-16 18:26:28.1702000 | 1,156 | 8 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books.
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?pg=PP7&id=h90BAAAAQAAJ#v
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
3. Compare this to the American edition: "Vineta, The Phantom City,"
by E. Werner and translated by Frances A. Shaw.
UNDER A CHARM.
UNDER A CHARM.
A Novel.
FROM THE GERMAN OF E. WERNER,
By CHRISTINA TYRRELL.
_IN THREE VOLUMES_.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1877.
(_All rights reserved_.)
PART THE SECOND.
(_Continued_.)
UNDER A CHARM.
CHAPTER XI.
The border-station lay, as has already been mentioned, only half a
league distant from the frontier, in the midst of some of the thickest
plantations on the Wilicza land. The building, which was large and even
handsome, had been erected by the late Herr Nordeck at no
inconsiderable cost; but there was a desolate, decayed look about the
place, nothing whatever having been done towards its preservation or
repair, either by master or tenant, for the last twenty years. The
present forester owed his position solely to the Princess Baratowska's
favour, that lady having taken advantage of the vacancy caused by his
predecessor's death to advance one of her own supporters to the post.
Osiecki had now filled it for three years. His frequent encroachments
and somewhat negligent performance of his duties were altogether
overlooked by his mistress, because she knew that the forester was
devoted to her personally, and that she could count on him in any
circumstances. Hitherto, Osiecki had but rarely been brought in contact
with his master, and, on the whole, had followed with fair exactness
the instructions received from him. Waldemar himself came but very
rarely to the lonely, outlying station. It was only during the last few
weeks that the perpetual conflicts between the foresters and the
military stationed on the frontier had obliged him to interfere.
It was still to all appearances midwinter. The house and forest stood
laden with snow in the dim light which fell from a heavy overcast sky.
The ranger had assembled all his troop--five or six foresters under his
orders, and some woodmen. They were all standing with their guns thrown
over their shoulders, evidently waiting for the master's coming; but it
certainly did not look as though they were ready to obey and peaceably
to quit the station, as Waldemar had commanded. The dark defiant faces
of the men augured nothing good, and the ranger's appearance fully
justified the assertion that he was 'capable of anything.' These
people, who lived from year's end to year's end in the solitude of the
woods, were not very punctilious in their notions of duty, cared little
for either law or order; and Osiecki especially was notorious for the
liberty of action he allowed himself, following generally the
promptings of his own arbitrary will.
Nevertheless, they as yet preserved a respectful attitude, for before
them stood the young Countess Morynska. She had thrown back her mantle.
Her beautiful face betrayed nothing of the struggle and torture she had
gone through but an hour or two ago; it was only very grave now, and
coldly severe.
"You have brought us to an evil pass, Osiecki," she said. "You should
have been careful not to attract suspicion or attention to the station,
instead of which you quarrel with the patrols, and imperil everything
by your indiscreet conduct. The Princess is extremely displeased with
you. I come in her name once more emphatically to forbid any acts of
violence whatever, no matter against whom. This time you must make up
your mind to obey. Your ill-judged proceedings have done harm enough."
The reproach made an evident impression on the forester. He looked
down, and there was something almost apologetic in his voice as he
answered with mingled defiance and contrition--
"Well, it is done now. I could not hold back my men this time--nor
myself either, for that matter. If the Princess, or you, my lady, knew
what it is for us to lie here quiet day by day, while the fighting is
going on out yonder, to look on at the doings of those soldier fellows
and not to be allowed to stir a finger, though we have our loaded
rifles in our hands! It would wear out any man's patience, and ours
broke down the day before yesterday. If I did not know that we are
wanted here, we should all have been over yonder with our own people
long ago. Prince Baratowski is only a couple of hours from the
frontier; it would not be hard to find the way to him."
"You will stop here!" replied Wanda, with decision. "You know my
father's orders. The station is to be held, come what may, and | 564.19024 |
2023-11-16 18:26:28.4355400 | 3,381 | 10 |
Produced by Clarity, RichardW, 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 WORKS of VOLTAIRE_
_EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION_
_Limited to one thousand sets
for America and Great Britain._
“_Between two servants of Humanity, who appeared
eighteen hundred years apart, there is a mysterious relation.
* * * * * Let us say it with a sentiment of
profound respect: JESUS WEPT: VOLTAIRE SMILED.
Of that divine tear and of that human smile is composed the
sweetness of the present civilization._”
_VICTOR HUGO._
[Illustration: AT THIS INTERESTING MOMENT, AS MAY EASILY BE
IMAGINED, WHO SHOULD COME IN BUT THE UNCLE]
_EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION_
THE WORKS OF
VOLTAIRE
A CONTEMPORARY VERSION
With Notes by Tobias Smollett, Revised and Modernized
New Translations by William F. Fleming, and an
Introduction by Oliver H. G. Leigh
A CRITIQUE AND BIOGRAPHY
BY
THE RT. HON. JOHN MORLEY
_FORTY-THREE VOLUMES_
ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-EIGHT DESIGNS,
COMPRISING REPRODUCTIONS OF RARE OLD
ENGRAVINGS, STEEL PLATES, PHOTOGRAVURES,
AND CURIOUS FAC-SIMILES
VOLUME IV
E. R. DuMONT
PARIS : LONDON : NEW YORK : CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT 1901
BY E. R. DUMONT
OWNED by
THE WERNER COMPANY
AKRON, OHIO
MADE BY
THE WERNER COMPANY
AKRON, OHIO
VOLTAIRE
ROMANCES
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. III.
CONTENTS
——————
I. ANDRÉ DES TOUCHES IN SIAM … 5
II. THE BLIND AS JUDGES OF COLOR … 13
III. THE CLERGYMAN AND HIS SOUL … 15
IV. A CONVERSATION WITH A CHINESE … 28
V. MEMNON THE PHILOSOPHER … 33
VI. PLATO’S DREAM … 42
VII. AN ADVENTURE IN INDIA … 47
VIII. BABABEC … 51
IX. ANCIENT FAITH AND FABLE … 56
X. THE TWO COMFORTERS … 61
XI. DIALOGUE BETWEEN MARCUS AURELIUS AND A RECOLLET
FRIAR … 64
XII. DIALOGUE BETWEEN A BRAHMIN AND A JESUIT … 70
XIII. DIALOGUES BETWEEN LUCRETIUS AND POSIDONIUS … 76
XIV. DIALOGUE BETWEEN A CLIENT AND HIS LAWYER … 95
XV. DIALOGUE BETWEEN MADAME DE MAINTENON AND MDLLE. DE
L’ENCLOS … 101
XVI. DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SAVAGE AND A BACHELOR OF ARTS … 108
——————
A TREATISE ON TOLERATION.
[In 1762 Jean Calas, a Protestant of Toulouse, was
done to death by torture on the wheel on the false
charge of having slain his son, a suicide. His widow
and children were put to the torture to extort a
confession, in utter lack of evidence. Voltaire
devoted years of unremitting labor to agitating the
terrible crime and raising money compensation for the
victims. His pamphlets aroused substantial sympathy
and protests in England and over the Continent. His
efforts led to the writing of over one hundred plays,
poems, and pamphlets on the case. Voltaire had the
satisfaction of witnessing the triumph of his long
struggle. He narrates the facts in this Treatise,
which expands into a sweeping exposure of the
cruelties committed in the name of religion, in all
ages and countries.]
LIST OF PLATES—VOL. IV
——————
MEMNON AND THE LADY’S UNCLE … _Frontispiece_
THE DISCONSOLATE WOMAN … 62
THE MAID OF ORLEANS AT THE STAKE … 144
WIDOW CALAS APPEALS TO THE KING … 286
ANDRÉ DES TOUCHES IN SIAM.
André Des Touches was a very agreeable musician in the brilliant
reign of Louis XIV., before the science of music was perfected by
Rameau, and before it was corrupted by those who prefer the art of
surmounting difficulties to nature and the real graces of composition.
Before he had recourse to these talents he had been a musketeer, and
before that, in 1688, he went into Siam with the Jesuit Tachard, who
gave him many marks of his affection, for the amusement he afforded
on board the ship; and Des Touches spoke with admiration of Father
Tachard for the rest of his life.
In Siam he became acquainted with the first commissary of Barcalon,
whose name was Croutef, and he committed to writing most of those
questions which he asked of Croutef, and the answers of that Siamese.
They are as follows:
DES TOUCHES.—How many soldiers have you?
CROUTEF.—Fourscore thousand, very indifferently paid.
DES TOUCHES.—And how many talapoins?
CROUTEF.—A hundred and twenty thousand, very idle and very rich. It
is true that in the last war we were beaten, but our talapoins have
lived sumptuously and built fine houses.
DES TOUCHES.—Nothing could have discovered more judgment. And your
finances, in what state are they?
CROUTEF.—In a very bad state. We have, however, about ninety thousand
men employed to render them prosperous, and if they have not
succeeded, it has not been their fault, for there is not one of them
who does not honorably seize all that he can get possession of, and
strip and plunder those who cultivate the ground for the good of the
state.
DES TOUCHES.—Bravo! And is not your jurisprudence as perfect as the
rest of your administration?
CROUTEF.—It is much superior. We have no laws, but we have five or
six thousand volumes on the laws. We are governed in general by
customs; for it is known that a custom, having been established by
chance, is the wisest principle that can be imagined. Besides, all
customs being necessarily different in different provinces, the
judges may choose at their pleasure a custom which prevailed four
hundred years ago or one which prevailed last year. It occasions a
variety in our legislation which our neighbors are forever admiring.
This yields a certain fortune to practitioners. It is a resource for
all pleaders who are destitute of honor, and a pastime of infinite
amusement for the judges, who can, with safe consciences, decide
causes without understanding them.
DES TOUCHES.—But in criminal cases—you have laws which may be
depended upon?
CROUTEF.—God forbid! We can condemn men to exile, to the galleys, to
be hanged; or we can discharge them, according to our own fancy. We
sometimes complain of the arbitrary power of the Barcalon, but we
choose that all our decisions should be arbitrary.
DES TOUCHES.—That is very just. And the torture—do you put people to
the torture?
CROUTEF.—It is our greatest pleasure. We have found it an infallible
secret to save a guilty person, who has vigorous muscles, strong
and supple hamstrings, nervous arms, and firm loins, and we gayly
break on the wheel all those innocent persons to whom nature has
given feeble organs. It is thus we conduct ourselves with wonderful
wisdom and prudence. As there are half proofs, I mean half truths,
it is certain there are persons who are half innocent and half
guilty. We commence, therefore, by rendering them half dead; we then
go to breakfast; afterwards ensues entire death, which gives us
great consideration in the world, which is one of the most valuable
advantages of our offices.
DES TOUCHES.—It must be allowed that nothing can be more prudent and
humane. Pray tell me what becomes of the property of the condemned?
CROUTEF.—The children are deprived of it. For you know that nothing
can be more equitable than to punish the single fault of a parent on
all his descendants.
DES TOUCHES.—Yes. It is a great while since I have heard of this
jurisprudence.
CROUTEF.—The people of Laos, our neighbors, admit neither the
torture, nor arbitrary punishments, nor the different customs,
nor the horrible deaths which are in use among us; but we regard
them as barbarians who have no idea of good government. All Asia
is agreed that we dance the best of all its inhabitants, and
that, consequently, it is impossible they should come near us in
jurisprudence, in commerce, in finance, and, above all, in the
military art.
DES TOUCHES.—Tell me, I beseech you, by what steps men arrive at the
magistracy in Siam.
CROUTEF.—By ready money. You perceive that it may be impossible to be
a good judge if a man has not by him thirty or forty thousand pieces
of silver. It is in vain a man may be perfectly acquainted with all
our customs; it is to no purpose that he has pleaded five hundred
causes with success—that he has a mind which is the seat of judgment,
and a heart replete with justice; no man can become a magistrate
without money. This, I say, is the circumstance which distinguishes
us from all Asia, and particularly from the barbarous inhabitants of
Laos, who have the madness to recompense all kinds of talents, and
not to sell any employment.
André Des Touches, who was a little off his guard, said to the
Siamese that most of the airs which he had just sung sounded
discordant to him, and wished to receive information concerning real
Siamese music. But Croutef, full of his subject, and enthusiastic for
his country, continued in these words:
“What does it signify that our neighbors, who live beyond our
mountains, have better music than we have, or better pictures,
provided we have always wise and humane laws? It is in that
circumstance we excel. For example:
“If a man has adroitly stolen three or four hundred thousand pieces
of gold we respect him, and we go and dine with him. But if a poor
servant gets awkwardly into his possession three or four pieces
of copper out of his mistress’ box we never fail of putting that
servant to a public death; first, lest he should not correct himself;
secondly, that he may not have it in his power to produce a great
number of children for the state, one or two of whom might possibly
steal a few little pieces of copper, or become great men; thirdly,
because it is just to proportion the punishment to the crime, and
that it would be ridiculous to give any useful employment in a prison
to a person guilty of so enormous a crime.
“But we are still more just, more merciful, more reasonable in the
chastisements which we inflict on those who have the audacity to
make use of their legs to go wherever they choose. We treat those
warriors so well who sell us their lives, we give them so prodigious
a salary, they have so considerable a part in our conquests, that
they must be the most criminal of all men to wish to return to their
parents on the recovery of their reason, because they had been
enlisted in a state of intoxication. To oblige them to remain in one
place, we lodge about a dozen leaden balls in their heads, after
which they become infinitely useful to their country.
“I will not speak of a great number of excellent institutions which
do not go so far as to shed the blood of men, but which render life
so pleasant and agreeable that it is impossible the guilty should
avoid becoming virtuous. If a farmer has not been able to pay
promptly a tax which exceeds his ability, we sell the pot in which he
dresses his food; we sell his bed in order that, being relieved of
all his superfluities, he may be in a better condition to cultivate
the earth.”
DES TOUCHES.—That is extremely harmonious!
CROUTEF.—To comprehend our profound wisdom you must know that our
fundamental principle is to acknowledge in many places as our
sovereign a shaven-headed foreigner who lives at the distance of nine
hundred miles from us. When we assign some of our best territories
to any of our talapoins, which it is very prudent in us to do, that
Siamese talapoin must pay the revenue of his first year to that
shaven-headed Tartar, without which it is clear our lands would be
unfruitful.
But the time, the happy time, is no more when that tonsured priest
induced one-half of the nation to cut the throats of the other half
in order to decide whether Sammonocodom had played at leap-frog or
at some other game; whether he had been disguised in an elephant or
in a cow; if he had slept three hundred and ninety days on the right
side or on the left. Those grand questions, which so essentially
affect morality, agitated all minds; they shook the world; blood
flowed plentifully for it; women were massacred on the bodies of
their husbands; they dashed out the brains of their little infants
on the stones with a devotion, with a grace, with a contrition truly
angelic. Woe to us! degenerate offspring of pious ancestors, who
never offer such holy sacrifices! But, heaven be praised, there are
yet among us at least a few good souls who would imitate them if they
were permitted.
DES TOUCHES.—Tell me, I beseech you, sir, if in Siam you divide the
tone major into two commas, or into two semi-commas, and if the
progress of the fundamental sounds are made by one, three, and nine?
CROUTEF.—By Sammonocodom, you are laughing at me. You observe no
bounds. You have interrogated me on the form of our government, and
you speak to me of music!
DES TOUCHES.—Music is everything. It was at the foundation of all
the politics of the Greeks. But I beg your pardon; you have not a
good ear, and we will return to our subject. You said that in order
to produce a perfect harmony—
CROUTEF.—I was telling you that formerly the tonsured Tartar
pretended to dispose of all the kingdoms of Asia, which occasioned
something very different from perfect harmony. But a very
considerable benefit resulted from it; for people were then more
devout toward Sammonocodom and his elephant than they are now, for,
at the present time, all the world pretends to common sense, with an
indiscretion truly | 564.45558 |
2023-11-16 18:26:28.5340750 | 4,703 | 9 |
Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by the Library of Congress)
* * * * *
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For |
| a complete list, please see the end of this document. |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
* * * * *
[Illustration: ARMSTRONG GUN FROM FORT FISHER.]
GUIDE
TO
WEST POINT,
AND THE
U.S. MILITARY ACADEMY.
WITH
MAPS AND ENGRAVINGS.
NEW YORK:
D. VAN NOSTRAND, 192 BROADWAY.
1867.
GUIDE TO WEST POINT.
Fifty-one miles above New York, on the west bank of the Hudson river,
in the midst of scenery of the most picturesque and impressive
character, and on a bold shelving plateau, formed by the crossing of a
range of the Alleghany Mountains, which here assume almost Alpine
proportions, is a name dear to every lover of his country--a name
replete with memories of the struggle for Independence, and clustering
with historic associations.
WEST POINT, the property of the United States by purchase, possesses a
primary interest from its military importance during the period of the
American Revolution, and a secondary one from its being the seat of
the National Military Academy. The creative hand of natural
beauty--the romance of war--the distinguished career of those who
have gone forth from this locality in the defense of American Liberty,
and the spectacle presented by those preparing for future public
usefulness, have united to inspire the visitor with emotions unlike
those excited at any place of popular resort within the limits of the
United States.
Ninety years ago, when West Point possessed no attraction beyond that
presented by similar adjoining wild and uncultivated woodland tracts
in the Highlands, a band of Commissioners, appointed by the Provincial
Congress of the Colony of New York, instituted an undertaking which
first imparted a public interest to this favored spot. The war for
American Independence was in progress, and then, as now, the Hudson
river afforded the principal channel of communication between the
theatre of the strife and the country lying northward to Canada and
the west.
Nor was its importance thus limited. As a strategic line, separating
the New England Colonies from the more productive region south-west
of them, the control of the Hudson became, early in the war, one of
the principal objects toward which the attention of the military
authorities directing the contending parties was attracted.
Between abrupt and lofty mountains above West Point, the gorge through
which the river flows, yet bearing its ancient name of Wey Gat, or
Wind Gate, is partially obstructed at its lower entrance, by a long
and narrow island, once named Martelaer's Rock, but now known as
Constitution Island. In pursuance of their instructions, made with
singular lack of judgment, upon this island the Commissioners landed,
and under the direction of an engineer, appointed by the Colony, a
work named Fort Constitution was commenced in August, 1775, and
completed at a heavy expense, designed to defend, with a powerful
armament of artillery, the approach up the river. Thus unfortunately
located, and easily destroyed by an overlooking battery at West Point,
or by a land approach on the east side of the river, the fort was
abandoned and fired on the first appearance of a British force, on
the 8th of October, 1777, immediately following the assault and
capture by Sir Henry Clinton, of Forts Montgomery and Clinton, four
miles below.
Notwithstanding this early recognition of the necessity for
obstructing and controling the Hudson, no attempt was made to occupy
West Point until after the urgent recommendations of Washington,
Governor Clinton and Lord Stirling--the latter of whom had thoroughly
examined and reported upon the immediate necessity for defending this
most important point.
Operations were commenced by a brigade of Continental troops, under
the command of General Parsons, on January 20, 1778, and before June
in the same year, the work yet preserved, was thrown up on the
north-east angle of the plateau, and named FORT ARNOLD. To cover the
work, early in April, a body of Massachusetts troops, under Colonel
Rufus Putnam, began to erect a fort constructed of earth and logs, on
Mount Independence, overlooking the plain, which was named, in honor
of their commander, FORT PUTNAM. The old fort yet in existence,
bearing the same name, is a relic built, for the most part, in 1794.
Forts Webb and Wyllis, lying to the south and named after regimental
commanders, were commenced at the same time with Fort Putnam, and were
designed to protect West Point from an approach southward by land. All
these operations were conducted under the direction of Major-General
McDougall, commanding in the Highlands; and in 1779, they were further
strengthened and improved, while additional works were thrown up known
as redoubts Nos. 1, 2 and 3, covering the Eagle Valley road to the
west; redoubt No. 4, on Rocky Hill, in rear of Fort Putnam, and
redoubts Nos. 5, 6 and 7, on Constitution Island, by Kosciuszko as the
engineer, acting under the general direction of Washington, whose
headquarters were established at West Point during a portion of the
same year.
The works known as the North and South redoubts, in rear of Garrison's
Station, were erected to defend the land approach on the east side of
the river.
An interesting letter and accompanying map, from Kosciuszko, relating
to these works, is here published for the first time:
"WEST POINT, 25TH APRIL, 1779.
"SIR: I send you a ruff map of West Point, with indication as
you desire from me, about the Public Buildings, and the Works.
"The Carpenters Compliend about the provision, that he have not
enof; he beg your honor to allow them more bred.
a House full of Ammunition.
b The Barracks.
c The Carpenter's House.
d The Commissary House.
e For the Fourage.
f The Huts.
g The Read House.
h Baker's House.
i Provision House.
k Small Commissary House.
l Smock House.
m The Barracks.
n The Steble,
o Of the Artellery Officer's House
p Artellery Barracks.
q Greaton's Battery.
r Chain Battery begun last summer.
s Redoubt for fivety men begun last Summer.
t Redoubt for fivety men begun last Summer.
u Guard House.
w Guard House not covered.
x Point of (Projected) Block House with Bumprove for
fivety men.
y Swamps.
Your Most Humble Servant
(Signed) THAD KOSCIUSZKO
Col.
The Honorable
Major General MCDOUGALL,
Peekskill."
[Illustration: MAP OF WEST POINT]
While these land defenses were planned and situated to aid in
controling the passage of the Hudson, a formidable obstruction was
made by stretching across the river at its narrowest point, a boom of
huge short logs, united at the ends by chains so as to resemble a rope
ladder, and a few yards higher up, an immense chain was buoyed up on
logs, extending across from one shore to the other. This chain was
made by Noble, Townsend & Company, at the Stirling Iron Works, yet in
operation near the Sloatsburg Station, on the Erie Railroad, about
twenty-five miles from West Point. It was carried in pieces to New
Windsor on wagons, put together there, and floated down the river into
its position, in April, 1778. A portion of the chain is preserved, and
is to be seen lying in a grove on the north side of the Plain. The
links are made of two-inch bar iron, and each weighs about 120 pounds.
The entire chain weighed 186 tons.
Thus it will be seen, from its natural advantages, its defenses, and
its obstructions, West Point was the key to the passage of the
Hudson, and as matters stood in 1780, it was in fact an American
Gibraltar. The British, then in possession of the city of New York,
and thus prevented from the employment of vessels to maintain
communication with the Northern Provinces, and unable to penetrate the
country amid the desolate wildernesses which covered its face, found
themselves restricted to surprising detached points, or raids, from
which the patriots speedily recovered, and no northern campaign, save
that of Burgoyne, which ended in defeat and surrender, was attempted,
chiefly from their inability to control the passage of the Hudson.
The winter of 1779 and 1780 was one of unexampled severity for the
patriot army in the North, while in the South the surrender of
Charleston and the disaster at Camden, had inspired universal gloom. A
cloud of witnesses of the best authority bear testimony that at that
period the majority of the American people manifested a willingness
to cease further resistance, and return to their allegiance under the
British King.
In the midst of these forebodings there burst upon the nation the
knowledge of a plot so comprehensive and momentous in all the
circumstances attending it, and in the results designed to be
accomplished, that even in its failure it struck terror and dismay to
the hearts of all true lovers of American independence. This mighty
plot comprehended not only the surrender of West Point, with all its
garrison and armament, but had also for its object the betrayal of
Washington and his staff into the hands of Sir Henry Clinton, the
British Commander of the King's forces in America.
Major General BENEDICT ARNOLD, an officer of the patriot army, who had
risen from the grade of Captain for gallant and perilous services in
the contest, sought and received an assignment to command at West
Point and its dependencies in August, 1780. Embittered by a few real,
and many imaginary grievances, this officer had long but secretly
become disaffected towards the American cause. After evidence has
established the fact, that he deliberately bargained with the British
Commander to become a traitor to the land of his birth--to sell for a
stipulated price the trust confided to him, and to betray his command
into the hands of the enemy. To accomplish this object he entered into
negotiations secretly with Sir Henry Clinton, by which it was agreed
that he should make such a disposition of his forces as would enable
the British Commander effectually to surprise West Point.
John Anderson and Colonel Beverly Robinson were the agents on the part
of the British, and with them Arnold opened "a regular channel of
communication." The correspondence becoming protracted, a personal
interview was demanded by Arnold to bring the matter to a final
settlement, at which he was to furnish plans of West Point, and
returns of its armament and garrison. With this object in view, John
Anderson left New York on horseback, and proceeded up the river with
the intention of holding the proposed interview on board the British
sloop-of-war "Vulture," anchored off Teller's, now called Croton
Point. Difficulties having been thrown in the way of this arrangement,
Anderson was induced to leave the vessel and go ashore at midnight, in
a boat sent by Arnold, and meet the latter on the west bank of the
Hudson, a little below the village of Haverstraw. He had been directed
by Sir Henry Clinton not to enter the American lines, and not to
assume any disguise, but under a pressure of circumstances, he did
both, and thus became exposed to the character of a spy, violating the
laws of war. The meeting between Anderson and Arnold, while discussing
their infamous plans, was prolonged until the dawn of day, when the
state of the tide and the risk of being discovered by the American
pickets, so alarmed the boatmen, that neither the threats nor
entreaties of the two principals could induce them to return to the
"Vulture."
In the hope of making a successful return to the vessel on the next
night, both parties sought refuge in the house of a noted Tory, living
in Haverstraw, named Joshua Hett Smith. They had scarcely found
themselves safe within the house, when an event occurred which
seriously threatened the whole object of the interview. The proximity
of the "Vulture" to the American lines was such, that a fire was
opened upon her by a battery on shore, and she was compelled to drop
down the river, thus preventing Anderson from returning to New York by
that opportunity. In the afternoon Arnold returned in his barge to his
headquarters, while Anderson, filled with thoughts of the great
advantage the arrangement must confer upon his King and country, and
with the glory and promotion awaiting himself, could not avoid
reflecting upon the great personal danger to which he was exposed,
surrounded by enemies, and having concealed about his person the
proofs of his character as a spy. He had been furnished by Arnold with
two passports, one to return by water in case that method again became
practicable, and the other by a land route on the east side of the
river, authorized him "to go to the lines at White Plains, or lower if
he thought proper, being on public business." Choosing the latter
mode, in the evening Anderson, accompanied by Smith, crossed the
Hudson at Stony Point, and commenced his hazardous journey.
The party proceeded with little or no interruption, and once beyond
the sight of patroling parties, Anderson's naturally buoyant spirit
resumed its wonted cheerfulness, and he astonished his companion by
the sudden change from taciturn despondency to unusual hilarity.
Poetry, art and literature, formed alternate themes of discourse, and
already he seemed to behold the reduction of the Colonies and the end
of the war--a consummation to which his own sagacity and personal
daring would so largely have contributed. Near Pine's Bridge, a few
miles above Tarrytown, Smith parted from him to return to Fishkill,
while Anderson pursued his way onward, until three armed militia-men,
lying in wait for suspicious men and cattle going to New York, brought
him to a stand. Under the impression that they were adherents of the
British from their replies to his inquiries, he announced himself a
British officer, and exhibited his passport, but it was too late, the
fatal admission was made. The men took him into the bushes and
searched him, when six papers, mostly in Arnold's handwriting, were
found inside of his stockings and beneath his feet, filled with
details of the state of the forces, ordnance, and defenses at West
Point. Patriotically disdaining the proffered bribe of a purse of gold
and permanent support and promotion on condition of suffering him to
proceed, the captors conveyed him to Colonel Jameson, who commanded
the nearest American outpost at North Castle. This officer,
unaccountably bewildered, resolved to dispatch the captive to Arnold,
to whose command he belonged, in spite of the damning proof of the
former's treachery. Major Tallmadge, the second officer in command at
the post, was absent when Anderson was brought in, and did not return
until evening. When Jameson told him what had occurred, he was filled
with amazement, and openly declared that Arnold was a traitor,
offering to take upon himself the responsibility of acting on that
conviction. To this Jameson would not listen, but he finally yielded
to the entreaties of Tallmadge to recall Anderson, while he persisted
in sending a note to Arnold, informing him of the suspicious arrest of
the prisoner. The six papers he had already dispatched to be delivered
to Washington. The messenger sent to recall Anderson overtook the
party and returned with them to North Castle. Conscious that his fate
was sealed, exposure inevitable, and proofs of his own and Arnold's
crime more than ample, Anderson paced up and down the apartment with
measured step, pondering on the gloomy prospect which awaited him,
while Tallmadge sat watching him, more and more convinced that the
indifferently dressed prisoner before him had been bred to the
profession of arms. On the next morning the captive wrote a letter to
Washington, describing the manner in which he came within the American
lines, and announced himself to be Major JOHN ANDRE, the
Adjutant-General of the British army.
The state of inactivity of the patriot forces had impelled Count
Rochambeau, the Commander of the Allied French army, to request an
interview with Washington at Hartford, Conn. Two days before the
conference between Arnold and Andre, Washington wrote Arnold to meet
him at Peekskill with a guard of fifty men, and forage for forty
horses. Arnold came down from West Point in his barge, and crossed
over with Washington at King's Ferry, plying between Verplank's and
Stony Point. The "Vulture" was then anchored off in full view, and
Washington observed her through a telescope for a long time,
conversing with his staff in a low tone. Arnold witnessed the scene
with more than ordinary feelings of alarm, and was startled by a
playful remark of Lafayette, who said, "General, as you have secret
correspondence with the enemy, you must tell us what has become of
Guichen." Thrown off his guard, Arnold sharply demanded what the
Marquis alluded to, but almost immediately the boat arrived at the
landing, and the retort passed unnoticed. The night was passed at
Peekskill, and when next morning Washington proceeded on his way,
Arnold returned to his headquarters at the Robinson House, opposite
West Point. In returning, after the meeting with Rochambeau,
Washington pursued the upper route to the Hudson, arriving at
Fishkill, so as to enable him to visit West Point before returning to
his camp in New Jersey. This change in his route caused him to miss
the papers sent after him by Jameson, which had been found on the
person of Andre, and during his brief visit the plot had matured,
ripened, and Andre had been captured.
Two days after the latter occurrence, Washington left Fishkill and
pushed on down to the Robinson House, only some ten miles distant,
intending to breakfast with Arnold. On arriving opposite West Point,
instead of continuing on to Arnold's quarters, he rode toward the
North and South redoubts. "General," said Lafayette, "you are going in
the wrong direction, and you know Mrs. Arnold is waiting breakfast for
us." "Ah!" said Washington, "you young men are all in love with Mrs.
Arnold, and wish to get where she is as soon as possible; go, and take
your breakfast with her, and tell her not to wait for me; I must first
examine the redoubts on this side of the river."
As most of the staff officers proposed to accompany him, only two went
forward to tell the Arnolds not to wait, and finding breakfast ready,
they sat down with the family at the table. During the repast a note
was brought to Arnold, who opened it and read it; the note was from
Jameson, as before mentioned, and announced the capture of Anderson,
conveying, of course, to Arnold, the failure of the whole conspiracy.
Betraying but slight outward emotion, although his life was in
imminent peril, he merely remarked that his presence was required
across the river at West Point, and with a slight apology, he left the
room followed by his wife. In the privacy of their own chamber he told
her they must part--possibly forever--and that his life depended on
his reaching the British lines; then pressing a kiss upon his sleeping
infant boy,[A] he passed down stairs, mounted a horse, and dashed down
a narrow rocky path leading to the landing, where his barge was lying,
just on the south side of the point through which the Hudson River
Railroad now cuts its way. Pretending that he was going with a flag of
truce, he excited the boatmen to powerful efforts by promised
rewards, and the boat sped through the water, carrying the panting
renegade to the "Vulture" below, passing Verplank's Point batteries
under cover of a white handkerchief raised upon a stick.
Meanwhile, Washington having completed his inspection, arrived at the
Robinson House, where he was informed that Arnold had been called
across the river. After a hasty breakfast, he concluded not to await
Arnold's return, but to follow him to West Point. As the barge swept
over the water, amid the majestic scenery of the Hudson, Washington
remarked, "Well, gentlemen, I am glad General Arnold has gone before
us, for we shall now receive a salute, and the roaring of the guns
will have a fine effect among these mountains." But no salute boomed
upon their expectant ears, and no preparations were visible for
tendering one. As the boat drew near the shore, an officer was seen
coming down the hill | 564.554115 |
2023-11-16 18:26:28.6157650 | 131 | 7 |
Produced by Gill Jaysmith and David Widger
THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG AND OTHER STORIES
By Mark Twain
Note: (The title story may also be found as Etext file #1213)
CONTENTS:
THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG
MY FIRST LIE, AND HOW I GOT OUT OF IT
THE ESQUIMAUX MAIDEN'S ROMANCE
CHRISTIAN SCIENCE AND THE BOOK OF MRS. EDDY
IS HE LIVING OR IS HE DEAD?
MY DEBUT AS A L | 564.635805 |
2023-11-16 18:26:28.6194260 | 3,926 | 22 |
Produced by MWS 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.)
MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
No. 1. PRICE, FIVE CENTS.
FROM FARM TO FORTUNE
OR
Only A Farmer’s Daughter
BY GRACE SHIRLEY
PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY STREET & SMITH, 238 William Street, New York City.
_Copyright, 1900, by Street & Smith. All rights reserved. Entered at
York Post-Office as Second-Class Matter._
MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
_Issued Weekly. By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second Class
Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by_ Street & Smith, _238 William St.,
N. Y._
_Entered According to Act of Congress in the year 1900, in the Office of
the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C._
No. 1. NEW YORK, September 29, 1900. Price Five Cents.
From Farm to Fortune;
OR,
ONLY A FARMER’S DAUGHTER.
By GRACE SHIRLEY.
CHAPTER I.
THE DAISY CHAIN.
There was hardly a ripple on the sultry air as Marion Marlowe walked
slowly along the dusty country road picking a daisy here and there and
linking them together in an artistic manner.
When the chain was finished she swung it lightly in her hand,
notwithstanding the fact that each link held one of her heart secrets
interwoven in the form of a wish, as she fashioned the frail necklace.
She paused for a moment upon the brow of the steep hill behind her
father’s farm, and pushing the gingham sunbonnet back from her face,
took her usual evening glance over the surrounding country.
“Same old hills! Same old trees!” she whispered irritably. “And always
that hideous old Poor Farm staring one in the face! Oh, I’m just sick
of country life and a horrid farm! Why couldn’t I have been born
something besides a farmer’s daughter?”
The view which Marion gazed upon was not altogether unlovely, but the
hills were steep and the pastures were scorched and the Poor Farm,
always a blot upon the peaceful picture, stood out with aggressive
ugliness in the keen glow of sunset.
Just over the brow of a low hill rose a curling line of smoke. It came
from the chimney of the little station where the Boston and New York
Express stopped morning and evening, the only connecting link between
them and civilization.
Marion Marlowe was seventeen and superbly handsome. Her twin sister
was fairer, more childish and a trifle smaller, but both were far more
beautiful than most country maidens.
As Marion spoke, her gray eyes darkened until they were almost black,
and the ungainly sunbonnet could not begin to cover her hair, which was
long and silky and a rich, ripe chestnut.
Turning her back upon the Poor Farm, which always offended her, Marion
suddenly gave vent to her mood in a most extraordinary manner.
Posing on the very crest of the hill with her shoulders thrown back
haughtily, she began singing a quaint air which was full of solemn
melody, and as she sang her eyes glistened and her cheeks grew even
redder, for Marion loved the sound of her beautiful voice—she knew well
that she was a magnificent singer, and might readily be forgiven for
glorying in her superb natural endowments.
“And to think it should all be wasted here!” she muttered as she
finished.
There was a scornful wave of her hand as she indicated the inoffensive
country.
She pulled on her sunbonnet with a sudden jerk.
“What could she do?” She asked the question hopelessly, and the very
trees seemed to mock her with their rustling whispers.
She could do nothing! She was only a farmer’s daughter! She must bake,
roast and boil, weed the garden, tend the chickens, and last but not
least, she must marry some stupid farmer and live exactly the life that
her mother had lived before her.
“I won’t do it!” she cried, angrily, when she had reached this point in
her thoughts.
“I’ll never submit to it! Never! Never! I will make a name somehow,
somewhere, some time! Do you hear me, you glorious old sun? I will do
it! I swear it!”
With a sudden impulse she lifted her hand above her head. The setting
sun threw a shaft of light directly across her path which clothed her
in a shining radiance as her vow was registered.
The sky was darkening when Marion drew her sunbonnet on again and
started slowly down the hill toward her father’s pasture.
She let down the bars at the entrance to the pasture lot easily with
her strong, white hands. There were five of the patient creatures
awaiting her coming. The sixth had strayed a little, so she strolled
about, calling to it, through the straggling brush and birches.
Suddenly there came the unmistakable patter of bare feet along the
road; Marion listened a moment and then went on with her search.
“Move faster, there, Bert Jackson! What’s the matter with ye, anyway?”
The words were shouted in a brutal voice which Marion knew only too
well to belong to Matt Jenkins, the keeper of the Poor Farm.
“I am moving as fast as I can,” answered a boyish voice, “but my arm
aches so badly that I can hardly walk, Mr. Jenkins.”
“As if an ache in your arm hindered you from walkin’ fast!” roared Matt
Jenkins again. “Faster, I say, or I’ll put the whip on ye!”
There was no reply, only the hurried tramp of bare feet in the road,
but there was a light crackle in the bushes of the pasture lot as
Marion hurried to the bars driving the truant cow before her.
A group of nearly a dozen lads from the Poor Farm were shuffling down
the road. They had been working about on various farms through the day,
and now were “rounded up” like so many cattle by Matt Jenkins, their
keeper, and were being hurried home under the constant goad of voice
and lash, the latter a cart whip of ugly dimensions.
Just as Marion reached the bars the squad of boys came abreast of her,
and one—a fine, manly looking chap of seventeen or eighteen—glanced
quickly in her direction, almost stopping short as he did so.
“Hi, there! Laggin’ ag’in, air ye, Bert Jackson!” roared the keeper
again. “There! Take that fer yer stubbornness in not doin’ as I tell
ye!”
The long lash circled through the air and came down with a hiss that
made Marion’s blood run cold—but only for a minute.
The next instant she had darted straight out into the road, and as the
vicious whip was raised for a second cut at the poor youth she sprang
at Matt Jenkins with the fury of a panther—snatching the whip from his
hands and throwing it over the fence into the pasture.
“How dare you, Mr. Jenkins!”
Marion’s eyes flashed like fire as she faced him.
Her sunbonnet had fallen off and showed her beautiful hair and
rose-tinted features. The daisy chain fell and was trampled under her
feet in the dust—the links which bound her wishes were scattered and
broken.
“How dare you strike a poor orphan?” she cried again. “You are a coward
to strike a boy! You ought to be kicked straight out of your position,
Matt Jenkins!”
“Huh! You’re mighty independent, Marion Marlowe!” growled Matt Jenkins
angrily. “I’ll tell yer father of ye, Miss High-flyer, an’ then we’ll
see who gits the lickin’.”
“My father will never whip me again, Mr. Jenkins,” said the girl,
almost sadly. “If he does I’ll run away, even if I starve to death in a
big city.”
The boys were all staring at Marion now, and as she looked at them she
saw that they sympathized fully with her sentiments.
“They don’t dare say so,” she thought, as she caught their eager
glances. “Poor boys, they are actually envying me just because I have a
father!”
Out loud she said bitterly:
“I mean it, Mr. Jenkins, and you can tell him I said so if you wish.
I’m not a child any longer, I’m over sixteen! As old as my mother was
when she was married,” she added proudly.
“Here, Bill Vedder, go git me my whip,” was the keeper’s only answer.
As the boy addressed started for the whip Marion Marlowe walked
directly up to Bert Jackson.
“What’s the matter with your arm, Bert?” she asked very softly.
Bert’s lips tightened a little and his face paled as he answered:
“It’s broke, I think,” he said in a whisper. “I fell off the load
and struck right on my elbow, but Mr. Jenkins only laughed at me—he
wouldn’t let me see a doctor.”
“It’s an outrage, a cowardly outrage!” cried Marion, hotly. “Oh, why am
I not a man so that I could do something to aid you!”
The sensitive face was flushed with anger now and the tears trembled on
her lashes as she turned toward Mr. Jenkins.
“His arm is broken,” she said, in an agonized voice. “Oh, Mr. Jenkins,
do hurry and take him to a doctor!”
“Nonsense!” growled Mr. Jenkins, as he strode forward and made a motion
to grasp Bert’s wounded arm.
“My God, don’t touch it!”
The boy shrank back with a cry of terror.
In an instant Marion was between them, her voice ringing out like a
bugle.
“Don’t you dare to hurt him, you monster!” she cried furiously; “I
won’t stand by and see it done even if I am a girl! And when I’m a
woman I’ll have you put in prison!”
“And I’ll help you do it, if I’m alive!” cried Bert Jackson,
recklessly; “but there ain’t much doubt but what he’ll kill me now for
my arm hurts so bad that I can’t stand him much longer!”
Marion stood like a statue as the group passed down the road. Matt
Jenkins looked back at her once or twice, but his whip was not raised
while her eyes were upon him.
CHAPTER II.
THE CITY BOARDER.
When they were gone from her sight Marion turned homeward.
The patient cows were well on their way, so the young girl had nothing
to do but follow them.
As she came in sight of the low farm-house where she was born she saw a
girlish figure coming swiftly toward her.
It was her twin sister, Dolores, or Dollie as she was called, and at
the very first glance Marion could see that she was weeping.
In an instant she was running rapidly toward her, and as they met she
threw her arms tenderly about her sister’s shoulders.
“What is it, Dollie? Has father been tormenting you about Silas again?”
she asked breathlessly, at the same time brushing her sister’s golden
hair back from her brow with a caressing motion.
Dollie wiped her eyes and nodded her head affirmatively.
“Yes, Marion, he has, and I can’t stand it much longer!” she cried,
sobbingly. “He is just nagging at me all the time, and, oh, he is
cruel, sister. Why, when I told him I did not love Silas he just
sneered at me as though love was something that was not to be
considered!”
“Poor father! It is little he knows of that holy sentiment,” said
Marion, sadly, “but go on Dollie, what else did he say to you?”
A gleam of resentment shone in Dollie’s blue eyes, for she was always
more brave when her sister’s arms were about her.
“Oh, he said I had defied him and that he would punish me for it! That
a man had a right to do as he pleased with his own family, and that
girls like you and me did not have a grain of sense about what was best
for them!”
Marion’s gray eyes flashed as her sister talked, but she walked slowly
on and did not interrupt her.
“Then he said that I would have a comfortable home if I married Silas,
and that I’d go straight to destruction if he did not look out for me!”
“How horrible!” burst out Marion. “And to think he is our own father!
Why isn’t he content with one such experiment? Poor sister Samantha,
whom he forced to marry Tom Wilders! I should think her miserable life
would be a warning to him! Oh, Dollie, if we could only go away and
earn our own living. You can play the piano beautifully and I can sing.
If we could only go somewhere and make our own way where we should
never bother father, I should be perfectly happy!”
The beautiful face was radiant with eagerness now, and some of her
wonderful courage seemed reflected upon Dollie’s more babyish features.
“It would kill me to marry Silas!” she cried with a shudder. “Father
shall not force me to do it, Marion, never!”
There was a close clasp of the arms about each other’s waists as the
two girls walked on and Dollie’s golden head almost rested upon her
sister’s shoulder.
“Why, Marion, what do you think! He tried to bribe me,” she added,
suddenly. “He said I could have grandma’s topazes the day I was
married to Silas.”
A look of disgust swept over Marion’s face.
“As if those old earrings of grandma’s could make up for such a crime!
And it is a crime to marry without love, my sister.”
A piteous sob broke from Dollie’s lips and she moved a step away.
“There’s no help for it, Marion. He’ll make me do it,” she cried.
“He’ll ruin my life just as he ruined Samantha’s, for, oh, it will kill
me to be tied down to the drudgery of farm life forever, and especially
with such a man as Silas.”
“We must find some way to thwart him,” said Marion, as she opened the
gate that led to the farm-house. “It is horrible to think of such a
thing. The idea of a man trying to get rid of his own daughter, even
selling her body and soul, for that is exactly what it amounts to.
Silas Johnson isn’t a bad fellow, but he is an awful bore. He isn’t
much like what we have dreamed of in the way of lovers.”
They had entered the dingy kitchen now and closed the door behind them.
There was no one there, so they went on softly with their confidences.
“I should say not,” said Dollie, smiling brightly through her tears, as
she recalled the mental pictures of the gallant youths which they had
so often woven into the links of their daisy chains, hoping that some
day they would come, like Cinderella’s Prince, and rescue them from the
drudgery of farm life, which they hated.
“Our lovers must be all that is grand and brave and true,” she cried
excitedly. “They must be of noble blood, like the knights in the
story books, who would risk their lives for a maiden’s love and think
no peril too great to keep them from their trysts. Oh. I have often
dreamed of them, Marion, and such beautiful dreams. It was like a
glimpse of bliss to be loved by such a lover.”
“And just think, Dollie, the world is full of them,” cried Marion.
“There really are just such knights and they do kneel at the feet of
blushing maidens.”
“It makes me tremble with delight just to think of it,” murmured
Dollie. “Oh, Marion, will I ever have a lover like that? One whose
slightest word will make me thrill with pleasure. If we only lived in
the city, darling. But no one will ever come here. We will just die
longing for love and never, never get it.”
“Mine was to have black eyes and brown hair, and be very tall,” began
Marion, wiping her eyes, “and he was to be, oh, so gentle and tender
in his wooing, yet all the time as brave and strong as a lion! Oh, my
lover was to be a perfect prince among men, and we were to marry and
live in a little paradise of pleasure!”
Her cheeks were glowing as she finished her impulsive speech, and
radiant smiles were dimpling her fair features.
“And mine was to have gray eyes; like yours, Marion; and a big
mustache, and—but, oh, my goodness! Just look at who is coming!”
Dollie finished abruptly, pointing out of the window.
“It’s the man that mother said was looking for board, I suppose,” said
Marion thoughtfully. “Father must have taken him and he’s bringing him
straight into the kitchen.”
“He’s the handsomest man I ever saw!” cried Dollie, springing up.
“Quick! Marion, we must tidy ourselves up a bit, dear! He mustn’t think
we are frights, even if we are a farmer’s daughters!”
Farmer Marlowe introduced the girls with an awkward wave of his hand.
“My darters, Mr. Lawson,” he said, with an effort at politeness. Then
leaving the girls to entertain the new boarder, he strode out of the
room again to do the evening milking.
The stranger, a man of thirty, of most striking appearance, stood as if
rooted to the spot for at least a full moment after his first sight of
the girls.
Such beauty as this was rare in any place, but finding it buried here
in the wilderness of rocks and sand | 564.639466 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
AGNES STRICKLAND'S QUEENS OF ENGLAND
Abridged
By Rosalie Kaufman
Vol. III. (Of III)
Fully Illustrated
Boston
Estes & Lauriat
1882
NOTE.
In presenting this last volume of Queens of England to our readers, we
are glad to say that we have been permitted to carry the story through
the entire history of that country, from the Conquest to the present
day. We present a more complete, although less extended account than is
given in any volume or series of volumes now before the public. We feel
sure that the interest has been continued unabated from the beginning,
and that not only pleasure but real profit will be derived from a
careful perusal of every page of these three volumes. It is true that
some eminent names and many noteworthy events have been sacrificed; but
nothing has been omitted which has been requisite for the comprehension
of events which have depended upon them. Those who follow carefully
the story of these famous characters, will find suggestions which will
prompt them to independent inquiry and landmarks which will indicate a
more elaborate and complete course of study.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Sebastopol...........................................Frontispiece
India.........................................................014
Revocation of the Edict of Nantes,............................017
Zell..........................................................025
Sophia Dorothea of Zell.......................................033
The Bower.....................................................039
George I......................................................053
Caroline Wilhelmina Dorothea of Anspach.......................061
Lady Walpole's Reception......................................069
Sir Robert Walpole............................................083
George II.....................................................101
Kensington Palace.............................................115
Landing of George II..........................................121
Stoke Pogis Church............................................125
The Ivy Tower.................................................127
Charlotte Sophia..............................................137
William Pitt..................................................145
Garrick's Villa...............................................153
George III....................................................157
Cedar from Kew Gardens........................................163
Carlton House.................................................173
Pox...........................................................175
William Pitt the Younger......................................183
What a Little Place you Occupy................................195
Caroline of Brunswick.........................................205
Cowley's House................................................217
Country-scat..................................................223
View from Richmond Hill.......................................229
Hampton Court.................................................237
George IV.....................................................245
The Grotto....................................................231
Warwick Castle................................................259
Kensington Gardens............................................269
Caroline Refused Admittance to Westminster Abbey..............277
Adelaide Louisa...............................................281
O'Connell Haranguing the People...............................287
Lafayette.....................................................303
Queen Victoria................................................311
Victoria at the age of Eight..................................318
Marshal Soult.................................................325
The Youthful Queen............................................328
Street in Coburg.............................................. | 564.639638 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
Two Little Women
Carolyn Wells
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
* * * * *
PATTY SERIES
PATTY FAIRFIELD
PATTY AT HOME
PATTY IN THE CITY
PATTY'S SUMMER DAYS
PATTY IN PARIS
PATTY'S FRIENDS
PATTY'S PLEASURE TRIP
PATTY'S SUCCESS
PATTY'S MOTOR CAR
PATTY'S BUTTERFLY DAYS
PATTY'S SOCIAL SEASON
PATTY'S SUITORS
PATTY'S ROMANCE
MARJORIE SERIES
MARJORIE'S VACATION
MARJORIE'S BUSY DAYS
MARJORIE'S NEW FRIEND
MARJORIE IN COMMAND
MARJORIE'S MAYTIME
MARJORIE AT SEACOTE
* * * * *
[Illustration: IT TOOK A LONG TIME TO SATISFY THE BOYS'
APPETITES.--_Page_ 199]
TWO LITTLE WOMEN
BY
CAROLYN WELLS
AUTHOR OF
THE PATTY BOOKS,
THE MARJORIE BOOKS, ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
E. C. CASWELL
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1915
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE GIRL NEXT DOOR 1
II DOTTY ROSE AND DOLLY FAYRE 15
III THE NEW ROOMS 29
IV THE BIRTHDAY MORNING 43
V THE DOUBLE PARTY 57
VI ROLLER SKATING 71
VII TWO BIG BROTHERS 87
VIII CROSSTREES CAMP 103
IX DOLLY'S ESCAPE 118
X HIDDEN TREASURE 133
XI A THRILLING EXPERIENCE 150
XII WHO WAS THE TALL PHANTOM? 167
XIII THAT LUNCHEON 186
XIV THE CAKE CONTEST 201
XV WHO WON THE PRIZE? 215
XVI A WALK IN THE WOODS 231
XVII SURFWOOD 250
XVIII DOLL OVERBOARD! 260
XIX SPENDING THE PRIZE MONEY 276
XX GOOD-BYE, SUMMER! 288
CHAPTER I
THE GIRL NEXT DOOR
Summit Avenue was the prettiest street in Berwick. Spacious and
comfortable-looking homes stood on either side of it, each in its
setting of lawn and shade trees. Most of these showed no dividing fences
or hedges, and boundaries were indiscernible in the green velvety sward
that swept in a gentle <DW72> to the sidewalk.
Of two neighbouring houses, the side windows faced each other across two
hundred feet of intervening turf. The windows of one house were duly
fitted with window-screens, holland shades and clean, fresh white
curtains; for it was May, and Berwick ladies were rarely dilatory with
their "Spring-cleaning." But the other house showed no window dressings,
and the sashes were flung open to the sunny breeze, which, entering,
found rugless floors and pictureless walls.
But at the open front doors other things were entering; beds, chairs,
tables, boxes and barrels, all the contents of the great moving vans
that stood out at the curb. Strong men carried incredibly heavy burdens
of furniture, or carefully manoeuvred glass cabinets or potted palms.
From behind the lace curtains of the other house people were watching.
This was in no way a breach of good manners, for in Berwick the
unwritten law of neighbours' rights freely permitted the inspection of
the arriving household gods of a new family. But etiquette demanded that
the observers discreetly veil themselves behind the sheltering films of
their own curtains.
And so the Fayres, mother and two daughters, watched with interest the
coming of the Roses.
"Rose! what a funny name," commented Dolly Fayre, the younger of the
sisters; "do you s'pose they name the children Moss, and Tea and things
like that?"
"Yes, and Killarney and Sunburst and Prince Camille de Rohan," said
Trudy, who had been studying Florists' catalogues of late.
"Their library furniture is mission; there goes the table," and Mrs.
Fayre noted details with a housekeeper's eye. "And here comes the piano.
I can't bear to see men move a piano; I always think it's going to fall
on them."
"I'm tired of seeing furniture go in, anyway," and Dolly jumped up from
her kneeling position. "I'd rather see the people. Do you s'pose
there's anybody 'bout my age, Mums?"
"I don't know, Dolly. Your father only said their name was Rose, and not
another word about them."
"There's a little girl, anyway," asserted Trudy; "they took in a big
doll's carriage some time ago."
Trudy was nineteen and Dolly not quite fifteen, so the girls, while
chummy as sisters, had few interests in common. Dolly wandered away,
leaving the other two to continue their appraisal of the new neighbours.
She went to her own room, which also looked out toward the Roses' house.
Idly glancing that way from her window, she saw a girl's face in a
window next door. She seemed about Dolly's age, and she had a pretty
bright face with a mop of curly black hair.
She wore a red dress and a red hair-ribbon, and she made a vivid
picture, framed in the open window.
Dolly looked through the scrim of her bedroom curtain, and then to see
better, moved the curtain aside, and watched the black-haired girl.
Dolly, herself, could not be seen, because of the dark wire window
screen, and she looked at the stranger with increasing interest.
At last the new girl put one foot over the window sill and then the
other, and sat with her feet crossed and kicking against the side of the
house. It was a first floor window, and there was little danger of her
falling out, but she stretched out her arms and held the window frame on
either side.
Dolly judged the girl must be about her own age, for she looked so, and
too, her dress came nearly but not quite to her shoetops, which was the
prescribed length of Dolly's own.
It was a pleasant outlook. If this new neighbour should be a nice girl,
Dolly foresaw lots of good times. For most of her girl friends lived at
some distance; the nearest, several blocks away. And to have a chum next
door would be fine!
But was she a nice girl? Dolly had been punctiliously brought up, and a
girl who sat in a window, and swung her feet over the sill, was a bit
unconventional in Berwick.
Dolly was seized with a strong desire to meet this girl, to see her
nearer by and to talk with her. But Dolly was timid. Beside her careful
education in deportment, she was naturally shy and reticent. She was
sure she never could make any advances to become acquainted with this
new girl, and yet, she did want to know her.
She went back to her mother and sister.
"There's an awful big picture," Trudy was saying; "it's all burlapped
up, so you can't tell what it is. It's easy to judge people from their
pictures."
Trudy had graduated the year before from a large and fine girls' school
and she knew all about pictures.
"I think you can tell more by chairs," Mrs. Fayre said; "their easy
chairs are very good ones. I think they're very nice people."
"Have you seen the girl in the window?" asked Dolly. "She's just about
my size."
"So she is," said Mrs. Fayre, glancing at Dolly, and then returning to
her study of the chairs.
"When can I go to see her, Mother?"
"Oh, Trudy and I will call there in a fortnight or so, and after that
you can go to see the little girl or I'll ask her mother to bring her
over here. You children needn't be formal."
"But can't I go over there to-day?"
"Mercy, no, child! Not the day they arrive! They'd think we were crazy!"
Dolly went out on the side verandah. The black-haired girl still sat in
the window. She was frankly staring, and so, every time Dolly caught her
eye, the straightforward gaze was so disconcerting that Dolly looked
away quickly and pretended to be engrossed in something else.
But at last with a determined effort to overcome her timidity, she
concluded she would look over at the girl and smile. It couldn't be
wrong merely to smile at a new girl, if it was the very day she arrived.
They couldn't think her "crazy" for that. But to conclude to do this and
to do it, were two very different matters for Dolly Fayre.
Half a dozen times she almost raised her eyes, her smile all ready to
break out, and then, it would seem too much to dare, and with a deep
blush, she would turn again toward her own house.
But it was nearing luncheon time, and Dolly made a last desperate effort
to screw her courage to the sticking point. With a determined jerk she
wheeled around and smiled broadly at the new girl.
To her amazement, the pretty face scowled at her! Definitely and
distinctly scowled! Dolly could scarcely believe her eyes. Why should
this stranger scowl at her, when she didn't know her at all?
Dolly quickly looked away, and pondered over the matter. She felt less
shy now, because she was angry. Then the bell rang for luncheon.
Dolly started for the house, but unable to resist a final impulse, she
glanced again at the girl in the window.
The girl shook her head at her! It was a quick, saucy, sideways shake,
as if Dolly had asked her something and she had refused. The pretty face
looked pettish, and the black eyes snapped as she vigorously shook her
curly head.
"Pooh!" said Dolly to herself; "wait till you're asked, miss! I don't
want anything of you!"
Dolly went into the house and at the lunch table, she told her mother
and Trudy of the girl's actions.
"I thought she looked saucy," said Trudy, and the subject was dropped.
* * * * *
In the meantime the girl next door had drawn in her feet and jumped down
from the window.
"What a funny lunch!" she exclaimed, as she ran into the dining-room.
"Looks good, though," and she sat down on a packing-box, and took the
plate her mother offered.
"Yes, it's a sort of picnic," said Mrs. Rose; "everything's cold, but it
does taste good!"
The dining-room was unfurnished; though the table and chairs were in it,
they were still burlapped, and the barrels of dishes were not yet
unpacked. Mrs. Rose and her sister, Mrs. Bayliss, sat on packing-boxes
too, and made merry at their own discomfort.
"Seems'sif we'd never get straightened out," said Mrs. Rose, taking
another sandwich on her plate, "but I s'pose we will. It's always like
this when you move. Thank goodness, George is coming home early,--he's
such a help."
"Yes, he is," agreed Mrs. Bayliss; "what lovely fresh radishes! I'll
take some more. Do you know any one at all in Berwick, Molly?"
"No one at all. George liked the place, and he bought this house from an
agent. But I shan't hasten to make acquaintances. I believe in going
slow in such matters. The neighbours will probably call after a few
weeks, and then we'll see what they're like. The people next door have
lovely curtains. I think you can judge a lot by curtains. And their
whole place has a well-kept air. Perhaps they'll prove pleasant
neighbours. Their name is Fayre."
"I saw the little girl out on the verandah," said Dotty Rose, between
two bites of her sandwich. "She has yellow hair and blue eyes. But I
don't like her."
"Why, Dotty, how you talk!" exclaimed her aunt; "how can you like her or
dislike her, when you don't know her?"
"She's a prig; I can see that, Aunt Clara. I can tell by the way she
walks and moves around. She hasn't any _go_ to her."
"Well, you've go enough for the whole neighbourhood! Probably you'll
find she's a nice, well-behaved little girl."
"All right, have it just as you like, Aunt Clara. When are you going to
fix my room, Mother?"
"As soon as your things come; not till to-morrow, most likely. If we can
get beds to sleep on to-night | 565.035428 |
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Produced by Marius Masi, Greg Bergquist and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's note:
The following typographical errors have been corrected:
Page 48: "... Brouillan, governor of Placentia, who assumed entire
command, interfered with Iberville's contemplated movements, and
declared that his own troops, the Canadians, should not accompany
him on the opening campaign." 'Brouillan' amended from
'Brouillian'.
Page 157: "The difficulties of communicating with the Chopunish
were very great, and if errors occurred it was not astonishing."
'Chopunish' amended from 'Chopunnish'.
Page 180: "... well armed and prepared as braves to sell their
lives dearly; that they should go on, and if the Pawnees opposed,
the great American father would send other warriors to avenge the
dead." 'Pawnees' amended from 'Pawness'.
Page 202: "Most unfortunately, on the chart transmitted to Ross by
Wilkes, he entered, without distinguishing marks, land between
longitudes 160 deg. E. and 165 deg. E., near the sixty-sixth parallel..."
'parallel' amended from 'paralled'.
Page 289: "The consensus of opinion in the Lady Franklin expedition
pointed to Cape Joseph Goode, 80 deg. 14' N.,..." 'consensus' amended
from 'concensus'.
[Illustration: A. W. Greely]
_MEN OF ACHIEVEMENT_
EXPLORERS AND TRAVELLERS
BY
GENERAL A. W. GREELY, U.S.A.
GOLD MEDALLIST OF ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY AND SOCIETE DE
GEOGRAPHIE, PARIS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1894
COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK
PREFACE
The compiler of a series of sketches of American Explorers and
Travellers experiences at the very outset a serious embarrassment from
the superabundant wealth of original material at his command. The
history of America for two hundred years after the voyage of Joliet has
been the history of courageous, persistent, and successful exploration,
wherein the track of the explorer, instantly serving as a trail for the
pioneer, has speedily broadened into the wagon-road of invading
immigrants.
Explorations and journeys of such an extent as in other and older lands
would have excited praise and merited reward have been so frequent in
this continent as to pass almost unnoticed. Hence the scope of this
modest volume is necessarily confined to explorations of great
importance or peculiar interest, and when made by men of American birth
who are no longer living.
In deference to the author's advisers, two exceptions have been made--Du
Chaillu and Stanley, Americans by adoption--otherwise African
exploration, so wondrously successful in this generation and so fruitful
in its results, would have been unrepresented. Again, the unparalleled
growth and progress of our American republic owes no small debt to the
wealth of physical vigor and strong intellectuality contributed by its
sturdy emigrants. These men, American in idea, purpose, and action,
whose manhood outgrew the slow evolution of freedom in their natal
country, merit recognition. What thousands of other naturalized citizens
have industrially wrought of the wonderful and great in this country,
these selected representatives have equalled in African exploration.
A chronological arrangement appeared best suited to these sketches,
which from Joliet to Fremont exhibit the initiation, growth, and
development of geographic discovery in the interior and western portions
of the United States. Since the sketches rest very largely on original
narratives some current errors at least have been avoided.
Generalization and criticism have been made always with reference to
later exploration, which necessarily enhances or diminishes the
importance of any original work.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. LOUIS JOLIET, Re-discoverer of the Mississippi, 9
II. PETER LE MOYNE, SIEUR D'IBERVILLE, Founder of Louisiana, 41
III. JONATHAN CARVER, the Explorer of Minnesota, 71
IV. CAPTAIN ROBERT GRAY, the Discoverer of the Columbia River, 88
V. CAPTAIN MERIWETHER LEWIS AND LIEUT. WILLIAM CLARK, First
Trans-Continental Explorers of the United States, 105
VI. ZEBULON MONTGOMERY PIKE, Explorer of the Sources of the
Mississippi and Arkansas Rivers, 163
VII. CHARLES WILKES, the Discoverer of the Antarctic Continent, 194
VIII. JOHN CHARLES FREMONT, the Pathfinder, 212
IX. ELISHA KENT KANE, Arctic Explorer, 240
X. ISAAC ISRAEL HAYES, and the Open Polar Sea, 272
XI. CHARLES FRANCIS HALL, and the North Pole, 293
XII. GEORGE WASHINGTON DE LONG, and the Siberian Arctic Ocean, 312
XIII. PAUL BELLONI DU CHAILLU, Discoverer of the Dwarfs and
Gorillas, 330
XIV. STANLEY AFRICANUS AND THE CONGO FREE STATE, 349
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FULL-PAGE
FACING PAGE
GENERAL A. W. GREELY, U. S. A., (_Frontispiece._)
ON THE SHORES OF THE PACIFIC, 96
A BLACKFOOT TEPEE, 112
CASTLE ROCK, ON THE COLUMBIA RIVER, 140
CHARLES WILKES, 194
PAUL BELLONI DU CHAILLU, 330
HENRY M. STANLEY, 349
ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT
PAGE
SIGNATURE OF JOLLIET (OLD SPELLING), 10
"MARQUETTE'S MAP," 15
THE RECEPTION OF JOLIET AND MARQUETTE BY THE ILLINOIS, 25
DE SOTO, 34
SIGNATURE OF LE MOYNE, 42
BIENVILLE, 57
BIENVILLE'S ARMY ON THE RIVER, 63
NEW ORLEANS IN 1719, 70
INDIAN TOMAHAWK, 74
THE FALLS OF ST. ANTHONY IN THE RIVER MISSISSIPPI, 77
A CALUMET, 80
NAUDOWESSIE INDIANS, 85
INDIAN MAUL, 93
CAPTAIN MERIWETHER LEWIS, 119
BUFFALO HEAD, 125
LIEUTENANT WILLIAM CLARK, 132
BUFFALO SKULL, 162
GENERAL Z. M. PIKE, 165
INDIAN SNOW-SHOES, 172
THE ICE-BARRIER, 199
THE VINCENNES IN A STORM, 202
VIEW OF THE ANTARCTIC CONTINENT, 205
IN AN ICE-FIELD, 208
JOHN CHARLES FREMONT, 214
JESSIE BENTON FREMONT, 215
ASCENDING FREMONT'S PEAK, 218
KIT CARSON, 226
LAKE KLAMATH, 231
ELISHA KENT KANE, 242
THE ARCTIC HIGHWAY, 246
A SLEEPING-BAG FOR THREE MEN, 251
THE COMING ARCTIC NIGHT, 256
ESQUIMAU BOYS FISHING, 260
AN ARCTIC STREAM, 264
ISAAC ISRAEL HAYES, 273
UPERNIVIK, 276
HAYES'S WINTER-QUARTERS, 280
ADRIFT ON A BERG, 285
CHARLES FRANCIS HALL, 294
IGLOOS, OR ESQUIMAU HUTS, 299
IN WINTER-QUARTERS, 302
AN ARCTIC FIORD, 305
A WOMAN OF THE ARCTIC HIGHLANDERS. SKETCHED FROM LIFE, 308
ESQUIMAU WOMAN. SKETCHED FROM LIFE, 310
GEORGE WASHINGTON DE LONG, 313
HERALD ISLAND, 317
IN THE PACK, 321
WHERE THE BODIES WERE FOUND, 323
NOROS AND NINDEMANN, 326
FINDING THE BODIES, 328
THE GORILLA (TROGLODYTES GORILLA), 334
A VILLAGE OF DWARFS, 339
A PIGMY WARRIOR, 342
A DWARF PRISONER, 345
ARROWS OF THE AFRICAN PIGMIES, 348
THE HUT WHERE LIVINGSTONE DIED, 352
MAP SHOWING POSITION AND BOUNDARIES OF THE CONGO STATE, 355
TIPPU TIB, 359
EMIN PASHA, 363
FINDING NELSON IN DISTRESS AT STARVATION CAMP, 366
A STOCKADED CAMP, 370
RUWENZORI (THE SNOWY MOUNTAIN), IDENTIFIED BY STANLEY
WITH "THE MOUNTAINS OF THE MOON," 372
EXPLORERS AND TRAVELLERS
I.
LOUIS JOLIET,
RE-DISCOVERER OF THE MISSISSIPPI.
If one should ask which is the most important river basin in the world,
there is no doubt that the Mississippi would be named, with its million
and a quarter square miles of area and its twenty-five or more billions
of aggregated wealth. Favored in climate, soil, and navigable streams,
and endowed with practically inexhaustible veins of coal, copper, iron,
and silver, feeding the world with its hundreds of millions of bushels
of corn and wheat, and clothing it by other millions of bales of cotton,
it is hardly so astonishing that within 217 years from its discovery by
Joliet this greatest of river basins should be the abiding-place of
twenty-seven and a half millions of people.
Speaking of Joliet, Bancroft wrote that his short voyage brought him
immortality; but in the irony of fate his explorations have not even
given his name a place in the last edition of the Encyclopaedia
Britannica. In writing on American explorers, it seems most fitting that
this series of sketches should be headed by this Canadian, whose name
is scarcely known by one in a thousand. That aught is obtainable
concerning the details of his life is due to the investigations of Shea,
which later were admirably summed up by Parkman.
[Illustration: Signature of Jolliet (Old Spelling).]
Louis Joliet, the son of John Joliet and Mary d'Abancour, was born at
Quebec, September 21, 1645. His father was a wagon-maker, in the service
of the Company of One Hundred Associates, then owners of Canada.
The son in youth was imbued with devout feelings, which, possibly
fostered by the elder Joliet as certain to bring station and influence
in manhood, led to his being educated in the Jesuit College for the
priesthood, in which indeed he received the minor orders in 1662. Four
years later, in the debates on philosophy, which were participated in by
the Intendant and listened to by the colonial dignitaries, Joliet showed
such skill as to elicit especial commendation from the Fathers.
His future career shows that his studies with the Fathers were not lost
on him, and doubtless they contributed largely to make Joliet that
intelligent, well-poised leader who filled with credit all duties and
positions incident to his varied and adventurous life.
It is probable, however, that during all these years he was at heart a
true voyageur, and that his thoughts turned continually from the
cloister and books to the forest and its attractive life. Be this as it
may, he practically abandoned all ideas of the priesthood at the age of
twenty-two, and turned to the most certain, and indeed, in Canada, the
only path to wealth, that of a trader in furs with the Indians. In this
trade only the hardy, shrewd, intelligent, and tireless subordinate
could hope to thrive and rise. Success meant long and hazardous journeys
into the very heart of the Indian country, where were needed great
physical courage and strength, perfect skill with gun, paddle, axe,
sledge, or snow-shoe, a thorough knowledge of wood-craft, indomitable
will or casuistry and tact according to the occasion. To paddle a canoe
from sunrise to sunset of a summer day, to follow the sledge or break a
snow-shoe path before it as far as a dog can travel in a march, to track
a moose or deer for leagues without rest, to carry canoes and heavy
packs over long portages through an untravelled country, were the
ordinary experiences of a voyageur, which were accomplished for the
great part on a diet of smoked meat and boiled Indian corn, with no
shelter in fair weather and the cover of an upturned canoe or bark hut
in stress of storm.
Joliet did not long remain in private adventure, for in 1669 Talon, then
Intendant of Canada, sent him to discover and explore the copper-mines
of Lake Superior, in which quest he failed. It was on his return trip
that Joliet met with La Salle and the priests Dolier and Galinee, on
September 24, 1669, near the present town of Hamilton, in which
direction Joliet's Indian guide had misled him when returning from Lake
Erie, through fear of meeting enemies at the Niagara portage.
Joliet's facility for map-making in the field is evident from the fact
that at this time he showed to the priests with La Salle a copy of the
map that he had made of such parts of the upper lakes as he had visited,
and gave them a copy of it. He moreover evidenced continued interest in
religious matters by telling them that the Pottowattamies and other
Indian tribes of that region were in serious need of spiritual succor.
La Salle later, in November, 1680, repaid this frank tender of
information of the little-known west by intimating his belief that
Joliet never went but little south of the mouth of the Illinois, and is
also stated to have declared that Joliet was an impostor.
In his account of La Salle's last journey, Father Douay, referring to
Joliet's discoveries as related by Marquette, says: "I have brought with
me the printed book of this pretended discovery, and I remarked all
along my route that there was not a word of truth in it."
The efforts to deprive Joliet of the credit of the original discovery of
the Mississippi falls before the despatch of Count Frontenac to Colbert,
then Minister, dated Quebec, November 14, 1674: "VI. Sieur Joliet, whom
Monsieur Talon advised me, on my arrival from France, to despatch for
the discovery of the South Sea, has returned three months ago, and
discovered some very fine country, and a navigation so easy through the
beautiful rivers he has found, that a person can go from Lake Ontario
and Fort Frontenac in a bark to the Gulf of Mexico, there being only one
carrying-place, half a league in length, where Lake Ontario communicates
with Lake Erie.... He has been within ten days of the Gulf of Mexico....
I send you by my secretary the map he has made of it.... He has lost all
his minutes and journals in the shipwreck he suffered in sight of
Montreal.... He left with the Fathers at Sault St. Marie copies of his
journal."
But to return to the circumstances under which Joliet made the voyage.
Among other orders of Louis XIV. regarding Canada was a charge to
discover the South Sea and Mississippi, and Jean Talon, Intendant of
Canada, lost no chance of furthering this object. La Salle's journey of
1670 had failed to reach the great river, though he descended the Ohio
to the falls at Louisville, and at his recall in 1672 Talon had the
subject of further exploration in hand. Joliet had lately returned from
his unsuccessful efforts to discover copper mines on Lake Superior,
during which he had probably been the first white man to pass through
the Straits of Detroit. Despite his late failure he had impressed Talon
as the man best fitted to lead such an expedition, and so before sailing
for France the Intendant recommended Joliet for the work to Count
Frontenac, the new Governor.
In those days the Church and Government went hand in hand, and but few
French expeditions went westward from Montreal without a priest to carry
the faith to such Indian tribes as were allies of France or liable to be
won over. As Joliet's priest-associate, James Marquette, a young Jesuit,
then a missionary at St. Esprit, La Pointe, Lake Superior, was chosen.
No better man could have been sent. Marquette was in the prime of life,
an expert linguist--as he had learned in six years to speak fluently six
Indian languages--gentle, patient, and tactful with the natives, devout
in faith, singularly holy in life, fearless, imaginative, nature-loving
and observant, as shown by his journal, which, owing to Joliet's
shipwreck, is the only original story of the voyage. His enthusiasm is
shown by the opening sentences of his journal: "I have obtained from God
the favor of being enabled to visit the nations on the Mississippi
River,... and find myself in the happy necessity of exposing my life
for the salvation of all these tribes, especially the Illinois."
Joliet followed the St. Lawrence to Fort Frontenac, at the entrance of
Lake Ontario, and with the exception of the portage at the Falls of
Niagara, skirted in his canoe the shores of the Great Lakes until he
reached the Straits of Mackinaw, on the north side of which, at Point
St. Ignace, he found the enthusiastic Marquette devotedly laboring for
the spiritual welfare of the Hurons and Ottawas there gathered.
[Illustration: A Part of the Map Published in Paris by Thevenot as
"Marquette's Map." It shows the route taken by Joliet across Wisconsin
from the Baie des Puans (now Green Bay) to the Mississippi River, also
part of the return journey, that is, from the present site of Chicago,
northward along Lake Michigan.]
The contemplated line of travel was that of Jean Nicollet, an
interpreter who had spent many years with the Indian tribes, who was
sent in 1638 to bring about a peace between the Hurons and Winnebagoes
who lived near Green Bay. After his negotiations he ascended the Fox
River, and making a portage to the Wisconsin, descended that stream some
distance, so that, as he thought, from the designation of "the great
water" by the Indian guide to the Mississippi, he was within three days
of the South Sea.
Joliet, however, was too practical to trust entirely to tradition or
oral description. He had already carefully charted all that was
definitely known of the western lake regions, and now at St. Ignace,
with Marquette's invaluable assistance, gathered all possible
information from such Indians at the mission as had frequented the
unknown country. This information being duly weighed and considered,
Joliet extended his map to cover all the new country, marking thereon
the navigable rivers, the names of nations and villages along their
proposed route, the course of the great river, and other useful
information.
Their means of subsistence and travel were the simplest imaginable, two
canoes and as large quantities of smoked meat and Indian corn as could
be conveniently carried. Their canoes were of the usual Canadian
pattern, of birch-bark covering, stayed with spruce-root ribs and
cedar-splint, with white-pine pitch smeared over the birch-bark joints
so as to render them water-tight. Such canoes were of astonishing
strength and carrying capacity, and of such lightness that four men
could carry the largest across portages.
On a bright spring morning, May 17th, Joliet and Marquette, with five
other men, left behind them the palisaded post and chapel of St. Ignace.
Plying briskly their paddles from sunrise to sunset, they made rapid
progress, coasting the lake shore until they turned aside to visit the
Menominees, or Wild-rice Indians, whose village was on the river of that
same name. Here inquiries for information of the "great river" brought
from the savage allies strenuous efforts to dissuade them from visiting
this Mississippi, where, they said, the unsparing ferocity of the tribes
brought unfailing death by the tomahawk to even inoffensive strangers,
and that war now raged among the intervening nations. They further
recited the dangers of navigating the rapids of the Great River, the
presence of frightful water monsters who swallowed up men and canoes,
the roaring demon who engulfed all travellers, and lastly the existence
of such excessive heat as to ensure certain death. After religious
instruction and service the explorers embarked in their canoes and soon
reached the southern extremity of Green Bay, where, says Marquette, "our
fathers labor successfully in the conversion of these tribes, having
baptized more than 2,000."
Joliet from Green Bay entered Fox River, finding it a gentle, beautiful
stream, promising easy and pleasant passage and abounding in wildfowl.
Soon, however, these agreeable aspects gave way to the sterner phases of
exploration, for sharp rapids were fallen in with where the strong and
uncertain cross-currents often threatened the total destruction of their
frail canoes, which would have proved fatal to their plans, by dashing
them against the sharp bowlders.
A serious but lesser evil to these enduring voyagers was the injury to
their mocassin-shod feet, which were cut and bruised by the sharp edges
of the rocky bed of the river over which they slowly and painfully
dragged their canoes for long distances.
The many rapids were safely passed, and on the 7th of June, 1673, our
explorers reached an Indian town which marked the extreme western limits
of French discoveries, being the farthest point reached by Nicollet in
his adventurous journey.
In this town dwelt bands from three different tribes, the Miamis,
Maskoutens, or Fire Nation, and Kickapoos. The latter two were inferior
in manners and appearance to the Miamis, who, more civil, liberal, and
well-made, wore two long ear-locks that Marquette thought becoming;
besides they were reputed warriors, who rarely failed in their forays.
They proved docile, attentive, and interested in religious matters, as
was shown not only by their talk with Father Allouez, but also by a
cross standing in the centre of the town, which was adorned with votive
offerings of skins, belts, bows and arrows to the Great Manitou for an
abundance of game during the dreaded famine time of winter.
The Indians used for their beds mats, probably made of rushes, which in
default of bark also served as material for the walls and roofs of
their unsubstantial shelters. Since Marquette refers to the advantage of
such building material as capable of being rolled up and easily moved
during hunts, it is probable that this town was of a temporary
character. It appears to have been well located, being on an eminence,
whence the approach of an enemy or the presence of game could be readily
observed in the open country. Marquette says of it: "The view is
beautiful and very | 565.07565 |
2023-11-16 18:26:29.3350860 | 966 | 10 |
E-text prepared by Josep Cols Canals, Ramon Pajares Box, and the Online
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Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capitals are represented in upper case as in
SMALL CAPS.
THE LIFE OF LAZARILLO DE TORMES
* * * * * *
AGENTS
AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
AUSTRALASIA THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS, MELBOURNE
CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD.
27 RICHMOND STREET WEST, TORONTO
INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD.
MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY
309 BOW BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA
* * * * * *
THE LIFE OF LAZARILLO DE TORMES
[Illustration: _Lazarillo begging._]
THE LIFE OF LAZARILLO DE TORMES
His Fortunes & Adversities
Translated from the Edition of 1554
(Printed at Burgos)
by
SIR CLEMENTS MARKHAM, K.C.B.
D.SC. (CAMB.)
With a Notice of the Mendoza Family,
a Short Life of the Author, Don Diego
Hurtado De Mendoza, a Notice of
the Work, and Some Remarks on the
Character of Lazarillo de Tormes
London
Adam and Charles Black
1908
ANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTORY
THE FAMILY OF MENDOZA
PAGE
Descent of the author of Lazarillo de Tormes xv
A Mendoza saved the life of King Juan I. of Castille xvi
The poet Marquis of Santillana xvii
Children of the Marquis xviii
Counts of Tendilla xix
Antiquity of the family xxi
DON DIEGO HURTADO DE MENDOZA, AUTHOR OF “LAZARILLO DE TORMES”
Born in the Alhambra xxiii
At Salamanca xxiv
Services in Italy xxiv
Library xxiv
The “Guerra de Granada” xxv
Last days xxv
Death xxv
THE BOOK, “LAZARILLO DE TORMES”
Ticknor’s opinion xxvii
First edition xxvii
Value of copies xxviii
Spurious second parts xxviii
English translations xxix
NOTES ON THE CHARACTER OF LAZARO
His age coincides with the Author’s xxxi
Two destinies xxxii
Baneful surroundings as a child xxxiii
Good stories well told xxxiii
Higher qualities xxxv
Development of character xxxv
Merits of the work xxxvi
PROLOGUE
Lazaro’s reason for relating all the circumstances of
his life 1
Motives _not_ to gain money but to win fame 2
Success of the poor should be a lesson to the rich 3
I
LAZARO RELATES THE WAY OF HIS BIRTH AND TELLS WHOSE SON HE IS
Parentage of Lazaro 4
Reason of his surname 4
Death of father. Mother in service 6
Stepfather. Little brown brother 6
Living on stolen goods 7
Helps at the | 565.355126 |
2023-11-16 18:26:29.3605350 | 1,156 | 25 | Project Gutenberg Etext Increasing Human Efficiency In Business
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2023-11-16 18:26:29.4618240 | 514 | 28 |
Produced by David Widger
LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI
BY MARK TWAIN
Part 2.
Chapter 6 A Cub-pilot's Experience
WHAT with lying on the rocks four days at Louisville, and some other
delays, the poor old 'Paul Jones' fooled away about two weeks in making
the voyage from Cincinnati to New Orleans. This gave me a chance to get
acquainted with one of the pilots, and he taught me how to steer the
boat, and thus made the fascination of river life more potent than ever
for me.
It also gave me a chance to get acquainted with a youth who had taken
deck passage--more's the pity; for he easily borrowed six dollars of me
on a promise to return to the boat and pay it back to me the day after
we should arrive. But he probably died or forgot, for he never came. It
was doubtless the former, since he had said his parents were wealthy,
and he only traveled deck passage because it was cooler.{footnote [1.
'Deck' Passage, i.e. steerage passage.]}
I soon discovered two things. One was that a vessel would not be likely
to sail for the mouth of the Amazon under ten or twelve years; and the
other was that the nine or ten dollars still left in my pocket would not
suffice for so imposing an exploration as I had planned, even if I could
afford to wait for a ship. Therefore it followed that I must contrive a
new career. The 'Paul Jones' was now bound for St. Louis. I planned a
siege against my pilot, and at the end of three hard days he
surrendered. He agreed to teach me the Mississippi River from New
Orleans to St. Louis for five hundred dollars, payable out of the first
wages I should receive after graduating. I entered upon the small
enterprise of 'learning' twelve or thirteen hundred miles of the great
Mississippi River with the easy confidence of my time of life. If I had
really known what I was about to require of my faculties, I should not
have had the courage to begin. I supposed that all a pilot had to do
was to keep his boat in the river, and I did not consider that that
could be much of a trick, since it was so wide.
The boat backed out from New Orleans at four | 565.481864 |
2023-11-16 18:26:29.7379150 | 715 | 17 | SKETCHES***
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed Proofreading
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by tilde characters is in bold face (~bold~).
[Illustration: THE GREEN TRAVELER,
[See page 62.]
THE WORLD ON WHEELS AND OTHER SKETCHES
bY
BENJ. F. TAYLOR
Chicago,
S. C. Griggs & Co.
1874
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by
S. C. Griggs & Co.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
Printed at the Lakeside Press,
Clark and Adams Sts.,
Chicago.
ONLY THIS:
The Wheels in this book ran, during the summer of 1873, through the
columns of THE NEW YORK EXAMINER AND CHRONICLE, to "the head and front
of whose offending," the
REV. EDWARD BRIGHT, D.D.,
who gave those wheels "the right of way," the old rolling stock and a
miscellaneous cargo is
CORDIALLY CONSIGNED.
ROLLING STOCK AND BILL OF LADING.
_THE WORLD ON WHEELS._
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. THE "WHEEL" INSTINCT 13
II. THE CONCORD COACH 17
III. THE RAGING CANAL 23
IV. THE IRON AGE 30
V. THE IRON HORSE 35
VI. PLUNGING INTO THE WILDERNESS 45
VII. VICIOUS ANIMALS 51
VIII. HABITS OF ENGINES AND TRAIN-MEN 60
IX. IN THE SADDLE 68
X. RACING AND PLOWING 74
XI. SNOW BOUND 82
XII. SCALDED TO DEATH 89
XIII. ALL ABOARD! 94
XIV. EARLY AND LATE 103
XV. DEAD HEADS 112
XVI. WORKING "BY THE DAY" 118
XVII. A SLANDERER AND A WEATHER MAKER 123
XVIII. DREAMING ON THE CARS 128
XIX. "MEET ME BY MOONLIGHT" 136
XX. THE MAKER OF CITIES 144
XXI. A CABOOSE RIDE 150
XXII. HATCHING OUT A WOMAN 154
XXIII. A FLANK MOVEMENT | 565.757955 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Stephen Hutcheson,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
BIRDS and NATURE
IN NATURAL COLORS
A MONTHLY SERIAL
FORTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY
A GUIDE IN THE STUDY OF NATURE
Two Volumes Each Year
VOLUME XII
June, 1902, to December, 1902
EDITED BY WILLIAM KERR HIGLEY
CHICAGO
A. W. MUMFORD, Publisher
203 Michigan Ave.
1902
Copyright, 1902, by
A. W. MUMFORD
BIRDS AND NATURE.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.
Vol. XII. JUNE, 1902. No. 1.
CONTENTS.
JUNE. 1
WAY OF JUNE. 1
THE SWALLOW-TAILED KITE. (_Elanoides forficatus_.) 2
TO THE BIRDS. 5
OLD-FASHIONED OUTINGS. PART I. 6
THE ALICE’S THRUSH. (_Turdus aliciae_.) 11
A BIT OF FICTION FROM BIRDLAND. 12
THE CAROLINA CHICKADEE. (_Parus carolinensis_.) 14
DICK. (THE STORY OF A DOG.) 17
THE VIOLET-GREEN SWALLOW. (_Tachycineta thalassina_.) 23
Isn’t it wonderful, when you think 23
A PRETTY HOUSE-FINCH. 24
THE THRUSH’S SOLO. 25
SPRINGS, GEYSERS AND ARTESIAN WELLS. 26
WHERE WE FOUND THE LADY-BIRDS. (A TRUE INCIDENT.) 31
CHERRY AND I. 32
STARFISHES. 35
THE FIRE-WEED OR GREAT WILLOW-HERB. (_Chamaenerion angustifolium_.)
38
THE SEA OR MARSH PINK. (_Sabbatia stellaris_.) 41
THE WORLD. 41
THE WATER OUSEL. 42
TOBACCO. (_Nicotiana tabacum_ L.) 43
Among the beautiful pictures 48
JUNE.
O month whose promise and fulfillment blend,
And burst in one! it seems the earth can store
In all her roomy house no treasure more;
Of all her wealth no farthing have to spend
On fruit, when once this stintless flowering end.
And yet no tiniest flower shall fall before
It hath made ready at its hidden core
Its tithe of seed, which we may count and tend
Till harvest. Joy of blossomed love, for thee
Seems it no fairer thing can yet have birth?
No room is left for deeper ecstasy?
Watch well if seeds grow strong, to scatter free
Germs for thy future summers on the earth.
A joy which is but joy soon comes to dearth.
—Helen Hunt Jackson.
WAY OF JUNE.
Dark-red roses in a honeyed wind swinging,
Silk-soft hollyhock, like the moon;
Larks high overhead lost in light, and singing—
That’s the way of June.
Dark red roses in the warm wind falling
Velvet leaf by velvet leaf, all the breathless noon;
Far off sea waves calling, calling, calling—
That’s the way of June.
Sweet as scarlet strawberry under wet leaves hidden,
Honeyed as the damask rose, lavish as the moon,
Shedding lovely light on things forgotten, hopes forbidden—
That’s the way of June.
—Pall Mall Gazette.
THE SWALLOW-TAILED KITE.
(_Elanoides forficatus._)
Hawks in highest heaven hover,
Soar in sight of all their victims:
None can charge them with deception,
All their crimes are deeds of daring.
—Frank Bolles, “The Blue Jay.”
The late Dr. Coues enthusiastically writes of the beauty of the
Swallow-tailed Kite in the following words:
“Marked among its kind by no ordinary beauty of form and brilliancy of
color, the Kite courses through the air with a grace and buoyancy it
would be vain to rival. By a stroke of the thin-bladed wings and a
lashing of the cleft tail, its flight is swayed to this or that side in
a moment, or instantly arrested. Now it swoops with incredible
swiftness, seizes without a pause, and bears its struggling captive
aloft, feeding from its talons as it flies. Now it mounts in airy
circles till it is a speck in the blue ether and disappears. All its
actions, in wantonness or in severity of the chase, display the dash of
the athletic bird, which, if lacking the brute strength and | 565.954311 |
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Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Keith M. Eckrich, and PG Distributed
Proofreaders
THE
ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.
* * * * *
VOL. VI.--OCTOBER, 1860.--NO. XXXVI.
* * * * *
SOME OF THE HAUNTS OF BURNS.
BY A TOURIST WITHOUT IMAGINATION OR ENTHUSIASM.
We left Carlisle at a little past eleven, and within the half-hour
were at Gretna Green. Thence we rushed onward into Scotland through a
flat and dreary tract of country, consisting mainly of desert and bog,
where probably the moss-troopers were accustomed to take refuge after
their raids into England. Anon, however, the hills hove themselves up
to view, occasionally attaining a height which might almost be called
mountainous. In about two hours we reached Dumfries, and alighted at
the station there.
Chill as the Scottish summer is reputed to be, we found it an awfully
hot day, not a whit less so than the day before; but we sturdily
adventured through the burning sunshine up into the town, inquiring
our way to the residence of Burns. The street leading from the station
is called Shakspeare Street; and at its farther extremity we read
"Burns Street" on a corner house,--the avenue thus designated having
been formerly known as "Mill Hole Brae." It is a vile lane, paved with
small, hard stones from side to side, and bordered by cottages or mean
| 567.538257 |
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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 | 567.636513 |
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Produced by A. Light
RHYMES OF A ROLLING STONE
by Robert W. Service
[British-born Canadian Poet -- 1874-1958.]
Author of "The Spell of the Yukon", "Ballads of a Cheechako", etc.
1912 edition, 1917 printing
[Some very minor changes have been made in spelling and punctuation
after consulting another edition.]
I have no doubt at all the Devil grins,
As seas of ink I spatter.
Ye gods, forgive my "literary" sins --
The other kind don't matter.
Contents
Prelude
A Rolling Stone
The Soldier of Fortune
The Gramaphone at Fond-Du-Lac
The Land of Beyond
Sunshine
The Idealist
Athabaska Dick
Cheer
The Return
The Junior God
The Nostomaniac
Ambition
To Sunnydale
The Blind and the Dead
The Atavist
The Sceptic
The Rover
Barb-Wire Bill
"?"
Just Think!
The Lunger
The Mountain and the Lake
The Headliner and the Breadliner
Death in the Arctic
Dreams Are Best
The Quitter
The Cow-Juice Cure
While the Bannock Bakes
The Lost Master
Little Moccasins
The Wanderlust
The Trapper's Christmas Eve
The World's All Right
The Baldness of Chewed-Ear
The Mother
The Dreamer
At Thirty-Five
The Squaw Man
Home and Love
I'm Scared of it All
A Song of Success
The Song of the Camp-Fire
Her Letter
The Man Who Knew
The Logger
The Passing of the Year
The Ghosts
Good-Bye, Little Cabin
Heart o' the North
The Scribe's Prayer
RHYMES OF A ROLLING STONE
Prelude
_I sing no idle songs of dalliance days,
No dreams Elysian inspire my rhyming;
I have no Celia to enchant my lays,
No pipes of Pan have set my heart to chiming.
I am no wordsmith dripping gems divine
Into the golden chalice of a sonnet;
If love songs witch you, close this book of mine,
Waste no time on it._
_Yet bring I to my work an eager joy,
A lusty love of life and all things human;
Still in me leaps the wonder of the boy,
A pride in man, a deathless faith in woman.
Still red blood calls, still rings the valiant fray;
Adventure beacons through the summer gloaming:
Oh long and long and long will be the day
Ere I come homing!_
_This earth is ours to love: lute, brush and pen,
They are but tongues to tell of life sincerely;
The thaumaturgic Day, the might of men,
O God of Scribes, grant us to grave them clearly!
Grant heart that homes in heart, then all is well.
Honey is honey-sweet, howe'er the hiving.
Each to his work, his wage at evening bell
The strength of striving._
A Rolling Stone
_There's sunshine in the heart of me,
My blood sings in the breeze;
The mountains are a part of me,
I'm fellow to the trees.
My golden youth I'm squandering,
Sun-libertine am I;
A-wandering, a-wandering,
Until the day I die._
I was once, I declare, a Stone-Age man,
And I roomed in the cool of a cave;
I have known, I will swear, in a new life-span,
The fret and the sweat of a slave:
For far over all that folks hold worth,
There lives and there leaps in me
A love of the lowly things of earth,
And a passion to be free.
To pitch my tent with no prosy plan,
To range and to change at will;
To mock at the mastership of man,
To seek Adventure's thrill.
Carefree to be, as a bird that sings;
To go my own sweet way;
To reck not at all what may befall,
But to live and to love each day.
To make my body a temple pure
Wherein I dwell serene;
To care for the things that shall endure,
The simple, sweet and clean.
To oust out envy and hate and rage,
To breathe with no alarm;
For Nature shall be my anchorage,
And none shall do me harm.
To shun all lures that debauch the soul,
The orgied rites of the rich;
To eat my crust as a rover must
With the rough-neck down in the ditch.
To trudge by his side whate'er betide;
To share his | 567.6366 |
2023-11-16 18:26:31.9195200 | 130 | 7 | WASHINGTON***
E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Project Gutenberg Beginners Projects,
Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE AUTOMOBILE GIRLS AT WASHINGTON
or, Checkmating the Plots of Foreign Spies
By
LAURA DENT CRANE
Author of The Automobile Girls at Newport, The Automobile Girls in the
Berkshires, The Automobile Girls Along the Hudson, The Automobile Girls
at Chicago, The Automobile Girls at Palm Beach, etc.
1913
[Illustration: A Fat Chinese Gentleman Stood Regarding Her.
(Frontispiece)]
| 567.93956 |
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Produced by Pauline J. Iacono and David Widger
McTEAGUE
A Story of San Francisco
by Frank Norris
CHAPTER 1
It was Sunday, and, according to his custom on that day, McTeague took
his dinner at two in the afternoon at the car conductors' coffee-joint
on Polk Street. He had a thick gray soup; heavy, underdone meat, very
hot, on a cold plate; two kinds of vegetables; and a sort of suet
pudding, full of strong butter and sugar. On his way back to his office,
one block above, he stopped at Joe Frenna's saloon and bought a pitcher
of steam beer. It was his habit to leave the pitcher there on his way to
dinner.
Once in his office, or, as he called it on his signboard, "Dental
Parlors," he took off his coat and shoes, unbuttoned his vest, and,
having crammed his little stove full of coke, lay back in his operating
chair at the bay window, reading the paper, drinking his beer, and
smoking his huge porcelain pipe while his food digested; crop-full,
stupid, and warm. By and by, gorged with steam beer, and overcome by the
heat of the room, the cheap tobacco, and the effects of his heavy meal,
he dropped off to sleep. Late in the afternoon his canary bird, in its
gilt cage just over his head, began to sing. He woke slowly, finished
the rest of his beer--very flat and stale by this time--and taking down
his concertina from the bookcase, where in week days it kept the company
of seven volumes of "Allen's Practical Dentist," played upon it some
half-dozen very mournful airs.
McTeague looked forward to these Sunday afternoons as a period of
relaxation and enjoyment. He invariably spent them in the same fashion.
These were his only pleasures--to eat, to smoke, to sleep, and to play
upon his concertina.
The six lugubrious airs that he knew, always carried him back to the
time when he was a car-boy at the Big Dipper Mine in Placer County, ten
years before. He remembered the years he had spent there tr | 568.540124 |
2023-11-16 18:26:32.5210320 | 496 | 55 | VOL. 93. SEPTEMBER 17, 1887***
E-text prepared by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer, and the Project
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See 33717-h.htm or 33717-h.zip:
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOLUME 93.
SEPTEMBER 17, 1887.
* * * * *
OUR IGNOBLE SELVES.
(_Lament by a Reader of "Letters to the Papers."_)
[Illustration]
OH! bless us and save us! Like men to behave us
We Britons once held it our glory;
Now Party bids fair to befool and enslave us.
We're lost between Liberal and Tory!
Some quidnunc inditeth a letter to GLADSTONE,
The style of it, "Stand and deliver!"
Its speech may be rude, and its tone quite a cad's tone,
Its logic may make a man shiver.
_Au contraire_ it _may_ be most lucid and modest,
In taste and in pertinence equal
(Though such a conjunction would be of the oddest),
But what, anyhow, is the sequel?
Rad papers _all_ cry, "We've once more before us
An instance of folly inrushing."
Whilst _all_ the Conservative Journals in chorus
Declare "it is perfectly crushing!"
"Little Pedlington's" snubbed by the Liberal Press,
And urged such fool tricks to abandon.
Cry Tories, "I guess the Old Man's in a mess,
He hasn't a leg left to stand on!"
Oh! save us and bless us! The shirt of old Nessus,
Was not such a snare to the hero,
As poisonous faction. Crass fools we confess us,
With sense and with spirit at zero.
If thus we comport us like blind sprawling kittens,
Or pitiful partisan | 568.541072 |
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Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, KarenD and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by Cornell University Digital Collections)
VOL. XXXV. NO. 9.
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
“To the Poor the Gospel is Preached.”
* * * * *
SEPTEMBER, 1881.
_CONTENTS_:
EDITORIAL.
ANNUAL MEETING—FINANCIAL—OUR BROADSIDE 257
THE PLACE OF THE CHURCH IN THE WORK OF MISSIONS 258
HEALING OF THE NATION’S WOUND 260
SUGGESTION WORTH PASSING ALONG 261
BENEFACTIONS—GENERAL NOTES 262
THE FREEDMEN.
OUR CHURCH WORK BROADSIDE.
Washington, D.C.; Hampton, Va. 265
Wilmington, Beaufort, N.C.; Charleston,
Orangeburg, S.C.; First Cong. Ch.,
Atlanta, Ga. 266
Cut First Cong. Ch., Atlanta, Ga. 267
Atlanta Univ., Savannah, Ga. 268
Woodville, Marietta, Cypress Slash, Ga. 269
Belmont and Louisville, Ga.; Talladega,
Mobile, Marlon, Ala. 270
Montgomery, Selma, Ala. 271
Shelby Iron Works, Childersburg, Florence,
Ala.; Tougaloo, Miss.; Cong.
Churches of Louisiana 272
Nashville, Memphis, Tenn. 275
Chattanooga, Tenn.; Berea, Ky.; Little
Rock, Ark. 276
Goliad, Paris, Flatonia, Texas 277
Corpus Christi, Texas 278
THE CHINESE.
JOTTINGS FROM THE FIELD 278
WOMAN’S HOME MISS. ASSOC’N.
MISS WILSON’S WORK IN KANSAS 280
CHILDREN’S PAGE.
PAULPHEMIA’S MA 282
RECEIPTS 284
CONSTITUTION 287
AIM, STATISTICS, WANTS, ETC. 288
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
Published by the American Missionary Association,
ROOMS, 56 READE STREET.
* * * * *
Price, 50 Cents a Year, in advance.
Entered at the Poet Office at New York, N.Y., as second-class matter.
American Missionary Association,
56 READE STREET, N.Y.
* * * * *
PRESIDENT.
HON. E. S. TOBEY, Boston.
VICE-PRESIDENTS.
Hon. F. D. PARISH, Ohio.
Hon. E. D. HOLTON, Wis.
Hon. WILLIAM CLAFLIN, Mass.
Rev. STEPHEN THURSTON, D.D., Me.
Rev. SAMUEL HARRIS, D.D., Ct.
WM. C. CHAPIN, Esq., R.I.
Rev. W. T. EUSTIS, D.D., Mass.
Hon. A. C. BARSTOW, R.I.
Rev. THATCHER THAYER, D.D., R.I.
Rev. RAY PALMER, D.D., N.J.
Rev. EDWARD BEECHER, D.D., N.Y.
Rev. J. M. STURTEVANT, D.D., Ill.
Rev. W. W. PATTON, D.D., D.C.
Hon. SEYMOUR STRAIGHT, La.
Rev. CYRUS W. WALLACE, D.D., N.H.
Rev. EDWARD HAWES, D.D., Ct.
| 568.735064 |
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Transcribed from the 1901 Archibald Constable and Co. edition by David
Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org
A RE | 568.822036 |
2023-11-16 18:26:32.8150210 | 355 | 54 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 83. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, May 31, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: PHIL AND HARDWICK.]
TWO KINDS OF COURAGE.
BY M. E. W. S.
Old Slack Limestone had sat on the steps of the tavern in Dicksonville,
and chewed tobacco and told stories until he had acquired the highest
perfection in the doing of each. Neither of these roads to fortune is to
be commended to youth; but as a proof that excellence is to be achieved
by constant practice, Slack Limestone's example became a good one.
Now and then he would condescend to be useful for a few days. He had a
specialty which was invaluable--he was good at laying turf. Perhaps
anything that was destined to keep still for a number of years attracted
Slack Limestone. That was what _he_ would like to do. So when our
lawn-tennis ground was being made, Slack agreed to leave the village
door-steps to cool for a few days while he turfed the graded ground.
Horatio said that he was going to get Slack to tell him the story of
little hunchbacked Philip while the turfing was going on, and we | 568.835061 |
2023-11-16 18:26:32.9976100 | 1,556 | 21 | AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 10, NO. 288, SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Terry Gilliland, David Garcia, and the
Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 11326-h.htm or 11326-h.zip:
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or
(http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/3/2/11326/11326-h.zip)
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 10, No. 288.] SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
The Return of a Victorious Armament to a Greek City.
[Illustration: The Return of a Victorious Armament to a Greek City.]
SPIRIT OF "THE ANNUALS" FOR 1828.
Our readers have annually anticipated a high treat from this splendid
intellectual banquet, served up by some of the master[1] spirits of
the age.
[1] We hope this epithet will not be considered ungallant--for, to
say the truth, the _ladies_ have contributed the best poetical
portion of the feast. This display of female talent has
increased in brilliancy year after year: and the _Lords_ should
look to it.
We doubt whether the comparison is refined enough for the fair
authoresses; but our fancy has led us to class their contributions to
the present feast as follow:--
_Hock--Champagne_, (_Still and Sparkling_.)
L.E.L.
Hood.
_Bucellas._
Miss Mitford.
Bernard Barton.
_Lacrymae Christi._
Mrs. Hemans.
Watts.
Delta.
_Port._
Coleridge.
Southey.
_Claret._
Montgomery,
with a due proportion of _vin ordinaire_. This comparison may be
pleasant enough as after-dinner chat, but we fear our readers will
think it like cooks circulating the Bills of Fare on the morning of
Lord Mayor's Day; and lest we should incur their displeasure, we
shall proceed with our select _course_: but we are mere disposers.
* * * * *
THE LITERARY SOUVENIR.
In literary talent, as well as in graphic beauty, this elegant volume
stands first; and from it we have selected the subject of the above
engraving, accompanied by the following
ANCIENT SONG OF VICTORY.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
Fill high the bowl, with Samian wine,
Our virgins dance beneath the shade.
BYRON.
Lo! they come, they come!
Garlands for every shrine!
Strike lyres to greet them home;
Bring roses, pour ye wine!
Swell, swell the Dorian flute
Thro' the blue, triumphal sky!
Let the Cittern's tone salute
The Sons of Victory!
With the offering of bright blood,
They have ransomed earth and tomb,
Vineyard, and field, and flood;--
Lo! they come, they come!
Sing it where olives wave,
And by the glittering sea,
And o'er each hero's grave,--
Sing, sing, the land is free!
Mark ye the flashing oars,
And the spears that light the deep!
How the festal sunshine pours
Where the lords of battle sweep!
Each hath brought back his shield,--
Maid, greet thy lover home!
Mother, from that proud field,
Lo! thy son is come!
Who murmured of the dead?
Hush, boding voice! we know
That many a shining head
Lies in its glory low.
Breathe not those names to-day!
They shall have their praise ere long,
And a power all hearts to sway
In ever-burning song.
But now shed flowers, pour wine,
To hail the conquerors home!
Bring wreaths for every shrine--
Lo! they come, they come!
The original engraving is by Edward Goodall, from a painting by William
Linton, Esq. It is altogether a rich and glorious composition, at
this moment too, glowing with more than pictorial interest; and the
_carmen triumphale_ of the poetess is a worthy accompaniment. Among
the other engravings the frontispiece and opposite page of this work
are extremely rich and beautiful: _Psyche borne by the Zephyrs to the
Island of Pleasure_, is full of languishing beauty; _Medora_, painted
by Pickersgill and engraved by Rolls, is a delightfully placid
moonlight scene; the _Declaration_, easy and graceful: there are,
however, in our opinion, two decided failures in the volume, which,
for the credit of the artists, had better been omitted. Our present
notices of the _literary_ department must be confined to the following
selection:
THE CITY OF THE DEMONS.
_By William Maginn, Esq._
In days of yore, there lived in the flourishing city of Cairo, a Hebrew
Rabbi, by name Jochorian, who was the most learned of his nation. His
fame went over the East, and the most distant people sent their young
men to imbibe wisdom from his lips. He was deeply skilled in the
traditions of the fathers, and his word on a disputed point was decisive.
He was pious, just, temperate, and strict; but he had one vice--a love
of gold had seized upon his heart, and he opened not his hand to the
poor. Yet he was wealthy above most, his wisdom being to him the
source of riches. The Hebrews of the city were grieved at this blemish
on the wisest of their people; but though the elders of the tribes
continued to reverence him for his fame, the women and children of
Cairo called him by no other name than that of Rabbi Jochonan the miser.
None knew, so well as he, the ceremonies necessary for initiation
into the religion of Moses; and, consequently, the exercise of those
solemn offices was to him another source of gain. One day, as he walked
in the fields about Cairo, conversing with a youth on the interpretation
of the law, it so happened, that the angel of death smote the young man
suddenly, and he fell dead before the feet of the Rabbi, even while he
was yet speaking. When the Rabbi found that the youth was dead, he rent
his garments, and glorified the Lord. But his heart was touched, and
the thoughts of death troubled him in the visions of the night. He
felt uneasy when he reflected on his hardness to the poor, and he
said, "Blessed be the name of the Lord! The first good thing that
I am asked to do in that holy name, will I | 569.01765 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, S.D., and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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HISTORY OF
FARMING IN
ONTARIO
BY
C. C. JAMES
[Illustration: Publisher's Device]
REPRINTED FROM
CANADA AND ITS PROVINCES
A HISTORY OF THE CANADIAN PEOPLE
AND THEIR INSTITUTIONS
BY ONE HUNDRED ASSOCIATES
EDITED BY
ADAM SHORTT AND A. G. DOUGHTY
HISTORY OF FARMING
IN ONTARIO
BY
C. C. JAMES
C.M.G.
[Illustration: Publisher's Device]
TORONTO
GLASGOW, BROOK & COMPANY
1914
This Volume consists of a Reprint, for private circulation only, of the
One Hundred and Sixteenth Signed Contribution contained in CANADA AND
ITS PROVINCES, a History of the Canadian People and their Institutions
by One Hundred Associates.
Adam Shortt and Arthur G. Doughty, General Editors
HISTORY OF FARMING
THE LAND AND THE PEOPLE
From the most southern point of Ontario on Lake Erie, near the 42nd
parallel of latitude, to Moose Factory on James Bay, the distance is
about 750 miles. From the eastern boundary on the Ottawa and St Lawrence
Rivers to Kenora at the Manitoba boundary, the distance is about 1000
miles. The area lying within these extremes is about 220,000 square
miles. In 1912 a northern addition of over 100,000 square miles was made
to the surface area of the province, but it is doubtful whether the
agricultural lands will thereby be increased. Of this large area about
25,000,000 acres are occupied and assessed, including farm lands and
town and city sites. It will be seen, therefore, that only a small
fraction of the province has, as yet, been occupied. Practically all the
occupied area lies south of a line drawn through Montreal, Ottawa, and
Sault Ste Marie, and it forms part of the great productive zone of the
continent.
The next point to be noted is the irregularity of the boundary-line, the
greater portion of which is water--Lakes Superior, Huron, Erie, Ontario,
the St Lawrence River, the Ottawa River, James Bay, and Hudson Bay. The
modifying effect of great bodies of water must be considered in studying
the agricultural possibilities of Ontario.
Across this great area of irregular outline there passes a branch of
the Archaean rocks running in a north-western direction and forming a
watershed, which turns some of the streams to Hudson Bay and the others
to the St Lawrence system. An undulating surface has resulted, more or
less filled with lakes, and almost lavishly supplied with streams, which
are of prime importance for agricultural life and of incalculable value
for commercial purposes. To these old rocks which form the backbone of
the province may be traced the origin of the large stretches of rich
soil with which the province abounds.
An examination of the map, and even a limited knowledge of the
geological history of the province, will lead to the conclusion that in
Ontario there must be a wide range in the nature and composition of the
soils and a great variety in the climatic conditions. These conditions
exist, and they result in a varied natural production. In the extreme
south-western section plants of a semi-tropical nature were to be found
in the early days in luxurious growth; while in the extreme north,
spruce, somewhat stunted in size and toughened in fibre, are still to be
found in vast forests.
It is with the southern section, that lying south of the Laurentian
rocks, that our story is mainly concerned, for the occupation and
exploitation of the northland is a matter only of recent date. Nature
provided conditions for a diversified agriculture. It is to such a land
that for over a hundred years people of different nationalities, with
their varied trainings and inclinations, have been coming to make their
homes. We may expect, therefore, to find a great diversity in the
agricultural growth of various sections, due partly to the variety of
natural conditions and partly to the varied agricultural training of the
settlers in their homelands.
EARLY SETTLEMENT, 1783-1816
Originally this province was covered with forest, varied and extensive,
and was valued only for its game. The hunter and trapper was the
pioneer. To protect and assist him, fortified posts were constructed at
commanding points along the great waterways. In the immediate vicinity
of these posts agriculture, crude in its nature and restricted in its
area, had its beginning.
It was into this wooded wilderness that the United Empire Loyalists,
numbering in all approximately ten thousand people, came in the latter
part of the eighteenth century.[1] They were a people of varied
origins--Highland Scottish, German, Dutch, Irish Palatine, French
Huguenot, English. Most of them had lived on farms in New York State,
and therefore brought with them some knowledge and experience that stood
them in good stead in their arduous work of making new homes in a land
that was heavily wooded. In the year 1783 prospectors were sent into
Western Quebec, the region lying west of the Ottawa River, and
selections were made for them in four districts--along the St Lawrence,
opposite Fort Oswegatchie; around the Bay of Quinte, above Fort
Cataraqui; in the Niagara peninsula, opposite Fort Niagara; and in the
south-western section, within reach of Fort Detroit. Two reasons
determined these locations; first, the necessity of being located on the
water-front, as lake and river were the only highways available; and,
secondly, the advisability of being within the protection of a fortified
post. The dependence of the settlers upon the military will be realized
when we remember that they had neither implements nor seed grain. In
fact, they were dependent at first upon the government stores for their
food. It is difficult at the present time to realize the hardships and
appreciate the conditions under which these United Empire Loyalist
settlers began life in the forest of 1784.
Having been assigned their lots and supplied with a few implements, they
began their work of making small clearings and the erection of rude
log-houses and barns. Among the stumps they sowed the small quantities
of wheat, oats, and potatoes that were furnished from the government
stores. Cattle were for many years few in number, and the settler, to
supply his family with food and clothing, was compelled to add hunting
and trapping to his occupation of felling the trees.
Gradually the clearings became larger and the area sown increased in
size. The trails were improved and took on the semblance of roads, but
the waterways continued to be the principal avenues of communication. In
each of the four districts the government erected mills to grind the
grain for the settlers. These were known as the King's Mills.
Water-power mills were located near Kingston, at Gananoque, at Napanee,
and on the Niagara River. The mill on the Detroit was run by wind power.
An important event in the early years was when the head of the family
set out for the mill with his bag of wheat on his back or in his canoe,
and returned in two or three days, perhaps in a week, with a small
supply of flour. In the early days there was no wheat for export. The
question then may be asked, was there anything to market? Yes; as the
development went on, the settlers found a market for two surplus
products, timber and potash. The larger pine trees were hewn into timber
and floated down the streams to some convenient point where they were
collected into rafts, which were taken down the St Lawrence to Montreal
and Quebec. Black salt or crude potash was obtained by concentrating the
ashes that resulted from burning the brush and trees that were not
suitable for timber.
For the first thirty years of the new settlements the chief concern of
the people was the clearing of their land, the increasing of their field
crops, and the improving of their homes and furnishings. It was slow
going, and had it not been for government assistance, progress, and even
maintenance of life, would have been impossible. That was the heroic age
of Upper Canada, the period of foundation-laying in the province.
Farming was the main occupation, and men, women, and children shared the
burdens in the forest, in the field, and in the home. Roads were few and
poorly built, except the three great military roads planned by
Lieutenant-Governor Simcoe running east, west, and north from the town
of York. Social intercourse was of a limited nature. Here and there a
school was formed when a competent teacher could be secured. Church
services were held once a month, on which occasions the missionary
preacher rode into the district on horseback. Perhaps once or twice in
the summer the weary postman, with his pack on his back, arrived at the
isolated farmhouse to leave a letter, on which heavy toll had to be
collected.
Progress was slow in those days, but after thirty years fair hope of an
agricultural country was beginning to dawn upon the people when the War
of 1812 broke out. By this time the population of the province had
increased to about eighty thousand. During this first thirty years very
little had been done in the way of stimulating public interest in
agricultural work. Conditions were not favourable to organization. The
'town meeting' was concerned mainly with the question of the height of
fences and regulations as to stock running at large. One attempt,
however, was made which should be noted. Lieutenant-Governor Simcoe took
charge of affairs early in 1792, and, immediately after the close of the
first session of the legislature at Newark (Niagara) in the autumn of
that year, organized an agricultural society at the headquarters which
met occasionally to discuss agricultural questions. There are no records
to show whether social intercourse or practical agricultural matters
formed the main business. The struggle for existence was too exacting
and the conditions were not yet favourable for organization to advance
general agricultural matters.
When the War of 1812 broke out the clearings of the original settlers
had been extended, and some of the loyalists still lived, grown grey
with time and hardened by the rough life of the backwoods. Their sons,
many of whom had faint recollection of their early homes across the
line, had grown up in an atmosphere of strictest loyalty to the British
crown, and had put in long years in clearing the farms on which they
lived and adding such comforts to their houses, that to them, perhaps as
to no other generation, their homes meant everything in life. The
summons came to help to defend those homes and their province | 569.034511 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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TRAVELS
IN
PERU AND INDIA.
[Illustration: HINCHONA-PLANTS AT OOTACAMUND,
In August 1881 (from a Photograph). A flowering branch of Chinchona in
the foreground. FRONTISPIECE. Page 487]
TRAVELS
IN
PERU AND INDIA
WHILE SUPERINTENDING THE COLLECTION OF CHINCHONA
PLANTS AND SEEDS IN SOUTH AMERICA, AND
THEIR INTRODUCTION INTO INDIA.
BY CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM, F.S.A., F.R.G.S.,
CORR. MEM. OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CHILE;
AUTHOR OF 'CUZCO AND LIMA.'
WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1862.
_The right of Translation is reserved._
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET,
AND CHARING CROSS.
PREFACE.
[Illustration]
THE introduction of quinine-yielding Chinchona-trees into India, and
the cultivation of the "Peruvian Bark" in our Eastern possessions,
where that inestimable febrifuge is almost a necessary of life, has
for some years engaged the attention of the Indian Government. In 1859
the author of the present work was intrusted, by the Secretary of
State for India in Council, with the duty of superintending all the
necessary arrangements for the collection of Chinchona-plants and seeds
of the species esteemed in commerce, in South America, and for their
introduction into India. This important measure has now been crowned
with complete success, and it is the object of the following pages
to relate the previous history of the Chinchona-plant; to describe
the forests in South America where the most valuable species grow; to
record the labours of those who were engaged in exploring them; and to
give an account of all the | 569.043233 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Note:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=BO4wAAAAYAAJ
THE HEART OF DENISE
AND OTHER TALES
[Illustration: "DE CLERMONT GAVE MADAME AN INTERESTING ACCOUNT OF THE
DEFENCE OF AMBAZAC MADE BY HER HUSBAND AGAINST THE PRINCE OF CONDE"
Page 39]
The Heart of Denise
and Other Tales
BY
S. LEVETT-YEATS
_Author of "The Chevalier d'Auriac_,"
"_The Honour of Savelli," etc_.
NEW YORK
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON AND BOMBAY
1899
Copyright, 1898, by
S. LEVETT YEATS.
* * *
_All rights reserved_.
ROBERT DRUMMOND, PRINTER, NEW YORK.
CONTENTS.
THE HEART OF DENISE.
I. M. de Lorgnac's Price.
II. The Oratory.
III. The Spur of Les Eschelles.
IV. At Ambazac.
V. M. Le Marquis Leads His Highest Trump.
VI. At the Sign of the Golden Frog.
VII. Unmasked.
VIII. Blaise de Lorgnac.
IX. La Coquille's Message.
X. Monsieur le Chevalier is Paid in Full.
THE CAPTAIN MORATTI'S LAST AFFAIR.
I. "Arcades Ambo."
II. At "The Devil on Two Sticks."
III. Felicita.
IV. Conclusion--The Torre Dolorosa.
THE TREASURE OF SHAGUL.
THE FOOT OF GAUTAMA.
THE DEVIL'S MANUSCRIPT.
I. The Black Packet.
II. The Red Trident.
III. "The Mark of the Beast."
UNDER THE A | 569.083153 |
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Produced by Sam W. and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE
ORIENTAL
STORY BOOK.
A COLLECTION OF TALES.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF
WILHELM HAUFF,
BY G. P. QUACKENBOS.
ILLUSTRATED BY J. W. ORR.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
346 & 348 BROADWAY.
1855.
[Illustration]
OF NEW ORLEANS
IN REMEMBRANCE OF A LONG FRIENDSHIP,
AND MANY HAPPY HOURS SPENT WITH HIM OVER THE
GERMAN CLASSICS,
THIS LITTLE VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
THE CARAVAN.
INTRODUCTION.
In a beautiful distant kingdom, of which there is a saying, that the
sun on its everlasting green gardens never goes down, ruled, from the
beginning of time even to the present day, Queen Phantasie. With full
hands, she used to distribute for many hundred years, the abundance of
her blessings among her subjects, and was beloved and respected by all
who knew her. The heart of the Queen, however, was too great to allow
her to stop at her own land with her charities; she herself, in the
royal attire of her everlasting youth and beauty, descended upon the
earth; for she had heard that there men lived, who passed their lives
in sorrowful seriousness, in the midst of care and toil. Unto these
she had sent the finest gifts out of her kingdom, and ever since the
beauteous Queen came through the fields of earth, men were merry at
their labor, and happy in their seriousness.
Her children, moreover, not less fair and lovely than their royal
mother, she had sent forth to bring happiness to men. One day
Maerchen[A], the eldest daughter of the Queen, came back in haste from
the earth. The mother observed that Maerchen was sorrowful; yes, at
times it would seem to her as if her eyes would be consumed by
weeping.
"What is the matter with thee, beloved Maerchen?" said the Queen to
her. "Ever since thy journey, thou art so sorrowful and dejected; wilt
thou not confide to thy mother what ails thee?"
"Ah! dear mother," answered Maerchen, "I would have kept silence, had I
not known that my sorrow is thine also."
"Speak, my daughter!" entreated the fair Queen. "Grief is a stone,
which presses down him who bears it alone, but two draw it lightly out
of the way."
"Thou wishest it," rejoined Maerchen, "so listen. Thou knowest how
gladly I associate with men, how cheerfully I sit down before the huts
of the poor, to while away a little hour for them after their labor;
formerly, when I came, they used to ask me kindly for my hand to
salute, and looked upon me afterwards, when I went away, smiling and
contented; but in these days, it is so no longer!"
"Poor Maerchen!" said the Queen as she caressed her cheek, which was
wet with a tear. "But, perhaps, thou only fanciest all this."
"Believe me, I feel it but too well," rejoined Maerchen; "they love me
no more. Wherever I go, cold looks meet me; nowhere am I any more
gladly seen; even the children, who ever loved me so well, laugh at
me, and slyly turn their backs upon me."
The Queen leaned her forehead on her hand, and was silent in
reflection. "And how, then, Maerchen," she asked, "should it happen
that the people there below have become so changed?"
"See, O Queen Phantasie! men have stationed vigilant watchmen, who
inspect and examine all that comes from thy kingdom, with sharp eyes.
| 569.142112 |
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E-text prepared by Brendan Lane | 569.18363 |
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Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously
made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
ANNO DOMINI
2071.
Translated from the Dutch Original,
WITH PREFACE AND ADDITIONAL EXPLANATORY NOTES,
BY
Dr. Alex. V. W. BIKKERS.
LONDON:
WILLIAM TEGG, Pancras Lane, Cheapside.
1871.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
The late Artemus Ward was in the habit of quoting--either from his
own or another man's store of wit--"Never prophesy unless you know
for certain." There is, however, a particular mode of foretelling
which is neither dangerous nor venturesome; that process, namely,
by which inferences are being drawn from analogous things that have
come to pass, and applied to the contemplation of future events. The
little book here presented in an English translation may serve as
an illustration in point. It was originally published in the Dutch
language, the author hiding himself behind the nom de plume of
Dr. Dioscorides. If success goes for anything--and who is prepared
to say what it does not go for--we launch it in its new form with
more than sufficient confidence. Even within the narrow geographical
limits of the Netherlands it has rapidly passed through three editions,
and a German scholar has deemed it not unworthy of a translation in
his native tongue.
The present publication is more and at the same time less than a
translation; more, because it has been prepared for a different
class of readers than it was originally intended for; less, because
in some instances, and at one point especially, we thought we had
some reason to apply the pruning-knife to obnoxious excrescences,
as no doubt they would have proved in a new soil. The foot-notes
have either been added with a view to ensure a perfect understanding
on the part of the reader, or to secure for the little work as wide
a circulation as possible. So far with regard to its form, object,
and origin. There are the boundaries of our province.
A. V. W. B.
London, 1871.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
ALEUTIC TIME
DISTRIBUTION-OF-WARM-AIR SOCIETY
VERRE SANS FIN
AGE OF ALUMINIUM
HELIOCHROMES
ENERGEIATHECS
NATIONAL LIBRARY
NINETEENTH-CENTURY BOOKS
COMPULSORY EDUCATION
GENEALOGICAL MUSEUM
SOLAR LIGHT
THE TELEPHON
GENERAL BALLOON COMPANY
TRAVELLING DIALECT
NO MORE WAR
FREE TRADE; UNIVERSAL LOCOMOTION
MODERN TELESCOPES
CHANNEL BRIDGE
NORTH HOLLAND SUBMERGED
UNIVERSITY EDUCATION
LOSS OF DUTCH COLONIES
RAILWAY NETS
GEOGRAPHICAL CHANGES IN EUROPE
ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATORIES
CALCULATORIA
TIN MINES IN THE MOON
UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE
ANTI 1-2 LEAGUE
WOMAN'S RIGHTS
THE NEW ZEALAND OF THE FUTURE
ANNO DOMINI 2071.
When comparing the present condition of society with that of past
centuries the question naturally arises, what will the future be?
Will the same progress which, in our own times especially, has been
of such vast dimensions, and manifested itself in so many directions,
continue to be progressive? And if so--for who could think of reaction,
since the art of printing has guarded against any furrow of the
human mind being ever effaced--where is to be the ultimate goal of
the progress of our successors? Where are we to look for the fruits
of those innumerable germs which the present generation is sowing
for the benefit of those that will come after them?
These, and similar other questions, occupied my mind when, seated
one afternoon in my comfortable arm-chair, I allowed my thoughts
freely to wander amid the manes of those that preceded us. I thought
of our own Musschenbroek, Gravesande, Huyghens, and Stevin, and of
what would be their surprise were they to reappear on this earth,
and gaze upon the marvellous works of modern machinery; I passed
in review a Newton and Galileo, with so many others, founders of an
edifice which they themselves would not now recognise. I thought of
steam engines and electric telegraphs, of railways and steamboats, of
mountain tunnels and suspension bridges, of photography and gasworks,
of the amazing strides lately made by chemistry, of telescopes and
microscopes, of diving bells and aeronautics; aye, and of a hundred
other things, which, in motley array, wildly crossed my mind,
though all corresponding in this that they loudly proclaimed the | 569.240602 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
[Transcriber's note: Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/inparadiseanove00heysgoog]
COLLECTION OF FOREIGN AUTHORS,
No. XII.
* * * * *
IN PARADISE.
VOL. I.
VOLUMES ALREADY PUBLISHED:
I. _SAMUEL BROHL AND COMPANY_. A Novel. From the French of Victor
Cherbuliez. 1 vol., 16mo. Paper cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.
II. _GERARD'S MARRIAGE_. A Novel. From the French of Andre Theuriet.
Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
III. _SPIRITE_. A Fantasy. From the French of Theophile Gautier. Paper
cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
IV. _THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT_. From the French of George Sand. Paper
cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
V. _META HOLDENIS_. A Novel. From the French of Victor Cherbuliez.
Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
VI. _ROMANCES OF THE EAST_. From the French of Comte de Gobineau. Paper
cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.
VII. _RENEE AND FRANZ_ (Le Bleuet). From the French of Gustave Haller.
Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
VIII. _MADAME GOSSELIN_. From the French of Louis Ulbach. Paper cover,
60 cents; cloth, $1.00.
IX. _THE GODSON OF A MARQUIS_. From the French of Andre Theuriet. Paper
cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.
X. _ARIADNE_. From the French of Henry Greville. Paper cover, 50 cents;
cloth, 75 cents.
XI. _SAFAR-HADGI_; or, Russ and Turcoman. From the French of Prince
Lubomirski. Paper cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.
XII. _IN PARADISE_. From the German of Paul Heyse. 2 vols. Per vol.,
paper cover, 60 cents; doth, $1.00.
IN
PARADISE
_A NOVEL_
FROM THE GERMAN OF
PAUL HEYSE
VOL. I
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
549 AND 551 BROADWAY
1878
***_It has been decided to omit from this translation the poems which
are scattered through the novel in the German. A few trifling changes
in certain passages have been made necessary by this omission; and the
translator has in two or three cases very slightly condensed the text._
* * * * *
COPYRIGHT BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
| 569.279492 |
2023-11-16 18:26:33.3206050 | 1,370 | 12 | Project Gutenberg's The Fight For The Republic In China, by B.L. Putnam Weale
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Title: The Fight For The Republic In China
Author: B.L. Putnam Weale
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not yet registered, we know of no | 569.340645 |
2023-11-16 18:26:33.3215150 | 47 | 23 |
Produced by Curtis Weyant and David Maddock
{~--- UTF-8 BOM ---~}
The Mill on the Floss
George Eliot
Table of Contents
Book I: Boy and Girl
| 569.341555 |
2023-11-16 18:26:33.3719550 | 37 | 21 |
Transcribed from the 1903 Chapman and Hall edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
SKETCHES BY BOZ
| 569.391995 |
2023-11-16 18:26:33.5164900 | 355 | 60 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Books project.)
THE
MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
BY
GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS,
AUTHOR OF "FAUST," "PICKWICK ABROAD," "ROBERT MACAIRE,"
"WAGNER: THE WEHR-WOLF," &C., &C.
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS
VOL. III.
VOL. I. SECOND SERIES.
LONDON:
G. VICKERS, 3, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND.
MDCCCXLVII.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY J. FAUTLEY, "BONNER HOUSE" PRINTING OFFICE, SEACOAL LANE.
THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
CHAPTER I.—The Travelling Carriage 1
II.—Tom Rain and Old Death 4
III.—Bow Street 6
IV.—Esther de Medina 9
V.—The Appeal of Love 13
VI.—Dr. Lascelles 15
VII.—The Beautiful Patient 18
VIII.—Seven Dials 20
IX.—A Death-Scene.—Lock's Fields 23
X.—A Scene at the House of Sir Christopher Blunt 28
XI.—The Two Thousand Pounds.—Torrens Cottage 30
XII | 569.53653 |
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Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Prince
THE HISTORY
OF
DAVID GRIEVE
BY
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
AUTHOR OF 'ROBERT ELSMERE,' ETC.
TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF MY MOTHER
CONTENTS
BOOK I CHILDHOOD
BOOK II YOUTH
BOOK III STORM AND STRESS
BOOK IV MATURITY
BOOK I CHILDHOOD
CHAPTER I
'Tak your hat, Louie! Yo're allus leavin summat behind yer.'
'David, yo go for 't,' said the child addressed to a boy by her
side, nodding her head insolently towards the speaker, a tall and
bony woman, who stood on the steps the children had just descended,
holding out a battered hat.
'Yo're a careless thing, Louie,' said the boy, but he went back and
took the hat.
'Mak her tie it,' said the woman, showing an antiquated pair of
strings. 'If she loses it she needna coom cryin for anudder. She'd
lose her yead if it wor loose.'
Then she turned and went back into the house. It was a smallish
house of grey stone, three windows above, two and a door below.
Dashes of white on the stone gave, as it were, eyebrows to the
windows, and over the door there was a meagre trellised porch, up
which grew some now leafless roses and honeysuckles. To the left of
the door a scanty bit of garden was squeezed in between the hill,
against which the house was set edgeways, and the rest of the flat
space, occupied by the uneven farmyard, the cart-shed and stable,
the cow-houses and duck-pond. This garden contained two shabby
apple trees, as yet hardly touched by the spring; some currant and
gooseberry bushes, already fairly green; and a clump or two of
scattered daffodils and wallflowers. The hedge round it was broken
through in various places, and it had a casual neglected air.
The children went | 569.616181 |
2023-11-16 18:26:33.6170110 | 2,280 | 21 |
Produced by Mike Lough and David Widger
THE ERRAND BOY;
OR, HOW PHIL BRENT WON SUCCESS.
By Horatio Alger, Jr.,
Author of:
"Joe's Luck," "Frank Fowler, the Cash Boy," "Tom Temple's Career," "Tom
Thatcher's Fortune," "Ragged Dick," "Tattered Tom," "Luck and Pluck,"
etc., etc.
Contents:
The Errand Boy.
Fred Sargent's Revenge.
The Smuggler's Trap.
THE ERRAND BOY.
CHAPTER I.
PHIL HAS A LITTLE DIFFICULTY.
Phil Brent was plodding through the snow in the direction of the house
where he lived with his step-mother and her son, when a snow-ball, moist
and hard, struck him just below his ear with stinging emphasis. The pain
was considerable, and Phil's anger rose.
He turned suddenly, his eyes flashing fiercely, intent upon discovering
who had committed this outrage, for he had no doubt that it was
intentional.
He looked in all directions, but saw no one except a mild old gentleman
in spectacles, who appeared to have some difficulty in making his way
through the obstructed street.
Phil did not need to be told that it was not the old gentleman who had
taken such an unwarrantable liberty with him. So he looked farther, but
his ears gave him the first clew.
He heard a chuckling laugh, which seemed to proceed from behind the
stone wall that ran along the roadside.
"I will see who it is," he decided, and plunging through the snow he
surmounted the wall, in time to see a boy of about his own age running
away across the fields as fast as the deep snow would allow.
"So it's you, Jonas!" he shouted wrathfully. "I thought it was some
sneaking fellow like you."
Jonas Webb, his step-brother, his freckled face showing a degree of
dismay, for he had not calculated on discovery, ran the faster, but
while fear winged his steps, anger proved the more effectual spur, and
Phil overtook him after a brief run, from the effects of which both boys
panted.
"What made you throw that snow-ball?" demanded Phil angrily, as he
seized Jonas by the collar and shook him.
"You let me alone!" said Jonas, struggling ineffectually in his grasp.
"Answer me! What made you throw that snowball?" demanded Phil, in a tone
that showed he did not intend to be trifled with.
"Because I chose to," answered Jonas, his spite getting the better of
his prudence. "Did it hurt you?" he continued, his eyes gleaming with
malice.
"I should think it might. It was about as hard as a cannon-ball,"
returned Phil grimly. "Is that all you've got to say about it?"
"I did it in fun," said Jonas, beginning to see that he had need to be
prudent.
"Very well! I don't like your idea of fun. Perhaps you won't like mine,"
said Phil, as he forcibly drew Jonas back till he lay upon the snow, and
then kneeling by his side, rubbed his face briskly with snow.
"What are you doin'? Goin' to murder me?" shrieked Jonas, in anger and
dismay.
"I am going to wash your face," said Phil, continuing the operation
vigorously.
"I say, you quit that! I'll tell my mother," ejaculated Jonas,
struggling furiously.
"If you do, tell her why I did it," said Phil.
Jonas shrieked and struggled, but in vain. Phil gave his face an
effectual scrubbing, and did not desist until he thought he had avenged
the bad treatment he had suffered.
"There, get up!" said he at length.
Jonas scrambled to his feet, his mean features working convulsively with
anger.
"You'll suffer for this!" he shouted.
"You won't make me!" said Phil contemptuously.
"You're the meanest boy in the village."
"I am willing to leave that to the opinion of all who know me."
"I'll tell my mother!"
"Go home and tell her!"
Jonas started for home, and Phil did not attempt to stop him.
As he saw Jonas reach the street and plod angrily homeward, he said to
himself:
"I suppose I shall be in hot water for this; but I can't help it. Mrs.
Brent always stands up for her precious son, who is as like her as can
be. Well, it won't make matters much worse than they have been."
Phil concluded not to go home at once, but to allow a little time for
the storm to spend its force after Jonas had told his story. So he
delayed half an hour and then walked slowly up to the side door. He
opened the door, brushed off the snow from his boots with the broom
that stood behind the door, and opening the inner door, stepped into the
kitchen.
No one was there, as Phil's first glance satisfied him, and he was
disposed to hope that Mrs. Brent--he never called her mother--was out,
but a thin, acid, measured voice from the sitting-room adjoining soon
satisfied him that there was to be no reprieve.
"Philip Brent, come here!"
Phil entered the sitting-room.
In a rocking-chair by the fire sat a thin woman, with a sharp visage,
cold eyes and firmly compressed lips, to whom no child would voluntarily
draw near.
On a sofa lay outstretched the hulking form of Jonas, with whom he had
had his little difficulty.
"I am here, Mrs. Brent," said Philip manfully.
"Philip Brent," said Mrs. Brent acidly, "are you not ashamed to look me
in the face?"
"I don't know why I should be," said Philip, bracing himself up for the
attack.
"You see on the sofa the victim of your brutality," continued Mrs.
Brent, pointing to the recumbent figure of her son Jonas.
Jonas, as if to emphasize these words, uttered a half groan.
Philip could not help smiling, for to him it seemed ridiculous.
"You laugh," said his step-mother sharply. "I am not surprised at it.
You delight in your brutality."
"I suppose you mean that I have treated Jonas brutally."
"I see you confess it."
"No, Mrs. Brent, I do not confess it. The brutality you speak of was all
on the side of Jonas."
"No doubt," retorted Mrs. Brent, with sarcasm.
"It's the case of the wolf and the lamb over again."
"I don't think Jonas has represented the matter to you as it happened,"
said Phil. "Did he tell you that he flung a snow-ball at my head as hard
as a lump of ice?"
"He said he threw a little snow at you playfully and you sprang upon him
like a tiger."
"There's a little mistake in that," said Phil. "The snow-ball was hard
enough to stun me if it had hit me a little higher. I wouldn't be hit
like that again for ten dollars."
"That ain't so! Don't believe him, mother!" said Jonas from the sofa.
"And what did you do?" demanded Mrs. Brent with a frown.
"I laid him down on the snow and washed his face with soft snow."
"You might have given him his death of cold," said Mrs. Brent, with
evident hostility. "I am not sure but the poor boy will have pneumonia
now, in consequence of your brutal treatment."
"And you have nothing to say as to his attack upon me?" said Phil
indignantly.
"I have no doubt you have very much exaggerated it."
"Yes, he has," chimed in Jonas from the sofa.
Phil regarded his step-brother with scorn.
"Can't you tell the truth now and then, Jonas?" he asked contemptuously.
"You shall not insult my boy in my presence!" said Mrs. Brent, with a
little spot of color mantling her high cheek-bones. "Philip Brent, I
have too long endured your insolence. You think because I am a woman you
can be insolent with impunity, but you will find yourself mistaken. It
is time that you understood something that may lead you to lower your
tone. Learn, then, that you have not a cent of your own. You are wholly
dependent upon my bounty."
"What! Did my father leave you all his money?" asked Philip.
"He was NOT your father!" answered Mrs. Brent coldly.
CHAPTER II.
A STRANGE REVELATION.
Philip started in irrepressible astonishment as these words fell from
the lips of his step-mother. It seemed to him as if the earth were
crumbling beneath his feet, for he had felt no more certain of the
existence of the universe than of his being the son of Gerald Brent.
He was not the only person amazed at this declaration. Jonas, forgetting
for the moment the part he was playing, sat bolt upright on the sofa,
with his large mouth wide open, staring by turns at Philip and his
mother.
"Gosh!" he exclaimed in a tone indicating utter surprise and
bewilderment.
"Will you repeat that, Mrs. Brent?" asked Philip, after a brief pause,
not certain that he had heard aright.
"I spoke plain English, I believe," said Mrs. Brent coldly, enjoying the
effect of her communication.
"I said that Mr. Brent, my late husband, was not your father."
"I don't believe you!" burst forth Philip impetuously.
"You don't wish to believe me, you mean," answered his step-mother,
unmoved.
"No, I don't wish to believe you," said the boy, looking her in the eye.
"You are very polite to doubt a lady's word," said Mrs. Brent with
sarcasm.
"In such a matter as that I believe no one's word," said Phil. "I ask
for proof."
"Well, I am prepared to satisfy you. Sit down and I will tell you the
story."
Philip sat down on the nearest chair and regarded his step-mother
fixedly.
"Whose son am I," he demanded, "if not Mr. Brent's?"
"You are getting on too fast. Jonas," continued his mother, suddenly
turning to her hulking son, on whose not very intelligent countenance
there was an expression of greedy curiosity, "do you understand that
what I am going to say is to be a secret, not to be spoken of to any
one?"
"Yes'm," answered Jonas readily.
"Very well. Now to proceed. Philip, you have heard probably that when
you were very | 569.637051 |
2023-11-16 18:26:33.7208370 | 932 | 57 |
E-text prepared by Greg Bergquist, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 41784-h.htm or 41784-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/wyoming00elli
Wyoming Series.--No. 1.
WYOMING
by
EDWARD S. ELLIS
Author of "Young Pioneer Series," "Log Cabin Series," etc., etc.
Philadelphia
Henry T. Coates & Co.
Copyright, 1888.
by
Porter & Coates.
[Illustration: "He was stopped in the most startling manner that can be
imagined."]
WYOMING.
CHAPTER I.
On the sultry third of July, 1778, Fred Godfrey, a sturdy youth of
eighteen years, was riding at a breakneck speed down the Wyoming Valley,
in the direction of the settlement, from which he saw columns of smoke
rolling upward, and whence, during the few pauses of his steed, he heard
the rattling discharge of firearms and the shouts of combatants.
"I wonder whether I am too late," he asked himself more than once, and
he urged his splendid horse to a greater pace; "the road never seemed so
long."
Ah, there was good cause for the anxiety of the lad, for in that lovely
Wyoming Valley lived those who were dearer to him than all the world
beside, and whatever fate overtook the settlers must be shared by him as
well. He had ridden his horse hard, and his flanks glistened with wet
and foam, but though every foot of the winding road was familiar to him,
it appeared in his torturing impatience to be double its usual length.
Fred Godfrey had received the promise of his father, on the breaking out
of the Revolution, that he might enlist in the patriot army so soon as
he reached the age of seventeen. On the very day that he attained that
age he donned the Continental uniform, made for him by loving hands,
bade his friends good-bye, and hastened away to where Washington was
longing for just such lusty youths as he who appeared to be several
years younger than he really was.
Fred was a handsome, athletic youngster, and he sat his horse with the
grace of a crusader. Although the day was warm, and his face glowed with
perspiration, he wore his cocked hat, blue coat with its white facings,
the belt around the waist and another which passed over one shoulder ere
it joined the one around the middle of his body, knee-breeches, and
strong stockings and shoes. His rifle was slung across his back, and a
couple of loaded single-barreled pistols were thrust in his belt, where
they could be drawn the instant needed.
During his year's service in the patriot army Fred had proven himself an
excellent soldier, and the dash and nerve which he showed in more than
one instance caught the eye of Washington himself, and won the youth a
lieutenancy, at the time when he was the youngest member of his company.
The ardent patriot was full of ambition, and was sure, should no
accident befall him, of gaining higher honors. When he tramped with
several other recruits from Wyoming to the camp of the Continentals,
hundreds of miles away, one of his greatest comforts was the belief
that, no matter how the current of war drifted back and forth, there was
no danger of its reaching Wyoming. That lovely and secluded valley was
so far removed from the tread of the fierce hosts that they might feel
secure.
But behold! News came to Washington that the Tories and Indians were
about to march into the valley with torch and tomahawk, and he was
begged to send re-enforcements without delay. The Father of his Country
was then on his | 569.740877 |
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