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2023-11-16 18:35:26.2401440 | 5,898 | 10 |
Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rick Morris and the Online
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[Illustration: There was a sudden flash of flame and the roar of an
explosion.—_Page_ 52.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE
MOTOR RANGERS’
WIRELESS STATION
BY
MARVIN WEST
AUTHOR OF “THE MOTOR RANGERS’ LOST MINE,” “THE MOTOR
RANGERS THROUGH THE SIERRAS,” “THE MOTOR
RANGERS ON BLUE WATER,” “THE MOTOR
RANGERS’ CLOUD CRUISER,” ETC., ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
CHARLES L. WRENN_
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1913
BY
HURST & COMPANY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE WIRELESS ISLAND 5
II. A PASSENGER FOR THE SHORE 15
III. IN THE GRIP OF THE STORM 28
IV. WHEN THE ENGINE FAILED 36
V. NAT TO THE RESCUE 48
VI. SAVED FROM THE SEA 56
VII. ON “WIRELESS ISLAND” 65
VIII. AN AERIAL APPEAL 78
IX. A STERN CHASE 91
X. MORE BAD LUCK 100
XI. “THERE’S MANY A SLIP” 108
XII. THE SMUGGLER AT BAY 117
XIII. TRAPPED! 125
XIV. NAT A PRISONER 134
XV. UNDER THE EARTH 145
XVI. DRIFTING THROUGH THE NIGHT 153
XVII. ABOARD THE LIGHTSHIP 164
XVIII. JOE RECEIVES VISITORS 176
XIX. AND ALSO GETS A SURPRISE 187
XX. HANK EXPLAINS 201
XXI. IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS 213
XXII. AN UNEXPECTED STUDENT 221
XXIII. A CALL FROM THE SHORE 229
XXIV. WHAT JOE DID 239
XXV. LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT 247
XXVI. DING-DONG’S CLUE 256
XXVII. A LONELY TRAIL 265
XXVIII. AT THE OLD MISSION 276
XXIX. CORNERED AT LAST 291
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE MOTOR RANGERS’
WIRELESS STATION
CHAPTER I.
THE WIRELESS ISLAND.
The drowsy calm of a balmy afternoon at the Motor Rangers’ wireless camp
on Goat Island was abruptly shattered by a raucous, insistent clangor
from the alarm-bell of the wireless outfit. Nat Trevor, Joe Hartley and
Ding-dong Bell, who had been pretending to read but were in reality
dozing on the porch of a small portable wood and canvas house,
galvanized into the full tide of life and activity usually theirs.
“Something doing at last!” cried Nat. “It began to look as if there
wouldn’t be much for us on the island but a fine vacation, lots of
sea-breeze and coats of tan like old russet shoes.”
“I ter-told you there’d be ser-ser-something coming over the
a-a-a-a-aerials before long,” sputtered Ding-dong Bell triumphantly,
athrill with excitement.
“What do you suppose it is?” queried Joe Hartley, his red, good-natured
face aglow.
“Don’t go up in the air, Joe,” cautioned Nat, “it’s probably nothing
more thrilling than a weather report from one of the chain of coast
stations to another.”
“Get busy, Ding-dong, and find out,” urged Joe Hartley; “let’s see what
sort of a message you can corral out of the air.”
But young Bell was already plodding across the sand toward a small
timber structure about fifty yards distant from the Motor Rangers’ camp.
Above the shack stretched, between two lofty poles, the antennæ of the
wireless station. Against these the electric waves from out of space
were beating and sounding the wireless “alarm-clock,” an invention of
Ding-dong’s of which he was not a little proud.
Ding-dong had become inoculated with the wireless fever as a result of
the trip east which the Motor Rangers had taken following their stirring
adventures in the Bolivian Andes in Professor Grigg’s air-ship—which
experiences were related in the fourth volume of this series, The Motor
Rangers’ Cloud Cruiser. On their return to California—where all three
boys lived, in the coast resort of Santa Barbara—nothing would suit
Ding-dong but that they take a vacation on Goat Island and set up a
wireless plant for experimental purposes.
“I want to try it and away from home where a bunch of fellows won’t be
hanging about and joking me if I make a fizzle,” he explained.
As the lads while in the east had done a lot of business, some of it
connected with Nat’s gold mine in Lower California and some with
interests of Professor Griggs, they decided that they were entitled to
at least a short period of inactivity, and Ding-dong’s idea was hailed
as a good one. Goat Island, a rugged, isolated spot of land shaped like
a splash of gravy on a plate, was selected as an ideal camping place.
The wireless appliances, shipped from San Francisco, were conveyed to
the island on board the Rangers’ sturdy cabin cruiser _Nomad_, and three
busy, happy weeks had been devoted to putting it in working order. Since
the day that it had been declared “O. K.” by Ding-dong, the lads had
been crazy for the “wireless alarm” to ring in, and when it failed to do
so Ding-dong came in for a lot of good-natured joshing.
For some further account of the three chums, we must refer our readers
to the first volume of this series, The Motor Rangers’ Lost Mine. This
related how Nat, the son of a poor widow, unexpectedly came into his own
and from an employé’s position was raised to one of comparative
affluence. For a holiday tour when they returned from Lower California,
where Nat by accident had located his mine, the chums took an eventful
trip through the Sierras. What befell them there, and how they combated
unscrupulous enemies and had lots of jolly fun, was all set forth in the
second volume devoted to their doings, The Motor Rangers Through the
Sierras. Some sapphires found by them on this trip led to a strange
series of incidents and adventures attendant on their efforts to restore
them to their rightful owner. The precious stones were stolen,
recovered, and lost again, only to be delivered safely at last. These
exciting times, passed by the lads on their cruiser, the _Nomad_, which
took them half across the Pacific, were described in the third volume of
the young rangers’ doings, The Motor Rangers on Blue Water. Their voyage
in Professor Grigg’s wonderful air-ship, the _Discoverer_, has been
already referred to. With this necessarily brief introduction to the
young campers, let us return to Goat Island.
Directly Ding-dong reached the hut housing the apparatus, he flung
himself down before the instruments and hastily jammed the head-piece,
with its double “watch-case” receivers, over his ears. He picked up a
pencil and placing it conveniently above a pad of paper that was always
kept affixed to the table holding the sending and receiving appliances,
he began to send a storm of dots and dashes winging out in reply to the
wireless impulse that had set the gong sounding.
“_This is Goat Island!_” he banged out on the key, while the spark
leaped and writhed in a “serpent” of steel-blue flame between the
sparking points. It whined and squealed like an animal in pain as
Ding-dong’s trembling fingers alternately depressed and released the
“brass.”
“_Goat Island! Goat Island! Goat Island!_” he repeated monotonously, and
then switched the current from the sending to the receiving instruments.
Against his ears came a tiny pattering so faint as to be hardly
distinguishable. Yet the boy knew that the instruments must be “in
tune,” or nearly so, with whatever station was sending wireless waves
through space, else the “alarm” would not have been sprung.
He adjusted his instruments to take a longer “wave” than he had been
using. Instantly the breaking of the “wireless surf” against the antennæ
above the receiving shed became plainer.
“_This is the steamer_ Iroquois, _San Francisco, to Central American
ports_,” was what Ding-dong’s pencil rapidly transcribed on the pad,
while the others leaned breathlessly over his shoulder and watched the
flying lead. “_A passenger is dangerously hurt. We need assistance at
once_.”
The young operator thrilled. The first message that had come to the
island was an urgent one.
“_Where are you?_” he flashed back.
“_Thirty miles off the coast. Who are you?_” came back the reply.
“_Thirty miles off where?_” whanged out Ding-dong’s key, while he
grumbled at the indefiniteness of the operator on the steamer.
“_Off Santa Barbara. Who are you and can you send out a boat to take our
injured passenger ashore? Hospital attention is necessary._”
“_Wait a minute_,” spelled out the young Motor Ranger’s key.
He turned to the others.
“You see what I’ve got,” he said indicating the pad and speaking
perfectly plainly in his excitement; “what are we going to do about it?”
The lads exchanged glances. It was evident as their eyes met what was in
each one’s mind. The _Nomad_ lay snugly anchored in a cove on the
shoreward side of the island. A run of thirty miles out to sea was
nothing for the speedy, sturdy gasolene craft, and the call that had
come winging through the air from the steamer was an appeal for aid that
none of them felt like refusing to heed. It was clear that the case was
urgent. A life, even, might be at stake. Each lad felt that a
responsibility had been suddenly laid at their door that they could not
afford to shirk.
“Well?” queried Ding-dong.
“_Well?_” reiterated Joe Hartley as they turned by common consent to Nat
Trevor, the accepted leader of the Motor Rangers at all times.
“You’d better tell the man on that ship that we’ll be alongside within
two hours,” said Nat quietly; and that was all; Ding-dong, without
comment, swung around to his key again. Like Joe, he had known what
Nat’s decision would be almost before he gave it. Nat was not the lad to
turn down an appeal like the one sent out from the _Iroquois_. The sea
was smooth, the weather fair, but even had it been blowing half a gale
it is doubtful if Nat would have hesitated a jiffy under the
circumstances to perform what he adjudged to be a duty.
Ding-dong speedily raised the _Iroquois_.
“_We’ll take your injured man ashore_,” he flashed out. “_Lay to where
you are and we’ll pick you up without trouble. Expect us in about two
hours_.”
“_Bully for you, Goat Island_,” came the rejoinder, which Ding-dong
hardly waited to hear before he disconnected his instruments and
“grounded” them.
“Now for the _Nomad_,” cried Nat. “Hooray, boys! It’s good to have
something come along to relieve the monotony.”
“Di-di-didn’t I ter-ter-tell you so!” puffed Ding-dong triumphantly, as
the three lads set out at top speed for their hut to obtain some
necessary clothing and a few provisions for their run to the vessel that
had sent out the wireless appeal for help.
CHAPTER II.
A PASSENGER FOR THE SHORE.
“All right below, Ding-dong?” hailed Nat, as he took his place on the
little bridge of the _Nomad_ with Joe by his side. The anchor was up,
and astern towed the dinghy, which had been hastily shoved off the beach
when the boys embarked.
Through the speaking tube came up the young engineer’s answer, “All
ready when you are, captain.”
Nat jerked the engine room bell twice. A tremor ran through the sturdy
sixty-foot craft. Her fifty-horse-power, eight-cylindered motor began to
revolve, and with a “bone in her teeth” she ran swiftly out of the cove,
headed around the southernmost point of the island and was steered by
Nat due westward to intercept the steamer that had flashed the urgent
wireless.
As the long Pacific swell was encountered, the _Nomad_ rose to it like a
race-horse that after long idleness feels the track under his hoofs once
more. Her sharp bow cut the water like a knife, but from time to time,
as an extra heavy roller was encountered, she flung the water back over
her forward parts in a shower of glistening, prismatic spray. It was a
day and an errand to thrill the most phlegmatic person that ever lived,
and, as we know, the Motor Rangers were assuredly not in this category.
Their blood glowed as their fast craft rushed onward on her errand of
mercy at fifteen miles, or better, an hour.
Nat, his cheeks glowing and his eyes shining, held the wheel in a firm
grip, his crisp black hair waved in the breeze and his very poise showed
that he was in his element. Joe, clutching the rail beside him, was
possessed of an equal fervor of excitement. The Motor Rangers all felt
that they were on the threshold of an adventure; but into what devious
paths and perils that wireless message for aid was to lead them, not one
of them guessed. Yet even had they been able to see into the future and
its dangers and difficulties, it is almost certain that they would have
voted unanimously to “keep on going.”
“What a fine little craft she is,” declared Nat, as the _Nomad_ sped
along.
“She’s a beauty,” fervently agreed Joe, with equal enthusiasm; “and what
we’ve been through on board her, Nat!”
“I should say so. Remember the Magnetic Islands, and the Boiling Sea,
and the time you were lost overboard?”
Chatting thus of the many adventures and perils successfully met that
their conversation recalled to their minds, the two young Motor Rangers
on the bridge of the speeding motor craft kept a bright lookout for some
sign of the vessel that had sent the wireless appeal into space.
Nat was the first to catch sight of a smudge of smoke on the horizon.
“That must be the steamer! There, dead ahead!”
“Reckon you’re right, Nat,” agreed Joe. “The smoke seems stationary,
too. That’s the _Iroquois_ beyond a doubt.”
Nat sent a signal below, to apply every ounce of speed that the engines
were capable of giving. The _Nomad_, going at a fast clip before, fairly
began to rush ahead. In a few minutes they could see the masts of the
steamer, and her black hull and yellow funnel rapidly arose above the
horizon as they neared her.
At close range the Motor Rangers could see that the white upper works
were lined with passengers, all gazing curiously at the speedy _Nomad_
as she came on. As they ranged in alongside, the gangway was lowered and
Nat was hailed from the bridge by a stalwart, bearded man in uniform.
“Motor boat, ahoy!” he cried, placing his hands funnel-wise to his
mouth, “did you come off in response to our wireless?”
“We did, sir,” was Nat’s rejoinder. “What is the trouble?”
“A job with a good lot of money in it for you fellows,” was the
response. “Range in alongside the gangway and Dr. Adams, the ship’s
surgeon, will explain to you what has happened.”
Nat maneuvered the _Nomad_ up to the lower platform of the gangway and
Joe nimbly sprang off and made the little craft fast. She looked as tiny
as a rowboat lying alongside the big black steamer, whose steel sides
towered above her like the walls of a lofty building.
The vessel’s surgeon, a spectacled, solemn-looking young man, came down
the gangway stairs.
“This is a matter requiring the utmost haste,” he said; “the man who has
been injured must be taken to a shore hospital at once.”
“We’ll take the job. That’s what we came out here for,” rejoined Nat
briskly. “Who is your man and how was he hurt?”
“His name is Jonas Jenkins of San Francisco. As I understand it, he is a
wealthy man with big interests in Mexico. He booked passage for
Mazatlan. Early to-day he was found at the foot of a stairway with what
I fear is a fracture of the skull.”
“It was an accident?” asked Nat, for somehow there was something in the
voice of the ship’s doctor which appeared to indicate that he was not
altogether satisfied that Jonas Jenkins’ injury was unavoidable.
The doctor hesitated a minute before replying. Then he spoke in a low
voice:
“I have no right to express any opinion about the matter,” he said, “but
certain things about the case impressed me as being curious.”
“For instance?”
The question was Nat’s.
“The fact that Mr. Jenkins’ coat was cut and torn as if some one had
ripped it up to obtain from it something of value or importance.”
“You mean that you think Mr. Jenkins was pushed down the flight of
stairs and met his injury in that way?”
“That’s my theory, but I have nothing but the tear in the coat to base
it on.”
The surgeon was interrupted at this point by the appearance at the top
of the gangway of a singular-looking individual. He was tall, skinny as
an ostrich and had a peculiar piercing expression of countenance. His
rather swarthy features were obscured on the lower part of his face by a
bristly black beard.
“Are these young men going to take Mr. Jenkins ashore?” he asked in a
dictatorial sort of tone.
“That is our intention,” was Nat’s rejoinder.
“Where are you going to land him?”
The words were ripped out more like an order than a civil inquiry. Nat
felt a vague resentment. Evidently the black-bearded man looked upon the
Motor Rangers as boys who could be ordered about at will.
“We are going to run into Santa Barbara as fast as our boat will take us
there,” was Nat’s reply.
“I want to go ashore with you,” declared the stranger. “I received word
early to-day by wireless that makes it imperative that I should return
to San Francisco at once. Land me at Santa Barbara and name your own
price.”
“This isn’t a passenger boat,” shot out Joe.
“We only came out here as an accommodation and as an act of humanity,”
supplemented Nat. His intuitive feeling of dislike for the dictatorial
stranger was growing every minute.
Perhaps the other noticed this, for he descended the gangway and took
his place beside the ship’s doctor on the lower platform of the gangway.
“You must pardon me if my tone was abrupt,” he said in conciliatory
tones; “the fact of the matter is, that I must return as soon as
possible to San Francisco for many reasons, and this ship does not stop
till she reaches Mazatlan. It was my eagerness that made me sound
abrupt.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” rejoined Nat, liking the cringing tone of the
man even less than he had his former manner, “I guess we can put you
ashore.”
The man reached into his pocket and produced a wallet. He drew several
bills from it.
“And here’s something to pay for my passage,” he said eagerly.
“Never mind that,” said Nat, waving the proffered money aside. “As I
told you, we are not running a passenger boat. If we land you in Santa
Barbara it will be simply as an accommodation.”
“And one for which I will be grateful,” was the reply. “I’ll have a
steward put my baggage on board your boat at once. I may be of aid to
you in caring for Mr. Jenkins, too, for I am a physician.”
“Yes, this is Dr. Sartorius of San Francisco,” rejoined Dr. Adams, as
the other ascended the gang plank with long, swift strides and was heard
above giving orders for the transfer of his belongings.
“You know him, then?” asked Nat of the ship’s doctor.
“Well, that is, he is registered with the purser under that name,” was
the reply, “and I have had some conversation on medical subjects with
him. As a matter of fact, I think it is an excellent thing that he
wishes to go ashore, for Mr. Jenkins is in a serious way and really
needs the constant watching of a physician.”
“In that case, I am glad things have come out as they have,” rejoined
Nat. “Joe, will you go below and fix up the cabin for the injured man’s
use, and then, doctor, if you will have him brought on board I’ll be
getting under way again.”
Dr. Adams reascended the gangway and in a few minutes two sailors
appeared carrying between them a limp form. The head was heavily
bandaged, rendering a good look at the man’s features impossible. But
Nat judged that he was of powerful build and past middle age. He
descended into the cabin with Dr. Adams, and under the surgeon’s
directions Mr. Jenkins was made as comfortable as possible. His baggage,
as well as that of Dr. Sartorius, was brought below, and then everything
was ready for a start.
Dr. Sartorius bent over the injured man and appeared really to take a
deep and intelligent interest in the case. The ship’s doctor indorsed
one or two suggestions that he made and the boys, for Ding-dong had
joined the party, began to think that they might have been mistaken in
their first estimate of the doctor’s character.
“After all,” Nat thought, “clever men are often eccentric, and this
black-whiskered doctor may be just crusty and unattractive without
realizing it.”
When everything had been settled, Nat and Joe made their way to the
bridge and bade farewell to the doctor. The two sailors who had carried
Mr. Jenkins on board cast off the _Nomad’s_ lines, and the steamer’s
siren gave a deep booming note of thanks for their act.
“You’d better lose no time in getting ashore,” hailed the captain, after
he had thanked the boys for their timely aid.
“We shan’t, you may depend on that,” cheerily called back Nat, as the
_Nomad’s_ engines began to revolve and the big _Iroquois_ commenced to
churn the water.
“We’re in for a sharp blow of wind, or I’m mistaken,” came booming
toward them through the captain’s megaphone, for the two craft were by
this time some little distance apart.
Nat looked seaward. Dark, streaky clouds were beginning to overcast the
sky. The sea had turned dull and leaden, while a hazy sort of veil
obscured the sun. He turned to Joe.
“Hustle below and tell Ding-dong to get all he can out of the engines,
and then see that all is snug in the cabin.”
“You think we’re in for a blow?”
“I certainly do; and I’m afraid that it’s going to hit us before we can
get ashore. It is going to be a hummer, too, from the looks of things,
right out of the nor’west.”
“But we’re all right?”
“Oh, sure! The _Nomad_ can stand up where a bigger craft might get into
trouble.”
Nat’s tone was confident, but as Joe dived below on his errand he
glanced behind him at the purplish-black clouds that were racing across
the sky toward them. The sea began to rise and there was an odd sort of
moaning sound in the air, like the throbbing of the bass string of a
titanic viol.
“This is going to be a rip snorter,” he said in an undertone. “I’ll bet
the bottom’s tumbled out of the barometer.”
CHAPTER III.
IN THE GRIP OF THE STORM.
“Phew! Hold tight, Joe; here she comes!”
Under the dark canopy of lowering clouds the leaden sea about the
_Nomad_ began to smoke and whip up till the white horses champed and
careered, tossing their heads heavenward under the terrific onslaught of
the wind.
“Some storm, Nat,” gasped Joe, clutching the rail tightly with both
hands as the _Nomad_ began to pitch and toss like a bucking bronco.
“About as bad a blow as we’ve had on this coast in a long time,” agreed
Nat, raising his voice to be heard above the shrieking tumult of wind
and sea.
“I’ll go below and get the oilskins, Nat,” volunteered Joe.
“You’d better; this will get worse before it’s better.”
Grabbing at any hand-hold to prevent himself being thrown violently on
his back, Joe made his way below once more.
“Goodness, this is fierce,” he muttered, as he went down the
companionway and entered the cabin. Ding-dong had switched on the
current from the dynamo in the engine-room and the place was flooded
with light.
The injured man lay on the lounge where he had been placed and was
breathing heavily. At the table sat Dr. Sartorius. He was bending over a
bundle of papers and perusing them so intently that, above all the
disturbance of the elements without, he did not hear Joe enter the
cabin. He looked up as the boy’s shadow fell across the papers. Startled
by some emotion for which Joe could not account, he jumped to his feet,
at the same time thrusting the papers into an inner pocket.
“What do you | 1,102.260184 |
2023-11-16 18:35:26.3370100 | 1,383 | 11 |
Produced by Sharon Joiner, Bryan Ness and the Online
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SCIENTIFIC CULTURE,
_AND OTHER ESSAYS_.
BY
JOSIAH PARSONS COOKE, LL. D.,
PROFESSOR OF CHEMISTRY AND MINERALOGY, IN HARVARD COLLEGE.
_SECOND EDITION; WITH ADDITIONS._
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET.
1885.
COPYRIGHT, 1881, 1885,
BY JOSIAH PARSONS COOKE.
TO
MY ASSOCIATES
IN
THE CHEMICAL LABORATORY
OF
HARVARD COLLEGE
THIS VOLUME
IS
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
The essays collected in this volume, although written for special
occasions without reference to each other, have all a bearing on the
subject selected as the title of the volume, and are an outcome of a
somewhat large experience in teaching physical science to college
students. Thirty years ago, when the writer began his work at Cambridge,
instruction in the experimental sciences was given in our American
colleges solely by means of lectures and recitations. Chemistry and
Physics were allowed a limited space in the college curriculum as
branches of useful knowledge, but were regarded as wholly subordinate to
the classics and mathematics as a means of education; and as physical
science was then taught, there can be no question that the accepted
opinion was correct. Experimental science can never be made of value as
a means of education unless taught by its own methods, with the one
great aim in view to train the faculties of the mind so as to enable the
educated man to read the Book of Nature for himself.
Since the period just referred to, the example early set at Cambridge of
making the student's own observations in the laboratory or cabinet the
basis of all teaching, either in experimental or natural history
science, has been generally followed. But in most centers of education
the old traditions so far survive that the great end of scientific
culture is lost in attempting to conform even laboratory instruction to
the old academic methods of recitations and examinations. These, as
usually conducted, are simply hindrances in a course of scientific
training, because they are no tests of the only ability or acquirement
which science values, and therefore set before the student a false aim.
To point out this error, and to claim for science teaching its
appropriate methods, was one object of the writer in these essays.
It is, however, too often the case that, in following out our theories
of education, we avoid Scylla only to encounter Charybdis, and so, in
specializing our courses of laboratory instruction, there is great
danger of falling into the mechanical routine of a technical art, and
losing sight of those grand ideas and generalizations which give breadth
and dignity to scientific knowledge. That these great truths are as
important an element of scientific culture as experimental skill, the
author has also endeavored to illustrate, and he has added brief notices
of the lives of two noble men of science which may add force to the
illustrations.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I.--SCIENTIFIC CULTURE 5
II.--THE NOBILITY OF KNOWLEDGE 45
III.--THE ELEMENTARY TEACHING OF PHYSICAL SCIENCE 71
IV.--THE RADIOMETER 86
V.--MEMOIR OF THOMAS GRAHAM 127
VI.--MEMOIR OF WILLIAM HALLOWES MILLER 145
VII.--WILLIAM BARTON ROGERS 160
VIII.--JEAN-BAPTISTE-ANDRE DUMAS 181
IX.--THE GREEK QUESTION 203
X.--FURTHER REMARKS ON THE GREEK QUESTION 214
XI.--SCIENTIFIC CULTURE; ITS SPIRIT, ITS AIM, AND ITS METHODS 227
XII.--"NOBLESSE OBLIGE" 267
XIII.--THE SPIRITUAL LIFE 289
ESSAYS.
I.
SCIENTIFIC CULTURE.
_An Address delivered July 7, 1875, at the Opening of the Summer
Courses of Instruction in Chemistry, at Harvard University._
You have come together this morning to begin various elementary courses
of instruction in chemistry and mineralogy. As I have been informed,
most of you are teachers by profession, and your chief object is to
become acquainted with the experimental methods of teaching physical
science, and to gain the advantages in your study which the large
apparatus of this university is capable of affording.
In all this I hope you will not be disappointed. You, as teachers, know
perfectly well that success must depend, first of all, on your own
efforts; but, since the methods of studying Nature are so different from
those with which you are familiar in literary studies, I feel that the
best service I can render, in this introductory address, is to state,
as clearly as I can, the great objects which should be kept in view in
the courses on which you are now entering.
By your very attendance on these courses you have given the strongest
evidence of your appreciation of the value of chemical studies as a part
of the system of education, and let me say, in the first place, that you
have not overvalued their importance. The elementary principles and more
conspicuous facts of chemistry are so intimately associated with the
experience of every-day life, and find such important applications in
the useful arts, that no man at the present day can be regarded as
educated who is ignorant of them. Not to know why the fire burns, or how
the sulphur trade affects the industries of the world, will be regarded,
by the generation of men among whom your pupils will have to win their
places in society, as a greater mark of ignorance than a false quantity
in Latin prosody or a solecism in grammar.
Moreover, I need not tell you that physical science has become a great
power in the world. Indeed, after religion, it is | 1,102.35705 |
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and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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Transcriber's note:
Spelling mistakes have been left in the text to match the original,
except for obvious typographical errors, which have been corrected.
POEMS WITH POWER TO STRENGTHEN THE SOUL
Compiled and Edited by
JAMES MUDGE
Revised and Enlarged Edition
The Abingdon Press
New York Cincinnati Chicago
Copyright, 1907, 1909, by
Eaton & Mains
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition Printed November, 1907
Second Printing, March, 1909
Third Printing, October, 1911
Fourth Printing, July, 1915
Fifth Printing, May, 1919
Sixth Printing, January, 1922
Seventh Printing, April, 1925
Eighth Printing, March, 1928
Ninth Printing, October, 1930
Tenth Printing, September, 1934
TO ALL
WHO ARE AT THE SAME TIME
LOVERS OF GOOD POETRY AND LOVERS OF GOOD CHARACTER,
DEVOTED TO GOD AND THEIR FELLOW-MEN, AS WELL AS TO
LITERATURE, THE COMPILER, WHO CLAIMS A LITTLE
PLACE IN THIS LARGE COMPANY,
DEDICATES THE RESULT OF HIS PLEASANT LABORS
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE vii
SUBJECTS:
HEROISM--CHIVALRY, NOBILITY, HONOR, TRUTH 1
COURAGE--CONSTANCY, CONFIDENCE, STRENGTH, VALOR 14
INDEPENDENCE--MANHOOD, FIRMNESS, EARNESTNESS, RESOLUTION 22
GREATNESS--FAME, SUCCESS, PROGRESS, VICTORY 28
DUTY--LOYALTY, FAITHFULNESS, CONSCIENCE, ZEAL 41
SERVICE--USEFULNESS, BENEVOLENCE, LABOR 50
BROTHERHOOD--CHARITY, SYMPATHY, EXAMPLE, INFLUENCE 66
CONSECRATION--SUBMISSION, DEVOTION, PURITY 79
PEACE--REST, CALM, STILLNESS 88
HUMILITY--MEEKNESS, WEAKNESS, SELFLESSNESS 95
CONTENTMENT--RESIGNATION, PATIENCE, COMPENSATION 103
ASPIRATION--DESIRE, SUPPLICATION, GROWTH 115
PRAYER--WORSHIP, COMMUNION, DEVOTION 123
JOY--PRAISE, CHEERFULNESS, HAPPINESS 138
AFFLICTION--CONSOLATION, TRIAL, ENDURANCE 149
LOVE--DIVINE GOODNESS, UNSELFISHNESS 163
HOPE--PROGRESS, OPTIMISM, ENTHUSIASM 170
FAITH--ASSURANCE, DOUBT, UNBELIEF 177
TRUST--GUIDANCE, SAFETY, GLADNESS 187
GOD'S CARE--PROVIDENCE, GOD'S KNOWLEDGE AND BENEFICENCE 199
GOD'S WILL--OBEDIENCE, DIVINE UNION 209
GOD'S PRESENCE--POSSESSION, SATISFACTION, REFLECTION 221
JESUS--HIS PRECIOUSNESS, AND BEAUTY, AND LOVE 233
LIFE--TIME, OPPORTUNITY, EXPERIENCE, CHARACTER 250
AGE AND DEATH--MATURITY, VICTORY, HEAVEN 267
APPENDIX--MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS 278
INDEX TO AUTHORS 288
INDEX TO TITLES 292
INDEX TO FIRST LINES 298
PREFACE
This is not like other collections of religious verse; still less is it
a hymnal. The present volume is directed to a very specific and wholly
practical end, the production of high personal character; and only those
poems which have an immediate bearing in this direction have been
admitted. We know of no other book published which has followed this
special line. There are fine hymnals, deservedly dear to the Church, but
they are necessarily devoted in large measure to institutional and
theological subjects, are adapted to the wants of the general
congregation and to purposes of song; while many poetical productions
that touch the heart the closest are for that very reason unsuited to
the hymnal. There are many anthologies and plentiful volumes of
religious poetry, but not one coming within our ken has been made up as
this has been. We have sought far and wide, through many libraries,
carefully conning hundreds of books and glancing through hundreds more,
to find just those lines which would have the most tonic and stimulating
effect in the direction of holier, nobler living. We have coveted verses
whose influence would be directly on daily life and would help to form
the very best habits of thought and conduct, which would have intrinsic
spiritual value and elevating power; those whose immediate tendency
would be to make people better, toughening their moral fibre and helping
them heavenward; those which they could hardly read attentively without
feeling an impulse toward the things which are pure and true and
honorable and lovely and of good report, things virtuous and
praiseworthy.
It is surprising to one who has not made the search how very many poets
there are whose voluminous and popular works yield nothing, or scarcely
anything, of this sort. We have looked carefully through many scores of
volumes of poetry without finding a line that could be of the slightest
use in this collection. They were taken up altogether with other topics.
They contained many pretty conceits, pleasant descriptions, lovely or
lively narrations--these in abundance, but words that would send the
spirit heavenward, or even earthward with any added love for humanity,
not one. On the other hand, in papers and periodicals, even in books,
are great multitudes of verses, unexceptionable in sentiment and helpful
in influence, which bear so little of the true poetic afflatus, are so
careless in construction or so faulty in diction, so imperfect in rhyme
or rhythm, so much mingled with colloquialisms or so hopelessly
commonplace in thought, as to be unworthy of a permanent place in a book
like this. They would not bear reading many times. They would offend a
properly educated taste. They would not so capture the ear as to linger
on the memory with compelling persistence, nor strike the intellect as
an exceptional presentation | 1,102.470596 |
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_The Missionary_
BY
George Griffith
AUTHOR OF
"_The Angel of the Revolution_,"
"_The Rose of Judah_,"
"_The Destined Maid_,"
"_The Justice of Revenge_,"
| 1,102.489414 |
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[Illustration: J. B. Lockwood U S A]
FARTHEST NORTH;
OR,
_THE LIFE AND EXPLORATIONS OF LIEUTENANT JAMES BOOTH LOCKWOOD, OF THE
GREELY ARCTIC EXPEDITION_.
BY
CHARLES LANMAN.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET.
1885.
_When we think of the adventure of our times; when we recall the great
Arctic explorations that have called forth an endurance and daring which
have been unsurpassed in other days;... what is there that is more
romantic than they are in any history of any age?_
_From a Thanksgiving Sermon by_
Rev. Phillips Brooks.
Copyright, 1885,
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
PREFACE.
It is believed that this book, with its true but none the less stirring
adventures, will be of much interest to the general public, as well as
gratifying to the many warm friends of Lieutenant Lockwood. It will
likewise correct any erroneous impressions which may have arisen from
the publication of garbled extracts from the official journals kept by
the different members of the Greely party and, by order of the War
Department, laid open to the public. By this order, Lockwood’s journal
and those of others became public property, and hence any reference to
them in advance of their official publication is allowable.
The few pages devoted to the early life can not be expected to
especially interest the general public, but will gratify Lieutenant
Lockwood’s friends. They are here produced to give them permanency, and
to show his sterling character.
No attempt is here made to give a history of the Expedition, and only so
much of Lockwood’s journal is produced as shows his connection
therewith. The voyage to Lady Franklin Bay is given more in detail, as
it presents a lively picture of an interesting people not much known,
and as it exhibits the buoyant spirits with which he entered upon the
work, before dissensions in camp had checked them, though without
marring his faithfulness and energy. The important part he had in the
enterprise, his zeal, energy, and loyalty to his chief and to the cause,
all are fully set forth, and will be more clearly seen when the more
elaborate history of the Expedition shall be published by Lieutenant
Greely, as will shortly be done.
Although the journal has been freely used, its language and style have
not been closely followed, except in those parts quoted which refer to
Lockwood’s sentiments and feelings. The deep pathos of these could be
expressed as well in no other words.
His journal is very full and complete on the perilous boat-voyage to
Cape Sabine, and in the heart-rending struggle for life in that
ever-memorable hut where he and so many others laid down their lives.
This has purposely been reduced to a few pages, giving the story only so
far as Lieutenant Lockwood was connected with it. The same, may be said
as to the home-life at the station on Lady Franklin Bay.
The portrait of Lieutenant Lockwood is from an excellent photograph
taken a short time before he started for St. John’s, and two of the
woodcuts are from photographs by Sergeant Rice. “Arctic Sledging” was
made up from a description and a sketch by Sergeant Brainard, and
“Farthest North” from a sketch by Lieutenant Lockwood.
The map is a reproduction of that published by the London Geographical
Society, which is an exact transcript of maps drawn by Lieutenant
Lockwood and submitted by him to Lieutenant Greely with reports of
sledge-journeys. This map gives the names agreed upon by Lieutenant
Greely and Lieutenant Lockwood, and are those referred to in the journal
and in this book. It is much to be regretted that many of these names
differ from those on the official map published by authority to the
world. The names first given commemorate events connected with those
wonderful sledge-journeys, as will be seen in the text; and, if a few
unimportant lakes and points were named after friends and relatives,
this might have been conceded to one who accomplished so much, and that
much so well. The map of the London Geographical Society will probably
live, and the other perish, as it should.
Captain Markham, Royal Navy, soon after the return of the Greely
Expedition, declared, in articles published in a leading English
magazine, that Lockwood never got beyond Cape Britannia, and that he
mistook Cape May for that cape, etc. It was thought that, when the
history of this sledge-journey was better known, Markham would be glad
to withdraw this ungenerous aspersion. This is done so far as to admit
that Lockwood did reach 83° 24′ north latitude, 44° 5′ west longitude;
but it is now said, in the article “Polar Regions,” of the new
Encyclopædia Britannica, written by the captain’s brother, that all this
region had previously been explored and exhaustively examined by the
English expedition of 1875-’76.
This is very remarkable, in view of the fact that Lockwood Island, which
was reached by Lockwood, is one hundred geographical miles east and
forty miles north of Cape Britannia which Beaumont saw at the distance
of twenty miles, but never reached.
In the same article are expressed sentiments in accord with those
contained in this book, viz.: “If the simple and necessary precaution
had been taken of stationing a depot-ship in a good harbor at the
entrance of Smith’s Sound, in annual communication with Greely on one
side and with America on the other, there would have been no disaster.
If precautions proved to be necessary by experience are taken, there is
no undue risk or danger in polar enterprises. There is no question as to
the value and importance of polar discovery, and as to the principles on
which expeditions should be sent out. Their objects are exploration for
scientific purposes and the encouragement of maritime enterprise.”
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. Early Life 7
II. Army-Life in Arizona 20
III. Army-Life in Nebraska 31
IV. Army-Life in Kansas 43
V. Army-Life in Indian Territory and Colorado 52
VI. Preparing for the Arctic Regions 58
VII. From Newfoundland to Lady Franklin Bay 64
VIII. House-building and Local Explorations 87
IX. Preliminary Sledge Expeditions and Life at the Station 111
X. “The Arctic Moon” 132
XI. Expedition to Lockwood Island 139
XII. From Lockwood Island to Lady Franklin Bay 178
XIII. Waiting and Watching 194
XIV. Resuming a Desperate Struggle 229
XV. Across Grinnell Land 249
XVI. Preparing for Home 279
XVII. Homeward Bound 286
XVIII. The Final Catastrophe 296
XIX. The Woeful Return 317
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Portrait of James B. Lockwood.
Lockwood, Natives, and Kyack at Disco, Greenland.
Sledging over the Arctic Floe.
Taking Observations at Lockwood Island.
Lockwood’s Corner.
Map showing Lockwood’s Explorations.
FARTHEST NORTH.
I.
EARLY LIFE.
In the following pages, it is proposed to record the personal history of
an American hero whose fortune it was, at the sacrifice of his life, to
visit and explore the utmost limit in the Arctic regions ever attained
by human skill and enterprise. Aside from the information communicated
to me by his family, the materials placed in my hands consist of his
private correspondence and various journals which he faithfully kept
while serving his country on the Western frontiers, as well as in the
inhospitable domain of the North. As the poet Fitz-Greene Halleck wrote
about a kindred character—
“He lived, as mothers wish their sons to live,”
and, on the score of fidelity to duty,
“He died, as fathers wish their sons to die,”
leaving a name that will long be honored in every civilized land as that
of a martyr in the cause of geographical exploration.
Many of those connected with the Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland,
before the civil war, will remember a playful and mischievous boy, whose
ready smile and cheerful ways beguiled them in their hours of
relaxation. Others who were at that school after the war will remember
the same boy, grown into a youth of sixteen years, rugged in aspect,
devoted to manly sports, and assiduous in all his duties. It is the
story of his brief but eventful life to which this volume is devoted,
written for the information of his friends and all those who admire true
heroism and rare abilities when allied to sufferings for the public
weal.
James Booth Lockwood was the second son and third child of General Henry
H. Lockwood and Anna Booth Lockwood. He was born at the Naval Academy,
Annapolis, on the 9th of October, 1852, at which time and place his
father—a Professor of Mathematics in the Navy—instructed the midshipmen
in the military branches, as he had done for many years before. Both his
parents were from the State of Delaware, and came from the best stock of
that State; and, as his father taught his students “how to shoot,” and
prepare themselves for the conflicts of life, it was quite natural that
the son should have acquired a love of noble deeds and adventure.
Like many boys, he had his narrow escapes from death, one of which
occurred in April, 1860, when, having fallen into the river from the
dock, he was rescued in an insensible condition, and restored to life
with great difficulty. This escape must have been recalled by him with
special emotion in after-years amid his struggles with the ice of
Smith’s Sound.
His innate love of fun had been one of his characteristics from
childhood, nor was it subdued even when recovering from the accident
which nearly cost him his life; for, while lying in his bed, he peered
into his father’s face with a quizzical smile, and remarked, “I was
drowned, but not drowned dead.”
When the Naval Academy was occupied by a general of the army, in 1861,
and the students and professors were transferred to Newport, Rhode
Island, young Lockwood accompanied his father and family, and was placed
at a public school in that place. After a brief residence in Newport,
his father, being a graduate of the Military Academy at West Point, was
called upon to command a volunteer regiment of Delaware troops, and
having been subsequently commissioned a brigadier-general of volunteers,
he was placed in charge of the Eastern Shore counties of Virginia and
returned to the region of hostilities, making his headquarters at
Drummondtown, in Accomac County. In this quaint and quiet place, and
while a mere stripling of ten years, young Lockwood displayed his love
of adventure and active life by forming a company of all the <DW52>
boys in the village, erecting earthworks in a vacant lot, and, all armed
with corn-stalks and broom-handles, meeting a company of white boys in
mimic war—noisy, if not dangerous to life or limb. The vanity of
personal strife, however, soon becoming irksome to his mind, he turned
his attention to horsemanship, and explored the surrounding shores of
Accomac on a Chincoteague pony belonging to his father. He also spent | 1,102.654309 |
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DOROTHY DALE'S
GREAT SECRET
BY
MARGARET PENROSE
AUTHOR OF "DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY," "DOROTHY DALE AT
GLENWOOD SCHOOL," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE DOROTHY DALE SERIES
By Margaret Penrose
Cloth. Illustrated.
DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY
DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL
DOROTHY DALE'S GREAT SECRET
(Other Volumes in preparation)
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY NEW YORK
Copyright, 1909, by
Cupples & Leon Company
Dorothy Dale's Great Secret
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. An Automobile Ride 1
II. Tavia Has Plans 17
III. A Cup of Tea 28
IV. The Apparition 39
V. An Untimely Letter 47
VI. On the Lawn 55
VII. At Sunset Lake 63
VIII. A Lively Afternoon 72
IX. Dorothy and Tavia 79
X. Leaving Glenwood 88
XI. A Jolly Home-Coming 96
XII. Dorothy is Worried 109
XIII. Little Urania 118
XIV. The Runaway 129
XV. A Spell of the "Glumps" 139
XVI. Dorothy in Buffalo 147
XVII. At the Play 161
XVIII. Behind the Scenes 172
XIX. The Clue 183
XX. Dorothy and the Manager 195
XXI. Adrift in a Strange City 205
XXII. In Dire Distress 211
XXIII. The Secret--Conclusion 231
DOROTHY DALE'S GREAT SECRET
CHAPTER I
AN AUTOMOBILE RIDE
"There is one thing perfectly delightful about boarding schools,"
declared Tavia, "when the term closes we can go away, and leave it in
another world. Now, at Dalton, we would have to see the old schoolhouse
every time we went to Daly's for a pound of butter, a loaf of bread--and
oh, yes! I almost forgot! Mom said we could get some bologna. Whew! Don't
your mouth water, Dorothy? We always did get good bologna at Daly's!"
"Bologna!" echoed Dorothy. "As if the young ladies of Glenwood School
would disgrace their appetites with such vulgar fare!"
At this she snatched up an empty cracker box, almost devouring its
parifine paper, in hopes of finding a few more crumbs, although Tavia had
poured the last morsels of the wafers down her own throat the night
before this conversation took place. Yes, Tavia had even made a funnel of
the paper and "took" the powdered biscuits as doctors administer headache
remedies.
"All the same," went on Tavia, "I distinctly remember that you had a
longing for the skin of my sausage, along with the end piece, which you
always claimed for your own share."
"Oh, please stop!" besought Dorothy, "or I shall have to purloin my hash
from the table to-night and stuff it into--"
"The armlet of your new, brown kid gloves," finished Tavia. "They're the
very color of a nice, big, red-brown bologna, and I believe the
inspiration is a direct message. 'The Evolution of a Bologna Sausage,'
modern edition, bound in full kid. Mine for the other glove. Watch all
the hash within sight to-night, and we'll ask the girls to our
clam-bake."
"Dear old Dalton," went on Dorothy with a sigh. "After all there is no
place like home," and she dropped her blond head on her arms, in the
familiar pose Tavia described as "thinky."
"But home was never like this," declared the other, following up
Dorothy's sentiment with her usual interjection of slang. At the same
moment she made a dart for a tiny bottle of Dorothy's perfume, which was
almost emptied down the front of Tavia's blue dress, before the owner of
the treasure had time to interfere.
"Oh, that's mean!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Aunt Winnie sent me that by mail.
It was a special kind--"
"And you know my weakness for specials--real bargains! There!" and Tavia
caught Dorothy up in her arms. "I'll rub it all on your head. Tresses of
sunshine, perfumed with incense!"
"Please stop!" begged Dorothy. "My hair is all fixed!"
"Well, it's 'fixest' now. The superlative you know. I do hate your hair
prim. Never knew a girl with heavenly hair who did not want to make a
mattress of it. I have wonderfully enhanced the beauty of your coiffure,
mam'selle, for which I ask to be permitted one kiss!" and at this the two
girls became so entangled in each other's embrace that it would have been
hard to tell whom the blond head belonged to, or who might be the owner
of the bronze ringlets.
But Dorothy Dale was the blond, and Octavia Travers, "sported" the dark
tresses. "Sported" we say advisedly, for Tavia loved sport better than
she cared for her dinner, while Dorothy, an entirely different type of
girl, admired the things of this world that were good and beautiful, true
and reliable; but at the same time she was no prude, and so enjoyed her
friend's sports, whenever the mischief involved no serious consequences.
That "Doro" as her chums called Dorothy, and Tavia could be so unlike,
and yet be such friends, was a matter of surprise to all their
acquaintances. But those who have read of the young ladies in the
previous stories of the series, "Dorothy Dale;--A Girl of To-Day," and
"Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School," have had sufficient introduction to
these interesting characters to understand how natural it was for a lily
(our friend Dorothy) to love and encourage a frolicsome wild flower
(Tavia) to cling to the cultured stalk, to keep close to the saving
influence of the lily's heart--so close that no gardener would dare to
tear away that wild flower from the lily's clasp, without running the
risk of cruelly injuring the more tender plant.
So it was with these two girls. No one could have destroyed their love
and friendship for each other without so displacing their personalities
as to make the matter one of serious consequences.
Many other girls had coveted Dorothy's love; some had even tried to
obtain it by false stories, or greatly exaggerated accounts of Tavia's
frolics. But Dorothy loved Tavia, and believed in her, so all attempts to
destroy her faith were futile. And it was this faith, when the time came,
that inspired Dorothy Dale to keep the Great Secret.
Glenwood School was situated amid the mountains of New England, and the
two girls had completed one term there. On the afternoon when this story
opens they were lounging in their own particular room, nineteen by
number, waiting for the recreation bell to send its muffled chimes down
the corridor.
They were waiting with unusual impatience, for the "hour of freedom" to
come, for they expected visitors in an automobile.
"Like as not," Tavia broke in suddenly, without offering a single excuse
for the surprising interjection, "the Fire Bird will break down, and we
won't get our ride after all."
"Cheerful speculation," interposed Dorothy, "but not exactly probable.
The Fire Bird is an auto that never breaks down."
"What, never?" persisted Tavia, laughing.
"No, never," declared Dorothy. "Of course all automobiles are subject to
turns, but to really break down--Aunt Winnie would never allow her boys
to run a machine not entirely reliable."
"O-o-o-oh!" drawled Tavia, in mock surprise. Then the girls settled down
to wait.
The Fire Bird, was a touring car in which the girls had enjoyed some
noted rides about their home town of Dalton. Dorothy's aunt, Mrs.
Winthrop White, of North Birchland, owned the car, and her two sons,
Edward and Nathaniel (or Ned and Nat, to give them the titles they always
went by) good looking young fellows, were usually in charge of it when
their favorite cousin Dorothy, and her friend Tavia, were the other
passengers.
It may as well be stated at this time that Nat and Tavia were excellent
friends, and even on a ride that had been termed notorious (on account of
the strange experiences that befell the party while making a tour), Tavia
and Nat had managed to have a good time, and made the best of their
strange adventures.
It was not surprising then that on this afternoon, while Dorothy and
Tavia waited for another ride in the Fire Bird, their brains should be
busy with speculative thoughts. Tavia was sure Nat would think she had
grown to be a real young lady, and Dorothy was so anxious to see both her
cousins, that she fell to thinking they might have outgrown the jolly,
big-boy relationship, and would come to her stiff and stylish young men.
The peal of the recreation bell in the outer hall suddenly aroused the
girls, and, at the same moment the "honk-honk" of the Fire Bird's horn
announced the arrival of the long expected boys.
"There they are!" exclaimed Tavia, quite unnecessarily, for Dorothy was
already making her pearl-tinted veil secure over her yellow head; and
while Tavia was wasting her time, looking out of the window at the auto,
which was surrounded by boys and girls who stood on the path, plainly
admiring the two cousins and the stylish car, Dorothy was quite ready for
the ride.
"Do come, Tavia!" she called. "The afternoon is short enough!"
"Com--ing!" shouted her irrepressible companion in high glee, making a
lunge for her own veil, and tossing it over her head as she dashed down
the corridor.
Dorothy stopped at the office on her way out to tell the principal, Mrs.
Pangborn, that the expected visitors had arrived, and that she and Tavia
were starting for the ride, permission to go having been granted in
advance.
Outside, just beyond the arch in the broad driveway, the Fire Bird panted
and puffed, as if anxious to take flight again. Ned was at the steering
wheel and as for Nat, he was helping Tavia into the machine "with both
hands" some jealous onlookers declared afterward. However Dorothy's
friend Rose-Mary Markin (known to her chums as Cologne because of her
euphonious first names) insisted differently in the argument that
followed the puffing away of the car.
It was no small wonder that the coming of the Fire Bird should excite
such comment among the girls at Glenwood school. An automobile ride was
no common happening there, for while many of the parents of the young
ladies owned such machines, Glenwood was far away from home and so were
the autos.
Edna Black, called Ned Ebony, and regarded as Tavia's most intimate
friend, insisted that Tavia looked like a little brown sparrow, as she
flew off, with the streamers of her brown veil flying like wings. Molly
Richards, nick-named Dick, and always "agin' th' government" like the
foreigner in politics, declared that the girls "were not in it" with the
boys, for, as she expressed it, "girls always do look like animated
rag-bags in an automobile."
"Boys just put themselves on the seat and stay put," she announced, "but
girls--they seem to float above the car, and they give me the shivers!"
"All the same," interrupted Cologne, "the damsels manage to hang on."
"And Dorothy was a picture," ventured Nita Brant, the girl given to
"excessive expletive ejaculations," according to the records of the Nick
Association, the official club of the Juniors.
So the Fire Bird, with its gay little party, flew over the hills of
Glenwood. Dorothy was agreeably surprised to find her cousins just as
good natured and just as boy-like as they had been when she had last seen
them, and they, in turn, complimented her on her improved appearance.
"You look younger though you talk older," Ned assured Dorothy, with a
nice regard for the feminine feeling relative to age.
"And Tavia looks--looks--how?" stammered Nat, with a significant look at
his elder brother.
"Search me!" replied the other evasively, determined not to be trapped by
Nat into any "expert opinion."
"Beyond words!" finished Nat, with a glance of unstinted admiration at
his companion.
"Bad as that?" mocked Tavia. "The girls do call me'red head' and
'brick-top.' Yes, even 'carroty' is thrown at me when I do anything to
make Ned mad. You know that's the girl," she hurried to add, "the
girl--Edna Black--Ned Ebony for short, you know. She's the jolliest
crowd--"
"How many of her?" asked Ned, pretending to be ignorant of Tavia's school
vernacular.
"Legion," was the enthusiastic answer, which elastic comment settled the
question of Edna Black, for the time being, at least.
The roads through Glenwood wound up and down like thread on a spool.
Scarcely did the Fire Bird find itself on the top of a hill before it
went scooting down to the bottom. Then another would loom up and it had
to be done all over again.
This succession of steep grades, first tilting up and then down, kept Ned
busy throwing the clutches in and out, taking the hills on the low gear,
then slipping into full speed ahead as a little level place was reached,
and again throwing off the power and drifting down while the brakes
screeched and hummed as if in protest at being made to work so hard. The
two girls, meanwhile, were busy speculating on what would happen if an
"something" should give way, or if the powerful car should suddenly
refuse to obey the various levers, handles, pedals and the maze of things
of which Ned seemed to have perfect command.
"This reminds me of the Switch-back Railway," remarked Nat, as the
machine suddenly lurched first up, and then down a rocky "bump."
"Y-y-y-es!" agreed Ned, shouting to be heard above the pounding of the
muffler. "It's quite like a trip on the Scenic Railway--pretty pictures
and all."
"I hope it isn't dangerous," ventured Dorothy, who had too vivid a
remembrance of the narrow escape on a previous ride, to enjoy the
possibility of a second adventure.
"No danger at all," Ned hastened to assure her.
"A long hill at last!" exclaimed Nat, as the big strip of brown earth
uncoiled before them, like so many miles of ribbon dropped from the sky,
with a knot somewhere in the clouds. "A long hill for sure. None of your
dinky little two-for-a-cent kinds this time!"
"Oh!" gasped Dorothy, involuntarily catching at Ned's arm. "Be careful,
Ned!"
Ned took a firmer grip on the steering wheel, as he finished throwing out
the gear and shutting off the power, while the spark lever sent out a
shrill sound as he swung it in a segment over the rachet.
The hill was not only remarkably steep, but consisted of a series of
turns and twists. Down the grade the car plunged in spite of the brakes
that Ned jammed on, with all his force, to prevent a runaway. He was a
little pale, but calm, and with his steady hands on the wheel, clinging
firmly to it in spite of the way it jerked about, as if trying to get
free, he guided the Fire Bird down, the big machine swerving from right
to left, but ever following where the lad directed it.
As they swung around a turn in the descending road a clump of trees
obstructed the view for a moment. Then the car glided beyond them,
gathering speed every moment, in spite of the brakes.
"The creek!" yelled Tavia in sudden terror, pointing to where a small,
but deep stream flowed under the road. "There's the creek and the bridge
is broken!"
The water was spanned by a frail structure, generally out of order and in
a state of uncertain repair. It needed but a glance to show that it was
now in course of being mended, for there was a pile of material near it.
Work, however, had been temporarily suspended.
Then, there flashed into view a warning signboard announcing that the old
planking of the bridge had been taken up to allow the putting down of
new, and that the bridge was impassable. The four horror-stricken
occupants of the car saw this at a glance.
"Stop the car!" cried Tavia.
"Can't!" answered Ned hoarsely. "I've got the emergency brake on, but it
doesn't seem to hold."
"It's all right," called Nat. "I saw a wagon go over the bridge when we
were on our way to the school this afternoon."
"But it crossed on some loose, narrow planks!" Tavia gasped. "I saw them
put the boards there yesterday when we were out for our walk! I forgot
all about them! Oh! Stop the car! We can't cross on the planks! We'll all
be killed!"
Ned leaned forward, pulling with all his strength on the brake handle, as
if to force it a few more notches back and make the steel band grip
tighter the whirring wheels that were screeching out a shrill protest at
the friction.
"I--I can't do it!" he exclaimed almost in a whisper.
The Fire Bird was dashing along the steep incline. Ned clung firmly to
the steering wheel, for though there was terrible danger ahead, it was
also close at hand should the auto swerve from the path. His face was
white, and Nat's forced breathing sounded loud in the ears of the
terror-stricken girls.
The bridge was but a few hundred feet away. The auto skidded along as if
under power, though the gasolene was shut off.
"There's a plank across the entrance! Maybe that will stop us!" cried
Nat.
"Never in this world!" replied Ned, in despairing tones.
Dorothy was sending up wordless prayers, but she did not stir from her
seat, sitting bravely still, and not giving way to useless terror. Nor
did Tavia, once the first shock was over, for she saw how quiet Dorothy
was, and she too, sank back among the cushions, waiting for the crash she
felt would soon come.
"If some boards are only down!" murmured Ned. "Maybe I can steer--"
The next instant the Fire Bird had crashed through the obstruction plank.
It splintered it as if it were a clothes pole, and, a moment later,
rumbled out upon the frail, loose planking, laid length-wise across the
floorless bridge, as a path for the repair teams.
"Oh! Oh!" shrieked the two girls in one breath.
Nat jumped up from his seat, and, leaning forward, grasped his brother by
the shoulders.
Then what followed was always a mystery to the four who had an
involuntary part in it. The front wheels took the narrow planks, and
clung there as Ned held the steering circle steady. There was a little
bump as the rear wheels took the same small boards. There was a crashing,
splintering sound and then, before any of those in the car had a chance
to realize it, the Fire Bird had whizzed across the bridge and was
brought to a quick stop on the other side.
"Whew!" gasped Ned, as he tried to open the paralyzed hands that seemed
grown fast to the steering wheel.
"Look at that!" cried Nat, as he leaped from the car and pointed back
toward the bridge. "We broke two planks in the very middle, and only the
fast rate we clipped over them saved us from going down!"
"What an escape!" cried Tavia as she jumped from her seat.
"Is the car damaged?" asked Dorothy, as she too alighted to stand beside
her chum.
"Something happened to the radiator when we hit the rail and broke it,"
said Ned, as he saw water escaping from the honey-comb reservoir. "But I
guess it won't amount to much. It isn't leaking badly. The idea of the
county having a picture bridge over a river! Why there's a swift current
here, and it's mighty deep. Just look at that black whirlpool near the
eddy. If we'd gone down there what the machine left of us would have been
nicely cooled off at any rate!"
The two boys were soon busy examining the car, while Dorothy and Tavia
stood in the road.
"Wasn't it dreadful!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I do believe we ought not to go
auto riding--something happens every time we go out."
"And to think that I knew about the bridge!" whispered Tavia. "Only
yesterday I saw it and noticed how unsafe it was. Then I forgot all about
it. Oh, Dorothy! If anything had happened it would have been my fault!"
CHAPTER II
TAVIA HAS PLANS
Dorothy threw her arms about Tavia, and, for a few moments the two girls
were locked in each other's embrace. The reaction, following their lucky
escape from almost certain death, had unnerved them. Nor were the two
boys altogether free from a shaky feeling, as they carefully looked over
the car to see if it had suffered any further damage than the leaky
radiator.
"Think she'll do?" asked Nat.
"Guess so," replied his brother. "My, but that was as close a call as I
have ever had."
"Me too. I guess we'd better take a breathing spell before we go on."
The boys sat down on a grassy bank, and the girls followed their example.
They looked back over the bridge, and at the two broken planks that had
nearly proved their undoing. Through the spaces, where the flooring was
torn up, the black, swirling waters could be seen.
While the auto party are resting until they have somewhat gotten over the
fright caused by their narrow escape, let me tell something of Dorothy
and her friends. As set forth in the first book of this series, "Dorothy
Dale; A Girl of To-Day," the girl was the daughter of Major Frank Dale, a
veteran of the Civil War. He ran a weekly newspaper, called _The Bugle_
in Dalton, a small town in New York state. Dorothy's mother had died some
years previous. The girl had two brothers, younger than herself, named
Joe and Roger.
Dorothy took part in a temperance crusade in Dalton and had much to do in
unraveling the mystery of an unfortunate man given to drink. He left a
small fortune to his daughter, whose whereabouts were unknown, and
Dorothy succeeded in finding her. In her work the girl was much hampered
by a man named Anderson, who sought to do her bodily harm, and who was at
the bottom of the mystery concerning the daughter of the unfortunate man.
Dorothy proved herself a brave girl, and, with the help of Tavia, who
became her especial chum, did much to aid several persons in Dalton.
In the second volume, "Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School" there I related
how Dorothy and her father came upon better days. Major Dale fell heir to
quite a sum of money, and could give up the newspaper.
Dorothy was sent to Glenwood School, where Tavia accompanied her. The two
girls had many exciting times there, and Dorothy was suspected of
something for which she was not to blame, suffering much in consequence
of her desire to shield another girl. There was much fun at the school,
in spite of this, however including a queer walking match and a strange
initiation.
Dorothy and her father moved to North Birchland, the home of Mrs.
Winthrop White, Mr. Dale's sister. Anderson, the man who had caused
Dorothy so much trouble turned up again, but was eventually sent to jail.
After the holidays Dorothy and Tavia returned to school, where we find
them at the opening of this story. They had become friends of nearly all
the students, though, as is natural, had made some enemies, as what girl
does not?
Now the party on the roadside prepared to start off again.
"I can't forgive myself for not remembering about the dangerous state of
the bridge," went on Tavia, when Ned and Nat had announced that the auto
was fit to continue its journey.
"Of course it wasn't your fault," said Dorothy.
"Yes it was," insisted Tavia. "You wouldn't have forgotten it, Doro,
dear!"
And, to give Dorothy credit, she would not have been so thoughtless. But
she was a different type of girl from Tavia. It was the way she had been
brought up, as much as her own character, that caused this difference.
Good breeding is not a virtue, it is a blessing: hence in considering
such a gift we admire the fortunate possessor, just as we esteem the
beauty of the cultured rose, and, naturally compare it favorably when
placed next to some coarse untrained wild flower.
So it was with our two friends, Dorothy and Tavia. Dorothy was well bred,
and could always be relied upon, for the good breeding was nicely coupled
with a kindness of heart that composed a charming character. Though
Dorothy had no mother her aunt, Mrs. Winthrop White almost filled that
place in the girl's heart.
The White family, with whom Dorothy, her father and two brothers had gone
to live, since the advent of the legacy, consisted of Mrs. White and her
two sons, Nat and Ned. Mr. White had died some years ago, while engaged
in a scientific expedition.
Not having a daughter of her own Dorothy's Aunt Winnie was especially
fond of her pretty niece, and, as the girl could barely remember her own
mother, she lavished her affection on her father's sister.
Dorothy's affection, love and devotion to her father was of a different
type from that given to any other living creature, not excepting her own
darling brothers, Joe and Roger, and Roger had almost grown up in his
sister's arms, for he had been a tiny baby when his mother was called
away.
It was in Dalton that Dorothy had met and learned to love Tavia. The
Travers family, of whom Tavia was the most interesting member, lived not
far from the Dale homestead. Tavia had grown up with Dorothy, as her most
intimate friend and companion, and it was Dorothy's love for Tavia that
had wrought miracles for the girl who lacked proper home training, for
her parents were of that class generally designated as improvident.
Tavia always ignored the saving rules of correct society, and, being
naturally bright, and strangely pretty was, now that she was in her
fifteenth year, in a fair way to be spoiled by those who delighted to
hear her witty nonsense, and who looked upon her frolics as entertaining
in an otherwise stupid old world.
"Well, shall we go along now?" asked Ned, as he again took his place at
the steering wheel.
"Yes, but go slow," begged Tavia. "We can go home by a different road. We
have lots of time, before we have to be back to Glenwood School for tea."
"Slow it is," replied Ned, not at all sorry that he could take it easy
after the strenuous time. Dorothy had many questions to ask her
cousins--all about her father's rheumatism--whether the electric
treatment was doing him as much good as the doctors had promised--how her
brothers were getting on at school--how strange it seemed to have Roger
at school!--and scores of other things. But she always came back to her
father or the boys--to Roger--she could scarcely imagine her baby brother
running home to Aunt Winnie with his book under his arm.
While Ned and Dorothy were thus busy with family affairs, Nat and Tavia,
seated on the rear seat, were discussing purely personal matters. Nat
told of the tour he and his brother had made from North Birchland, the
trip being undertaken with other members of a club, which was holding a
meet not far from Glenwood School. Tavia found plenty of small
interesting talk to "give and take" with Nat.
"Dorothy," she asked suddenly, "do you think we could get off all day
to-morrow and take a run out to where the auto meet is being held? It
would be all sorts of fun and--"
"To-morrow?" echoed Dorothy. "Why you know we have our English exams. and
our geometry to make up. Besides, Mrs. Pangborn would never allow us to
go to a boys' camp."
"Allow us! Just as if we were in the kindergarten! Let's make up some
excuse and go! Now, Doro, don't look so shocked! Surely you have the
right to go out with your own cousins?"
"Tavia, don't talk such nonsense!" exclaimed Dorothy severely. "You know
perfectly well we are under the school rules, and that we are in honor
bound not to violate them. As if any sensible girl would risk her good
standing for such an escapade!"
"What's the'standing' at Glenwood compared to the'sitting' in the Fire
Bird?" asked Tavia flippantly. "Besides, just think of all the jolly
fellows we would meet; wouldn't we, Nat?"
"There's a great collection of wild ducks out there at the auto camp,"
Nat answered rather reluctantly, for he plainly saw that Tavia's
surprising proposition had caused Dorothy serious annoyance.
"Well, I've a mind to go myself. Will you come for me, boys? I could
disappear at class hour, when all the 'tattle-tales' will be sure to be
busy, scheming out of their work. Then I could get back in time to have
my head tied up at lunch hour--head-ache all the morning, you know.
Simplest thing in the world."
Even the boys scarcely smiled as Tavia unfolded a possible plan to
deceive her teachers, and to dishonor her own name. Her friends were well
accustomed to her pranks and prattle, and usually regarded her nonsense
as mere babble. But, somehow, Tavia, was "growing up," lately, and it
seemed quite time for her to take life more seriously.
"Tavia," spoke up Dorothy finally, "you came to Glenwood upon my aunt's
recommendation, and under my--"
"Wing!" broke in Tavia, throwing her arms out toward the slender form of
the girl seated ahead of her in the auto.
"At any rate," finished Dorothy, "I'm perfectly sure that my cousins will
never take part in any such nonsense."
"Oh, Mr. Flea, you've bitten me, and you must die!" sang Tavia, making a
series of melo-dramatic gestures, that caused the boys to laugh and even
made Dorothy smile in forgiveness.
"Thus are my social ambitions nipped in the bud--extinguished in their
first, faint gleaming," went on Tavia, assuming a tone of tragedy. "Well,
my fairy-godmother, Dorothy Dale Glenwood, when that day comes that I am
forced to spurn the lines of the Social Swim, and you find me beyond the
ropes, clinging helplessly to the tail-end of my former prestige, carried
out with the great, surging tide of struggling humanity, then you will
remember that I had attempted a correct debut, and it ended in a splash
of Dale indignation!"
Somehow Tavia's nonsense had a ring of reality to-day. Perhaps it was the
narrow escape at the bridge that had tinted her pictures with such a
serious tone--she seemed preoccupied, and gave her chatter in words
contradicted by her voice and manner. It was some minutes before any one
spoke. All appeared to be enjoying the "valedictory," and presently
Tavia, promising to "turn over a new leaf," made a grab for a branch of a
tree the auto just then passed under, and swished the foliage she
captured until every leaf showed its silvery under-side against the deep
blue sky. She laughed at her joke.
"Of course you know," said Ned, as he swung the car into a cross-road
that led to Glenwood, "mother expects you to come to North Birchland,
with Dorothy, this summer, Tavia. We'll try to make you
comfortable--ahem! Nat has a brand new tandem, besides white duck duds to
burn--"
"Nixy! To wear," corrected his brother. "Mother says white ducks are
economical for man--and beast."
"Of course you'll come with me, Tavia," said Dorothy, noting instantly
that her chum had not responded to the kind invitation that Nat had
delivered for his mother.
"Perhaps," replied Tavia, vaguely.
"Are you going to spend all your time at Dalton?" continued Dorothy, much
puzzled at Tavia's manner | 1,102.677406 |
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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 | 1,102.882636 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing, David Edwards and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
STANDARD ELOCUTIONARY BOOKS
=FIVE-MINUTE READINGS FOR YOUNG LADIES.= Selected and adapted by
WALTER K | 1,102.957976 |
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Produced by Adrian Mastronardi, Chuck Greif 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.)
CULTURE & ETHNOLOGY
CULTURE & ETHNOLOGY | 1,103.058246 |
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Produced by Steven Gibbs, Linda Cantoni, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's Note: This satire in verse by Daniel Defoe (c.
1659-1731) was first published in 1701 under the title, _The True-Born
Englishman. A Satyr_, and went through numerous editions in Defoe's
lifetime. This e-book was prepared from _The Novels and Miscellaneous
Works of Daniel De Foe_, Volume 5 (London: Henry G. Bohn, 1855), in
which the spelling, punctuation, and capitalization have apparently
been modernized. Obvious printer errors have been corrected. A table
of contents has been added for the reader's convenience.]
THE
TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN:
A
SATIRE.
Statuimus pacem, et securitatem et concordiam judicum et justiciam
inter Anglos et Normannos, Francos et Britanes, Walliae, et Cornubiae,
Pictos et Scotos, Albaniae, similiter inter Francos et insulanos
provincias et patrias, quae pertinent ad coronam nostram, et inter
omnes nobis subjectos firmiter et inviolabiliter observare.
Charta Regis Gullielmi Conquisitoris de Pacis Publica, cap. i.
CONTENTS
AN EXPLANATORY PREFACE.
PREFACE.
THE INTRODUCTION.
THE TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN.
PART I.
PART II.
BRITANNIA.
HIS FINE SPEECH, &c.
THE CONCLUSION.
AN
EXPLANATORY PREFACE.
It is not that I see any reason to alter my opinion in any thing I
have writ, which occasions this epistle; but I find it necessary for
the satisfaction of some persons of honour, as well as wit, to pass a
short explication upon it; and tell the world what I mean, or rather,
what I do not mean, in some things wherein I find I am liable to be
misunderstood.
I confess myself something surpris'd to hear that I am taxed with
bewraying my own nest, and abusing our nation, by discovering the
meanness of our original, in order to make the English contemptible
abroad and at home; in which, I think, they are mistaken: for why
should not our neighbours be as good as we to derive from? And I must
add, that had we been an unmix'd nation, I am of opinion it had been
to our disadvantage: for to go no farther, we have three nations about
us as clear from mixtures of blood as any in the world, and I know not
which of them I could wish ourselves to be like; I mean the Scots, the
Welsh, and the Irish; and if I were to write a reverse to the Satire,
I would examine all the nations of Europe, and prove, that those
nations which are most mix'd, are the best, and have least of
barbarism and brutality among them; and abundance of reasons might be
given for it, too long to bring into a Preface.
But I give this hint, to let the world know, that I am far from
thinking, 'tis a Satire upon the English nation, to tell them, they
are derived from all the nations under heaven; that is, from several
nations. Nor is it meant to undervalue the original of the English,
for we see no reason to like them worse, being the relicts of Romans,
Danes, Saxons and Normans, than we should have done if they had
remain'd Britons, that is, than if they had been all Welshmen.
But the intent of the Satire is pointed at the vanity of those who
talk of their antiquity, and value themselves upon their pedigree,
their ancient families, and being true-born; whereas 'tis impossible
we should be true-born: and if we could, should have lost by the
bargain.
These sort of people, who call themselves true-born, and tell long
stories of their families, and like a nobleman of Venice, think a
foreigner ought not to walk on the same side of the street with them,
are own'd to be meant in this Satire. What they would infer from their
long original, I know not, nor is it easy to make out whether they are
the better or the worse for their ancestors: our English nation may
value themselves for their wit, wealth and courage, and I believe few
nations will dispute it with them; but for long originals, and ancient
true-born families of English, I would advise them to wave the
discourse. A true Englishman is one that deserves a character, and I
have nowhere lessened him, that I know of; but as for a true-born
Englishman, I confess I do not understand him.
From hence I only infer, that an Englishman, of all men, ought not to
despise foreigners as such, and I think the inference is just, since
what they are to-day, we were yesterday, and to-morrow they will be
like us. If foreigners misbehave in their several stations and
employments, I have nothing to do with that; the laws are open to
punish them equally with natives, and let them have no favour.
But when I see the town full of lampoons and invectives against
Dutchmen, only because they are foreigners, and the king reproached
and insulted by insolent pedants, and ballad-making poets, for
employing foreigners, and for being a foreigner himself, I confess
myself moved by it to remind our nation of their own original, thereby
to let them see what a banter is put upon ourselves in it; since
speaking of Englishmen _ab origine_, we are really all foreigners
ourselves.
I could go on to prove it is also impolitic in us to discourage
foreigners; since it is easy to make it appear that the multitudes of
foreign nations who have taken sanctuary here, have been the greatest
additions to the wealth and strength of the nation; the essential
whereof is the number of its inhabitants; nor would this nation ever
have arrived to the degree of wealth and glory it now boasts of, if
the addition of foreign nations, both as to manufactures and arms,
had not been helpful to it. This is so plain, that he who is ignorant
of it, is too dull to be talked with.
The Satire therefore I must allow to be just, till I am otherwise
convinced; because nothing can be more ridiculous than to hear our
people boast of that antiquity, which if it had been true, would have
left us in so much worse a condition than we are in now: whereas we
ought rather to boast among our neighbours, that we are part of
themselves, of the same original as they, but bettered by our climate,
and like our language and manufactures, derived from them, and
improved by us to a perfection greater than they can pretend to.
This we might have valued ourselves upon without vanity; but to disown
our descent from them, talk big of our ancient families, and long
originals, and stand at a distance from foreigners, like the
enthusiast in religion, with a Stand off, I am more holy than thou:
this is a thing so ridiculous, in a nation derived from foreigners, as
we are, that I could not but attack them as I have done.
And whereas I am threatened to be called to a public account for this
freedom; and the publisher of this has been newspapered into gaol
already for it; tho' I see nothing in it for which the government can
be displeased; yet if at the same time those people who with an
unlimited arrogance in print, every day affront the king, prescribe
the parliament, and lampoon the government, may be either punished or
restrained, I am content to stand and fall by the public justice of my
native country, which I am not sensible I have anywhere injured.
Nor would I be misunderstood concerning the clergy; with whom, if I
have taken any license more than becomes a Satire, I question not but
those gentlemen, who are men of letters, are also men of so much
candor, as to allow me a loose at the crimes of the guilty, without
thinking the whole profession lashed who are innocent. I profess to
have very mean thoughts of those gentlemen who have deserted their own
principles, and exposed even their morals as well as loyality; but not
at all to think it affects any but such as are concerned in the fact.
Nor would I be misrepresented as to the ingratitude of the English to
the king and his friends; as if I meant the English as a nation, are
so. The contrary is so apparent, that I would hope it should not be
suggested of me: and, therefore when I have brought in Britannia
speaking of the king, I suppose her to be the representative or mouth
of the nation, as a body. But if I say we are full of such who daily
affront the king, and abuse his friends; who print scurrilous
pamphlets, virulent lampoons, and reproachful public banters, against
both the king's person and his government; I say nothing but what is
too true; and that the Satire is directed at such, I freely own; and
cannot say, but I should think it very hard to be censured for this
Satire, while such remain unquestioned and tacitly approved. That I
can mean none but such, is plain from these few lines, page 453.
[Transcriber's Note: This reference is to a page number in the 1855
reprint edition.]
Ye heavens regard! Almighty Jove, look down,
And view thy injured monarch on the throne.
On their ungrateful heads due vengeance take,
Who sought his aid, and then his part forsake.
If I have fallen rudely upon our vices, I hope none but the vicious
will be angry. As for writing for interest, I disown it; I have
neither place, nor pension, nor prospect; nor seek none, nor will have
none: if matter of fact justifies the truth of the crimes, the Satire
is just. As to the poetic liberties, I hope the crime is pardonable; I
am content to be stoned, provided none will attack me but the
innocent.
If my countrymen would take the hint, and grow better natured from my
ill-natured poem as some call it; I would say this of it, that though
it is far from the best Satire that ever was wrote, it would do the
most good that ever Satire did.
And yet I am ready to ask pardon of some gentlemen too; who though
they are Englishmen, have good nature enough to see themselves
reproved, and can hear it. These are gentlemen in a true sense, that
can bare to be told of their _faux pas_, and not abuse the reprover.
To such I must say, this is no Satire; they are exceptions to the
general rule; and I value my performance from their generous
approbation, more than I can from any opinion I have of its worth.
The hasty errors of my verse I made my excuse for before; and since
the time I have been upon it has been but little, and my leisure less,
I have all along strove rather to make the thoughts explicit, than the
poem correct. However, I have mended some faults in this edition, and
the rest must be placed to my account.
As to answers, banters, true English Billingsgate, I expect them till
nobody will buy, and then the shop will be shut. Had I wrote it for
the gain of the press, I should have been concerned at its being
printed again, and again, by pirates, as they call them, and
paragraph-men; but would they but do it justice, and print it true,
according to the copy, they are welcome to sell it for a penny, if
they please.
The pence, indeed, is the end of their works. I will engage if nobody
will buy, nobody will write: and not a patriot poet of them all, now
will in defence of his native country, which I have abused, they say,
print an answer to it, and give it about for God's sake.
PREFACE.
The end of satire is reformation: and the author, though he doubt the
work of conversion is at a general stop, has put his hand in the
plough. I expect a storm of ill language from the fury of the town.
And especially from those whose English talent it is to rail: and,
without being taken for a conjuror, I may venture to foretel, that I
shall be cavilled at about my mean style, rough verse, and incorrect
language, things I indeed might have taken more care in. But the book
is printed; and though I see some faults, it is too late to mend them.
And this is all I think needful to say to them.
Possibly somebody may take me for a Dutchman; in which they are
mistaken: but I am one that would be glad to see Englishmen behave
themselves better to strangers, and to governors also, that one might
not be reproached in foreign countries for belonging to a nation that
wants manners.
I assure you, gentlemen, strangers use us better abroad; and we can
give no reason but our ill-nature for the contrary here.
Methinks an Englishman who is so proud of being called a good fellow,
should be civil. And it cannot be denied, but we are, in many cases,
and particularly to strangers, the most churlish people alive.
As to vices, who can dispute our intemperance, while an honest drunken
fellow is a character in a man's praise? All our reformations are
banters, and will be so till our magistrates and gentry reform
themselves, by way of example; then, and not till then, they may be
expected to punish others without blushing.
As to our ingratitude, I desire to be understood of that particular
people, who pretending to be Protestants, have all along endeavoured
to reduce the liberties and religion of this nation into the hands of
King James and his Popish powers: together with such who enjoy the
peace and protection of the present government, and yet abuse and
affront the king who procured it, and openly profess their uneasiness
under him: these, by whatsoever names or titles they are dignified or
distinguished, are the people aimed at; nor do I disown, but that it
is so much the temper of an Englishman to abuse his benefactor, that I
could be glad to see it rectified.
They who think I have been guilty of any error, in exposing the crimes
of my own countrymen to themselves, may, among many honest instances
of the like nature, find the same thing in Mr. Cowley, in his
imitation of the second Olympic Ode of Pindar; his words are these:--
But in this thankless world, the givers
Are envied even by the receivers.
'Tis now the cheap and frugal fashion,
Rather to hide than pay an obligation.
Nay, 'tis much worse than so;
It now an artifice doth grow,
Wrongs and outrages they do,
Lest men should think we owe.
THE INTRODUCTION.
Speak, Satire, for there's none can tell like thee,
Whether 'tis folly, pride, or knavery,
That makes this discontented land appear
Less happy now in times of peace, than war:
Why civil feuds disturb the nation more,
Than all our bloody wars have done before.
Fools out of favour grudge at knaves in place,
And men are always honest in disgrace:
The court preferments make men knaves in course:
But they which wou'd be in them wou'd be worse.
'Tis not at foreigners that we repine,
Wou'd foreigners their perquisites resign:
The grand contention's plainly to be seen,
To get some men put out, and some put in.
For this our Senators make long harangues.
And florid Ministers whet their polish'd tongues.
Statesmen are always sick of one disease;
And a good pension gives them present ease.
That's the specific makes them all content
With any King and any government.
Good patriots at court abuses rail,
And all the nation's grievances bewail:
But when the sov'reign balsam's once apply'd,
The zealot never fails to change his side;
And when he must the golden key resign,
The railing spirit comes about again.
Who shall this bubbl'd nation disabuse,
While they their own felicities refuse?
Who at the wars have made such mighty pother,
And now are falling out with one another:
With needless fears the jealous nations fill,
And always have been sav'd against their will:
Who fifty millions sterling have disburs'd
To be with peace, and too much plenty, curs'd;
Who their old monarch eagerly undo,
And yet uneasily obey the new.
Search, Satire, search; a deep incision make:
The poison's strong, the antidote's too weak.
'Tis pointed truth must manage this dispute,
And down-right English, Englishmen confute.
Whet thy just anger at the nation's pride;
And with keen phrase repel the vicious tide,
To Englishmen their own beginnings show,
And ask them, why they slight their neighbours so:
Go back to elder times, and ages past,
And nations into long oblivion cast;
To elder Britain's youthful days retire,
And there for true-born Englishmen inquire,
Britannia freely will disown the name,
And hardly knows herself from whence they came;
Wonders that they of all men should pretend
To birth, and blood, and for a name contend.
Go back to causes where our follies dwell,
And fetch the dark original from hell:
Speak, Satire, for there's none like thee can tell.
THE
TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN.
PART I.
Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
The Devil always builds a chapel there:
And 'twill be found upon examination,
The latter has the largest congregation:
For ever since he first debauch'd the mind,
He made a perfect conquest of mankind.
With uniformity of service, he
Reigns with general aristocracy.
No non-conforming sects disturb his reign,
For of his yoke, there's very few complain.
He knows the genius and the inclination,
And matches proper sins for ev'ry nation.
He needs no standing army government;
He always rules us by our own consent:
His laws are easy, and his gentle sway
Makes it exceeding pleasant to obey.
The list of his vicegerents and commanders,
Out-does your Caesars, or your Alexanders.
They never fail of his infernal aid,
And he's as certain ne'er to be betray'd.
Thro' all the world they spread his vast command,
And death's eternal empire is maintain'd.
They rule so politicly and so well,
As if they were Lords Justices of hell;
Duly divided to debauch mankind,
And plant infernal dictates in his mind.
Pride, the first peer, and president of hell,
To his share, Spain, the largest province fell.
The subtle Prince thought fittest to bestow
On these the golden mines of Mexico,
With all the silver mountains of Peru;
Wealth which in wise hands would the world undo;
Because he knew their genius was such,
Too lazy and too haughty to be rich:
So proud a people, so above their fate,
That, if reduced to beg, they'll beg in state:
Lavish of money, to be counted brave,
And proudly starve, because they scorn to save;
Never was nation in the world before,
So very rich, and yet so very poor.
Lust chose the torrid zone of Italy,
Where blood ferments in rapes and sodomy:
Where swelling veins o'erflow with living streams,
With heat impregnate from Vesuvian flames;
Whose flowing sulphur forms infernal lakes,
And human body of the soil partakes.
There nature ever burns with hot desires,
Fann'd with luxuriant air from subterranean fires:
Here undisturbed, in floods of scalding lust,
Th' infernal king reigns with infernal gust.
Drunkenness, the darling favourite of hell,
Chose Germany to rule; and rules so well,
No subjects more obsequiously obey,
None please so well, or are so pleased as they;
The cunning artist manages so well,
He lets them bow to heav'n, and drink to hell.
If but to wine and him they homage pay,
He cares not to what deity they pray;
What god they worship most, or in what way.
Whether by Luther, Calvin, or by Rome,
They sail for heaven, by wine he steers them home.
Ungovern'd passion settled first in France,
Where mankind lives in haste, and thrives by chance;
A dancing nation, fickle and untrue,
Have oft undone themselves, and others too;
Prompt the infernal dictates to obey,
And in hell's favour none more great than they.
The pagan world he blindly leads away,
And personally rules with arbitrary sway:
The mask thrown off, plain devil, his title stands;
And what elsewhere he tempts, he there commands;
There, with full gust, th' ambition of his mind,
Governs, as he of old in heaven design'd:
Worshipp'd as God, his Paynim altars smoke,
Imbrued with blood of those that him invoke.
The rest by deputies he rules so well,
And plants the distant colonies of hell;
By them his secret power he firm maintains,
And binds the world in his infernal chains.
By zeal the Irish, and the Russ by folly,
Fury the Dane, the Swede by melancholy;
By stupid ignorance, the Muscovite;
The Chinese, by a child of hell, call'd wit;
Wealth makes the Persian too effeminate;
And poverty the Tartar desperate:
The Turks and Moors, by Mah'met he subdues;
And God has given him leave to rule the Jews:
Rage rules the Portuguese, and fraud the Scotch;
Revenge the Pole, and avarice the Dutch.
Satire, be kind, and draw a silent veil,
Thy native England's vices to conceal:
Or, if that task's impossible to do,
At least be just, and show her virtues too;
Too great the first, alas! the last too few.
England, unknown, as yet unpeopled lay,--
Happy, had she remain'd so to this day,
And still to ev'ry nation been a prey.
Her open harbours, and her fertile plains,
The merchant's glory these, and those the swain's,
To ev'ry barbarous nation have betray'd her;
Who conquer her as oft as they invade her,
So beauty, guarded out by Innocence,
That ruins her which should be her defence.
Ingratitude, a devil of black renown,
Possess'd her very early for his own:
An ugly, surly, sullen, selfish spirit,
Who Satan's worst perfections does inherit;
Second to him in malice and in force,
All devil without, and all within him worse.
He made her first-born race to be so rude,
And suffer'd her to be so oft subdued;
By sev'ral crowds of wandering thieves o'er-run,
Often unpeopled, and as oft undone;
While ev'ry nation that her powers reduced,
Their languages and manners introduced;
From whose mix'd relics our compounded breed,
By spurious generation does succeed;
Making a race uncertain and uneven,
Derived from all the nations under heaven.
The Romans first with Julius Caesar came,
Including all the nations of that name,
Gauls, Greek, and Lombards; and, by computation,
Auxiliaries or slaves of ev'ry nation.
With Hengist, Saxons; Danes with Sweno came,
In search of plunder, not in search of fame.
Scots, Picts, and Irish from th' Hibernian shore;
And conq'ring William brought the Normans o'er.
All these their barb'rous offspring left behind,
The dregs of armies, they of all mankind;
Blended with Britons, who before were here,
Of whom the Welch ha' blest the character.
From this amphibious, ill-born mob began,
That vain ill-natured thing, an Englishman.
The customs, sirnames, languages, and manners,
Of all these nations, are their own explainers;
Whose relics are so lasting and so strong,
They've left a Shiboleth upon our tongue;
By which, with easy search, you may distinguish
Your Roman, Saxon, Danish, Norman, English.
The great invading Norman let us know
What conquerors in after-times might do.
To every musqueteer he brought to town,
He gave the lands which never were his own;
When first the English crown he did obtain,
He did not send his Dutchmen home again.
No re-assumptions in his reign were known,
Davenant might there ha' let his book alone.
No parliament his army could disband;
He raised no money, for he paid in land.
He gave his legions their eternal station,
And made them all freeholders of the nation.
He canton'd out the country to his men,
And every soldier was a denizen.
The rascals thus enrich'd, he called them lords,
To please their upstart pride with new-made words,
And doomsday book his tyranny records.
And here begins the ancient pedigree
That so exalts our poor nobility.
'Tis that from some French trooper they derive,
Who with the Norman bastard did arrive:
The trophies of the families appear;
Some show the sword, the bow, and some the spear,
Which their great ancestor, forsooth, did wear.
These in the herald's register remain,
Their noble mean extraction to explain,
Yet who the hero was no man can tell,
Whether a drummer or a colonel:
The silent record blushes to reveal
Their undescended dark original.
But grant the best. How came the change to pass;
A true-born Englishman of Norman race?
A Turkish horse can show more history,
To prove his well-descended family.
Conquest, as by the moderns 'tis express'd,
May give a title to the lands possess'd;
But that the longest sword should be so civil,
To make a Frenchman English, that's the devil.
These are the heroes that despise the Dutch,
And rail at new-come foreigners so much;
Forgetting that themselves are all derived
From the most scoundrel race that ever lived;
A horrid crowd of rambling thieves and drones
Who ransack'd kingdoms, and dispeopled towns;
The Pict and painted Briton, treach'rous Scot,
By hunger, theft, and rapine, hither brought;
Norwegian pirates, buccaneering Danes,
Whose red-hair'd offspring everywhere remains;
Who, join'd with Norman French, compound the breed
From whence your true-born Englishmen proceed.
And lest, by length of time, it be pretended,
The climate may this modern breed have mended;
Wise Providence, to keep us where we are,
Mixes us daily with exceeding care;
We have been Europe's sink, the jakes, where she
Voids all her offal out-cast progeny;
From our fifth Henry's time the strolling bands,
Of banish'd fugitives from neighb'ring lands,
Have here a certain sanctuary found:
The eternal refuge of the vagabond,
Where in but half a common age of time,
Borrowing new blood and manners from the clime,
Proudly they learn all mankind to contemn,
And all their race are true-born Englishmen.
Dutch Walloons, Flemmings, Irishmen, and Scots,
Vaudois, and Valtolins, and Hugonots,
In good Queen Bess's charitable reign,
Supplied us with three hundred thousand men:
Religion--God, we thank thee!--sent them hither,
Priests, Protestants, the devil, and all together;
Of all professions, and of ev'ry trade,
All that were persecuted or afraid:
Whether for debt, or other crimes, they fled,
David at Hackelah was still their head.
The offspring of this miscellaneous crowd,
Had not their new plantations long enjoy'd,
But they grew Englishmen, and raised their votes,
At foreign shoals of interloping Scots;
The royal branch from Pict-land did succeed,
With troops of Scots and scabs from north of Tweed;
The seven first years of his pacific reign,
Made him and half his nation Englishmen.
Scots from the northern frozen banks of Tay,
With packs and plods came whigging all away,
Thick as the locusts which in Egypt swarm'd,
With pride and hungry hopes completely arm'd;
With native truth, diseases, and no money,
Plunder'd our Canaan of the milk and honey;
Here they grew quickly lords and gentlemen,
And all their race are true-born Englishmen.
The civil wars, the common purgative,
Which always use to make the nation thrive,
Made way for all that strolling congregation,
Which throng'd in pious Charles's restoration.
The royal refugee our breed restores,
With foreign courtiers, and with foreign whores:
And carefully re-peopled us again,
Throughout his lazy, long, lascivious reign,
With such a blest and true-born English fry,
As much illustrates our nobility.
A gratitude which will so black appear,
As future ages must abhor to bear:
When they look back on all that crimson flood,
Which stream'd in Lindsey's, and Caernarvon's blood;
Bold Strafford, Cambridge, Capel, Lucas, Lisle,
Who crown'd in death his father's fun'ral pile.
The loss of whom, in order to supply
With true-born English nobility,
Six bastard dukes survive his luscious reign,
The labours of Italian Castlemain,
French Portsmouth, Tabby Scott, and Cambrian;
Besides the num'rous bright and virgin throng,
Whose female glories shade them from my song.
This offspring if our age they multiply,
May half the house with English peers supply:
There with true English pride they may contemn
Schomberg and Portland, new-made noblemen.
French cooks, Scotch pedlars, and Italian whores,
Were all made lords or lords' progenitors.
Beggars and bastards by this new creation
Much multiplied the peerage of the nation;
Who will be all, ere one short age runs o'er,
As true-born lords as those we had before.
Then to recruit the commons he prepares,
And heal the latent breaches of the wars;
The pious purpose better to advance,
He invites the banish'd Protestants of France;
Hither for God's sake, and their own, they fled
Some for religion came, and some for bread:
Two hundred thousand pair of wooden shoes,
Who, God be thank'd, had nothing left to lose;
To heaven's great praise did for religion fly,
To make us starve our poor in charity.
In ev'ry port they plant their fruitful train,
To get a race of true-born Englishmen;
Whose children will, when riper years they see,
Be as ill-natured, and as proud as we;
Call themselves English, foreigners despise,
Be surly like us all, and just as wise.
Thus from a mixture of all kinds began,
That heterogeneous thing, an Englishman:
In eager rapes, and furious lust begot,
Betwixt a painted Briton and a Scot:
Whose gend'ring offspring quickly learn'd to bow,
And yoke their heifers to the Roman plough;
From whence a mongrel half-bred race there came,
With neither name nor nation, speech or fame,
In whose hot veins new mixtures quickly ran,
Infused betwixt a Saxon and a Dane;
While their rank daughters, to their parents just,
Received all nations with promiscuous lust.
This nauseous brood directly did contain
The well-extracted blood of Englishmen.
Which medley, canton'd in a heptarchy,
A rhapsody of nations to supply,
Among themselves maintain'd eternal wars,
And still the ladies loved the conquerors.
The Western Angles all the rest subdued,
A bloody nation, barbarous and rude;
Who by the tenure of the sword possess'd
One part of Britain, and subdued the rest:
And as great things denominate the small,
The conquering part gave title to the whole;
The Scot, Pict, Briton, Roman, Dane, submit,
And with the English Saxon all unite:
And these the mixture have so close pursued,
The very name and memory's subdued;
No Roman now, no Briton does remain;
Wales strove to separate, but strove in vain:
The silent nations undistinguish'd fall,
And Englishman's the common name for all.
Fate jumbled them together, God knows how;
Whate'er they were, they're true-born English now.
The wonder which remains is at our pride,
To value that which all wise men deride;
For Englishmen to boast of generation
Cancels their knowledge, and lampoons the nation,
A true-born Englishman's a contradiction,
In speech an irony, in fact a fiction:
A banter made to be a test of fools,
Which those that use it justly ridicules;
A metaphor intended to express,
A man a-kin to all the universe.
For as the Scots, as learned men have said,
Throughout the world their wand'ring seed have spread,
So open-handed England, 'tis believed,
Has all the gleanings of the world received.
Some think of England, 'twas our Saviour meant,
The Gospel should to all the world be sent:
Since when the blessed sound did hither reach,
They to all nations might be said to preach.
'Tis well that virtue gives nobility,
Else God knows where had we our gentry,
Since scarce one family is left alive,
Which does not from some foreigner derive.
Of sixty thousand English gentlemen,
Whose names and arms in registers remain,
We challenge | 1,103.383949 |
2023-11-16 18:35:27.5341360 | 2,478 | 6 |
Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
[Illustration Caption: Martha told him that he had always been her
ideal and that she worshipped him.]
HER WEIGHT IN GOLD
By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
NEW YORK
1914
Nearly all of the stories presented in this volume appeared separately
in various magazines. The author desires to acknowledge his thanks to
the publications for courtesies extended by their editors: The National
Magazine, Short Stories, the Saturday Evening Post, The Reader, The
Woman's World, Good Housekeeping and The Illustrated Sunday Magazine.
CONTENTS
HER WEIGHT IN GOLD
THE MAID AND THE BLADE
MR. HAMSHAW'S LOVE AFFAIR
THE GREEN RUBY
THE GLOAMING GHOSTS
WHEN GIRL MEETS GIRL
QUIDDLERS THREE
THE LATE MR. TAYLOR
THE TEN DOLLAR BILL
HER WEIGHT IN GOLD
"Well the question is: how much does she weigh?" asked Eddie Ten Eyck
with satirical good humour.
His somewhat flippant inquiry followed the heated remark of General
Horatio Gamble, who, in desperation, had declared that his
step-daughter, Martha, was worth her weight in gold.
The General was quite a figure in the town of Essex. He was the
president of the Town and Country Club and, besides owning a splendid
stud, was also the possessor of a genuine Gainsborough, picked up at
the shop of an obscure dealer in antiques in New York City for a
ridiculously low price (two hundred dollars, it has been said), and
which, according to a rumour started by himself, was worth a hundred
thousand if it was worth a dollar, although he contrived to keep the
secret from the ears of the county tax collector. He had married late
in life, after accumulating a fortune that no woman could despise, and
of late years had taken to frequenting the Club with a far greater
assiduity than is customary in most presidents.
Young Mr. Ten Eyck's sarcasm was inspired by a mind's-eye picture of
Miss Martha Gamble. To quote Jo Grigsby, she was "so plain that all
comparison began and ended with her." Without desiring to appear
ungallant, I may say that there were many homely young women in Essex;
but each of them had the delicate satisfaction of knowing that Martha
was incomparably her superior in that respect.
"I am not jesting, sir," said the General with asperity. "Martha may
not be as good-looking as--er--some girls that I've seen, but she is a
jewel, just the same. The man who gets her for a wife will be a blamed
sight luckier than the fellows who marry the brainless little fools we
see trotting around like butterflies." (It was the first time that
Eddie had heard of trotting butterflies.)
"She's a fine girl," was his conciliatory remark.
"She is pure gold," said the General with conviction. "Pure gold, sir."
"A nugget," agreed Eddie expansively. "A hundred and eighty pound
nugget, General. Why don't you send her to a refinery?"
The General merely glared at him and subsided into thoughtful silence.
He was in the habit of falling into deep spells of abstraction at such
times as this. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how Martha
came by her excessive plainness. Her mother was looked upon as a
beautiful woman and her father (the General's predecessor) had been a
man worth looking at, even from a successor's point of view. That
Martha should have grown up to such appalling ugliness was a source of
wonder, not only to the General, but to Mrs. Gamble herself.
Young Mr. Ten Eyck was the most impecunious spendthrift in Essex. He
lived by his wits, with which he was more generously endowed than
anything in the shape of gold or precious jewels. His raiment was
accumulative. His spending-money came to him through an allowance that
his grandmother considerately delivered to him at regular periods, but
as is the custom with such young men he was penniless before the
quarter was half over. At all times he was precariously close to being
submerged by his obligations. Yet trouble sat lightly upon his head, if
one were to judge by outward appearances. Beneath a bland, care-free
exterior, however, there lurked in Edward's bosom a perpetual pang of
distress over the financial situation.
What worried him most was the conviction that all signs pointed toward
the suspension of credit in places where he owed money, and, Young Mr.
Ten Eyck's sarcasm was inspired by a mind's-eye picture of Miss Martha
Gamble. To quote Jo Grigsby, she was "so plain that all comparison
began and ended with her." Without desiring to appear ungallant, I may
say that there were many homely young women in Essex; but each of them
had the delicate satisfaction of knowing that Martha was incomparably
her superior in that respect.
"I am not jesting, sir," said the General with asperity. "Martha may
not be as good-looking as--er--some girls that I've seen, but she is a
jewel, just the same. The man who gets her for a wife will be a blamed
sight luckier than the fellows who marry the brainless little fools we
see trotting around like butterflies." (It was the first time that
Eddie had heard of trotting butterflies.)
"She's a fine girl," was his conciliatory remark.
"She is pure gold," said the General with conviction. "Pure gold, sir."
"A nugget," agreed Eddie expansively. "A hundred and eighty pound
nugget, General. Why don't you send her to a refinery?"
The General merely glared at him and subsided into thoughtful silence.
He was in the habit of falling into deep spells of abstraction at such
times as this. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how Martha
came by her excessive plainness. Her mother was looked upon as a
beautiful woman and her father (the General's predecessor) had been a
man worth looking at, even from a successor's point of view. That
Martha should have grown up to such appalling ugliness was a source of
wonder, not only to the General, but to Mrs. Gamble herself.
Young Mr. Ten Eyck was the most impecunious spendthrift in Essex. He
lived by his wits, with which he was more generously endowed than
anything in the shape of gold or precious jewels. His raiment was
accumulative. His spending-money came to him through an allowance that
his grandmother considerately delivered to him at regular periods, but
as is the custom with such young men he was penniless before the
quarter was half over. At all times he was precariously close to being
submerged by his obligations. Yet trouble sat lightly upon his head, if
one were to judge by outward appearances. Beneath a bland, care-free
exterior, however, there lurked in Edward's bosom a perpetual pang of
distress over the financial situation.
What worried him most was the conviction that all signs pointed toward
the suspension of credit in places where he owed money, and, as he owed
without discrimination, the future seemed hard to contemplate.
Prudent mothers stood defiantly between him and what might have been
prosperity. He could win the hearts of daughters with shameful
regularity and ease, but he could not delude the heads of the families
to which they belonged. They knew him well and wisely.
The conversation between him and General Gamble took place in the
reading-room of the Town and Country Club. There was a small table
between them, and glasses.
"What is the market price of gold to-day, General?" asked Eddie
impudently, after he had watched the old man's gloomy countenance out
of the corner of his eye for the matter of three minutes or more.
The General regarded him with deep scorn. "Gold? What do you know about
gold? You seldom see anything more precious than copper."
"That's no joke," agreed Eddie with his frank smile. "I am the only,
original penny limit. That reminds me, General. I meant to speak of it
before, but somehow it slipped my mind. Could you lend me--"
The General held up his hand. "I've been waiting for that, Eddie. Don't
humiliate yourself by asking for a small amount. I haven't the remotest
idea how much you already owe me, but it doesn't matter in view of the
fact that you'll never pay it. You were about to request the loan of
ten dollars, my boy. Why not ask for a respectable amount?--say, fifty
dollars."
Eddie's heart leaped. "That's just the amount I meant to ask you to let
me have for a week or two. 'Pon my word, it is."
"Well," said the General, taking a notebook from his pocket and
carefully jotting down an entry with his gold-tipped pencil, "I
cheerfully give it to you, Eddie. I shall credit your account with that
amount. Fifty dollars--um! It is a new system I have concluded to
adopt. Every time you ask me for a loan I shall subtract the amount
from what you already owe me. In time, you see, the whole debt will be
lifted,--and you'll not owe me a cent." Eddie blinked. A slow grin
crept into his face as he grasped the irony in the General's scheme.
"Fine financing, General. It suits me to a dot. By the way, do you
think you can spare another hundred or two?"
"The books are closed for the month," said the General placidly. He
rang the bell on the table. "More ice, boy, and the same bottle. As I
was saying, Eddie, I can't for the life of me see why you fellows are
so blind when it comes to Martha. She is--"
"We are not blind," interrupted Eddie, not at all annoyed by his
failure to negotiate the loan. "That's just the trouble. If a blind man
came along, I've no doubt he could see something attractive in her."
"Damme! If she were my own daughter, I'd thrash you for that remark,
sir."
"If she were your own daughter, you wouldn't be discussing her with a
high-ball in your hand."
The General coughed. "Ahem! Eddie, I'd give a good deal to see that
girl married. Leave the bottle on the table, boy. She will have money--a
lot of it--one of these days. There are dozens of young men that we
know who'd do'most anything for money. I--By George!" He broke off to
stare with glittering eyes at the face of the young man opposite. A
great thought was expanding in his brain.
Eddie shifted nervously. "Why are you looking at me like that? I don't
need it that badly."
"I'd never thought of you, Eddie,--'pon my word I hadn't. Not until
this moment. You need money worse than any one I know. There isn't
another girl in town who would marry you, and Martha | 1,103.554176 |
2023-11-16 18:35:27.5342690 | 1,585 | 17 |
Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and Hall edition of "Christmas Stories"
by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
GOING INTO SOCIETY
At one period of its reverses, the House fell into the occupation of a
Showman. He was found registered as its occupier, on the parish books of
the time when he rented the House, and there was therefore no need of any
clue to his name. But, he himself was less easy to be found; for, he had
led a wandering life, and settled people had lost sight of him, and
people who plumed themselves on being respectable were shy of admitting
that they had ever known anything of him. At last, among the marsh lands
near the river's level, that lie about Deptford and the neighbouring
market-gardens, a Grizzled Personage in velveteen, with a face so cut up
by varieties of weather that he looked as if he had been tattooed, was
found smoking a pipe at the door of a wooden house on wheels. The wooden
house was laid up in ordinary for the winter, near the mouth of a muddy
creek; and everything near it, the foggy river, the misty marshes, and
the steaming market-gardens, smoked in company with the grizzled man. In
the midst of this smoking party, the funnel-chimney of the wooden house
on wheels was not remiss, but took its pipe with the rest in a
companionable manner.
On being asked if it were he who had once rented the House to Let,
Grizzled Velveteen looked surprised, and said yes. Then his name was
Magsman? That was it, Toby Magsman--which lawfully christened Robert;
but called in the line, from a infant, Toby. There was nothing agin Toby
Magsman, he believed? If there was suspicion of such--mention it!
There was no suspicion of such, he might rest assured. But, some
inquiries were making about that House, and would he object to say why he
left it?
Not at all; why should he? He left it, along of a Dwarf.
Along of a Dwarf?
Mr. Magsman repeated, deliberately and emphatically, Along of a Dwarf.
Might it be compatible with Mr. Magsman's inclination and convenience to
enter, as a favour, into a few particulars?
Mr. Magsman entered into the following particulars.
It was a long time ago, to begin with;--afore lotteries and a deal more
was done away with. Mr. Magsman was looking about for a good pitch, and
he see that house, and he says to himself, "I'll have you, if you're to
be had. If money'll get you, I'll have you."
The neighbours cut up rough, and made complaints; but Mr. Magsman don't
know what they _would_ have had. It was a lovely thing. First of all,
there was the canvass, representin the picter of the Giant, in Spanish
trunks and a ruff, who was himself half the heighth of the house, and was
run up with a line and pulley to a pole on the roof, so that his Ed was
coeval with the parapet. Then, there was the canvass, representin the
picter of the Albina lady, showing her white air to the Army and Navy in
correct uniform. Then, there was the canvass, representin the picter of
the Wild Indian a scalpin a member of some foreign nation. Then, there
was the canvass, representin the picter of a child of a British Planter,
seized by two Boa Constrictors--not that _we_ never had no child, nor no
Constrictors neither. Similarly, there was the canvass, representin the
picter of the Wild Ass of the Prairies--not that _we_ never had no wild
asses, nor wouldn't have had 'em at a gift. Last, there was the canvass,
representin the picter of the Dwarf, and like him too (considerin), with
George the Fourth in such a state of astonishment at him as His Majesty
couldn't with his utmost politeness and stoutness express. The front of
the House was so covered with canvasses, that there wasn't a spark of
daylight ever visible on that side. "MAGSMAN'S AMUSEMENTS," fifteen foot
long by two foot high, ran over the front door and parlour winders. The
passage was a Arbour of green baize and gardenstuff. A barrel-organ
performed there unceasing. And as to respectability,--if threepence
ain't respectable, what is?
But, the Dwarf is the principal article at present, and he was worth the
money. He was wrote up as MAJOR TPSCHOFFKI, OF THE IMPERIAL BULGRADERIAN
BRIGADE. Nobody couldn't pronounce the name, and it never was intended
anybody should. The public always turned it, as a regular rule, into
Chopski. In the line he was called Chops; partly on that account, and
partly because his real name, if he ever had any real name (which was
very dubious), was Stakes.
He was a uncommon small man, he really was. Certainly not so small as he
was made out to be, but where _is_ your Dwarf as is? He was a most
uncommon small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and what he had inside
that Ed, nobody ever knowed but himself: even supposin himself to have
ever took stock of it, which it would have been a stiff job for even him
to do.
The kindest little man as never growed! Spirited, but not proud. When
he travelled with the Spotted Baby--though he knowed himself to be a
nat'ral Dwarf, and knowed the Baby's spots to be put upon him artificial,
he nursed that Baby like a mother. You never heerd him give a ill-name
to a Giant. He _did_ allow himself to break out into strong language
respectin the Fat Lady from Norfolk; but that was an affair of the 'art;
and when a man's 'art has been trifled with by a lady, and the preference
giv to a Indian, he ain't master of his actions.
He was always in love, of course; every human nat'ral phenomenon is. And
he was always in love with a large woman; I never knowed the Dwarf as
could be got to love a small one. Which helps to keep 'em the
Curiosities they are.
One sing'ler idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have meant
something, or it wouldn't have been there. It was always his opinion
that he was entitled to property. He never would put his name to
anything. He had been taught to write, by the young man without arms,
who got his living with his toes (quite a writing master _he_ was, and | 1,103.554309 |
2023-11-16 18:35:27.5356570 | 3,653 | 17 | THE PEN OF TRUTH***
Transcribed from the 1814 B. Bennett edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
THE
LIVING LETTER,
WRITTEN WITH THE
_PEN OF TRUTH_,
BEING THE SUBSTANCE
Of a Sermon,
PREACHED AT THE
_OBELISK CHAPEL_, _St. George’s Fields_,
On SUNDAY Morning, Sept. 26, 1813.
* * * * *
_By J. CHURCH_, _V. D. M._
* * * * *
My Tongue is the Pen of a ready Writer. Psalm xlv. Ver. 1.
Written among the living in Jerusalem. Isaiah, Chap. iv. V. 3.
I will write on him my new name. Rev. Chap. 3. Ver. 12.
* * * * *
London:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR,
BY B. BENNETT, TICHBORNE STREET, HAYMARKET.
1814.
* * * * *
_To Miss K. and Miss M._
_Dear Friends_,
_Grace and Peace be with you_:—_I received your kind present of the
Bundle of Pens_, _and beg your acceptance of my thanks for the same_; _I
really stood in need them_, _and I suppose you thought so by the badness
of my writing_, _or my reluctance in sending out more Sermoms from the
Press_. _The Pens were very good_, _and I hope to use them for the Glory
of God only_,—_whilst laying before me they led me to reflect on the
passage I selected for a Text preached from on the following Sunday
morning_, _and I now send you the outlines of the Discourse_. _This
Sermon will no doubt meet with the same reception that others have_;
_some bless_, _some curse_, _some believe the things that are spoken_,
_and some believe not_, _but to the great Head of the Church_, _I humbly
commit my feeble attempt to shew forth his praise_, _praying you may be
able to ascertain your personal interest in the Book of Life_, _where the
names of the elect are enrolled_, _and remain_,
_Your obliged Servant in Christ Jesus_,
[Picture: Signature of J. Church]
A Sermon.
II. CORINTHIANS, Chap. iii. Verses 2 & 3.
_Ye are our Epistle written in our hearts_, _known and read of all
men_. _For as much as ye are manifestly declared to be the Epistle
of Christ ministered by us_, _written_, _not with ink_, _but with the
spirit of the Living God_,—_not in tables of stone_, _but in fleshy
tables of the heart_.
THE Epistle out of which this Text is selected, was with the one
proceeding it, written to the Church of Jesus at Corinth; many of the
Lord’s elect people were in this place, and the Apostle Paul was sent
here to proclaim the glad tidings of salvation; the Lord was graciously
with him, and gave testimony to the word of his grace, those who received
the truth, being knit together in spirit, formed themselves into a body.
Among them the Apostle abode two years and then departed. Soon after his
departure he heard of their dissentions; defections in doctrines and
ordinances, luxury, intemperance, uncleanness, and abuses of their
religious liberties, litigious law suits and irregularities in their
public assemblies, he writes this Epistle to correct them, to warn,
instruct, and direct in all important subjects. False teachers made sad
work among them likewise; endeavouring to set their minds against the
Apostle to bring him into contempt that his ministry might lose its
efficacy, and also to misrepresent his doctrine, as tending to
licentiousness, whereas there was nothing but the violation of law and
conscience, the effect of their ministry and which is to be seen to this
day amongst most teachers of the law such as direct their hearers to the
law instead of Jesus, as the law fulfiller:—these in general are full of
wrath, bitterness, pride, and carnal enmity, and though great advocates
for holiness and good works never perform any without making it well
known, that they may have to plead in the last day:—“Lord, Lord, have we
not done many wonderful works?” However the Apostle in this second
epistle triumphs, that his ministry is a sweet savour to God; to some it
would terminate in their present salvation, to others add to their
condemnation for rejecting it. Then he levels his artillery at those
false apostles, who had formed themselves into a body and gave letters of
recommendation to one another to the Churches where they went, they could
go no where without these letters. But Paul and every true Apostle
needed not such recommendation.
“Do we begin again to commend ourselves to you, or need we, as some
others, epistles of commendation to you, or letters of commendation from
you?” No, ye are our epistles; you were written on our hearts, we
travailed in spirit for your conversion, and all could see the change
made in you, it was so clearly manifested to be the writing of Christ,
which we preach; the impressions made on you could not be erased from the
mind, and which will be seen in the last great day. So runs the Text
which we will proceed to notice in the following order: first, the
writing; secondly, the means; thirdly, its publicity: “Ye are our
epistles written in our hearts, known and read of all men.” We shall
first consider the writing. First, the writing: Our covenant, God has
promised that he will write his laws on the hearts of his people; that he
will write on them his new name and the city of God. These blessings in
the heart are the writings he himself will own it is his own image and
the superscription to this image all the elect people of God are divinely
predestinated; there never was but one image in which the great Jehovah
expressed his delight, namely, “Behold, my servant whom I uphold, mine
elect in whom my soul delighteth.” This is the image and all others he
will surely despise: this image is the pattern model exemplar, it is
Christ’s holy nature and as the elect head of his family, possessing all
divine and human excellencies, graces and qualifications; these
excellencies shining in the human nature even in the seven-fold
operations of the holy spirit that was upon him, this was the image in
which God made man: “in the image of God made he man.” In this he
delighted even from eternity, for Adam was formed the shadow of him that
was to come, from this image Adam fell, and to this we are brought again
by the renewing influences of the Holy Ghost: hence the Apostle says, we
all with open face beholding as in a glass, the glory of the Lord are
changed into the same image, this image the Apostle declares is wisdom,
righteousness and true holiness, it is an experimental knowledge of Jesus
and a covenant God in him. Our dear Lord is called wisdom. God made man
and endued him with wisdom and we are made wise unto salvation, through
faith in Christ Jesus, this image is love; the Saviour is love also; Adam
had it, and it is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost given to
us; this image is righteousness: this is another name our Lord bears; in
righteousness the first Adam was created and our privilege is to know
that in the Lord we have righteousness and strength; this image is true
holiness, it is the holy spirit that makes a man holy a spirit of light,
life and love, this holy spirit breathed into Adam the breath of
life,—rested on the Redeemer and takes up its abode in every believer’s
heart—all holiness besides this is false—this is writing on us, this is
stamping the image of Jesus: love to this image wherever we see it,
evidences we are passed from death unto life;—this image which Christ
bears, he stamped on the hearts of his Apostles; the church being
converted through their ministry having this image communicated to their
souls, are called their children, for this the Apostles travailed in
spirit till Christ was formed in them the hope of glory. Second, the
writing in my Text is not only the image of God, but also the words of
truth which these men preached,—hence Paul says in the Text, this writing
was ministered by us, these words are of Divine Authority, they were
first received of the Father, by the Lord Jesus in the everlasting
Covenant; during our Lord’s Ministry upon the earth they were applied to
the hearts of the Apostles; hence the Redeemer says, in John xvii. “I
have given them the words thou gavest me, and they have believed thou
didst send me.” The Saviour received the Father’s Mind and Will
concerning the elect and their salvation; this was written on his heart,
then copied off in the word, and afterwards wrote on the hearts of God’s
Ministers, and through them conveyed to the hearts of God’s elect with
power:—the Will of the Father is made known to Christ as Mediator,—the
Saviour makes it known in his word by his spirit, and ministers to God’s
children. Thus it appears, what is in Christ’s human nature, is to be
found in all his people, and what the Father has made known to him, he
has kindly revealed to us,—this appears the sense of the writing in the
Text, the love of God shed abroad in the heart, and the word having an
abiding place in the soul, producing its glorious fruits to his honor;
these are the laws written within, not on tables of stone, which could
receive no lively impression, but on the new hearts, God has promised to
give his people:—I come secondly, to shew the means, “written by us.”
Those who receive the truth in the love of it are compared to epistles or
letters wrote which contain the mind and will of God, and it is evident
there must be pen, paper, and ink. To this the Apostle alludes; here the
minister is compared to a pen, to shew their meaness, their entire
dependance, and that they cannot act to any good purpose only as they are
led; as pens, they must be shaped, formed, cut on purpose, simple means,
yet accomplishing great ends, no merit due, yet useful, pleasant, and
prized as it suits the purpose, hard or soft, giving broad or fine
strokes, often wants nibbing or mending, used to write on various
subjects, charges, sentences, consolations, love, promises, and
pardons:—this is a fit emblem of the ministers of the gospel in their
different gifts, as called and qualified by the Great Head of the church.
Some of the most simple, mean, and obscure characters have been employed
in this service of Jesus in the great work of the ministry. Elisha, from
following the plough, David, the sheep, and Amos from the herds, Peter,
and the other Apostles from their fishing-boats, John Bunyan from mending
kettles, and William Huntington from the coal barge: and Paul declares
that God has chosen the base things to confound the wise, that no flesh
should glory in his presence. Such ministers are cut and formed for the
work; cut also from the from of Godliness, from fleshly confidences, from
dependance, or any thing short of the Almighty minister in the Church.
By trials, by divine light, life and love, by knowledge and wisdom they
are formed and furnished in heart, head, and tongue. Hence Paul says,
God has made us ministers of the New Testament, and spiritual counsel in
the heart of such men, is as deep water, and men of understanding shall
draw it out. This makes their tongue like the pen of a ready writer,
whilst their hearts teach their mouths and adds learning to their lips;
by such means the spirit has accomplished the external designs of
Jehovah, in bringing souls to the knowledge of a dear Saviour; hence the
Prophet predicts the glorious effects of converting grace: they shall
beat their swords into plough-shares, and their spears into pruning
hooks;—this may be seen in Paul, and many others who have been
persecutors, whose hearts and tongues have been afterwards used in
turning up the ground of sinner’s hearts, and employed in God’s vintage.
No merit is due to the greatest preacher in the world, for he is nothing
but as he is made, used and guided any more than a pen; hence the
acknowledgement of one minister, for all I laboured more abundantly than
they all, yet not I but the grace God; we must speak as the spirit of God
gives us utterance, and as we are led into the truths of God’s most holy
word, nor can we go but as we are led;—whence the promise, he shall guide
you into all truths; all means must be used by the minister; it is the
spirit alone can bless in public and private; God giveth the increase, as
pens differ, so do the ministers of God in their knowledge and ability,
having different gifts, some give broad, others fine strokes, some cry an
alarm in God’s holy mountains, others speak more comfortably. “He that
believeth not shall be damned,” “except a man be born again he cannot
enter into the kingdom of God:” these are broad strokes indeed; others
are commanded to cry unto her that her iniquity is pardoned, to shew the
richess of grace and mercy in the salvation of the soul, the covenant
love, ancient counsels, the glorious end of the law, and the unspeakable
efficacy of the blood of the lamb:—some are capacitated to explain
mysterious passages in the word; mysterious experience of grace and
providence; such are sons of consolation, all these worketh that one, and
the self-same spirit that divideth to every man severally as he will. As
pens, we often want mending, we are apt to get dull when God is pleased
to cut us, that we may be the more useful to others; if we are afflicted,
it is for your consolation; this appears hard to us,—but faith bows with
adoring submission, when the head fall into the water. The Prophet cut
down a stick and cast it into the water also, which brought it up again;
so the Lord appoints that his ministers should dive deep into
tribulations to bring out his dear elect people. These pens are used to
write charges and sentences. So Peter charged the blood of Christ to the
consciences of his hearers; and Paul declares if the Gospel be hid, be it
hid to them that are lost. The Saviour said whatsoever they bind on
earth should be bound in heaven. Pens are used to write on subjects of
consolation, pardons, and promises, and these glad tidings we are to
proclaim to the broken and contrite hearts of God’s people; these must be
held in his hands and used at his pleasure to accomplish his good will of
purpose and promise. These must in time be wore out and laid aside,
affecting thought, yet glorious prospect. Your Fathers, where are they,
and do the Prophets live for ever? Death worketh in us, but life in you,
as candles that waste away their bodies in giving light to others. This
the Prophet saw in the vision of Cherubims, when they stood they let down
their wings. I have often admired the wisdom of God in the
qualifications of his dear ministers. Let not one minister envy, oppose
or speak against another, every one will and must do his own work; they
can never do the work of another. Here I must introduce a beautiful
though simple, yet just and candid remark of Mr. Huntington, in his book
called the Qualifications of a Minister, page 316. “The Lord’s army in
London is marshalled in three | 1,103.555697 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor 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.)
Teutonic Mythology
Gods and Goddesses
of the Northland
IN
THREE VOLUMES
By VIKTOR RYDBERG, Ph.D.,
MEMBER OF THE SWEDISH ACADEMY; AUTHOR OF "THE LAST ATHENIAN"
AND OTHER WORKS.
_AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE SWEDISH_
BY
RASMUS B. ANDERSON, LL.D.,
EX-UNITED STATES MINISTER TO DENMARK; AUTHOR OF "NORSE
MYTHOLOGY," "VIKING TALES," ETC.
HON. RASMUS B. ANDERSON, LL.D., Ph.D.,
EDITOR IN CHIEF.
J. W. BUEL, Ph.D.,
MANAGING EDITOR.
VOL. III.
PUBLISHED BY THE
NORRŒNA SOCIETY,
LONDON COPENHAGEN STOCKHOLM BERLIN NEW YORK
1906
_OF THE_
Viking Edition
_There are but six hundred and fifty sets made for the world,
of which this is_
_No._ 99
[Illustration: NORRŒNA]
COPYRIGHT,
T. H. SMART,
1905.
[Illustration: THOR'S JOURNEY TO GIERRODSGARD.
(_From an etching by Lorenz Frölich._)
Loke, in the guise of a falcon, having been captured by Geirrod, promised
if released to bring Thor into the power of the giant without his hammer,
belt or iron gloves. Thor being persuaded by the crafty Loke, started
upon the journey. When he came to the river Vimer he attempted to ford
it, though the stream had become a great torrent. As he reached the
center the waters rose rapidly until they washed over his shoulders
and he seemed to be in imminent danger of being carried away. At this
juncture, looking toward the source of the river, he perceived Gjalp,
Geirrod's daughter, who stood astride the stream and was causing its
rapid growth. He thereupon seized a stone and threw it with his usual
precision at the offending woman, who retreated. But it was with much
struggling that Thor reached the bank which, however, he would have had
great difficulty in ascending but for his fortune to seize a projecting
shrub, by the aid of which he drew himself out of the raging waters.
See page 933.]
TEUTONIC MYTHOLOGY.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
VOLUME THREE
Page
Story of the Seven Sleepers 707
The Anthropology of the Mythology 729
Svipdag and Groa 747
Menglad's Identity with Freyja 751
The Sword of Revenge 759
Orvandel, the Star-Hero 767
Svipdag Rescues Freyja from the Giants 770
Svipdag in Saxo's Account of Hotherus 781
Ericus Disertus in Saxo 793
Later Fortunes of the Volund Sword 808
The Svipdag Epithet "Skirnir" 815
Transformation and Death of Svipdag 819
Reminiscences of the Svipdag Myth 830
Orvandel, Egil and Ebbo 847
Frey Fostered in the Home of Orvandel 865
Ivalde, Svipdag's Grandfather 870
Parallel Myths in Rigveda 874
Judgment Passed on the Ivalde Sons 884
Olvalde and Ivalde Sons Identical 890
A Review of Thorsdrapa 932
Of Volund's Identity with Thjasse 952
The Worst Deed of Revenge 956
The Guard at Hvergelmer and the Elivagar 968
Slagfin, Egil, and Volund 971
The Niflung Hoard left by Volund 975
Slagfin-Gjuke a Star-Hero 981
Slagfin's Appearance in the Moon Myth 985
Review of the Synonyms of Ivalde's Sons 991
LIST OF PHOTOGRAVURES.
Page
VOL. III.
Thor's Journey to Geirrodsgard Frontispiece
Idun Brought Back to Asgard 807
Thor, Hymir, and the Midgard Serpent 915
King Svafrlame Secures the Sword Tyrfing 1003
THE MYTH IN REGARD TO THE LOWER WORLD.
(_Part IV. Continued from Volume II._)
94.
THE SEVEN SLEEPERS.
Völuspa gives an account of the events which forebode and lead up to
Ragnarok. Among these we also find that _leika Mims synir_, that is, that
the sons of Mimer "spring up," "fly up," "get into lively motion." But
the meaning of this has hitherto been an unsolved problem.
In the strophe immediately preceding (the 44th) Völuspa describes how it
looks on the surface of Midgard when the end of the world is at hand.
Brothers and near kinsmen slay each other. The sacred bonds of morality
are broken. It is the storm-age and the wolf-age. Men no longer spare
or pity one another. Knives and axes rage. Volund's world-destroying
sword of revenge has already been fetched by Fjalar in the guise of the
red cock (str. 41), and from the Ironwood, where it hitherto had been
concealed by Angerboda and guarded by Egther; the wolf-giant Hate with
his companions have invaded the world, which it was the duty of the gods
to protect. The storms are attended by eclipses of the sun (str. 40).
Then suddenly the Hjallar-horn sounds, announcing that the destruction
of the world is now to be fulfilled, and just as the first notes of this
trumpet penetrate the world, Mimer's sons spring up. "The old tree,"
the world-tree, groans and trembles. When Mimer's sons "spring up" Odin
is engaged in conversation with the head of their father, his faithful
adviser, in regard to the impending conflict, which is the last one in
which the gods are to take a hand.
I shall here give reasons for the assumption that the blast from the
Hjallar-horn wakes Mimer's sons from a sleep that has lasted through
centuries, and that the Christian legend concerning the seven sleepers
has its chief, if not its only, root in a Teutonic myth which in the
second half of the fifth or in the first half of the sixth century was
changed into a legend. At that time large portions of the Teutonic
race had already been converted to Christianity: the Goths, Vandals,
Gepidians, Rugians, Burgundians, and Swabians were Christians.
Considerable parts of the Roman empire were settled by the Teutons or
governed by their swords. The Franks were on the point of entering the
Christian Church, and behind them the Alamannians and Longobardians.
Their myths and sagas were reconstructed so far as they could be adapted
to the new forms and ideas, and if they, more or less transformed,
assumed the garb of a Christian legend, then this guise enabled them to
travel to the utmost limits of Christendom; and if they also contained,
as in the case here in question, ideas that were not entirely foreign to
the Greek-Roman world, then they might the more easily acquire the right
of Roman nativity.
In its oldest form the legend of "the seven sleepers" has the following
outlines (_Miraculorum Liber_, vii., i. 92):
"Seven brothers"[1] have their place of rest near the city of Ephesus,
and the story of them is as follows: In the time of the Emperor Decius,
while the persecution of the Christians took place, seven men were
captured and brought before the ruler. Their names were Maximianus,
Malchus, Martinianus, Constantius, Dionysius, Joannes, and Serapion.
All sorts of persuasion was attempted, but they would not yield. The
emperor, who was pleased with their courteous manners, gave them time
for reflection, so that they should not at once fall under the sentence
of death. But they concealed themselves in a cave and remained there
many days. Still, one of them went out to get provisions and attend
to other necessary matters. But when the emperor returned to the same
city, these men prayed to God, asking Him in His mercy to save them out
of this danger, and when, lying on the ground, they had finished their
prayers, they fell asleep. When the emperor learned that they were in
the above-mentioned cave, he, under divine influence, commanded that
the entrance of the cave should be closed with large stones, "for,"
said he, "as they are unwilling to offer sacrifices to our gods, they
must perish there." While this transpired a Christian man had engraved
the names of the seven men on a leaden tablet, and also their testimony
in regard to their belief, and he had secretly laid the tablet in the
entrance of the cave before the latter was closed. After many years, the
congregations having secured peace and the Christian Theodosius having
gained the imperial dignity, the false doctrine of the Sadducees, who
denied resurrection, was spread among the people. At this time it happens
that a citizen of Ephesus is about to make an enclosure for his sheep on
the mountain in question, and for this purpose he loosens the stones at
the entrance of the cave, so that the cave was opened, but without his
becoming aware of what was concealed within. But the Lord sent a breath
of life into the seven men and they arose. Thinking they had slept only
one night, they sent one of their number, a youth, to buy food. When he
came to the city gate he was astonished, for he saw the glorious sign
of the Cross, and he heard people aver by the name of Christ. But when
he produced his money, which was from the time of Decius, he was seized
by the vendor, who insisted that he must have found secreted treasures
from former times, and who, as the youth made a stout denial, brought him
before the bishop and the judge. Pressed by them, he was forced to reveal
his secret, and he conducted them to the cave where the men were. At
the entrance the bishop then finds the leaden tablet, on which all that
concerned their case was noted down, and when he had talked with the men
a messenger was despatched to the Emperor Theodosius. He came and kneeled
on the ground and worshipped them, and they said to the ruler: "Most
august Augustus! there has sprung up a false doctrine which tries to turn
the Christian people from the promises of God, claiming that there is no
resurrection of the dead. In order that you may know that we are all to
appear before the judgment-seat of Christ according to the words of the
Apostle Paul, the Lord God has raised us from the dead and commanded us
to make this statement to you. See to it that you are not deceived and
excluded from the kingdom of God." When the Emperor Theodosius heard this
he praised the Lord for not permitting His people to perish. But the men
again lay down on the ground and fell asleep. The Emperor Theodosius
wanted to make graves of gold for them, but in a vision he was prohibited
from doing this. And until this very day these men rest in the same
place, wrapped in fine linen mantles.
At the first glance there is nothing which betrays the Teutonic origin of
this legend. It may seemingly have had an independent origin anywhere in
the Christian world, and particularly in the vicinity of Ephesus.
Meanwhile the historian of the Franks, Bishop Gregorius of Tours (born
538 or 539), is the first one who presented in writing the legend
regarding the seven sleepers. In the form given above it appears through
him for the first time within the borders of the christianised western
Europe (see Gregorius' _Miraculorum Liber_, i., ch. 92). After him it
reappears in Greek records, and thence it travels on and finally gets to
Arabia and Abyssinia. His account is not written before the year 571 or
572. As the legend itself claims in its preserved form not to be older
than the first years of the reign of Theodosius, it must have originated
between the years 379-572.
The next time we learn anything about the seven sleepers in occidental
literature is in the Longobardian historian, Paulus Diaconus (born
about 723). What he relates has greatly surprised investigators;
for although he certainly was acquainted with the Christian version
in regard to the seven men who sleep for generations in a cave, and
although he entertained no doubt as to its truth, he nevertheless relates
another--and that a Teutonic--seven sleepers' legend, the scene of which
is the remotest part of Teutondom. He narrates (i. 4):
"As my pen is still occupied with Germany, I deem it proper, in
connection with some other miracles, to mention one which _there is on
the lips of everybody_. In the remotest western boundaries of Germany is
to be seen near the sea-strand under a high rock a cave where seven men
have been sleeping no one knows how long. They are in the deepest sleep
and uninfluenced by time, not only as to their bodies but also as to
their garments, so that they are held in great honour by the savage and
ignorant people, since time for so many years has left no trace either
on their bodies or on their clothes. To judge from their dress they must
be Romans. When a man from curiosity tried to undress one of them, it
is said that his arm at once withered, and this punishment spread such
a terror that nobody has since then dared to touch them. Doubtless it
will some day be apparent why Divine Providence has so long preserved
them. Perhaps by their preaching--for they are believed to be none other
than Christians--this people shall once more be called to salvation. In
the vicinity of this place dwell the race of the Skritobinians ('the
Skridfinns')."
In chapter 6 Paulus makes the following additions, which will be found
to be of importance to our theme: "Not far from that sea-strand which I
mentioned as lying far to the west (in the most remote Germany), where
the boundless ocean extends, is found the unfathomably deep eddy which
we traditionally call the navel of the sea. Twice a-day it swallows the
waves, and twice it vomits them forth again. Often, we are assured, ships
are drawn into this eddy so violently that they look like arrows flying
through the air, and frequently they perish in this abyss. But sometimes,
when they are on the point of being swallowed up, they are driven back
with the same terrible swiftness."
From what Paulus Diaconus here relates we learn that in the eighth
century the common belief prevailed among the heathen Teutons that in
the neighbourhood of that ocean-maelstrom, caused by Hvergelmer ("the
roaring kettle"), seven men slept from time immemorial under a rock.
How far the heathen Teutons believed that these men were Romans and
Christians, or whether this feature is to be attributed to a conjecture
by Christian Teutons, and came through influence from the Christian
version of the legend of the seven sleepers, is a question which it is
not necessary to discuss at present. That they are some day to awake to
preach Christianity to "the stubborn," still heathen Teutonic tribes is
manifestly a supposition on the part of Paulus himself, and he does not
present it as anything else. It has nothing to do with the saga in its
heathen form.
The first question now is: Has the heathen tradition in regard to the
seven sleepers, which, according to the testimony of the Longobardian
historian, was common among the heathen Teutons of the eighth century,
since then disappeared without leaving any traces in our mythic records?
The answer is: Traces of it reappear in Saxo, in Adam of Bremen, in Norse
and German popular belief, and in Völuspa. When compared with one another
these traces are sufficient to determine the character and original place
of the tradition in the epic of the Teutonic mythology.
I have already given above (No. 46) the main features of Saxo's account
of King Gorm's and Thorkil's journey to and in the lower world. With
their companions they are permitted to visit the abodes of torture
of the damned and the fields of bliss, together with the gold-clad
world-fountains, and to see the treasures preserved in their vicinity.
In the same realm where these fountains are found there is, says Saxo, a
_tabernaculum_ within which still more precious treasures are preserved.
It is an _uberioris thesauri secretarium_. The Danish adventurers also
entered here. The treasury was also an armoury, and contained weapons
suited to be borne by warriors of superhuman size. The owners and makers
of these arms were also there, but they were perfectly quiet and as
immovable as lifeless figures. Still they were not dead, but made the
impression of being half-dead (_semineces_). By the enticing beauty
and value of the treasures, and partly, too, by the dormant condition
of the owners, the Danes were betrayed into an attempt to secure some
of these precious things. Even the usually cautious Thorkil set a bad
example and put his hand on a garment (_amiculo manum inserens_). We are
not told by Saxo whether the garment covered anyone of those sleeping
in the treasury, nor is it directly stated that the touching with the
hand produced any disagreeable consequences for Thorkil. But further on
Saxo relates that Thorkil became unrecognisable, because a withering or
emaciation (_marcor_) had changed his body and the features of his face.
With this account in Saxo we must compare what we read in Adam of Bremen
about the Frisian adventurers who tried to plunder treasures belonging
to giants who in the middle of the day lay concealed in subterranean
caves (_meridiano tempore latitantes antris subterraneis_). This account
must also have conceived the owners of the treasures as sleeping while
the plundering took place, for not before they were on their way back
were the Frisians pursued by the plundered party or by other lower-world
beings. Still, all but one succeeded in getting back to their ships.
Adam asserts that they were such beings _quos nostri cyclopes appellant_
("which among us are called cyclops"), that they, in other words, were
gigantic smiths, who, accordingly, themselves had made the untold amount
of golden treasures which the Frisians there saw. These northern
cyclops, he says, dwelt within solid walls, surrounded by a water, to
which, according to Adam of Bremen, one first comes after traversing the
land of frost (_provincia frigoris_), and after passing that _Euripus_,
"in which the water of the ocean flows back to its mysterious fountain"
(_ad initia quædam fontis sui arcani recurrens_), "this deep subterranean
abyss wherein the ebbing streams of the sea, according to report,
were swallowed up to return," and which "with most violent force drew
the unfortunate seamen down into the lower world" (_infelices nautos
vehementissimo impetu traxit ad Chaos_).
It is evident that what Paulus Diaconus, Adam of Bremen, and Saxo here
relate must be referred to the same tradition. All three refer the scene
of these strange things and events to the "most remote part of Germany"
(cp. Nos. 45, 46, 48, 49). According to all three reports the boundless
ocean washes the shores of this saga-land which has to be traversed in
order to get to "the sleepers," to "the men half-dead and resembling
lifeless images," to "those concealed in the middle of the day in
subterranean caves." Paulus assures us that they are in a cave under a
rock in the neighbourhood of the famous maelstrom which sucks the billows
of the sea into itself and spews them out again. Adam makes his Frisian
adventurers come near being swallowed up by this maelstrom before they
reach the caves of treasures where the cyclops in question dwell; and
Saxo locates their tabernacle, filled with weapons and treasures, to a
region which we have already recognised (see Nos. 45-51) as belonging
to Mimer's lower-world realm, and situated in the neighbourhood of the
sacred subterranean fountains.
In the northern part of Mimer's domain, consequently in the vicinity of
the Hvergelmer fountain (see Nos. 59, 93), from and to which all waters
find their way, and which is the source of the famous maelstrom (see Nos.
79, 80, 81), there stands, according to Völuspa, a golden hall in which
Sindre's kinsmen have their home. Sindre is, as we know, like his brother
Brok and others of his kinsmen, an artist of antiquity, a cyclops, to
use the language of Adam of Bremen. The Northern records and the Latin
chronicles thus correspond in the statement that in the neighbourhood of
the maelstrom or of its subterranean fountain, beneath a rock and in a
golden hall, or in subterranean caves filled with gold, certain men who
are subterranean artisans dwell. Paulus Diaconus makes a "curious" person
who had penetrated into this abode disrobe one of the sleepers clad in
"Roman" clothes, and for this he is punished with a withered arm. Saxo
makes Thorkil put his hand on a splendid garment which he sees there, and
Thorkil returns from his journey with an emaciated body, and is so lean
and lank as not to be recognised.
There are reasons for assuming that the ancient artisan _Sindre_ is
identical with _Dvalinn_, the ancient artisan created by Mimer. I base
this assumption on the following circumstances:
_Dvalinn_ is mentioned by the side of _Dáinn_ both in Havamál (43) and
in Grimnersmal (33); also in the sagas, where they make treasures in
company. Both the names are clearly epithets which point to the mythic
destiny of the ancient artists in question. _Dáinn_ means "the dead one,"
and in analogy herewith we must interpret _Dvalinn_ as "the dormant one,"
"the one slumbering." (cp. the Old Swedish _dvale_, sleep, unconscious
condition). Their fates have made them the representatives of death
and sleep, a sort of equivalents of Thanatos and Hypnos. As such they
appear in the allegorical strophes incorporated in Grimnersmal, which,
describing how the world-tree suffers and grows old, make _Dáinn_ and
_Dvalinn_, "death" and "slumber," get their food from its branches, while
Nidhog and other serpents wound its roots.
In Hyndluljod (6) the artists who made Frey's golden boar are called
_Dáinn_ and _Nabbi_. In the Younger Edda (i. 340-342) they are called
_Brokkr_ and _Sindri_. Strange to say, on account of mythological
circumstances not known to us, the skalds have been able to use _Dáinn_
as a paraphrase for a rooting four-footed animal, and _Brokkr_ too has
a similar signification (cp. the Younger Edda, ii. 490, and Vigfusson,
Dict., under _Brokkr_). This points to an original identity of these
epithets. Thus we arrive at the following parallels:
Dáinn (-Brokkr) and Dvalinn made treasures together;
(Dáinn-) Brokkr and Sindri made Frey's golden boar;
Dáinn and Nabbi made Frey's golden boar;
and the conclusion we draw herefrom is that in our mythology, in which
there is such a plurality of names, _Dvalinn_, _Sindri_, and _Nabbi_ are
the same person, and that _Dáinn_ and _Brokkr_ are identical. I may have
an opportunity later to present further evidence of this identity.
The primeval artist Sindre, who with his kinsmen inhabits a golden hall
in Mimer's realm under the Hvergelmer mountains, near the subterranean
fountain of the maelstrom, has therefore borne the epithet _Dvalinn_,
"the one wrapped in slumber." "The slumberer" thus rests with his
kinsmen, where Paulus Diaconus has heard that seven men sleep from time
out of mind, and where Adam of Bremen makes smithying giants, rich in
treasures, keep themselves concealed in lower-world caves within walls
surrounded by water.
It has already been demonstrated that _Dvalinn_ is a son of Mimer (see
No. 53). Sindre-Dvalin and his kinsmen are therefore Mimer's offspring
(_Mims synir_). The golden citadel situated near the fountain of the
maelstrom is therefore inhabited by the sons of Mimer.
It has also been shown that, according to Solarljod, the sons of
_Mimer-Nidi_ come from this region (from the north in Mimer's domain),
and that they are in all seven:
Nordan sá ek rida
Nidja sonu
ok váru sjau saman;
that is to say, that they are the same number as the "economical months,"
or the changes of the year (see No. 87).
In the same region Mimer's daughter Nat has her hall, where she takes
her rest after her journey across the heavens is accomplished (see No.
93). The "chateau dormant" of Teutonic mythology is therefore situated
in Nat's udal territory, and Dvalin, "the slumberer," is Nat's brother.
Perhaps her citadel is identical with the one in which Dvalin and his
brothers sleep. According to Saxo, voices of women are heard in the
_tabernaculum_ belonging to the sleeping men, and glittering with weapons
and treasures, when Thorkil and his men come to plunder the treasures
there. Nat has her court and her attendant sisters in the Teutonic
mythology, as in Rigveda (_Ushas_). _Simmara_ (see Nos. 97, 98) is one of
the dises of the night. According to the middle-age sagas, these dises
and daughters of Mimer are said to be twelve in number (see Nos. 45, 46).
Mimer, as we know, was the ward of the middle root of the world-tree.
His seven sons, representing the changes experienced by the world-tree
and nature annually, have with him guarded and tended the holy tree
and watered its root with _aurgom forsi_ from the subterranean horn,
"Valfather's pledge." When the god-clans became foes, and the Vans seized
weapons against the Asas, Mimer was slain, and the world-tree, losing
its wise guardian, became subject to the influence of time. It suffers
in crown and root (Grimnersmal), and as it is ideally identical with
creation itself, both the natural and the moral, so toward the close of
the period of this world it will betray the same dilapidated condition as
nature and the moral world then are to reveal.
Logic demanded that when the world-tree lost its chief ward, the lord
of the well of wisdom, it should also lose that care which under his
direction was bestowed upon it by his seven sons. These, voluntarily or
involuntarily, retired, and the story of the seven men who sleep in the
citadel full of treasures informs us how they thenceforth spend their
time until Ragnarok. The details of the myth telling how they entered
into this condition cannot now be found; but it may be in order to point
out, as a possible connection with this matter, that one of the older
Vanagods, Njord's father, and possibly the same as Mundilfore, had the
epithet _Svafr_, _Svafrthorinn_ (Fjölsvinnsmal). _Svafr_ means _sopitor_,
the sleeper, and _Svafrthorinn_ seems to refer to _svefnthorn_,
"sleep-thorn." According to the traditions, a person could be put to
sleep by laying a "sleep-thorn" in his ear, and he then slept until it
was taken out or fell out.
Popular traditions scattered over Sweden, Denmark, and Germany have to
this very day been preserved, on the lips of the common people, of the
men sleeping among weapons and treasures in underground chambers or
in rocky halls. A Swedish tradition makes them equipped not only with
weapons, but also with horses which in their stalls abide the day when
their masters are to awake and sally forth. Common to the most of these
traditions, both the Northern and the German, is the feature that this
is to happen when the greatest distress is at hand, or when the end of
the world approaches and the day of judgment comes. With regard to the
German sagas on this point I refer to Jacob Grimm's _Mythology_. I simply
wish to point out here certain features which are of special importance
to the subject under discussion, and which the popular memory in certain
parts of Germany has preserved from the heathen myths. When the heroes
who have slept through centuries sally forth, the trumpets of the last
day sound, a great battle with the powers of evil (Antichrist) is to be
fought, _an immensely old tree, which has withered, is to grow green
again_, and a happier age is to begin.
This immensely old tree, which is withered at the close of the present
period of the world, and which is to become green again in a happier age
after a decisive conflict between the good and evil, can be no other than
the world-tree of Teutonic mythology, the Ygdrasil of our Eddas. The
angel trumpets, at whose blasts the men who sleep within the mountains
sally forth, have their prototype in Heimdal's horn, which proclaims the
destruction of the world; and the battle to be fought with Antichrist is
the Ragnarok conflict, clad in Christian robes, between the gods and the
destroyers of the world. Here Mimer's seven sons also have their task to
perform. The last great struggle also concerns the lower world, whose
regions of bliss demand protection against the thurs-clans of Nifelhel,
the more so since these very regions of bliss constitute the new earth,
which after Ragnarok rises from the sea to become the abode of a better
race of men (see No. 55). The "wall rock" of the Hvergelmer mountain and
its "stone gates" (Völuspa; cp. Nos. 46, 75) require defenders able to
wield those immensely large swords which are kept in the sleeping castle
on Nat's udal fields, and Sindre-Dvalin is remembered not only as the
artist of antiquity, spreader of Mimer's runic wisdom, enemy of Loke,
and father of the man-loving dises (see No. 53), but also as a hero.
The name of the horse he rode, and probably is to ride in the Ragnarok
conflict, is according to a strophe cited in the Younger Edda, _Modinn_;
the middle-age sagas have connected his name to a certain viking,
_Sindri_, and to Sintram of the German heroic poetry.
I now come back to the Völuspa strophe, which was the starting-point in
the investigation contained in this chapter:
Leika Mims synir
en mjotudr kyndisk
at hinu gamla
gjallarhorni;
hátt blæss Heimdallr,
horn er á lothi.
"Mimer's sons spring up, for the fate of the world is proclaimed by the
old gjallar-horn. Loud blows Heimdal--the horn is raised."
In regard to _leika_, it is to be remembered that its old meaning,
"to jump," "to leap," "to fly up," reappears not only in Ulfilas, who
translates _skirtan_ of the New Testament with _laikan_ (Luke | 1,103.563304 |
2023-11-16 18:35:27.5530420 | 1,338 | 8 |
Produced by Karen Fabrizius, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
FACING THE WORLD
By Horatio Alger, Jr.
PREFACE
Horatio Alger, Jr., in "Facing the World," gives us as his hero a boy
whose parents have both died and the man appointed as his guardian is
unjust and unkind to him. In desperation he runs away and is very
fortunate in finding a true friend in a man who aids him and makes him
his helper in his work as magician.
They travel over the country and have many interesting experiences,
some narrow escapes and thrilling adventures.
CHAPTER I
HARRY RECEIVES A LETTER
"Here's a letter for you, Harry," said George Howard. "I was passing
the hotel on my way home from school when Abner Potts called out to me
from the piazza, and asked me to bring it."
The speaker was a bright, round-faced boy of ten. The boy whom he
addressed was five or six years older. Only a week previous he had
lost his father, and as the family consisted only of these two, he was
left, so far as near relatives were concerned, alone in the world.
Immediately after the funeral he had been invited home by Mr. Benjamin
Howard, a friend of his father, but in no manner connected with him by
ties of relationship.
"You can stay here as long as you like, Harry," said Mr. Howard,
kindly. "It will take you some time to form your plans, perhaps, and
George will be glad to have your company."
"Thank you, Mr. Howard," said Harry, gratefully.
"Shall you look for some employment here?"
"No; my father has a second cousin in Colebrook, named John Fox.
Before he died he advised me to write to Mr. Fox, and go to his house
if I should receive an invitation."
"I hope for your sake, he will prove a good man. What is his
business?"
"I don't know, nor did my father. All I know is, that he is considered
a prosperous man. This letter is from him."
It was inclosed in a brown envelope, and ran as follows:
"HARRY VANE: I have received your letter saying that your father wants
me to be your guardeen. I don't know as I have any objections, bein' a
business man it will come easy to me, and I think your father was wise
to seleck me. I am reddy to receave you any time. You will come to
Bolton on the cars. That is eight miles from here, and there is a
stage that meats the trane. It wouldn't do you any harm to walk, but
boys ain't so active as they were in my young days. The stage fare is
fifty cents, which I shall expect you to pay yourself, if you ride.
"There is one thing you don't say anything about--how much proparty
your pa left. I hope it is a good round sum, and I will take good care
of it for you. Ennybody round here will tell you that John Fox is a
good man of business, and about as sharp as most people. Mrs. Fox will
be glad to see you, and my boy, Joel, will be glad to have someone to
keep him company. He is about sixteen years old. You don't say how old
you are, but from your letter I surmise that you are as much as that.
You will find a happy united famerly, consistin' of me and my wife,
Joel and his sister, Sally. Sally is fourteen, just two years younger
than Joel. We live in a comfortable way, but we don't gorge ourselves
on rich, unhelthy food. No more at present. Yours to command,
"JOHN FOX."
Harry smiled more than once as he read this letter.
"Your relative isn't strong on spelling," remarked Mr. Howard, as he
laid the letter on the table.
"No, sir; but he appears to be strong on economy. It is a comfort to
know that I shall not be injured by 'rich, unhelthy food.'"
"When do you mean to start for Colebrook?" asked Mr. Howard.
"To-morrow morning. I have been looking at a railroad guide, and I
find it will bring me to Colebrook in time for supper."
"We should be glad to have you stay with us as long as possible,
Harry."
"Thank you, Mr. Howard, I don't doubt that, but the struggle of life
is before me, and I may as well enter upon it at once."
At four o'clock in the afternoon the conductor of the train on which
Harry was a passenger called out Bolton.
Harry snatched up his carpetbag, and made his way to the door, for
this was the place where he was to take the stage for Colebrook.
Two other passengers got out at the same time. One was an elderly man,
and the other a young man of twenty-five. They appeared to be father
and son, and, as Harry learned afterward they were engaged in farming.
"Any passengers for Colebrook?" inquired the driver of the
old-fashioned Concord stage, which was drawn up beside the platform.
"There's Obed and me," said the old farmer.
"May I ride on the seat with you?" asked Harry of the driver.
"Sartain. Where are you going?"
"To Colebrook."
"Then this is your team."
Harry climbed up with a boy's activity, and sat down on the broad
seat, congratulating himself that he would have a chance to see the
country, and breathe better air than those confined inside.
Soon the driver sat down on the box beside him, and started the
horses.
"You're a stranger, ain't you?" he remarked, with an inquisitive
glance at his young traveling companion.
"Yes; I've never been here before."
"Are you going to the tavern?"
"No; I'm going to the house of Mr. John Fox. Do you know him?"
"I reckon everybody round here knows John Fox."
"I don't know him. He is to be my guardian."
"Sho! You'll have a queer guardeen."
"Why queer?"
"The fact is, old John'll cheat you out of your eye teeth ef | 1,103.573082 |
2023-11-16 18:35:27.6732230 | 1,385 | 13 |
Produced by Martin Robb
By England's Aid
or The Freeing of the Netherlands (1585-1604)
by G. A. Henty
PREFACE.
MY DEAR LADS,
In my preface to By Pike and <DW18> I promised in a future story to deal
with the closing events of the War of Independence in Holland. The
period over which that war extended was so long, and the incidents
were so numerous and varied, that it was impossible to include the
whole within the limit of a single book. The former volume brought
the story of the struggle down to the death of the Prince of Orange
and the capture of Antwerp; the present gives the second phase of
the war, when England, who had long unofficially assisted Holland,
threw herself openly into the struggle, and by her aid mainly
contributed to the successful issue of the war. In the first part
of the struggle the scene lay wholly among the low lands and cities
of Holland and Zeeland, and the war was strictly a defensive one,
waged against overpowering odds. After England threw herself into
the strife it assumed far wider proportions, and the independence
of the Netherlands was mainly secured by the defeat and destruction
of the great Armada, by the capture of Cadiz and the fatal blow
thereby struck at the mercantile prosperity of Spain, and by the
defeat of the Holy League by Henry of Navarre, aided by English
soldiers and English gold. For the facts connected with the
doings of Sir Francis Vere and the British contingent in Holland,
I have depended much upon the excellent work by Mr. Clement Markham
entitled the Fighting Veres. In this full justice is done to the
great English general and his followers, and it is conclusively
shown that some statements to the disparagement of Sir Francis
Vere by Mr. Motley are founded upon a misconception of the facts.
Sir Francis Vere was, in the general opinion of the time, one of
the greatest commanders of the age, and more, perhaps, than any
other man with the exception of the Prince of Orange contributed
to the successful issue of the struggle of Holland to throw off
the yoke of Spain.
Yours sincerely,
G.A. HENTY
CHAPTER I
AN EXCURSION
"And we beseech Thee, O Lord, to give help and succour to Thy servants
the people of Holland, and to deliver them from the cruelties and
persecutions of their wicked oppressors; and grant Thy blessing,
we pray Thee, upon the arms of our soldiers now embarking to aid
them in their extremity."
These were the words with which the Rev. John Vickars, rector of
Hedingham, concluded the family prayers on the morning of December
6th, 1585.
For twenty years the first portion of this prayer had been repeated
daily by him, as it had been in tens of thousands of English
households; for since the people of the Netherlands first rose
against the Spanish yoke the hearts of the Protestants of England
had beat warmly in their cause, and they had by turns been moved
to admiration at the indomitable courage with which the Dutch
struggled for independence against the might of the greatest power
in Europe, and to horror and indignation at the pitiless cruelty
and wholesale massacres by which the Spaniards had striven to stamp
out resistance.
From the first the people of England would gladly have joined
in the fray, and made common cause with their co-religionists;
but the queen and her counsellors had been restrained by weighty
considerations from embarking in such a struggle. At the commencement
of the war the power of Spain overshadowed all Europe. Her infantry
were regarded as irresistible. Italy and Germany were virtually her
dependencies, and England was but a petty power beside her. Since
Agincourt was fought we had taken but little part in wars on the
Continent. The feudal system was extinct; we had neither army nor
military system; and the only Englishmen with the slightest experience
of war were those who had gone abroad to seek their fortunes, and
had fought in the armies of one or other of the continental powers.
Nor were we yet aware of our naval strength. Drake and Hawkins and
the other buccaneers had not yet commenced their private war with
Spain, on what was known as the Spanish Main--the waters of
the West Indian Islands--and no one dreamed that the time was
approaching when England would be able to hold her own against the
strength of Spain on the seas.
Thus, then, whatever the private sentiments of Elizabeth and her
counsellors, they shrank from engaging England in a life and death
struggle with the greatest power of the time; though as the struggle
went on the queen's sympathy with the people of the Netherlands
was more and more openly shown. In 1572 she was present at a parade
of three hundred volunteers who mustered at Greenwich under Thomas
Morgan and Roger Williams for service in the Netherlands. Sir Humphrey
Gilbert, half brother of Sir Walter Raleigh, went out a few months
later with 1500 men, and from that time numbers of English volunteers
continued to cross the seas and join in the struggle against the
Spaniards. Nor were the sympathies of the queen confined to allowing
her subjects to take part in the fighting; for she sent out large
sums of money to the Dutch, and as far as she could, without openly
joining them, gave them her aid.
Spain remonstrated continually against these breaches of neutrality,
while the Dutch on their part constantly implored her to join them
openly; but she continued to give evasive answers to both parties
until the assassination of William of Orange on 10th July, 1584,
sent a thrill of horror through England, and determined the queen
and her advisers to take a more decisive part in the struggle. In the
following June envoys from the States arrived in London, and were
received with great honour, and a treaty between the two countries
was agreed upon. Three months later the queen published a declaration
to her people and to Europe at large, setting forth the terrible
persecutions and cruelties to which "our next neighbours, the people
of the Low Countries," the special allies and friends of England,
had been exposed, and stating her determination to aid them to
recover their liberty. The proclamation concluded: "We mean not | 1,103.693263 |
2023-11-16 18:35:27.9487880 | 3,614 | 8 |
Produced by Curtis Weyant 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.)
HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY
FROM THE
QUARTERLY JOURNAL
OF ECONOMICS
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO. DALLAS
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE
VALUE OF MONEY
BY
B. M. ANDERSON, JR., PH. D.
ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ECONOMICS, HARVARD UNIVERSITY
AUTHOR OF "SOCIAL VALUE"
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1917
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1917
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1917.
To
B. M. A., III
AND
J. C. A.
WHO OFTEN INTERRUPTED THE WORK
BUT NONE THE LESS INSPIRED IT
PREFACE
The following pages have as their central problem the value of money.
But the value of money cannot be studied successfully as an isolated
problem, and in order to reach conclusions upon this topic, it has been
necessary to consider virtually the whole range of economic theory; the
general theory of value; the role of money in economic theory and the
functions of money in economic life; the theory of the values of stocks
and bonds, of "good will," established trade connections, trade-marks,
and other "intangibles"; the theory of credit; the causes governing the
volume of trade, and particularly the place of speculation in the volume
of trade; the relation of "static" economic theory to "dynamic" economic
theory.
"Dynamic economics" is concerned with change and readjustment in
economic life. A distinctive doctrine of the present book is that the
great bulk of exchanging grows out of dynamic change, and that
speculation, in particular, constitutes by far the major part of all
trade. From this it follows that the main work of money and credit, as
instruments of exchange, is done in the process of dynamic readjustment,
and, consequently, that the theory of money and credit _must be a
dynamic theory_. It follows, further, that a theory like the "quantity
theory of money," which rests in the notions of "static equilibrium" and
"normal adjustment," abstracting from the "transitional process of
readjustment," touches the real problems of money and credit not at all.
This thesis has seemed to require statistical verification, and the
effort has been made to measure the elements in trade, to assign
proportions for retail trade and for wholesale trade, to obtain
_indicia_ of the extent and variation of speculation in securities,
grain, and other things on the organized exchanges, and to indicate
something of the extent of less organized speculation running through
the whole of business. The ratio of foreign to domestic trade has been
studied, for the years, 1890-1916.
The effort has also been made to determine the magnitudes of banking
transactions, and the relation of banking transactions to the volume of
trade. The conclusion has been reached that the overwhelming bulk of
banking transactions occur in connection with speculation. The effort
has been made to interpret bank clearings, both in New York and in the
country outside, with a view to determining quantitatively the major
factors that give rise to them.
In general, the inductive study would show that modern business and
banking centre about the stock market to a much greater degree than most
students have recognized. The analysis of banking assets would go to
show that the main function of modern bank credit is in the direct or
indirect financing of corporate and unincorporated _industry_.
"Commercial paper" is no longer the chief banking asset.
It is not concluded from this, however, that commerce in the ordinary
sense is being robbed by modern tendencies of its proper banking
accommodation, or that the banks are engaged in dangerous practices. On
the contrary it is maintained that the ability of the banks to aid
ordinary commerce is increased by the intimate connection of the banks
with the stock market. The thesis is advanced--though with a recognition
of the political difficulties involved--that the Federal Reserve Banks
should not be forbidden to rediscount loans on stock exchange
collateral, if they are to perform their best services for the country.
The quantity theory of money is examined in detail, in various
formulations, and the conclusion is reached that the quantity theory is
utterly invalid.
The theory of value set forth in Chapter I, and presupposed in the
positive argument of the book, is that first set forth in an earlier
book by the present writer, _Social Value_, published in 1911. That book
grew out of earlier studies in the theory of money, in the course of
which the writer reached the conclusion that the problem of money could
not be solved until an adequate general theory of value should be
developed. The present book thus represents investigations which run
through a good many years, and to which the major part of the past six
years has been given. On the basis of this general theory of value, and
a dynamic theory of money and exchange, our positive conclusions
regarding the value of money are reached. On the same basis, a
psychological theory of credit is developed, in which the laws of credit
are assimilated to the general laws of value.
In a final section, the constructive theory of the book is made the
basis for a "reconciliation" of "statics" and "dynamics" in economic
theory--an effort to bring together the abstract theory of price
(_i. e._, "statics") which has hitherto chiefly busied economists, and
the more realistic studies of economic change (_i. e._ "dynamics") to
which a smaller number of economists have given their attention. These
two bodies of doctrine have hitherto had little connection, and the
science of economics has suffered as a consequence.
This book was not written with the college student primarily in mind.
None the less, I incline to the view that the book, with the exception
of the chapter on "Marginal Utility," is suitable for use as a text with
juniors and seniors in money and banking, if supplemented by some
general descriptive and historical book on the subject, and that the
whole book may very well be used with such students in advanced courses
in economic theory. I think that bankers, brokers, and other business
men who are interested in the general problems of money, trade,
speculation and credit, will find the book of use. Naturally, however,
it is my hope that the special student of money and banking, and the
special student of economic theory will find the book of interest. The
book may interest also certain students of philosophy and sociology, who
are concerned with the applications of philosophy and social philosophy
to concrete problems.
My obligations to others, running through a good many years, are very
great. With Professor E. E. Agger, I talked over very many of the
problems here discussed, in the course of two years of close association
at Columbia University, and gained very much from his suggestions and
criticisms. Professor E. R. A. Seligman has read portions of the
manuscript, and given valuable advice. Professor H. J. Davenport has
given the first draft an exceedingly careful reading, and his criticisms
have been especially helpful. Professor Jesse E. Pope supervised my
investigations in the quantity theory of money in 1904-5, in his seminar
at the University of Missouri, and gave me invaluable guidance in the
general theory of money and credit then. More recently, his intimate
first hand knowledge of European and American conditions, both in
agricultural credit and in general banking, has been of great service to
me. Mr. N. J. Silberling, of the Department of Economics at Harvard
University, has been helpful in various ways, particularly by making
certain statistical investigations, to which reference will be made in
the text, at my request. Various bankers, brokers, and others closely in
touch with the subjects here discussed have been more than generous in
supplying needed information. Among these may be especially mentioned
Mr. Byron W. Holt, of New York, Mr. Osmund Phillips, Editor of the
_Annalist_ and Financial Editor of the _New York Times_, Messrs. L. H.
Parkhurst and W. B. Donham, of the Old Colony Trust Company in Boston,
various gentlemen in the offices of Charles Head & Co., and Pearmain and
Brooks, in Boston, Mr. B. F. Smith, of the Cambridge Trust Company, Mr.
W. H. Aborn, Coffee Broker, New York, Mr. Burton Thompson, Real Estate
Broker, New York, Mr. Jas. H. Taylor, Treasurer of the New York Coffee
Exchange, Mr. J. C. T. Merrill, Secretary of the Chicago Board of Trade,
DeCoppet and Doremus, New York, and Mr. F. I. Kent, Vice President of
the Bankers Trust Company, New York. My greatest obligations are to two
colleagues at Harvard University. Professor F. W. Taussig has given the
manuscript very careful consideration, from the standpoint of style as
well as of doctrine, and has discussed many problems with me in detail.
Professor O. M. W. Sprague has placed freely at my service his rich
store of practical knowledge of virtually every phase of modern money
and banking, and has read critically every page of the manuscript. None
of these gentlemen, of course, is to be held responsible for my
mistakes. I also make grateful acknowledgment of the aid and sympathy of
my wife.
In the course of the discussion, frequent criticisms are directed
against the doctrines of Professors E. W. Kemmerer and Irving Fisher,
particularly the latter, as the chief representatives of the present day
formulation of the quantity theory. Both their theories and their
statistics are fundamentally criticised. I find myself in radical
dissent on all the main theses of Professor Fisher's _Purchasing Power
of Money_, and at very many points of detail. To a less degree, I find
myself unable to concur with Professor Kemmerer. But I should be sorry
if the reader should feel that I fail to recognize the distinguished
services which both of these writers have performed for the scientific
study of money and banking, or should feel that dissent precludes
admiration. I acknowledge my own indebtedness to both, not alone for the
gain which comes from having an opposing view clearly defined and ably
presented, but also for much information and many new ideas. My general
doctrinal obligations in the theory of money and credit are far too
numerous to mention in a preface. My greatest debt in general economic
theory is to Professor J. B. Clark.
B. M. ANDERSON, JR.
HARVARD UNIVERSITY, March 31, 1917.
ANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS
_PART I. THE VALUE OF MONEY AND THE GENERAL THEORY OF VALUE_
CHAPTER I
ECONOMIC VALUE
PAGE
Problem of value of money special case of general theory of
value; present chapter concerned with general theory 1
Formal and logical aspects of value: value as quality; value
as quantity; value and wealth 5-6
Absolute _vs._ relative conceptions of value: value of money
_vs._ "reciprocal of price-level"; value prior to exchange;
value and exchangeability; do prices correctly express
values? 6-12
Doctrine so far in accord with main current of economic
opinion 12-14
Causal theory of value new: marginal utility, labor theory,
etc., rejected 14-16
Social explanation required: "individual" a social product,
both in history of individual and in history of race 16-19
And above individual impersonal psychic forces, law, public
opinion, morality, economic values 19-20
Three types of theory have dealt with these: theory of
extra-human objective forces; extreme individualism;
social value theory 20-21
Illustrated in jurisprudence, ethics, and economic theory 21-26
Law, morals, and economic values generically alike, but have
_differentiae_ 26-28
But not differentiated on basis of states of consciousness
of individual immediately moved by them, because many
minds in organic interplay involved 28-33
Economic social value (a) of consumers' goods and services:
"utility" and scarcity; "marginal utility"; social
explanation of marginal utility; marginal utilities the
conscious _focus_ of economic values of consumers' goods;
but only minor part of these values; individuals, classes
and institutions heavily weighted by legal, moral, and
other social values, in power over economic values of
consumers' goods 33-38
Economic social value (b) of labor, land, stocks, bonds,
"good will," etc.; based only in part on values of
consumers' goods; partially independent, directly
influenced by contagion, and centers of power and
prestige 38-41
Pragmatic character of theory 41-43
Relation of social values to individual values 43-45
CHAPTER II
SUPPLY AND DEMAND, AND THE VALUE OF MONEY
_Hiatus_ between general theory of value and theory of value
of money 46-47
Partly because former has been developed by different writers
from those who have developed latter 47-49
But chiefly because supply and demand, cost of production,
etc., _assume_ fixed value of money, and are theories of
_price_, rather than _value_ 49
Supply and demand useful but superficial formula, common
property of many value theories 49-50
Crude and unanalyzed in Smith and Ricardo; first made precise
by J. S. Mill, who gives essentials of modern doctrine 49-51
Boehm-Bawerk's pseudo-psychology spoils Mill's clean-cut
doctrine 51-52
Supply and demand assumes fixed _value_ of money-unit, and
hence inapplicable to money itself 52-56
But supply and demand does _not_ assume fixed _price-level_ 56-57
Cairnes _vs._ Mill 57-58
Mill's unsuccessful effort to apply supply and demand to
money 59-62
Walker's attempt 62
Supply and demand in the "money market" 62-63
Chapter III
COST OF PRODUCTION AND THE VALUE OF MONEY
Types of cost theory: modern cost doctrine is "money costs"
doctrine, and inapplicable to value of money 64
Labor cost: Smith; Ricardo; Ricardo's confession of failure;
"real costs" in Senior and Cairnes; Mill's "money-outlay"
cost doctrine, and Cairnes' criticism; but "money-cost"
has survived 64-67
Because "real cost" doctrine does not square with facts 67-69
"Money-cost" of producing money-metal 69-70
Austrian cost doctrine runs still in money terms, assuming
value, money, and fixed value of money 70-71
"Negative social values" as "real costs" note, 71
CHAPTER IV
THE CAPITALIZATION THEORY AND THE VALUE OF MONEY
Money as "capital good," and "money-rates" as rentals 72-73
Capitalization theory; formula; capital value passive
resultant of annual income and rate of discount 73-74
But in case of money, rental and rate of discount not
independent variables 74-76
And in case of money, capital value not passive shadow,
but active cause of income 76
Capitalization theory assumes money, and fixed value of
money 76-77
Assumed fixed value of money absolute, | 1,103.968828 |
2023-11-16 18:35:28.1968130 | 3,195 | 89 |
Produced by deaurider, 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)
[Illustration: MIEUSEMENT, phot. à Blois LECESNE, éditeur
ROBERT-HOUDIN]
THE OLD AND THE NEW MAGIC
BY
HENRY
RIDGELY
EVANS
ILLUSTRATED
D’rum hab’
ich mich der
Magie ergeben!
INTRODUCTION
BY
DR. PAUL
CARUS
CHICAGO
THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING CO.
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER & CO., LIMITED. LONDON
1906
COPYRIGHT 1906
BY
THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING CO.
CHICAGO
[Illustration]
SKETCH OF HENRY RIDGELY EVANS.
“Henry Ridgely Evans, journalist, author and librarian, was born in
Baltimore, Md., November 7, 1861. He is the son of Henry Cotheal and
Mary (Garrettson) Evans. Through his mother he is descended from the
old colonial families of Ridgely, Dorsey, Worthington and Greenberry,
which played such a prominent part in the annals of early Maryland.
Mr. Evans was educated at the preparatory department of Georgetown
(D. C.) College and at Columbian College, Washington, D. C. He
studied law at the University of Maryland, and began its practice
in Baltimore City; but abandoned the legal profession for the more
congenial avocation of journalism. He served for a number of years
as special reporter and dramatic critic on the ‘Baltimore News,’ and
subsequently became connected with the U. S. Bureau of Education, as
one of the assistant librarians. In 1891 he was married to Florence,
daughter of Alexander Kirkpatrick, of Philadelphia.”—National
Cyclopedia of American Biography.
Mr. Evans is an ardent student of folk-lore, masonic antiquities,
psychical research, and occultism. Many of his writings have been
contributed to the Monist and Open Court. He is the author of a work
on psychical research, entitled “Hours with the Ghosts,” published
in 1897, and many brochures on magic and mysticism, etc.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
Introduction by Dr. Paul Carus ix
History of Natural Magic and Prestidigitation 1
The Chevalier Pinetti 23
Cagliostro: A Study in Charlatanism 42
Ghost-making Extraordinary 87
The Romance of Automata 107
Robert-Houdin: Conjurer, Author and Ambassador 123
Some Old-time Conjurers 160
The Secrets of Second Sight 188
The Confessions of an Amateur Conjurer 201
A Day with Alexander the Great 215
A Twentieth Century Thaumaturgist 237
A Gentleman of Thibet 254
Magicians I Have Met 271
The Riddle of the Sphinx 318
Treweyism 331
{ix}
THE OLD AND THE NEW MAGIC
INTRODUCTION.
BY DR. PAUL CARUS.
The very word magic has an alluring sound, and its practice as an art
will probably never lose its attractiveness for people’s minds. But
we must remember that there is a difference between the old magic
and the new, and that both are separated by a deep chasm, which is a
kind of color line, for though the latter develops from the former
in a gradual and natural course of evolution, they are radically
different in principle, and the new magic is irredeemably opposed to
the assumptions upon which the old magic rests.
Magic originally meant priestcraft. It is probable that the word is
very old, being handed down to us from the Greeks and Romans, who had
received it from the Persians. But they in their turn owe it to the
Babylonians, and the Babylonians to the Assyrians, and the Assyrians
to the Sumero-Akkadians.
_Imga_ in Akkad meant priest, and the Assyrians changed the word to
_maga_, calling their high-priest _Rab-mag_; and considering the
fact that the main business of priests in ancient times consisted in
exorcising, fortune-telling, miracle-working, and giving out oracles,
it seems justifiable to believe that the Persian term, which in
its Latin version is _magus_, is derived from the Chaldæan and is
practically the same; for the connotation of a wise man endowed with
supernatural powers has always been connected with the word _magus_,
and even to-day magician means wizard, sorcerer, or miracle-worker.
{x}
While the belief in, and practice of, magic are not entirely absent
in the civilization of Israel, we find that the leaders of orthodox
thought had set their faces against it, at least as it appeared in
its crudest form, and went so far as to persecute sorcerers with fire
and sword.
[Illustration: SAUL AND THE WITCH OF ENDOR. (After Schnorr von
Carolsfeld.)]
We read in the Bible that when the Lord “multiplied his signs”
in Egypt, he sent Moses and Aaron to Pharaoh to turn their rods
into serpents, that the Egyptian magicians vied with them in
the performance, but that Aaron’s rod swallowed up their rods,
demonstrating thus Aaron’s superiority. It is an interesting fact
that the snake charmers of Egypt perform to-day a similar feat, which
consists in paralyzing a snake so as to render it motionless. The
snake then looks like a stick, but is not rigid. {xi}
[Illustration: JESUS CASTING OUT DEVILS (After Schnorr von
Carolsfeld.)
Symbolizing Christ’s power even over demons, according to the view of
early Christianity.]
[Illustration: CHRIST WITH THE WAND.
From a Christian Sarcophagus.†
† Reproduced from Mrs. Jameson’s and Lady Eastlake’s _History of our
Lord_, London, 1872, Longmans, Green & Co., Vol. I., pp. 347 and 349.]
{xii}
How tenacious the idea is that religion is and must be magic, appears
from the fact that even Christianity shows traces of it. In fact,
the early Christians (who, we must remember, recruited their ranks
from the lowly in life) looked upon Christ as a kind of magician,
and all his older pictures show him with a magician’s wand in his
hand. The resurrection of Lazarus, the change of water into wine, the
miracle of the loaves and fishes, the healing of diseases by casting
out devils, and kindred miracles, according to the notions of those
centuries, are performed after the fashion of sorcerers.
[Illustration]
The adjoined illustration, one of the oldest representations of
Christ, has been reproduced from Rossi’s _Roma Sotterranea_ (II,
Table 14). It is a fresco of the catacombs, discovered in the St.
Callisto Chapel, and is dated by Franz Xaver Kraus (_Geschichte
der christlichen Kunst, I, p. 153_) at the beginning of the third
century. Jesus holds in his left hand the scriptures, while his right
hand grasps the wand with which he performs the miracle. Lazarus
is represented as a mummy, while one of his sisters kneels at the
Saviour’s feet.
Goethe introduces the belief in magic into the very plot of Faust. In
his despair at never finding the key to the world-problem in science,
which, as he thinks, does not offer what we need, but useless truisms
only, Faust hopes to find the royal road to knowledge by supernatural
methods. He says:
“Therefore, from Magic I seek assistance,
That many a secret perchance I reach
Through spirit-power and spirit-speech,
And thus the bitter task forego
Of saying the things I do not know,—
That I may detect the inmost force
Which binds the world, and guides its course;
Its germs, productive powers explore,
And rummage in empty words no more!”
{xiii}
[Illustration: MOSES AND AARON PERFORMING THE MIRACLE OF THE SERPENTS
BEFORE PHARAOH
(After Schnorr von Carolsfeld.)]
[Illustration: THE EGYPTIAN SNAKE NAJA HAJE MADE MOTIONLESS BY
PRESSURE UPON THE NECK
(Reproduced from Verworn after Photographs.)]
{xiv}
Faust follows the will o’ the wisp of pseudo-science, and so finds
his efforts to gain useful knowledge balked. He turns agnostic and
declares that we cannot know anything worth knowing. He exclaims:
“That which we do not know is dearly needed;
And what we need we do not know.”
And in another place:
“I see that nothing can be known.”
But, having acquired a rich store of experience, Faust, at the end
of his career, found out that the study of nature is not a useless
rummage in empty words, and became converted to science. His ideal is
a genuinely scientific view of nature. He says:
“Not yet have I my liberty made good:
So long as I can’t banish magic’s fell creations
And totally unlearn the incantations.
Stood I, O Nature, as a man in thee,
Then were it worth one’s while a man to be.
And such was I ere I with the occult conversed,
And ere so wickedly the world I cursed.”
To be a man in nature and to fight one’s way to liberty is a much
more dignified position than to go lobbying to the courts of the
celestials and to beg of them favors. Progress does not pursue a
straight line, but moves in spirals or epicycles. Periods of daylight
are followed by nights of superstition. So it happened that in the
first and second decades of the nineteenth century the rationalism
of the eighteenth century waned, not to make room for a higher
rationalism, but to suffer the old bugbears of ghosts and hobgoblins
to reappear in a reactionary movement. Faust (expressing here
Goethe’s own ideas) continues:
“Now fills the air so many a haunting shape,
That no one knows how best he may escape.
What though the day with rational splendor beams,
The night entangles us in webs of dreams.
By superstition constantly ensnared,
It spooks, gives warnings, is declared.
Intimidated thus we stand alone.
The portal jars, yet entrance is there none.”
{xv}
The aim of man is his liberty and independence. As soon as we
understand that there are no spooks that must be conciliated by
supplications and appeased, but that we stand in nature from which we
have grown in constant interaction between our own aspirations and
the natural forces regulated by law, we shall have confidence in our
own faculties, which can be increased by investigation and a proper
comprehension of conditions, and we shall no longer look beyond but
around. Faust says:
“A fool who to the Beyond his eyes directeth
And over the clouds a place of peers detecteth.
Firm must man stand and look around him well,
The world means something to the capable.”
This manhood of man, to be gained by science through the conquest
of all magic, is the ideal which the present age is striving to
attain, and the ideal has plainly been recognized by leaders of human
progress. The time has come for us “to put away childish things,” and
to relinquish the beliefs and practices of the medicine-man.
The old magic is sorcery, or, considering the impossibility of
genuine sorcery, the attempt to practise sorcery. It is based upon
the pre-scientific world-conception, which in its primitive stage is
called animism, imputing to nature a spiritual life analogous to our
own spirit, and peopling the world with individual personalities,
spirits, ghosts, goblins, gods, devils, ogres, gnomes and fairies.
The old magic stands in contrast to science; it endeavors to
transcend human knowledge by supernatural methods and is based
upon the hope of working miracles by the assistance of invisible
presences or intelligences, who, according to this belief, could
be forced or coaxed by magic into an alliance. The savage believes
that the evil influence of the powers of nature can be averted by
charms or talismans, and their aid procured by proper incantations,
conjurations and prayers.
The world-conception of the savage is long-lingering, and its
influence does not subside instantaneously with the first appearance
of science. The Middle Ages are full of magic, and the belief in it
has not died out to this day.
The old magic found a rival in science and has in all its aspects,
in religion as well as in occultism, in mysticism and obscurantism,
treated science as its hereditary enemy. It is now {xvi} succumbing
in the fight, but in the meantime a new magic has originated and
taken the place of the old, performing miracles as wonderful as those
of the best conjurers of former days, nay, more wonderful; yet these
miracles are accomplished with the help of science and without the
least pretense of supernatural power.
The new magic originated from the old magic when the belief in
sorcery began to break down in the eighteenth century, which is the
dawn of rationalism and marks the epoch since which mankind has been
systematically working out a scientific world-conception.
In primitive society religion is magic, and priests are magicians.
The savage would think that if the medicine-man could not work
miracles there would be no use for religion. Religion, however, does
not disappear with the faith in the medicine-man’s power. When magic
becomes discredited by science, religion is purified. We must know,
though, that religious reforms of this kind are not accomplished
at once, but come on gradually in slow process of evolution, first
by disappointment and then in exultation at the thought that the
actualities of science are higher, nobler and better than the dreams
of superstition, even if they were possible, and thus it appears that
science comes to fulfil, not to destroy.
Science has | 1,104.216853 |
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Produced by Emmy, 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)
[Illustration: _Robert Emmet._
AET XXV.]
ROBERT EMMET
A SURVEY OF HIS REBELLION
AND OF HIS ROMANCE
BY
LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY
WITH A PORTRAIT
OF
ROBERT EMMET
LONDON
DAVID NUTT, 57-59 LONG ACRE
1904
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
_To_
LIONEL JOHNSON
_in the Land of the Living to remind him of
old thoughts and of things once dear_
PREFATORY NOTE
THE following unscientific monograph, a sort of little historical
descant, is founded upon all the accurate known literature of the
subject, and also largely on the Hardwicke MSS. These, in so far as
they relate to Emmet, the writer was first to consult and have copied,
last winter, before they were catalogued. But while these sheets were
in press, several interesting fragments from the MSS. appeared in
the _Cornhill Magazine_ for September, 1903, thus forestalling their
present use. This discovery will condone the writer’s innocent claim,
made on page 60, of printing the two letters there as unpublished
matter.
The portrait is after Brocas’s hurried court-room sketch, made the day
before the execution. The original print is in the Joly Collection of
the National Library of Ireland. The head is too sharp and narrow, and
yet it bears a marked resemblance, far exceeding that of either of the
other portraits, to some of Robert Emmet’s collateral descendants. On
such good _à posteriori_ evidence it was chosen.
Oxford, _Dec. 9, 1903_.
ROBERT EMMET
A SURVEY OF HIS REBELLION AND OF HIS ROMANCE
THE four who lived to grow up of the seventeen children born to
Robert Emmet, M.D., of Cork, later of Dublin, and Elizabeth Mason,
his wife, were all, in their way, persons of genius. The Emmets
were of Anglo-Norman stock, Protestants, settled for centuries in
Ireland. The Masons, of like English origin, had merged it in repeated
alliances with women of Kerry, where the Dane, the Norman, and later
invaders from nearer quarters had never settled down to perturb the
ancient Celtic social stream. Dr. Emmet was a man of clear brain
and incorruptible honour. The mother of his children, to judge by
her letters, many of which have been privately printed, must have
been an exquisite being, high-minded, religious, loving, humorous,
wise. Her eldest surviving son, Christopher Temple Emmet, was named
for his two paternal grandparents, Christopher Emmet of Tipperary
and Rebecca Temple, great-great-granddaughter of the first Baronet
Temple of Stowe, in Buckinghamshire. The mention of that prolific,
wide-branching, and extraordinary family of Temple as forebears of the
younger Emmets is like a sharply accented note in a musical measure.
It has never been played for what it is worth; no annalist has tracked
certain Emmet qualities to this perfectly obvious ancestral source.
The Temples had not only, in this case, the bygone responsibility to
bear, for in a marked manner they kept on influencing their Emmet
contemporaries, as in one continuous mood thought engenders thought.
Says Mr. James Hannay: “The distinctive ηθος of the Temples has been
a union of more than usual of the kind of talent which makes men of
letters, with more than usual of the kind of talent which makes men
of affairs.” The Emmets, too, shared the “distinctive ηθος” in the
highest degree. Added to the restless two-winged intelligence, they
had the heightened soberness, the moral elevation, which formed no
separate inheritance. The Temples were, and are, a race of subtle but
somewhat austere imagination, strongly inclined to republicanism, and
to that individualism which is the norm of it. The Temple influence in
eighteenth-century Ireland was, obliquely, the American influence: a
new and heady draught at that time, a “draught of intellectual day.” If
we seek for those unseen agencies which are so much more operative than
mere descent, we cover a good deal of ground in remembering that Robert
Emmet the patriot came of the same blood as Sidney’s friend, Cromwell’s
chaplain, and Dorothy Osborne’s leal and philosophic husband. And he
shared not only the Temple idiosyncrasy, but, unlike his remarkable
brothers, the thin, dark, aquiline Temple face.
Rebecca Temple, only daughter of Thomas, a baronet’s son, married
Christopher Emmet in 1727, brought the dynastic names, Robert and
Thomas, into the Emmet family, and lived in the house of her son, the
Dublin physician, until her death in 1774, when her grandchildren,
Temple and Thomas Addis, were aged thirteen and ten, Robert being
yet unborn. Her protracted life and genial character would have
strengthened the relations, always close, with the Temple kin. Her
brother Robert had gone in his youth from Ireland to Boston, where
his father was long resident; and there he married a Temple cousin.
This Captain Robert Temple died on April 13, 1754, “at his seat, Ten
Hills, at Boston, in New England.” His three sons, the eldest of whom,
succeeding his great-grandfather, became afterwards Sir John Temple,
eighth Baronet of Stowe, all settled in New England and married
daughters of the Bowdoin, Shirley, and Whipple families—good wives
and clever women. John Temple had been “a thorough Whig all through
the Revolution,” and had | 1,104.324257 |
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Produced by Al Haines
THE
BRAIN OF AN ARMY
A POPULAR ACCOUNT
OF THE
GERMAN GENERAL STAFF
BY
SPENSER WILKINSON
NEW EDITION
WITH LETTERS FROM
COUNT MOLTKE AND LORD ROBERTS
WESTMINSTER
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE
& CO 1895
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
_THE COMMAND OF THE SEA_
_THE BRAIN OF A NAVY_
_THE GREAT ALTERNATIVE_
_and in conjunction with_
SIR CHARLES W. DILKE, BART.
_IMPERIAL DEFENCE_
[Transcriber's note: the errata items below have been applied to this
text.]
ERRATA.
page 9, line 6 for _have_ read _has_
page 10, line 21, for _occasion_ read _occasions_
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
Six years ago a Royal Commission, under the presidency of Lord
Hartington, was known to be inquiring into the administration of the
national defence. There was much talk in the newspapers about the
Prussian staff, and many were the advocates of its imitation in this
country. Very few of those who took part in the discussions seemed to
know what the Prussian staff was, and I thought it might be useful to
the Royal Commission and to the public to have a true account of that
institution, written in plain English, so that any one could understand
it. The essay was published on the 11th of February, 1890, the day on
which the Report of Lord Hartington's Commission was signed.
The essential feature of the Prussian staff system consists in the
classification of duties out of which it has arisen. Every general in
the field requires a number of assistants, collectively forming his
staff, to relieve him of matters of detail, to act as his confidential
secretaries, and to represent him at places where he cannot be himself.
The duties of command are so multifarious that some consistent
distribution of functions among the officers of a large staff is
indispensable. In Prussia this distribution is based on a thoroughly
rational and practical principle. The general's work is subdivided
into classes, according as it is concerned with administration and
discipline or with the direction of the operations against the enemy.
All that belongs to administration and discipline is put upon one side
of a dividing line, and upon the other side all that directly affects
the preparation for or the management of the fighting--in technical
language, all that falls within the domain of strategy and tactics.
The officers entrusted with the personal assistance of the general in
this latter group of duties are in Prussia called his "general staff."
They are specially trained in the art of conducting operations against
an enemy, that is in the specific function of generalship, which has
thus in the Prussian army received more systematic attention than in
any other. In the British army the assistants of a general are also
grouped into classes for the performance of specific functions in his
relief. But the grouping of duties is accidental, and follows no
principle. It has arisen by chance, and been stereotyped by usage.
The officers of a staff belong to the adjutant-general's branch or to
the quartermaster-general's branch, but no rational criterion exists by
which to discover whether a particular function falls to one branch or
to the other. That this is an evil is evident, because it is manifest
that there can be no scientific training for a group of duties which
have no inherent affinity with one another. The evil has long been
felt, for the attempt has been made to remedy it by amalgamating the
two branches in order to sever them again upon a rational plane of
cleavage.
But while the essence of the Prussian general staff lies deeply
embedded in the organization of the Prussian army, the interest of the
general public has been attracted by the fact that the great strategist
to whom the victories of 1866 and 1870 are ascribed was not the
commander of the Prussian army, but merely the chief of the general
staff of a royal commander-in-chief. It may well be doubted whether
this feature of the Prussian system is suitable for imitation
elsewhere. The Germans themselves evidently regard it as accidental
rather than essential, for in organizing their navy they have, after
much experiment and deliberation, adopted a different plan. They have
appointed their chosen admiral to be, not chief of the staff to an
Emperor who in war, as he takes the field with the army, cannot
undertake the command of the navy, but to be "the commanding admiral."
I refrained in the first edition of this essay from drawing from the
German institution which it describes a moral to be applied to the
British army, and was content with a warning against overhasty
imitation. At that time the nature of the relation between Moltke and
the King was still to some extent veiled in official language, and
nothing so far as I am aware had been published which allowed the facts
to rest upon well authenticated, direct evidence as distinguished from
inference. Since then the posthumous publication of Moltke's private
correspondence,[1] and of the first instalment of his military
correspondence,[2] has thrown a flood of light upon the whole subject.
I had the good fortune to be furnished with an earlier clue. As soon
as my essay was ready for the press I ventured to send a proof to Count
Moltke, with a request that he would allow me in a dedication to couple
his name with studies of which his work had been the subject. He was
good enough to reply in a letter of which the following is a
translation:--
BERLIN, January 20, 1890.
DEAR SIR,--
I have read your essay on the German general staff with great interest.
I am glad that on p. 63 you dispose of the ever-recurring legend
according to which before every important decision a council of war is
assembled. I can assure you that in 1866 and in 1870-71 a council of
war was never called.
If the commander after consultation with his authorized adviser feels
the need of asking others what he ought to do, the command is in weak
hands.
If King William I. ever really used the expression attributed to him on
p. 58, he did himself a great injustice. The king judged the
perpetually changing military situation with an uncommonly clear eye.
He was much more than "a great strategist." It was he who took upon
himself an immeasurable responsibility, and for the conduct of an army
character weighs more than knowledge and science. I think your
excellent work would lose nothing if that passage were omitted.
You touch on p. 112[3] upon the relation between the commander and the
statesman. Neither of the two can set up for himself in advance a goal
to be certainly reached. The plan of campaign modifies itself after
the first great collision with the enemy. Success or failure in a
battle occasions operations originally not intended. On the other hand
the final claims of the statesman will be very different according as
he has to reckon with defeats or with a series of uninterrupted
victories. In the course of the campaign the balance between the
military will and the considerations of diplomacy can be held only by
the supreme authority.
It has not escaped your penetration that a general staff cannot be
improvised on the outbreak of war, that it must be prepared long
beforehand in peace, and be in practical activity and in close
intercourse with the troops. But even that is not enough. It must
know who is to be its future commander, must be in communication with
him and gain his confidence, without which its position is untenable.
Great is the advantage if the head of the State is also the leader in
war. He knows his general staff and his troops, and is known by them.
In such armies there are no pronunciamentoes.
The constitution, however, does not in every country admit of placing
the head of the State at the head of the army. If the Government will
and can select in advance the most qualified general for the post, that
officer must also be given during peace the authority to influence the
troops and their leaders and to create an understanding between himself
and his general staff. This chosen general will seldom be the minister
of war, who during the whole war is indispensable at home, where all
the threads of administration come together.
You have expressed the kind intention of dedicating your interesting
essay to me, but I suggest that you should consider whether without
such a dedication it would not still better preserve the character of
perfectly independent judgment.
With best thanks for your kind communication,
I am, dear sir, yours very truly,
COUNT MOLTKE,
Field Marshal.
It was hardly possible for Moltke, bound as he was by his own high
position, to have expressed more plainly his opinion of the kind of
reform needed in the British army, nor to have better illustrated than
by that opinion the precise nature of his own work.[4]
With Moltke's view that the peculiar position which he held was not
necessarily the model best suited for the circumstances of the British
army it is interesting to compare the judgment expressed quite
independently by Lord Roberts, who kindly allows me to publish the
following letter:--
SIMLA,
11_th September_, 1891.
DEAR MR. WILKINSON,--
I am much obliged to you for so kindly sending me _The Brain of an
Army_ and the other military works which reached me two or three mails
ago. Some of the books I had seen before, and _The Brain of an Army_ I
had often heard of, and meant to study whenever sufficient leisure was
vouchsafed to me, which, alas! is but seldom. I have now read it with
great interest.
One point that strikes me is the strong inclination evinced at present
to assume that the German system of apportioning the duties of command
and staff is deserving of universal adoption because under exceptional
circumstances, and with quite an exceptional man to act as head of the
Staff, it proved eminently successful in the wars between Prussia and
Austria and Prussia and France.
The idea of a Chief of the Staff who is to regulate the preparations
for and the operations during a campaign, and who is to possess a
predominant influence in determining the military policy of a nation,
is quite opposed to the views of some of the ablest commanders and
strategists, as summarized at pages 17 and 18 of Home's _Précis of
Modern Tactics_, Edition 1882; and I doubt whether any really competent
general or Commander-in-Chief would contentedly acquiesce in the
dissociation of command and responsibility which the German procedure
necessarily entails. That Von Moltke was the virtual
Commander-in-Chief of the German forces during the wars in question,
and that the nominal commanders had really very little to say to the
movements they were called upon to execute, seems to be clearly proved
by the third volume of the Field Marshal's writings, reviewed in _The
Times_ of the 21st August last. Von Moltke was a soldier of
extraordinary ability, he acted in the Emperor's name, the orders he
initiated were implicitly obeyed, and the military machine worked
smoothly. But had the orders not been uniformly judicious, had a check
or reverse been experienced, and had one or more of the subordinate
commanders possessed greater capacity and resolution than the Chief of
the Staff, the result might have been very different.
In military nations a Chief of the Staff of the German type may perhaps
be essential, more especially when, as in Germany, the Emperor is the
head of the Army and its titular Commander-in-Chief. The reasons for
this are that, in the first place, he may not possess the qualities
required in a Commander-in-Chief who has to lead the Army in war; and
in the second place, even if he does possess those qualities, there are
so many other matters connected with the civil administration of his
own country, and with its political relations towards other countries,
that the time of a King or Emperor may be too fully occupied to admit
of his devoting that exclusive attention to military matters which is
so necessary in a Commander-in-Chief, if he desires to have an
efficient Army. A Chief of the Staff then becomes essential; he is
indeed the Commander-in-Chief.
In a small army like ours, however, where the Commander-in-Chief is a
soldier by profession, I am inclined to think that a Chief of the Staff
is not required in the same way as he is in Germany. With us, the man
of the stamp sketched in chapter iv. of _The Brain of an Army_ should
be the head of the Army--the Commander-in-Chief to whom every one in
the Army looks up, and whom every one on service trusts implicitly.
The note at page 12 [61] of your little book expresses my meaning
exactly. Blucher required a Scharnhorst or a Gneisenau "to keep him
straight," but would it not have been better, as suggested in your
note, "to have given Scharnhorst and Gneisenau the actual command"?
I think, too, that an Emperor or King would be more likely than a man
of inferior social standing to take the advice of a Chief of the Staff.
The former would be so immeasurably above all those about him that he
could afford to listen to advice--as the Emperor of Germany undoubtedly
did to that of Von Moltke on the occasion mentioned in the note at page
14 [64]. But the Commander of about much the same standing socially as
his Chief of the Staff, and possibly not much the latter's senior in
the Army, would be apt to resent what he might consider uncalled-for
interference; and this would be specially the case if he were of a
narrow-minded, obstinate disposition. Indeed, I think that such a
feeling would be almost sure to arise, unless the Commander-in-Chief
were one of those easy-going, soft natures which ought never to be
placed in such a high position.
My personal experience is, of course, very slight, but I have been a
Commander with a Chief of the Staff, and I have been (in a very small
way) the Chief of the Staff to a Commander, with whom I was sent "to
keep him straight." It was not a pleasant position, and one which I
should not like to fill a second time. In my own Chief of the Staff
(the late Sir Charles Macgregor) I was particularly fortunate; he was
of the greatest possible assistance to me; but without thinking myself
narrow-minded and obstinate, I should have objected if he had acted as
if he were "at the head of the Army."
I have been referring hitherto more to war than peace, but even in
peace time I doubt if a Chief of the Staff of the German type is
suitable to our organization, and to the comparative smallness of our
army. In war time it might easily lead to disaster. The less capacity
possessed by the nominal Commander-in-Chief the greater might be his
obstinacy, and the more capacity he possessed the more he would resent
anything which might savour of interference. Altogether I think that
the office of Chief of the Staff, as understood in Germany, might
easily be made impossible under the conditions of our service. My
opinion is that the Army Head-Quarters Staff are capable of doing
exactly the same work as the Grand General Staff of the German Army
perform, and that there is no need to upset our present system. We
have only to bring the Intelligence and Mobilization Departments more
closely into communication with, and into subordination to, the
Adjutant-General and Quarter-Master-General, as is now being done in
India with the best results.
You will understand that the foregoing remarks are based on the
assumption that in the British Service the office of Commander-in-Chief
is held by the soldier who, from his abilities and experience, has
commended himself to the Government as being best qualified to organize
the Army for war, and if requisite to take command in the field. If,
however, for reasons of State it is thought desirable to approximate
our system to the German system in the selection of the head of the
Army, it might become necessary to appoint a Chief of the Staff of the
German type to act as the responsible military adviser of the
Commander-in-Chief and the Cabinet. But in this case the
responsibility of the Officer in question should be fully recognised
and clearly defined.
Believe me,
Yours very truly,
FRED ROBERTS.
To SPENSER WILKINSON, Esq.
The Report of Lord Hartington's Commission, which appeared in the
spring of 1890, seemed to justify the apprehension which had caused me
to write, for it recommended the creation, under the name of a general
staff, of a department bearing little resemblance to the model which it
professed to copy. The Commission, however, was in a most awkward
dilemma. It was confronted in regard to the command of the army with
two problems, one of which was administrative, the other
constitutional. The public was anxious to have an army efficient for
its purpose of fighting the enemies of Great Britain. The statesmen on
the Commission were intent upon having an army obedient to the
Government. The tradition that the command of the army being a royal
prerogative could be exercised otherwise than through the constituted
advisers of the Crown was not in practice altogether extinct. It can
hardly be doubted that the Commission was right in wishing to establish
the principle that the army is a branch of the public service,
administered and governed under the authority of the Cabinet in
precisely the same way as the post office. No other theory is possible
in the England of our day. But the attempt to make the theory into the
practice touched certain susceptibilities which it was felt ought to be
respected, and the Commission perhaps attached more importance to this
kind of consideration than to the necessity of preparing the war office
for war.
It was no doubt of the first importance to guard against the recurrence
of a state of things in which all attempts to bring the army into
harmony with the needs of the time and of the nation were frustrated by
an authority not entirely amenable to the control of the Secretary of
State. Not less important, however, was the requirement that any
change by which this result, in itself so desirable, might be attained
should at the same time contribute to the supreme end of readiness for
conflict with any of the Great Powers whose rivalry with Great Britain
has in recent times become so acute.
In the war of which a part is examined in the following pages a chief
of the staff is seen drafting the orders by which the whole army is
guided. He has no authority; the orders are issued in the name of the
commander,--that is in Prussia, of the king. When, as was the case in
1866 and in 1870-1, the king shows his entire confidence in the chief
of the staff by invariably accepting his drafts, the direction of the
army, the generalship of the campaign, is really the work of the chief
of the staff, though that officer has never had a command, and has been
sheltered throughout under the authority of another. The generalship
or strategy of the campaigns of 1866 and 1870-1 was Moltke's, and
Moltke's alone, and no one has borne more explicit testimony to this
fact than the king. At the same time no one has more emphasized the
other fact, that he was covered by the king's responsibility, than
Moltke himself.
The work of generalship can rarely be given to any one but the
commander of an army. When the commander owes his position to other
than military considerations, as is the case in Prussia, where the king
is born to be commander-in-chief as he is born to be king, he is wise
to select a good professional general to do the work. But where a
government is free to choose its commander, that officer will wish to
do his own work himself, and will resent the suggestion that an
assistant should prompt and guide him. The Hartington Commission
proposed at the same time to abolish the office of commander-in-chief,
and to create that of a "chief of the staff." This new officer was to
advise the Secretary of State--that is, the Government--upon all the
most important military questions. He was to discuss the strength and
distribution of the army, and the defence of the Empire; to plan the
general arrangements for defence, and to shape the estimates according
to his plan. In a word, he was to perform many of the most important
duties of a commander-in-chief. But he was to be the adviser or
assistant, not of a military commander, but of a civilian
governor-general of the army.
An army cannot be directed in war nor commanded in peace under the
immediate authority of a civilian. There must be a military commander,
the obedient servant of the Government, supported by the Government in
the exercise of his powers to discipline and direct the army, and
sheltered by the Government against all such criticism as would weaken
his authority or diminish its own responsibility. The scheme
propounded by the Hartington Commission evaded the cardinal question
which has to be settled: that of the military command of the army in
war. War cannot be carried on unless full and undivided authority is
given to the general entrusted by the Government with the conduct of
the military operations. That officer will necessarily be liable to
account to the Government for all that is done, for the design and for
its execution.
The Report of the Commission made no provision whatever for the command
of the army in war. The proposed "chief of the staff" was to be
entrusted during peace with the duty of the design of operations. Had
the Commission's scheme been adopted, the Government would, upon the
near approach of war, still have had to select its commander. The
selection must fall either upon the "chief of the staff" or upon some
other person. But no general worth his salt will be found to stake his
own reputation and the fate of the nation upon the execution of designs
supplied to him at second-hand. No man with a particle of self-respect
would undertake the defence of his country upon the condition that he
should conduct it upon a plan as to which he had never been consulted,
and which, at the time of his appointment, it was too late to modify.
Accordingly, if the scheme of the Commission had been adopted, it would
have been necessary to entrust the command in war to the officer who
during peace had been chief of the staff. But this officer being in
peace out of all personal relation with the army could not have the
moral authority which is indispensable for its command. The scheme of
the Hartington Commission could therefore not be adopted, except at the
risk of disaster in the event of war.
While I am revising the proof of this preface come the announcements,
first, that Lord Wolseley is to succeed the Duke of Cambridge, and,
secondly, that though the title of Commander-in-Chief is to be
retained, the duties attaching to the office are to be modified and its
authority diminished.
The proposed changes in the status of the Commander-in-Chief show that
the present Government is suffering from the pressure of an anxiety
exactly like that which paralysed Lord Hartington's Commission, while
from the speeches in which the new scheme has been explained the idea
of war is altogether absent. The Government contemplates depriving the
Commander-in-Chief of his authority over the Adjutant-General and the
Quartermaster-General, as well as over the heads of some other military
departments.
The Adjutant-General's department embraces among other matters all that
directly concerns the discipline, training, and education of the army;
while such business as the quartering and movements of troops passes
through the office of the Quartermaster-General. These officers are to
become the direct subordinates of the Secretary of State. In other
words, the staff at the headquarters of the army is to be the staff,
not of the nominal Commander-in-Chief, but of the Secretary of State,
who is thus to be made the real Commander-in-Chief of the army.
This is evidently a momentous change, not to be lightly or rashly
approved or condemned. The first duty is to discover, if possible, the
motives by which the Government is actuated in proposing it. Mr.
Balfour, speaking in the House of Commons on the 31st of August,
explained the view of the Government.
"What," he said, "is the substance and essence of the criticisms passed
by the Harrington Commission upon the War Office system, which has now
been in force in this country for many years? The essence of the
criticisms of the Commissioners was that by having a single
Commander-in-Chief, through whom, and through whom alone, army opinion,
army matters, and army advice would come to the Secretary of State for
War, you were, in the first place, throwing upon the Commander-in-Chief
a burden which no single individual could possibly support; and,
secondly, you were practically destroying the responsibility of the
Secretary of State for War, who nominally is the head of the
department. If you put the Secretary of State for War in direct
communication with the Commander-in-Chief alone, I do not see how the
Secretary of State for War can be anything else than the administrative
puppet of the great soldier who is at the head of the army. He may
come down to the House and express the views of that great officer, but
if he is to take official advice from the Commander-in-Chief alone it
is absolutely impossible that the Secretary of State should be really
responsible, and in this House the Secretary of State will be no more
than the mouthpiece of the Commander-in-Chief."
Mr. Balfour's first point is that the burden thrown upon a single
Commander-in-Chief is too great for one man to bear. Marlborough,
Wellington or Napoleon would, perhaps, hardly have accepted this view.
But supposing it were true, the remedy proposed is infinitely worse
than the disease. In 1887 the Royal Commission, over which the late
Sir James Stephen presided, examined with judicial impartiality the
duties of the Secretary of State for War. That Commission in its
report wrote as follows:--
"The first part of the system to be considered is the Secretary of
State. On him we have to observe, _first_, that the scope of his
duties is immense; _secondly_, that he performs them under extreme
disadvantages. He is charged with five separate great functions, any
one of which would be sufficient to occupy the whole time of a man of
first-rate industry, ability, and knowledge.
"_First_, he is a member of the Cabinet, and a Member of Parliament, in
which capacity he has to give his attention, not only to the matters of
his own department, but to all the leading political questions of the
day. He has to take part in debates on the great topics of discussion,
and on many occasions to speak upon them in his place in Parliament.
"_Secondly_, he is the head, as has been already observed, of the
political department of the army. He may have to consider, and that at
the shortest notice, the whole conduct of a war; all the important
points connected with an expedition to any part of the globe; political
questions like the abolition of purchase; legislative questions like
the Discipline Act, and many others of the same kind.
"_Thirdly_, he is the head of the Ordnance Department, which includes
all the questions relating to cannon, small arms, and ammunition, and
all the questions that arise upon the management of four great
factories, and the care of an enormous mass of stores of every
description.
"_Fourthly_, he has to deal with all the questions connected with
fortifications and the commissariat.
"_Fifthly_, he is responsible for framing the Military Estimates, which
override all the other departments, and regulate the expenditure of
from £16,000,000 to £18,000,000 of public money.
"It is morally and physically impossible that any one man should
discharge all these functions in a satisfactory manner. No one man
could possess either the time or the strength or the knowledge which
would be indispensable for that purpose; but even if such a physical
and intellectual prodigy were to be found, he would have to do his duty
under disadvantages which would reduce him practically to impotence."
If, then, the Commander-in-Chief is overburdened, it is at least
certain that the right way to relieve him cannot possibly consist in
adding to the functions of the Secretary of State.
The real point of Mr. Balfour's statement of the case is in what
follows. If you have a single Commander-in-Chief through whom, and
through whom alone, army opinion, army matters, and army advice would
come to the Secretary of State, then, according to Mr. Balfour, you
practically destroy the responsibility of the Secretary of State.
It is a mark of the hastiness of debate that the word responsibility
has crept in here. No word in the political vocabulary is so
dangerous, because none is so ambiguous. Properly speaking, a person
is said to be responsible when he is liable to be called to account for
his acts, a liability which implies that he is free to act in one way
or another. These two aspects of the term, the liability and the
freedom of choice implied, lead to its use in two opposite senses.
Sometimes responsibility means that a man must answer for what he does,
and sometimes that he may do as he pleases without being controlled by
any one. The word is as often as not a synonym for authority. When
Moltke speaks of the "immeasurable responsibility" of the King of
Prussia, he really means that the King took upon himself as his own
acts decisions of the gravest moment which were prompted by his
advisers, and that by so doing he covered them as against the rest of
the world; he did not mean that the King had to account for his conduct
except to his own conscience and at the bar of history. A Secretary of
State for War, in his relations with the army, wields the whole
authority of the Government. The only thing which he cannot do is to
act in opposition to the wishes of his colleagues, for if he did he
would immediately cease to be Secretary of State. As long as they are
agreed with him he is the master of the army. But his liability to be
called to account is infinitely small. The worst that can happen to
him is that if the party to which he belongs should lose its majority
in the House of Commons the Cabinet of which he is a member may have to
resign. That is an event always possible quite apart from his conduct,
and his actions will as a rule not bring it about unless for other
reasons it is already impending. Whenever, therefore, the phrase "the
responsibility of the Secretary of State" occurs, we ought to
substitute for it the more precise words: "the power of the Cabinet to
decide any matter as it pleases, subject to the chance of its losing
its majority."
What Mr. Balfour deprecates is a single Commander-in-Chief, and it is
important to grasp the real nature of his objection. If the whole
business of the army be conceived to be a single department of which
the Commander-in-Chief is the head, so that the authority of the
Secretary of State extends to no other matters than those which lie
within the jurisdiction of the Commander-in-Chief, then undoubtedly the
Secretary of State and the Commander-in-Chief are each of them in a
false position, for one of them is unnecessary. The Secretary of State
must either simply confirm the Commander-in-Chief's decisions, in which
case his position as superior authority is a mere form, or he must
enter into the reasons for and against and decide afresh, in which case
the Commander-in-Chief becomes superfluous. It is bad organization to
have two men, one over the other, both to do the same business.
Mr. Balfour's objection to this arrangement is, however, not that it
sins against the principles of good organization, but that it
practically abolishes the Secretary of State. It leaves the decision
of questions which arise within the War Office and the army in the
hands of a person who is outside the Cabinet. In this way it
diminishes the power of the Cabinet, which rests partly upon the
solidarity of that body, and partly upon the practice by which every
branch of Government business is under the control of one or other of
its members.
Both these objections appear to me to rest upon false premises. I
shall show presently that the duties of the Secretary of State must
necessarily include matters which do not properly come within the scope
of a Commander-in-Chief, and I cannot see how the authority of the
Cabinet to manage the army rationally would be impaired by a War Office
with a military head, the subordinate of the Secretary of State.
But both objections, supposing them to be valid, would be overcome by
making the Commander-in-Chief | 1,104.377506 |
2023-11-16 18:35:29.1593320 | 84 | 10 |
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follows | 1,105.179372 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
The Spoilers
_By_ REX E. BEACH
[Illustration: colophon]
With Four Illustrations
By CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK.
Copyright, 1905, by REX E. BEACH.
_All rights reserved._
Published April, 1906.
THIS BOOK
IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED TO
MY MOTHER
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE ENCOUNTER 1
II. THE STOWAWAY 13
III. IN WHICH GLENISTER ERRS 22
IV. THE KILLING 33
V. WHEREIN A MAN APPEARS 48
VI. AND A MINE IS JUMPED 59
VII. THE “BRONCO KID’S” EAVESDROPPING 68
VIII. DEXTRY MAKES A CALL 80
IX. SLUICE ROBBERS 94
X. THE WIT OF AN ADVENTURESS 107
XI. WHEREIN A WRIT AND A RIOT FAIL 120
XII. COUNTERPLOTS 132
XIII. IN WHICH A MAN IS POSSESSED OF A DEVIL 149
XIV. A MIDNIGHT MESSENGER 168
XV. VIGILANTES 183
XVI. IN WHICH THE TRUTH BEGINS TO BARE ITSELF 201
XVII. THE DRIP OF WATER IN THE DARK 218
XVIII. WHEREIN A TRAP IS BAITED 236
XIX. DYNAMITE 249
XX. IN WHICH THREE GO TO THE SIGN OF THE SLED AND BUT TWO RETURN 268
XXI. THE HAMMER-LOCK 285
XXII. THE PROMISE OF DREAMS 300
THE SPOILERS
CHAPTER I
THE ENCOUNTER
Glenister gazed out over the harbor, agleam with the lights of anchored
ships, then up at the crenelated mountains, black against the sky. He
drank the cool air burdened with its taints of the sea, while the blood
of his boyhood leaped within him.
“Oh, it’s fine--fine,” he murmured, “and this is my country--my country,
after all, Dex. It’s in my veins, this hunger for the North. I grow. I
expand.”
“Careful you don’t bust,” warned Dextry. “I’ve seen men get plumb drunk
on mountain air. Don’t expand too strong in one spot.” He went back
abruptly to his pipe, its villanous fumes promptly averting any danger
of the air’s too tonic quality.
“Gad! What a smudge!” sniffed the younger man. “You ought to be in
quarantine.”
“I’d ruther smell like a man than talk like a kid. You desecrate the
hour of meditation with rhapsodies on nature when your æsthetics ain’t
honed up to the beauties of good tobacco.”
The other laughed, inflating his deep chest. In the gloom he stretched
his muscles restlessly, as though an excess of vigor filled him.
They were lounging upon the dock, while before them lay the _Santa
Maria_ ready for her midnight sailing. Behind slept Unalaska, quaint,
antique, and Russian, rusting amid the fogs of Bering Sea. Where, a week
before, mild-eyed natives had dried their cod among the old bronze
cannon, now a frenzied horde of gold-seekers paused in their rush to the
new El Dorado. They had come like a locust cloud, thousands strong,
settling on the edge of the Smoky Sea, waiting the going of the ice that
barred them from their Golden Fleece--from Nome the new, where men found
fortune in a night.
The mossy hills back of the village were ridged with graves of those who
had died on the out-trip the fall before, when a plague had gripped the
land--but what of that? Gold glittered in the sands, so said the
survivors; therefore men came in armies. Glenister and Dextry had left
Nome the autumn previous, the young man raving with fever. Now they
returned to their own land.
“This air whets every animal instinct in me,” Glenister broke out again.
“Away from the cities I turn savage. I feel the old primitive
passions--the fret for fighting.”
“Mebbe you’ll have a chance.”
“How so?”
“Well, it’s this way. I met Mexico Mullins this mornin’. You mind old
Mexico, don’t you? The feller that relocated Discovery Claim on Anvil
Creek last summer?”
“You don’t mean that ‘tin-horn’ the boys were going to lynch for
claim-jumping?”
“Identical! Remember me tellin’ you about a good turn I done him once
down Guadalupe way?”
“Greaser shooting-scrape, wasn’t it?”
“Yep! Well, I noticed first off that he’s gettin’ fat; high-livin’ fat,
too, all in one spot, like he was playin’ both ends ag’in the centre.
Also he wore di’mon’s fit to handle with ice-tongs.
“Says I, lookin’ at his side elevation, ‘What’s accented your middle
syllable so strong, Mexico?’
“‘Prosperity, politics, an’ the Waldorf-Astorier,’ says he. It seems Mex
hadn’t forgot old days. He claws me into a corner an’ says, ‘Bill, I’m
goin’ to pay you back for that Moralez deal.’
“‘It ain’t comin’ to me,’ says I. ‘That’s a bygone!’
“‘Listen here,’ says he, an’, seein’ he was in earnest, I let him run
on.
“‘How much do you value that claim o’ yourn at?’
“‘Hard tellin’,’ says I. ‘If she holds out like she run last fall,
there’d ought to be a million clear in her.’
“‘How much ’ll you clean up this summer?’
“‘’Bout four hundred thousand, with luck.’
“‘Bill,’ says he, ‘there’s hell a-poppin’ an’ you’ve got to watch that
ground like you’d watch a rattle-snake. Don’t never leave ’em get a grip
on it or you’re down an’ out.’
“He was so plumb in earnest it scared me up, ’cause Mexico ain’t a gabby
man.
“‘What do you mean?’ says I.
“‘I can’t tell you nothin’ more. I’m puttin’ a string on my own neck,
sayin’ _this_ much. You’re a square man, Bill, an’ I’m a gambler, but
you saved my life oncet, an’ I wouldn’t steer you wrong. For God’s sake,
don’t let ’em jump your ground, that’s all.’
“‘Let who jump it? Congress has give us judges an’ courts an’
marshals--’ I begins.
“‘That’s just it. How you goin’ to buck that hand? Them’s the best cards
in the deck. There’s a man comin’ by the name of McNamara. Watch him
clost. I can’t tell you no more. But don’t never let ’em get a grip on
your ground.’ That’s all he’d say.”
“Bah! He’s crazy! I wish somebody would try to jump the Midas; we’d
enjoy the exercise.”
The siren of the _Santa Maria_ interrupted, its hoarse warning throbbing
up the mountain.
“We’ll have to get aboard,” said Dextry.
“Sh-h! What’s that?” the other whispered.
At first the only sound they heard was a stir from the deck of the
steamer. Then from the water below them came the rattle of rowlocks and
a voice cautiously muffled.
“Stop! Stop there!”
A skiff burst from the darkness, grounding on the beach beneath. A
figure scrambled out and up the ladder leading to the wharf. Immediately
a second boat, plainly in pursuit of the first one, struck on the beach
behind it.
As the escaping figure mounted to their level the watchers perceived
with amazement that it was a young woman. Breath sobbed from her lungs,
and, stumbling, she would have fallen but for Glenister, who ran forward
and helped her to her feet.
“Don’t let them get me,” she panted.
He turned to his partner in puzzled inquiry, but found that the old man
had crossed to the head of the landing ladder up which the pursuers were
climbing.
“Just a minute--you there! Back up or I’ll kick your face in.” Dextry’s
voice was sharp and unexpected, and in the darkness he loomed tall and
menacing to those below.
“Get out of the way. That woman’s a runaway,” came from the one highest
on the ladder.
“So I jedge.”
“She broke qu--”
“Shut up!” broke in another. “Do you want to advertise it? Get out of
the way, there, ye damn fool! Climb up, Thorsen.” He spoke like a bucko
mate, and his words stirred the bile of Dextry.
Thorsen grasped the dock floor, trying to climb up, but the old miner
stamped on his fingers and the sailor loosened his hold with a yell,
carrying the under men with him to the beach in his fall.
“This way! Follow me!” shouted the mate, making up the bank for the
shore end of the wharf.
“You’d better pull your freight, miss,” Dextry remarked; “they’ll be
here in a minute.”
“Yes, yes! Let us go! I must get aboard the _Santa Maria_. She’s leaving
now. Come, come!”
Glenister laughed, as though there were a humorous touch in her remark,
but did not stir.
“I’m gettin’ awful old an’ stiff to run,” said Dextry, removing his
mackinaw, “but I allow I ain’t too old for a little diversion in the way
of a rough-house when it comes nosin’ around.” He moved lightly, though
the girl could see in the half-darkness that his hair was silvery.
“What do you mean?” she questioned, sharply.
“You hurry along, miss; we’ll toy with ’em till you’re aboard.” They
stepped across to the dock-house, backing against it. The girl followed.
Again came the warning blast from the steamer, and the voice of an
officer:
“Clear away that stern line!”
“Oh, we’ll be left!” she breathed, and somehow it struck Glenister that
she feared this more than the men whose approaching feet he heard.
“_You_ can make it all right,” he urged her, roughly. “You’ll get hurt
if you stay here. Run along and don’t mind us. We’ve been thirty days on
shipboard, and were praying for something to happen.” His voice was
boyishly glad, as if he exulted in the fray that was to come; and no
sooner had he spoken than the sailors came out of the darkness upon
them.
During the space of a few heart-beats there was only a tangle of
whirling forms with the sound of fist on flesh, then the blot split up
and forms plunged outward, falling heavily. Again the sailors rushed,
attempting to clinch. They massed upon Dextry only to grasp empty air,
for he shifted with remarkable agility, striking bitterly, as an old
wolf snaps. It was baffling work, however, for in the darkness his blows
fell short or overreached.
Glenister, on the other hand, stood carelessly, beating the men off as
they came to him. He laughed gloatingly, deep in his throat, as though
the encounter were merely some rough sport. The girl shuddered, for the
desperate silence of the attacking men terrified
[Illustration: “WHAT I WANT--I TAKE,” AND THEN, TURNING, HE KISSED HER
SOFTLY, FIERCELY, FULL UPON THE LIPS
[See p. 32]
her more than a din, and yet she stayed, crouched against the wall.
Dextry swung at a dim target, and, missing it, was whirled off his
balance. Instantly his antagonist grappled with him, and they fell to
the floor, while a third man shuffled about them. The girl throttled a
scream.
“I’m goin’ to kick ’im, Bill,” the man panted hoarsely. “Le’ me fix
’im.” He swung his heavy shoe, and Bill cursed with stirring eloquence.
“Ow! You’re kickin’ me! I’ve got ’im, safe enough. Tackle the big un.”
Bill’s ally then started towards the others, his body bent, his arms
flexed yet hanging loosely. He crouched beside the girl, ignoring her,
while she heard the breath wheezing from his lungs; then silently he
leaped. Glenister had hurled a man from him, then stepped back to avoid
the others, when he was seized from behind and felt the man’s arms
wrapped about his neck, the sailor’s legs locked about his thighs. Now
came the girl’s first knowledge of real fighting. The two spun back and
forth so closely entwined as to be indistinguishable, the others holding
off. For what seemed many minutes they struggled, the young man striving
to reach his adversary, till they crashed against the wall near her and
she heard her champion’s breath coughing in his throat at the tightening
grip of the sailor. Fright held her paralyzed, for she had never seen
men thus. A moment and Glenister would be down beneath their stamping
feet--they Would kick his life out with their heavy shoes. At thought of
it, the necessity of action smote her like a blow in the face. Her
terror fell away, her shaking muscles stiffened, and before realizing
what she did she had acted.
The seaman’s back was to her. She reached out and gripped him by the
hair, while her fingers, tense as talons, sought his eyes. Then the
first loud sound of the battle arose. The man yelled in sudden terror;
and the others as suddenly fell back. The next instant she felt a hand
upon her shoulder and heard Dextry’s voice.
“Are ye hurt? No? Come on, then, or we’ll get left.” He spoke quietly,
though his breath was loud, and, glancing down, she saw the huddled form
of the sailor whom he had fought.
“That’s all right--he ain’t hurt. It’s a <DW61> trick I learned. Hurry up!”
They ran swiftly down the wharf, followed by Glenister and by the groans
of the sailors in whom the lust for combat had been quenched. As they
scrambled up the _Santa Maria’s_ gang-plank, a strip of water widened
between the boat and the pier.
“Close shave, that,” panted Glenister, feeling his throat gingerly, “but
I wouldn’t have missed it for a spotted pup.”
“I’ve been through b’iler explosions and snow-slides, not to mention a
triflin’ jail-delivery, but fer real sprightly diversions I don’t recall
nothin’ more pleasin’ than this.” Dextry’s enthusiasm was boylike.
“What kind of men are you?” the girl laughed nervously, but got no
answer.
They led her to their deck cabin, where they switched on the electric
light, blinking at each other and at their unknown guest.
They saw a graceful and altogether attractive figure in a trim, short
skirt and long, tan boots. But what Glenister first saw was her eyes;
large and gray, almost brown under the electric light. They were active
eyes, he thought, and they flashed swift, comprehensive glances at the
two men. Her hair had fallen loose and crinkled to her waist, all
agleam. Otherwise she showed no sign of her recent ordeal.
Glenister had been prepared for the type of beauty that follows the
frontier; beauty that may stun, but that has the polish and chill of a
new-ground bowie. Instead, this girl with the calm, reposeful face
struck a note almost painfully different from her surroundings,
suggesting countless pleasant things that had been strange to him for
the past few years.
Pure admiration alone was patent in the older man’s gaze.
“I make oration,” said he, “that you’re the gamest little chap I ever
fought over, Mexikin, Injun, or white. What’s the trouble?”
“I suppose you think I’ve done something dreadful, don’t you?” she said.
“But I haven’t. I had to get away from the _Ohio_ to-night for--certain
reasons. I’ll tell you all about it to-morrow. I haven’t stolen
anything, nor poisoned the crew--really I haven’t.” She smiled at them,
and Glenister found it impossible not to smile with her, though dismayed
by her feeble explanation.
“Well, I’ll wake up the steward and find a place for you to go,” he said
at length. “You’ll have to double up with some of the women, though;
it’s awfully crowded aboard.”
She laid a detaining hand on his arm. He thought he felt her tremble.
“No, no! I don’t want you to do that. They mustn’t see me to-night. I
know I’m acting strangely and all that, but it’s happened so quickly I
haven’t found myself yet. I’ll tell you to-morrow, though, really. Don’t
let any one see me or it will spoil everything. Wait till to-morrow,
please.”
She was very white, and spoke with eager intensity.
“Help you? Why, sure Mike!” assured the impulsive Dextry, “an’, see
here, Miss--you take your time on explanations. We don’t care a cuss
what you done. Morals ain’t our long suit, ’cause ‘there’s never a law
of God or man runs north of Fifty-three,’ as the poetry man remarked,
an’ he couldn’t have spoke truer if he’d knowed what he was sayin’.
Everybody is privileged to ‘look out’ his own game up here. A square
deal an’ no questions asked.”
She looked somewhat doubtful at this till she caught the heat of
Glenister’s gaze. Some boldness of his look brought home to her the
actual situation, and a stain rose in her cheek. She noted him more
carefully; noted his heavy shoulders and ease of bearing, an ease and
looseness begotten of perfect muscular control. Strength was equally
suggested in his face, she thought, for he carried a marked young
countenance, with thrusting chin, aggressive thatching brows, and mobile
mouth that whispered all the changes from strength to abandon. Prominent
was a look of reckless energy. She considered him handsome in a heavy,
virile, perhaps too purely physical fashion.
“You want to stowaway?” he asked.
“I’ve had a right smart experience in that line,” said Dextry, “but I
never done it by proxy. What’s your plan?”
“She will stay here to-night,” said Glenister quickly. “You and I will
go below. Nobody will see her.”
“I can’t let you do that,” she objected. “Isn’t there some place where I
can hide?” But they reassured her and left.
When they had gone, she crouched trembling upon her seat for a long
time, gazing fixedly before her. “I’m afraid!” she whispered; “I’m
afraid. What am I getting into? Why do men look so at me? I’m
frightened. Oh, I’m sorry I undertook it.” At last she rose wearily. The
close cabin oppressed her; she felt the need of fresh air. So, turning
out the lights, she stepped forth into the night. Figures loomed near
the rail and she slipped astern, screening herself behind a life-boat,
where the cool breeze fanned her face.
The forms she had seen approached, speaking earnestly. Instead of
passing, they stopped abreast of her hiding-place; then, as they began
to talk, she saw that her retreat was cut off and that she must not
stir.
“What brings her here?” Glenister was echoing a question of Dextry’s.
“Bah! What brings them all? What brought ‘the Duchess,’ and Cherry
Malotte, and all the rest?”
“No, no,” said the old man. “She ain’t that kind--she’s too fine, too
delicate--too pretty.”
“That’s just it--too pretty! Too pretty to be alone--or anything except
what she is.”
Dextry growled sourly. “This country has plumb ruined you, boy. You
think they’re all alike--an’ I don’t know but they are--all but this
girl. Seems like she’s different, somehow--but I can’t tell.”
Glenister spoke musingly:
“I had an ancestor who buccaneered among the Indies, a long time
ago--so I’m told. Sometimes I think I have his disposition. He comes and
whispers things to me in the night. Oh, he was a devil, and I’ve got his
blood in me--untamed and hot--I can hear him saying something
now--something about the spoils of war. Ha, ha! Maybe he’s right. I
fought for her to-night--Dex--the way he used to fight for his
sweethearts along the Mexicos. She’s too beautiful to be good--and
‘there’s never a law of God or man runs north of Fifty-three.’”
They moved on, his vibrant, cynical laughter stabbing the girl till she
leaned against the yawl for support.
She held herself together while the blood beat thickly in her ears, then
fled to the cabin, hurling herself into her berth, where she writhed
silently, beating the pillow with hands into which her nails had bitten,
staring the while into the darkness with dry and aching eyes.
CHAPTER II
THE STOWAWAY
She awoke to the throb of the engines, and, gazing cautiously through
her stateroom window, saw a glassy, level sea, with the sun brightly
agleam on it.
So this was Bering? She had clothed it always with the mystery of her
school-days, thinking of it as a weeping, fog-bound stretch of gray
waters. Instead, she saw a flat, sunlit main, with occasional
sea-parrots flapping their fat bodies out of the ship’s course. A
glistening head popped up from the waters abreast, and she heard the cry
of “seal!”
Dressing, the girl noted minutely the personal articles scattered about
the cabin, striving to derive therefrom some fresh hint of the
characteristics of the owners. First, there was an elaborate,
copper-backed toilet-set, all richly ornamented and leather-bound. The
metal was magnificently hand-worked and bore Glenister’s initial. It
spoke of elegant extravagance, and seemed oddly out of place in an
Arctic miner’s equipment, as did also a small set of De Maupassant.
Next, she picked up Kipling’s _Seven Seas_, marked liberally, and felt
that she had struck a scent. The roughness and brutality of the poems
had always chilled her, though she had felt vaguely their splendid pulse
and swing. This was the girl’s first venture from a sheltered life. She
had not rubbed elbows with the world enough to find that Truth may be
rough, unshaven, and garbed in homespun. The book confirmed her analysis
of the junior partner.
Pendent from a hook was a worn and blackened holster from which peeped
the butt of a large Colt’s revolver, showing evidence of many years’
service. It spoke mutely of the white-haired Dextry, who, before her
inspection was over, knocked at the door, and, when she admitted him,
addressed her cautiously:
“The boy’s down forrad, teasin’ grub out of a flunky. He’ll be up in a
minute. How’d ye sleep?”
“Very well, thank you,” she lied, “but I’ve been thinking that I ought
to explain myself to you.”
“Now, see here,” the old man interjected, “there ain’t no explanations
needed till you feel like givin’ them up. You was in trouble--that’s
unfortunate; we help you--that’s natural; no questions asked--that’s
Alaska.”
“Yes--but I know you must think--”
“What bothers me,” the other continued irrelevantly, “is how in blazes
we’re goin’ to keep you hid. The steward’s got to make up this room, and
somebody’s bound to see us packin’ grub in.”
“I don’t care who knows if they won’t send me back. They wouldn’t do
that, would they?” She hung anxiously on his words.
“Send you back? Why, don’t you savvy that this boat is bound for Nome?
There ain’t no turnin’ back on gold stampedes, and this is the wildest
rush the world ever saw. The captain wouldn’t turn back--he
couldn’t--his cargo’s too precious and the company pays five thousand a
day for this ship. No, we ain’t puttin’ back to unload no stowaways at
five thousand per. Besides, we passengers wouldn’t let him--time’s too
precious.” They were interrupted by the rattle of dishes outside, and
Dextry was about to open the door when his hand wavered uncertainly
above the knob, for he heard the hearty greeting of the ship’s captain.
“Well, well, Glenister, where’s all the breakfast going?”
“Oo!” whispered the old man--“that’s Cap’ Stephens.”
“Dextry isn’t feeling quite up to form this morning,” replied Glenister
easily.
“Don’t wonder! Why weren’t you aboard sooner last night? I saw
you--‘most got left, eh? Served you right if you had.” Then his voice
dropped to the confidential: “I’d advise you to cut out those women.
Don’t misunderstand me, boy, but they’re a bad lot on this boat. I saw
you come aboard. Take my word for it--they’re a bad lot. Cut ’em out.
Guess I’ll step inside and see what’s up with Dextry.”
The girl shrank into her corner, gazing apprehensively at the other
listener.
“Well--er--he isn’t up yet,” they heard Glenister stammer; “better come
around later.”
“Nonsense; it’s time he was dressed.” The master’s voice was gruffly
good-natured. “Hello, Dextry! Hey! Open up for inspection.” He rattled
the door.
There was nothing to be done. The old miner darted an inquiring glance
at his companion, then, at her nod, slipped the bolt, and the captain’s
blue bulk filled the room.
His grizzled, close-bearded face was genially wrinkled till he spied the
erect, gray figure in the corner, when his cap came off involuntarily.
There his courtesy ended, however, and the smile died coldly from his
face. His eyes narrowed, and the good-fellowship fell away, leaving him
the stiff and formal officer.
“Ah,” he said, “not feeling well, eh? I thought I had met all of our
lady passengers. Introduce me, Dextry.”
Dextry squirmed under his cynicism.
“Well--I--ah--didn’t catch the name myself.”
“What?”
“Oh, there ain’t much to say. This is the lady we brought aboard last
night--that’s all.”
“Who gave you permission?”
“Nobody. There wasn’t time.”
“There wasn’t _time_, eh? Which one of you conceived the novel scheme of
stowing away ladies in your cabin? Whose is she? Quick! Answer me.”
Indignation was vibrant in his voice.
“Oh!” the girl cried--her eyes widening darkly. She stood slim and pale
and slightly trembling.
His words had cut her bitterly, though through | 1,105.29664 |
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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/onheightsanovel01auergoog
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE VILLA ON THE RHINE
Leisure Hour Series, 2 vols. 16mo. $2.00
HENRY HOLT & CO., NEW YORK
ON THE HEIGHTS
_A NOVEL_
BY
BERTHOLD AUERBACH
TRANSLATED BY
SIMON ADLER STERN
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1907
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
HENRY HOLT,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
ON THE HEIGHTS.
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
Early mass was being celebrated in the chapel attached to the royal
summer palace.
The palace stood on a | 1,105.354122 |
2023-11-16 18:35:29.3341140 | 3,615 | 8 |
Produced by Greg Bergquist, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's note: Italics text is denoted by _underscores_.
[Illustration]
THE AWAKENING OF THE DESERT
THE AWAKENING
OF THE DESERT
BY
JULIUS C. BIRGE
_With Illustrations_
[Illustration]
RICHARD G. BADGER
THE GORHAM PRESS
BOSTON
_Copyright 1912 by Richard G. Badger_
_All Rights Reserved_
_The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Call to the Wilderness 11
II "Roll Out" 18
III The Advancing Wave of Civilization 24
IV A River Town of the Day 38
V Our Introduction to the Great Plains 52
VI The Oregon Trail 64
VII Society in the Wilderness 76
VIII Jack Morrow's Ranch 88
IX Men of the Western Twilight 102
X Dan, the Doctor 118
XI Fording the Platte in High Water 133
XII The Phantom Liar of Greasewood Desert 142
XIII The Mystery of Scott's Bluffs 156
XIV The Peace Pipe at Laramie 167
XV Red Cloud on the War Path 186
XVI The Mormon Trail 196
XVII Wild Midnight Revelry in the Caspar Hills 211
XVIII A Night at Red Buttes 223
XIX Camp Fire Yarns at Three Crossings 237
XX A Spectacular Buffalo Chase 252
XXI The Parting of the Ways 267
XXII The Banditti of Ham's Fork 281
XXIII Through the Wasatch Mountains 290
XXIV Why a Fair City Arose in a Desert 303
XXV Some Inside Glimpses of Mormon Affairs 324
XXVI Mormon Homes and Social Life 342
XXVII The Boarding House Train 359
XXVIII Some Episodes in Stock Hunting 380
XXIX Adventures of an Amateur Detective 393
XXX The Overland Stage Line 409
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Trail Through Salt Lake Desert Frontispiece
Facing page
Elk 16
Wild Cat 48
The Oregon Trail, Through Mitchell Pass 64
Chimney Rock, One of the Old Landmarks of the '49 Trail 74
Grizzly Bear 96
Cougar 112
Buffalos 130
Jail Rock and Court House Rock 148
Scott's Bluff, Showing Dome Rock in the Distance 155
The Old Company Quarters at Fort Laramie 184
Sage Brush Growth 202
The Rockies 252
Fremont Peak and Island Lake on the West <DW72> of the
Wind River Range 268
Red Sandstone Cliffs, on Wind River 280
Weber River, Mouth of Echo Canyon 294
Joseph Smith 304
The King of Beaver Island 308
Brigham Young 316
First House Built in Salt Lake City 330
Great Salt Lake 346
Through the Wasatch 360
Dead Man's Falls, Little Cottonwood, Utah 386
Sutter's Fort Before Restoration, Sacramento, Calif 406
First House in Denver 420
THE AWAKENING OF THE DESERT
[Illustration: TRAIL THROUGH SALT LAKE DESERT]
THE AWAKENING OF THE DESERT
CHAPTER I
A Call to the Wilderness
"Will you join us in a camping trip to the Pacific Coast?" This alluring
invitation was addressed to the writer one cold, drizzly night in the
early spring of 1866 by Captain Hill Whitmore, one of a party of six men
who by prearrangement had gathered round a cheerful wood fire in a
village store in Whitewater, Wisconsin.
The regular business of the establishment had ended for the day; the
tight wooden shutters had been placed upon the doors and windows of the
store as was the custom in those times; and the key was now turned in
the lock to prevent intrusions. All the lights had been turned off,
except that of a single kerosene lamp, suspended from the ceiling near
the stove; the gentle glow revealed within a small arc on either side of
the room the lines of shelving filled with bolts of dry goods, but
toward the front and the rear of the long room it was lost in the
darkness. The conditions were favorable for a quiet, undisturbed
discussion of a proposed enterprise, for even Ray, the clerk, after
ramming a maple log into the fire, had quietly stretched himself out
upon one of the long counters near the stove, resting his head upon a
bolt of blue denim.
Tipping back in a big wooden chair against the opposite counter, at the
Captain's side, with his feet on the rail by the stove, sat big John
Wilson. John had made a trip across the plains with Whitmore the
preceding year, and was now arranging to become his partner in a similar
venture on a larger scale. Trader and adventurer by instinct, Wilson, as
his record had shown, would promptly accept a brickyard or a grocery in
exchange for live stock or a farm, and preferred any new enterprise to a
business with which he was familiar.
Fred Day, an interesting young man of twenty years, was a consumptive.
He and I sat side by side at the front of the stove, while nervous
little Paul Beemer, when not pacing back and forth between the counters
behind us, sat astride a small chair, resting his arms on its back, and
listening with close attention.
Stalwart Dan Trippe sat in a big arm chair near Paul. He had already
been informed in a general way that a transcontinental expedition was
being planned. Dan also was ever ready to consider any new venture. He
had once crossed the plains to Pike's Peak, and had no present vocation.
Running his fingers through his curly hair, as was his habit in serious
moments, he launched a question toward the opposite side of the stove.
"Well, John, what's the proposition? What's the scheme?"
Dropping his chair forward upon its four legs, and knocking the ashes
from his pipe, John proceeded to outline the tentative plan then in
mind. Briefly stated, the project was to fit out a wagon train with the
view of freighting from the Missouri River to the Coast. In the
preceding year the rates for transportation to Salt Lake had been from
twenty to thirty cents per pound, affording a fine profit if the train
should go through safe.
Hill Whitmore, a vigorous, compactly built man, then in the prime of
life, and who since the discovery of gold in California had more than
once piloted such trains across the wide stretch of plains and mountains
to the Pacific Coast, would be a partner in the enterprise and the
Captain of the expedition. We had known him long and well.
An opportunity was now offered for the investment of more capital which,
if no mishap should befall the train, would pay 'big money.'
A few young fellows could also accompany the outfit and obtain a great
experience at a moderate cost. Being myself a convalescent from a
serious attack of typhoid fever, and having temporarily withdrawn from
business at the recommendation of physicians, Fred's condition commanded
my serious consideration. I gently pulled his coat-sleeve as a signal
for him to follow me, and we leisurely sauntered down into the shadows
near the front of the store where, backing up against a counter, we were
soon seated together on its top. We both knew, without exchanging a
word, that we had some interests in common. Ordinarily, he was a genial
and affable companion, but we both remained silent then, for we were
absorbed in thinking--and doubtless along the same lines. The mere
suggestion of the trip at once brought vividly to my mind all the little
I then knew of the West. Like all Gaul in the days of Caesar, it seemed
in some vague way to be divided into three parts, the plains, the
mountains, and the region beyond.
The indefiniteness of the old western maps of the day left much to the
imagination of the young student of geography and suggested the idea of
something new to be discovered. The great American Desert was
represented as extending hundreds of miles along the eastern <DW72> of
the mountains. Other deserts were shown in the unoccupied spaces
beyond, and
"As geographers in Afric's maps
With savage pictures fill their gaps,"
so here and there on our maps of the western territories was inserted
the name of some Indian tribe which was supposed to lead its wild,
nomadic life in the district indicated. A few rivers and mountain peaks
which had received the names of early explorers, Great Salt Lake to
which the Mormons had been led, and other objects to which had been
applied the breezy, not to say blood-curdling, appellations peculiar to
the nomenclature of the West, all were perhaps more familiar to the
average American schoolboy than were the classic names which have lived
through twenty centuries of history. In the imagination of youth, "Smoky
Hill Fork," "Devil's Slide," and "Rattlesnake Hills" figured as pretty
nearly what such terms naturally suggest. Along the first-mentioned
stream--then far away from civilization--the soft haze and smoke of an
ideal Indian summer was supposed to rest perpetually, and it was
believed that in days of long ago, weird demons were really wont to
disport themselves on the mountain <DW72> called Devil's Slide. The far
West seemed to be a mystic land always and everywhere wooing to
interesting adventure.
"Do you think that Ben would go?" asked Fred in an earnest tone.
"That's a bright thought, Fred. With Ben, we would be a harmonious
triumvirate; but let's hear more of the program." So we returned to our
seats by the stove.
Whitmore was outlining some of the details and indicating the provisions
which it would be necessary to make, in view of the fact that no
railroad had as yet been laid even across Iowa, much less between the
Missouri and the Pacific.
"Now boys, you must understand that we're cutting loose from all
established settlements. There won't be any stores to drop into to buy
anything that you have forgotten to bring along. Anybody that wants
lemonade will have to bring along his lemons and his squeezer. After we
get beyond the Missouri River you will find no white peoples' homes
until you strike the Mormon settlement in Utah, so we'll have to take
along enough grub to feed us for several months;--of course we ought to
kill some game on the way, which will help out. Our stock must live
wholly upon such pasturage as can be found along the way. The men must
also be well armed with rifles; wagons must be built; and the cattle
must be purchased. There is a lot to do to get ready, and we must start
in on it at once."
During the preceding year, as was well known, the Indians in the West
had been unusually hostile. Many parties of freighters, among them
Whitmore's train, had been attacked, and a great number of travelers had
been massacred. That year and the one to be described, are still
mentioned in the annals of the West, as "the bloody years on the
plains." This state of affairs was fully considered and discussed, not
solely from the standpoint of personal safety, but also with reference
to the success of the enterprise.
Having been reared among the Indian tribes of Southern Wisconsin, and
within a mile of the spot where Abraham Lincoln disbanded his company at
the close of the Black Hawk War, I was disposed to believe that I was
not entirely unfamiliar with the manners and customs of the aborigines.
Searches for arrows and spearheads in prehistoric Aztalan and in other
places, visits to Bad Axe and to other scenes of conflict with Indians
had been to me sources of keen delight. Over these battlefields there
seemed to rest a halo of glory. They were invested with interest
profound as that which, in later years, stimulated my imagination when I
looked upon more notable battlefields of the Old World, where the
destinies of nations had been decided. But at this time the experiences
of my youth were fresh in my mind and the suggestion of a western trip
found in me an eager welcome.
It was not indeed the lure of wealth, nor entirely a search for health
that attracted the younger members of the party to a consideration of
the project, nor in contemplating such an expedition was there enkindled
any burning desire for warfare; it was the fascination of the wild life
in prospect that tempted us most powerfully to share the fortunes of the
other boys who had been our companions in earlier years and whom we
fervently hoped would join the party. Fred undoubtedly expressed our
sentiments when he said:
"My enthusiasm might take a big slump if a raid of those red devils
should swoop down upon us, but if I go, I shall feel as if I didn't get
my money's worth, if we don't see some of the real life of the Wild
West."
We had all been accustomed to the use of firearms and could picture in
our imagination how, from behind an ample rock, with the aid of good
long-range rifles, we would valiantly defend ourselves against an enemy
armed with bows and arrows, we being far beyond the range of such
primitive weapons.
[Illustration: ELK]
Immense herds of buffalo and other large game were also known to range
over the plains from the Canadian border to the Gulf of Mexico, and
these at times might receive proper attention. Yea, there were some
present who even expressed a desire to capture a grizzly bear in the
mountains--of course under sane and safe conditions--though none up to
that time had seen the real thing.
A former schoolmate, Billy Comstock, best known as "Wild Bill," who rode
the first pony express from Atchison, and had often been called upon by
our Government to act as Indian interpreter, was said to be somewhere on
the plains. This was encouraging, for William would be able to give us
some interesting pointers.
"We will meet here again after the store closes tomorrow night" was the
word that passed round as we went out into the sleet and rain, and the
door closed behind us.
At the earliest opportunity our friend, Ben Frees, who had recently
returned from the war, was interviewed with favorable results.
"Yes, I will go with the boys," was my decision finally reached after a
full discussion of the subject at home.
And the three boys went.
CHAPTER II
"ROLL OUT"
Whitmore and Wilson, who were the leading spirits in our expedition,
urged that twenty-five Henry repeating rifles (which had recently been
invented) and thirty Colt's revolvers should be secured for our party;
this in view of their experience on the plains in the preceding year and
of recent reports from the West. If any trifling precaution of that
nature would in any way contribute to the safety and comfort of those
gentlemen, it would certainly meet with my approval. They were to leave
families behind them and should go fully protected. In fact certain
stories that had been related in my hearing had excited even within my
breast a strong prejudice against the impolite and boorish manner in
which Indians sometimes scalped their captives. Orders were accordingly
transmitted for the arms to be shipped from Hartford. The sixty wagons
were built specially for the purpose in question and thirty-six vigorous
young men, the most of whom had seen service in the Civil War just
ended, were secured to manage the teams.
Under the new white canvas cover of each wagon lay at least | 1,105.354154 |
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Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Book cover]
THE
COXON FUND
BY HENRY JAMES
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
* * * * *
LONDON: MARTIN SECKER
NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET ADELPHI
* * * * *
This edition first published 1915
The text follows that of the
Definitive Edition
* * * * *
I
“THEY’VE got him for life!” I said to myself that evening on my way back
to the station; but later on, alone in the compartment (from Wimbledon to
Waterloo, before the glory of the District Railway) I amended this
declaration in the light of the sense that my friends would probably
after all not enjoy a monopoly of Mr. Saltram. I won’t pretend to have
taken his vast measure on that first occasion, but I think I had achieved
a glimpse of what the privilege of his acquaintance might mean for many
persons in the way of charges accepted. He had been a great experience,
and it was this perhaps that had put me into the frame of foreseeing how
we should all, sooner or later, have the honour of dealing with him as a
whole. Whatever impression I then received of the amount of this total,
I had a full enough vision of the patience of the Mulvilles. He was to
stay all the winter: Adelaide dropped it in a tone that drew the sting
from the inevitable emphasis. These excellent people might indeed have
been content to give the circle of hospitality a diameter of six months;
but if they didn’t say he was to stay all summer as well it was only
because this was more than they ventured to hope. I remember that at
dinner that evening he wore slippers, new and predominantly purple, of
some queer carpet-stuff; but the Mulvilles were still in the stage of
supposing that he might be snatched from them by higher bidders. At a
later time they grew, poor dears, to fear no snatching; but theirs was a
fidelity which needed no help from competition to make them proud.
Wonderful indeed as, when all was said, you inevitably pronounced Frank
Saltram, it was not to be overlooked that the Kent Mulvilles were in
their way still more extraordinary: as striking an instance as could
easily be encountered of the familiar truth that remarkable men find
remarkable conveniences.
They had sent for me from Wimbledon to come out and dine, and there had
been an implication in Adelaide’s note—judged by her notes alone she
might have been thought silly—that it was a case in which something
momentous was to be determined or done. I had never known them not be in
a “state” about somebody, and I dare say I tried to be droll on this
point in accepting their invitation. On finding myself in the presence
of their latest discovery I had not at first felt irreverence droop—and,
thank heaven, I have never been absolutely deprived of that alternative
in Mr. Saltram’s company. I saw, however—I hasten to declare it—that
compared to this specimen their other phoenixes had been birds of
inconsiderable feather, and I afterwards took credit to myself for not
having even in primal bewilderments made a mistake about the essence of
the man. He had an incomparable gift; I never was blind to it—it dazzles
me still. It dazzles me perhaps even more in remembrance than in fact,
for I’m not unaware that for so rare a subject the imagination goes to
some expense, inserting a jewel here and there or giving a twist to a
plume. How the art of portraiture would rejoice in this figure if the
art of portraiture had only the canvas! Nature, in truth, had largely
rounded it, and if memory, hovering about it, sometimes holds her breath,
this is because the voice that comes back was really golden.
Though the great man was an inmate and didn’t dress, he kept dinner on
this occasion waiting, and the first words he uttered on coming into the
room were an elated announcement to Mulville that he had found out
something. Not catching the allusion and gaping doubtless a little at
his face, I privately asked Adelaide what he had found out. I shall
never forget the look she gave me as she replied: “Everything!” She
really believed it. At that moment, at any rate, he had found out that
the mercy of the Mulvilles was infinite. He had previously of course
discovered, as I had myself for that matter, that their dinners were
soignés. Let me not indeed, in saying this, neglect to declare that I
shall falsify my counterfeit if I seem to hint that there was in his
nature any ounce of calculation. He took whatever came, but he never
plotted for it, and no man who was so much of an absorbent can ever have
been so little of a parasite. He had a system of the universe, but he
had no system of sponging—that was quite hand-to-mouth. He had fine
gross easy senses, but it was not his good-natured appetite that wrought
confusion. If he had loved us for our dinners we could have paid with
our dinners, and it would have been a great economy of finer matter. I
make free in these connexions with the plural possessive because if I was
never able to do what the Mulvilles did, and people with still bigger
houses and simpler charities, I met, first and last, every demand of
reflexion, of emotion—particularly perhaps those of gratitude and of
resentment. No one, I think, paid the tribute of giving him up so often,
and if it’s rendering honour to borrow wisdom I’ve a right to talk of my
sacrifices. He yielded lessons as the sea yields fish—I lived for a
while on this diet. Sometimes it almost appeared to me that his massive
monstrous failure—if failure after all it was—had been designed for my
private recreation. He fairly pampered my curiosity; but the history of
that experience would take me too far. This is not the large canvas I
just now spoke of, and I wouldn’t have approached him with my present
hand had it been a question of all the features. Frank Saltram’s
features, for artistic purposes, are verily the anecdotes that are to be
gathered. Their name is legion, and this is only one, of which the
interest is that it concerns even more closely several other persons.
Such episodes, as one looks back, are the little dramas that made up the
innumerable facets of the big drama—which is yet to be reported.
II
IT is furthermore remarkable that though the two stories are distinct—my
own, as it were, and this other—they equally began, in a manner, the
first night of my acquaintance with Frank Saltram, the night I came back
from Wimbledon so agitated with a new sense of life that, in London, for
the very thrill of it, I could only walk home. Walking and swinging my
stick, I overtook, at Buckingham Gate, George Gravener, and George
Gravener’s story may be said to have begun with my making him, as our
paths lay together, come home with me for a talk. I duly remember, let
me parenthesise, that it was still more that of another person, and also
that several years were to elapse before it was to extend to a second
chapter. I had much to say to him, none the less, about my visit to the
Mulvilles, whom he more indifferently knew, and I was at any rate so
amusing that for long afterwards he never encountered me without asking
for news of the old man of the sea. I hadn’t said Mr. Saltram was old,
and it was to be seen that he was of an age to outweather George
Gravener. I had at that time a lodging in Ebury Street, and Gravener was
staying at his brother’s empty house in Eaton Square. At Cambridge, five
years before, even in our devastating set, his intellectual power had
seemed to me almost awful. Some one had once asked me privately, with
blanched cheeks, what it was then that after all such a mind as that left
standing. “It leaves itself!” I could recollect devoutly replying. I
could smile at present for this remembrance, since before we got to Ebury
Street I was struck with the fact that, save in the sense of being well
set up on his legs, George Gravener had actually ceased to tower. The
universe he laid low had somehow bloomed again—the usual eminences were
visible. I wondered whether he had lost his humour, or only, dreadful
thought, had never had any—not even when I had fancied him most
Aristophanesque. What was the need of appealing to laughter, however, I
could enviously enquire, where you might appeal so confidently to
measurement? Mr. Saltram’s queer figure, his thick nose and hanging lip,
were fresh to me: in the light of my old friend’s fine cold symmetry they
presented mere success in amusing as the refuge of conscious ugliness.
Already, at hungry twenty-six, Gravener looked as blank and parliamentary
as if he were fifty and popular. In my scrap of a residence—he had a
worldling’s eye for its futile conveniences, but never a comrade’s joke—I
sounded Frank Saltram in his ears; a circumstance I mention in order to
note that even then I was surprised at his impatience of my enlivenment.
As he had never before heard of the personage it took indeed the form of
impatience of the preposterous Mulvilles, his relation to whom, like
mine, had had its origin in an early, a childish intimacy with the young
Adelaide, the fruit of multiplied ties in the previous generation. When
she married Kent Mulville, who was older than Gravener and I and much
more amiable, I gained a friend, but Gravener practically lost one. We
reacted in different ways from the form taken by what he called their
deplorable social action—the form (the term was also his) of nasty
second-rate gush. I may have held in my ‘for intérieur’ that the good
people at Wimbledon were beautiful fools, but when he sniffed at them I
couldn’t help taking the opposite line, for I already felt that even
should we happen to agree it would always be for reasons that differed.
It came home to me that he was admirably British as, without so much as a
sociable sneer at my bookbinder, he turned away from the serried rows of
my little French library.
“Of course I’ve never seen the fellow, but it’s clear enough he’s a
humbug.”
“Clear ‘enough’ is just what it isn’t,” I replied; “if it only were!”
That ejaculation on my part must have been the beginning of what was to
be later a long ache for final frivolous rest. Gravener was profound
enough to remark after a moment that in the first place he couldn’t be
anything but a Dissenter, and when I answered that the very note of his
fascination was his extraordinary speculative breadth my friend retorted
that there was no cad like your cultivated cad, and that I might depend
upon discovering—since I had had the levity not already to have
enquired—that my shining light proceeded, a generation back, from a
Methodist cheesemonger. I confess I was struck with his insistence, and
I said, after reflexion: “It may be—I admit it may be; but why on earth
are you so sure?”—asking the question mainly to lay him the trap of
saying that it was because the poor man didn’t dress for dinner. He took
an instant to circumvent my trap and come blandly out the other side.
“Because the Kent Mulvilles have invented him. They’ve an infallible
hand for frauds. All their geese are swans. They were born to be duped,
they like it, they cry for it, they don’t know anything from anything,
and they disgust one—luckily perhaps!—with Christian charity.” His
vehemence was doubtless an accident, but it might have been a strange
foreknowledge. I forget what protest I dropped; it was at any rate
something that led him to go on after a moment: “I only ask one
thing—it’s perfectly simple. Is a man, in a given case, a real
gentleman?”
“A real gentleman, my dear fellow—that’s so soon said!”
“Not so soon when he isn’t! If they’ve got hold of one this time he must
be a great rascal!”
“I might feel injured,” I answered, “if I didn’t reflect that they don’t
rave about me.”
“Don’t be too sure! I’ll grant that he’s a gentleman,” Gravener
presently added, “if you’ll admit that he’s a scamp.”
“I don’t know which to admire most, your logic or your benevolence.”
My friend coloured at this, but he didn’t change the subject. “Where did
they pick him up?”
“I think they were struck with something he had published.”
“I can fancy the dreary thing!”
“I believe they found out he had all sorts of worries and difficulties.”
“That of course wasn’t to be endured, so they jumped at the privilege of
paying his debts!” I professed that I knew nothing about his debts, and
I reminded my visitor that though the dear Mulvilles were angels they
were neither idiots nor millionaires. What they mainly aimed at was
reuniting Mr. Saltram to his wife. “I was expecting to hear he has
basely abandoned her,” Gravener went on, at this, “and I’m too glad you
don’t disappoint me.”
I tried to recall exactly what Mrs. Mulville had told me. “He didn’t
leave her—no. It’s she who has left him.”
“Left him to us?” Gravener asked. “The monster—many thanks! I decline
to take him.”
“You’ll hear more about him in spite of yourself. I can’t, no, I really
can’t | 1,105.455147 |
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[Illustration: Route of
_M de Lesseps_
Consul of France,
_in the PENINSULA of_
KAMTSCHATKA,
_and along the GULF of PENGINA, from the_ Port of S^t. Peter & S^t.
Paul _as far as_ Yamsk.]
TRAVELS
IN
KAMTSCHATKA,
DURING THE YEARS 1787 AND 1788.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF
M. DE LESSEPS, CONSUL OF FRANCE,
AND
INTERPRETER TO THE COUNT DE LA PEROUSE, NOW
ENGAGED IN A VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD, BY
COMMAND OF HIS MOST CHRISTIAN MAJESTY.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOLUME I.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD.
1790.
PREFACE.
My work is merely a journal of my travels. Why should I take any steps
to prepossess the judgment of my | 1,105.600759 |
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LADIES
MANUAL OF ART
OR
PROFIT AND PASTIME.
A SELF TEACHER IN
All Branches of Decorative Art,
EMBRACING EVERY VARIETY OF
PAINTING AND DRAWING
On China, Glass, Velvet, Canvas, Paper and Wood
THE SECRET OF ALL
_GLASS TRANSPARENCIES, SKETCHING FROM NATURE. PASTEL AND CRAYON DRAWING,
TAXIDERMY, Etc._
[Illustration]
CHICAGO:
DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO.
407–425 DEARBORN STREET
1890
[Illustration: COPYRIGHT,]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE
[Illustration]
In presenting to the public and our artistically inclined people our
“Art Manual” we should do so with some trepidation had we not the
assurance, in placing before them this work, that it would instantly win
its way into their favor by its merits. Most books produced by the press
of the present day are novels, compilations, scientific and theological
ones, meeting as they do only certain classes, and are subjects which
have been constantly before the people. We present you a “new book” in
every sense of the word. We propose entering with our readers into the
beautiful realms of Art, than which there is no more interesting
subject; our object being its promotion and dissemination. We want to
see the great majority of our refined, educated, but needy women embrace
it as a source of profit as well as pleasure, many of whom with an
intellect for greater things, but incapable of muscular labor or
exposure, can, by applying themselves energetically to this occupation,
earn a good livelihood and famous name, and assist in disseminating its
beauties everywhere. Many homes are there in our land, which they can
ornament, and embellish to their profit, and the pleasure of others.
Those comfortably situated in life, whose home decorations they prefer
to be the product of their own hands, will hail our “Manual” as “a
friend indeed.” To the child in whom is observed traits of genius it
will be of invaluable assistance in developing those traits. Our aim is
to combine in this work all the different methods of producing
portraits, landscapes, painting on canvas, wood, china, etc., etc., to
furnish to all lovers of the useful and beautiful in art a true teacher,
making every instruction so plain and comprehensive, that a child can
grasp the meaning. In thus combining all these arts in one volume, we
save the learner the expense of purchasing a large number of books at a
cost which effectually precludes the possibility of many engaging in
this profitable and pleasant occupation. Then, to those whose tastes are
artistically inclined, and who find it most inconvenient to obtain
instructions in all the branches desired; to those in whom genius lies
dormant and whom necessity compels to earn their own livelihood; to
those who desire to combine pastime with pleasure, and to those who have
the means, tastes and desire but not the necessary assistance at hand to
ornament their homes, we respectfully dedicate our “Art Manual.”
THE PUBLISHERS.
[Illustration]
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.
In learning the art of drawing or writing, like all other Arts and
Sciences, there are certain first and fixed principles to be observed as
a foundation upon which the whole is built. A right understanding of
these is absolutely necessary that we may become masters of that art
which we undertake to learn. A neglect of these first principles is the
reason why so many who have spent time sufficient to become accomplished
artists, are, after all their pains and loss of time, incapable of
producing even fair work; and are often at a loss to know how to begin.
Many commence by copying the work of others, and are surprised to find
how little such ability avails them when attempting to make sketches
from nature. The instruction for those who intend prosecuting this
delightful study, is prepared with great care by the author, who has had
very many years of experience in landscape drawing. ’Tis true that much
of his ability has been attained by years of patient industry and
practice. Yet time might have been saved by little earlier attention to
principles and study of works on the subject, prepared by experts. The
best advice to those contemplating a study of the art—who possess any
degree of skill in the use of the pencil, is to go out into the field,
with the “instructor” in one hand and your sketch-book in the other,
select some object of interest, and “take it in.” If not satisfactory,
try again—be not too easily discouraged. You will find the study of
nature a source of pleasure, objects of interest will appear on every
hand, in the valleys, on the mountains, the lakes, or by the river side,
and as you become familiar with the scenes in nature, difficulties will
disappear, and you are happy in the thought that sketching from nature
is truly one of the most pure and refined of intellectual pleasures and
professions, and the sketch-book with you, as with the writer, will ever
be a chosen companion.
When this branch of the work has been completed, and the landscape
transferred to paper and shaded up, the most difficult part of the task
is accomplished. The next essential element in the advancement of the
picture, and that which renders it more beautiful to the eye, is color.
’Tis well to turn aside from your unfinished landscape or portrait, and
study the colors in nature, the mixing of tints, and how to apply them,
as shown on a subsequent page of this book.
To become an artist requires only a love for the art, a good eye, and an
abundance of continuity.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
[Illustration]
=Sketching from Nature.=—How to Make a Drawing—Linear
Perspective—Materials—Terms in a Picture—Lines in Nature—Line of
Beauty—Landscapes—Selecting a Position—Lights and Shades 9
=Colors in Nature.=—Primary Colors—Advantages of Colors—Colors of a
Spectrum—Mixtures of Colors—Transmission of Light—Pure White,
Black, Gray, Green—Neutralization of Colors 23
=Pen and Pencil Drawing.=—Paper Used for Transferring—Preparation
of Paper—Method of Transferring—Shading by Pen—Pentagraph—How to
Use it—Copying with Transparent Paper 27
=Pastel Painting.=—Crayons and Pastels—Paper Used—Exposure to the
Sun—Colors Employed—Colors of Paper—Mounting the
Picture—Sketching In the Outlines—Applying the Crayon—Colors and
Composition of Tints—Background 29
=Landscape Painting in Crayon.=—Paper—Arranging the
Paper—Drawing—Using the Colors—Fixing the Drawing—Materials for
Pastel Drawing 33
=Monochromatic Drawing.=—Directions—Materials
Used—Shades—Blending—Sky—Mountains—Water—Moonlight—Old Ruins,
etc. 37
=Water Colors.=—Instructions—Colors Used for Sky and
Distances—Hills—Trees—Foreground—Sky—Moonlight, etc.—Selecting
the Paper—Different Kinds—Brushes—Other Materials—Colors Used 38
=Landscape Painting in Oil Colors.=—Technical Names and Materials
Used—Mixing of Tints—How to Apply Them—A
Glaze—Impasting—Scrumbling—Handling—Light—Brushes—Materials
Used—Canvas—Prepared Paper—Millboards—Panels—Palettes—A
Dipper—Rest Stick—Knives—Easels—Vehicles—Mixed Tints 45
=Oil Photo.=—Miniature or Cameo Oil—Improved Method—Treating the
Photograph—Paste Preparation—The Glass Cleaning—Colors
Applied—Wedges—Caution—Directions for Coloring—Second
Method—Ivory Type or Mezzotint—Mounting the Photograph—Materials
Used—Another Plan 55
=Photo Painting in Water Colors.=—Selecting Photograph—Preparing
the Photo—Colors Used—Coloring Background, Face, Eyes, Mouth,
Hair, Clothing—Shadowing 60
=Russian or Egyptian Method.=—To Produce First Class
Picture—Applying Colors—Palette—Liquid Colors Used—Brushes 63
=Making Photographs.=—Gelatine Dry-plate Process—The Outfit—Filling
the Plate-Holder—Taking the Picture—Making Negatives—Chemical
Outfit—Directions for Using Chemicals—Instructions
Summarized—Making Prints from Negatives—Sensitized Paper
Prints—Toning Process—Mounting Pictures 65
=Draughtsmen’s Sensitive Paper for Copying
Drawings.=—Directions—How to Use—Printing by Exposure 70
=Wood Painting.=—From the German—General
Preliminaries—Requisites—Colors—Transferring the Drawing on
Wood—Enlarging and Reducing Designs— | 1,105.623302 |
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BY THE SEA
AND OTHER VERSES
_By_
_H. Lavinia Baily_
[Illustration]
BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
The Gorham Press
1907
_Copyright 1907 by H. Lavinia Baily_
_All Rights Reserved_
_The Gorham Press, Boston_
CONTENTS
Myself and You 7
By the Sea 8
At the Close of the Year 14
Risen 16
Elizabeth Crowned 18
Who is Sufficient 19
Peace 21
Boys and Girls 22
A Smile 23
A Sparrow Alone on the Housetop 24
To Mother 24
Psalm CXXI 25
To R. T. B. 26
On New Year, 1897 27
To Anna 27
A Song of Tens 28
Jessica 29
Transition 29
To A. H. B. 30
To Winnie 31
A Life Work 32
Visions 32
Be Ye also Ready 39
Mimosa 40
At the Crisis 41
On the Death of Dr. James E. Rhoads 42
Eternal Youth 43
Building Time 44
Sunrise 45
Neal Dow 47
"Paradise will Pay for All" 48
Forgiveness 49
A Lost Song? 51
A New Earth 52
Recall 53
Philistia's Triumph 54
The White Ribbon Army 55
Christmas 57
"A Day in June" 57
To-day 59
Losing Victories 59
Not Mine 61
In the Desert 61
A Phantom in the "Circle" 62
A Valentine 66
A Convention Hymn 66
A Collection Song 67
The Ballad of the Boundary Line 68
Margaret Lee 71
Soaring Upward 74
The End of the Road 75
BY THE SEA
_AND OTHER VERSES_
MYSELF AND YOU
There are only myself and you in the world,
There are only myself and you;
'Tis clear, then, that I unto you should be kind,
And that you unto me should be true.
And if I unto you could be always kind,
And you unto me could be true,
Then the criminal courts might all be adjourned,
And the sword would have nothing to do.
A few fertile acres are all that I need,--
Not more than a hundred or two,--
And the great, wide earth holds enough, I am sure,
Enough for myself and for you.
The sweet air of heaven is free to us all;
Upon all fall the rain and the dew;
And the glorious sun in his cycle of light
Shines alike on myself and on you.
The infinite love is as broad as the sky,
And as deep as the ocean's blue,
We may breathe it, bathe in it, live in it, aye,
It is _life_ for myself and for you.
And the Christ who came when the angels sang
Will come, if the song we renew,
And reign in his kingdom,--the Prince of Peace,--
Reigning over myself and you.
O, then, may I be unto you always kind,
And be you unto me always true;
So the land may rest from its turmoil and strife,
And the sword may have nothing to do.
BY THE SEA
AN ARGUMENT FOR PEACE
"You do but dream; the world will never see
Such time as this you picture, when the sword
Shall lie inglorious in its sheath, and be
No more of valorous deeds incentive or reward."
The ocean breezes fanned them where they sat,
At leisure from life's conflict, toil and care,
Yet not unthoughtful, nor unmindful that
In all its weal and woe they held their share.
The rose-light charm and pride of earliest youth
A chastening touch had toned to lovelier hue,
And the white soul of purity and truth
Looked out alike from eyes of brown and blue.
"I covet your fair hope," he spake again,
"I cannot share it; all the hoary past
Denies that mightier prowess of the pen
The poet claims, and proves it still surpassed
"By sword and musket and the arts of war.
And 'twere not so,--the query will return,
Albeit such conflict we must all abhor--
How should the fires of patriotism burn?
"Their flames are kindled by the flash of arms,
And fed by recount of heroic deed;
The sanguinary story has its charms
Tho the heart sicken o'er it as we read.
"And what were Greece without her Marathon?
Or Rome, had not her Caesars fought and won?
How reigns Britannia, Empress near and far,
But for her Waterloo and Trafalgar?
"And we, know not our souls a quickening thrill
At thought of Lexington and Bunker Hill?
And with a pride no rival passion mars
Greet we not now our glorious Stripes and Stars?
"Yes, friend, I own your theory is fine;
I grant your outlook far exceedeth mine
In excellence and beauty, in its scope
Embracing that millennial age of bliss
The spirit pants for while it chafes in this;
I covet, tho I cannot share, your hope."
"My hope," she answered, smiling, "is a faith;
The kingdoms of this world are yet to be
The kingdoms of our blessed Lord, the Christ;--
Lord of all life thro' dire and vengeful death--
Wrought thro' such sacrifice, unspared, unpriced,
His word and purpose must fulfilment see,
And realms by mountains bounded or by seas
Must own allegiance to the Prince of Peace.
"I yield to none"--and as she spoke there sped
Across the opal beauty of the sea
A light-winged vessel, bearing at its head
The starry emblem of the brave and free--
"I yield to none in loyalty and love
For yon bright banner, but I hold it still
As token to the world, all else above,
Of peace on earth and unto man good will.
"God gave His land to be the home of man;
And all that brightens and upbuilds the home
Uplifts humanity; tramp, tribe and clan,
Knowing no hearthstone, are content to roam,
"But drawing nearer God the man returns
And rears his household altar. In some quest
The feet may wander, but the heart still yearns
For the soft home-light and the quiet rest.
"Think yet again, good brother, is it not
From off such altar, whether it may glow
In princely palace or in lowliest cot,
That the true flame of country-love must flow?
While that enkindled by the flash of arms | 1,105.654209 |
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THE HEART OF THE DESERT
(Kut-Le of the Desert)
by
HONORE WILLSIE
Author of "Still Jim"
With Frontispiece in Colors by V. Herbert Dunton
A. L. Burt Company, Publishers
114-120 East Twenty-third Street ---- New York
Published by Arrangement with Frederick A. Stokes Company
1913
[Frontispiece: Side by side, they rode off into the desert sunset.]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE VALLEY OF THE PECOS
II | 1,106.054168 |
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JUGGERNAUT
A Veiled Record
BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON AND DOLORES MARBOURG
NEW YORK
FORDS, HOWARD, & HULBERT
1891
COPYRIGHT IN 1891, BY
GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON
AND
DOLORES MARBOURG
_All Rights Reserved_
To Madame
JUGGERNAUT:
A VEILED RECORD.
I.
Edgar Braine was never so blithe in all his life as on the morning of
his suicide.
Years after, in the swirl and tumult of his extraordinary career, the
memory of that June morning, and of the mood in which he greeted it,
would rush upon him as a flood, and for the moment drown the eager
voices that besought his attention, distracting his mind for the
briefest | 1,106.184563 |
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THE CHAINBEARER
OR
THE LITTLEPAGE MANUSCRIPTS
BY J. FENIMORE COOPER
"O bid our vain endeavors cease,
Revive the just designs of Greece;
Return in all thy simple state,
Confirm the tale her sons relate."
COLLINS
NEW YORK
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY
150 Worth Street, corner Mission Place
TROW'S
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,
NEW YORK.
[Illustration: "She held up the trap, and I descended into the hole that
answered the purpose of a cellar."]
PREFACE.
The plot has thickened in the few short months that have intervened
since the appearance of the first portion of our Manuscripts, and
bloodshed has come to deepen the stain left on the country by the
wide-spread and bold assertion of false principles. This must long since
have been foreseen; and it is perhaps a subject of just felicitation,
that the violence which has occurred was limited to the loss of a single
life, when the chances were, and still are, that it will extend to civil
war. That portions of the community have behaved nobly under this sudden
outbreak of a lawless and unprincipled combination to rob, is
undeniable, and ought to be dwelt on with gratitude and an honest pride;
that the sense of right of much the larger portion of the country has
been deeply wounded, is equally true; that justice has been aroused, and
is at this moment speaking in tones of authority to the offenders, is
beyond contradiction; but, while all this is admitted, and admitted not
altogether without hope, yet are there grounds for fear, so reasonable
and strong, that no writer who is faithful to the real interests of his
country ought, for a single moment, to lose sight of them.
High authority, in one sense, or that of political power, has pronounced
the tenure of a durable lease to be opposed to the spirit of the
institutions! Yet these tenures existed when the institutions were
formed, and one of the provisions of the institutions themselves
guarantees the observance of the covenants under which the tenures
exist. It would have been far wiser, and much nearer to the truth, had
those who coveted their neighbors' goods been told that, in their
attempts to subvert and destroy the tenures in question, they were
opposing a solemn and fundamental provision of law, and in so much
opposing the institutions. The capital error is becoming prevalent,
which holds the pernicious doctrine that this is a government of men,
instead of one of principles. Whenever this error shall so far come to a
head as to get to be paramount in action, the well-disposed may sit down
and mourn over, not only the liberties of their country, but over its
justice and its morals, even should men be nominally so free as to do
just what they please.
As the Littlepage Manuscripts advance, we find them becoming more and
more suited to the times in which we live. There is an omission of one
generation, however, owing to the early death of Mr. Malbone Littlepage,
who left an only son to succeed him. This son has felt it to be a duty
to complete the series by an addition from his own pen. Without this
addition, we should never obtain views of Satanstoe, Lilacsbush,
Ravensnest, and Mooseridge, in their present aspect; while with it we
may possibly obtain glimpses that will prove not only amusing but
instructive.
There is one point on which, as editor of these Manuscripts, we desire
to say a word. It is thought by a portion of our readers, that the first
Mr. Littlepage who has written, Cornelius of that name, has manifested
an undue asperity on the subject of the New England character. Our reply
to this charge is as follows: In the first place, we do not pretend to
be answerable for all the opinions of those whose writings are submitted
to our supervision, any more than we should be answerable for all the
contradictory characters, impulses, and opinions that might be exhibited
in a representation of fictitious characters, purely of our own
creation. That the Littlepages entertained New York notions, and, if the
reader will, New York prejudices, may be true enough; but in pictures of
this sort, even prejudices become facts that ought not to be altogether
kept down. Then, New England has long since anticipated her revenge,
glorifying herself and underrating her neighbors in a way that, in our
opinion, fully justifies those who possess a little Dutch blood in
expressing their sentiments on the subject. Those who give so freely
should know how to take a little in return; and that more especially,
when there is nothing very direct or personal in the hits they receive.
For ourselves, we have not a drop of Dutch or New England blood in our
veins, and only appear as a bottle-holder to one of the parties in this
set-to. If we have recorded what the Dutchman says of the Yankee, we
have also recorded what the Yankee says, and that with no particular
hesitation, of the Dutchman. We know that these feelings are by-gones;
but our Manuscripts, thus far, have referred exclusively to the times in
which they certainly existed, and that, too, in a force quite as great
as they are here represented to be.
We go a little farther. In our judgment the false principles that are to
be found in a large portion of the educated classes, on the subject of
the relation between landlord and tenant, are to be traced to the
provincial notions of those who have received their impressions from a
state of society in which no such relations exist. The danger from the
anti-rent doctrines is most to be apprehended from these false
principles; the misguided and impotent beings who have taken the field
in the literal sense, not being a fourth part as formidable to the right
as those who have taken it in the moral. There is not a particle more of
reason in the argument which says that there should be no farmers, in
the strict meaning of the term, than there would be in that which said
there should be no journeymen connected with the crafts; though it would
not be easy to find a man to assert the latter doctrine. We dare say, if
there did happen to exist a portion of the country in which the
mechanics were all "bosses," it would strike those who dwelt in such a
state of society, that it would be singularly improper and
anti-republican for any man to undertake journeywork.
On this subject we shall only add one word. The column of society must
have its capital as well as its base. It is only perfect while each part
is entire, and discharges its proper duty. In New York the great
landholders long have, and do still, in a social sense, occupy the place
of the capital. On the supposition that this capital is broken and
hurled to the ground, of what material will | 1,106.254228 |
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Produced by Joshua Hutchinson 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)
THE
CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:
DEVOTED TO
LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY.
VOL. IV.--NOVEMBER, 1863.--No. V.
* * * * *
THE DEFENCE AND EVACUATION OF WINCHESTER,
ON THE 15TH OF JUNE, 1863, BY THE UNION FORCES, UNDER COMMAND OF
MAJOR-GENERAL R. H. MILROY.
The history of many important military operations in the present war,
will be recorded most correctly in the proceedings of the Courts of
Inquiry and Courts Martial, which, from time to time, have been or may
be organized to investigate the conduct of the parties responsible for
them. The reports of commanding officers are no doubt often, if
not by their own interests and inclinations, at least by their
enthusiasm and partial view of their own purposes; and even the
description of disinterested reporters and eye witnesses may be
distorted and exaggerated, either by their own peculiarities of excited
imagination, or from their imperfect opportunities for observation. But
in cases where numerous witnesses are questioned, and cross examined
under the solemnities of judicial proceeding, each one knowing that
others equally well informed have been or subsequently will be
interrogated on the same points, the probabilities in favor of a
truthful result are very greatly enhanced.
About the middle of June last, the sudden and unexpected irruption of
the rebel army under General Lee into the Shenandoah Valley, surprised
and surrounded a division of our army, commanded by Major-General R. H.
Milroy, and compelled the evacuation of that post, in a manner and under
circumstances which have elicited the severest criticism and censure of
the public press. The commanding officer of these forces was placed in
arrest by the General-in-chief of the army. No charges were made against
him; but he himself demanded a court of inquiry, which was ordered by
the President. That court has recently concluded its labors, and the
testimony taken has been submitted to the President as the
Commander-in-chief of the army, for his examination and decision.
* * * * *
Although this particular affair was one of subordinate importance, it
was, nevertheless, somewhat connected with the great invasion of
Pennsylvania by the rebel | 1,106.356087 |
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This eBook was prepared by Les Bowler.
CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY.
* * * * *
THE LEGENDS
OF
SAINT PATRICK
BY
AUBREY DE VERE, LL.D.
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
_LONDON_, _PARIS & MELBOURNE_.
1892
INTRODUCTION.
ONCE more our readers are indebted to a living poet for wide circulation
of a volume of delightful verse. The name of Aubrey de Vere is the more
pleasantly familiar because its association with our highest literature
has descended from father to son. In 1822, sixty-seven years ago, Sir
Aubrey de Vere, of Curragh Chase, by Adare, in the county of
Limerick—then thirty-four years old—first made his mark with a dramatic
poem upon “Julian the Apostate.” In 1842 Sir Aubrey published Son | 1,106.37367 |
2023-11-16 18:35:30.5438530 | 1,052 | 14 |
Transcribed from the third edition by Peter Barnes.
MINIMUM GAUGE RAILWAYS:
THEIR APPLICATION, CONSTRUCTION,
AND WORKING.
* * * * *
Being an account of the origin and evolution of the 15 in. gauge line
at Duffield Bank, near Derby; also of the installation of a
similar line at Eaton Hall, near Chester; together with
various notes on the uses of such Railways, and
on the results of some experimental
investigations relating thereto.
* * * * *
BY
Sir ARTHUR PERCIVAL HEYWOOD, Bart., M.A.
* * * * *
_THIRD EDITION_.
_PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION_.
* * * * *
Contents.
PAGE
PREFACE 5, 6
I.
INTRODUCTION 7
II
OBJECTS OF THE 15 IN. GAUGE 9
III
CONSTRUCTION OF THE DUFFIELD BANK LINE 11
IV
DETAILS OF THE EATON HALL LINE 15
V
LOCOMOTIVES 25
VI
WAGONS AND CARS 32
VII
THE DUFFIELD BANK WORKSHOPS 36
VIII
SCIENTIFIC CONSIDERATIONS 38
IX
REMARKS ON NARROW GAUGE RAILWAYS 42
X
APPENDIX 46
Preface to Second Edition.
IN the year 1881, when the Royal Agricultural Society held their show in
Derby, it was represented to me that, as many of the members were
interested in the cheap transport offered by narrow gauge railways, it
would be appreciated if I opened my experimental line at Duffield to
inspection during the week.
In order to facilitate the comprehension of the objects of this little
railway, the late Secretary of the Society suggested that I should draw
up a short descriptive pamphlet to place in the hands of visitors. This
was done with success and much saving of verbal explanation.
Thirteen years later, having added considerably to the rolling stock and
improved many of the details, I decided to give a three days exhibition,
and to issue a general invitation to all interested in the promotion of
such lines, at the same time taking the opportunity to revise and amplify
the first edition of this pamphlet.
A. P. H.
_August_, _1894_.
Preface to Third Edition.
SOME four years have elapsed since the second edition of this pamphlet
was exhausted. During this period I have constructed and equipped at
Eaton Hall, Cheshire, a line which has been in regular use since May,
1896, exactly similar to my own at Duffield. This railway having been
made wholly for practical purposes and on strictly economic principles, I
am in a position to present more reliable data, both in regard to cost
and working, than I could obtain from my own experimental line, which has
been continually altered and only irregularly worked.
I desire to take this opportunity of expressing my thanks to the Duke of
Westminster for the free hand accorded me in regard to the arrangement of
all details of the Eaton Railway; a liberty which has resulted in a
symmetrical and entirely successful carrying out of the work.
What I am now able to advance will, I trust, amply demonstrate the really
solid advantages which, under suitable conditions, may be reaped from the
installation of little railways of the kind described.
A. P. H.
_July_, _1898_.
I.
INTRODUCTION.
AT the outset I must offer an apology for making use, throughout this
pamphlet, of the first person. I do so partly for convenience of
expression, and partly because almost all that I have to advance is
derived from my own experience. In doing so I am far from desiring to
undervalue the work of others in the same direction. I have, however,
little hesitation in saying that, with the exception of the late Mr.
Charles Spooner, the able Engineer of the Festiniog Railway, most of
those, so far as I know, who are responsible for the design of plant for
these small lines have been manufacturers whose productions, though often
of fair workmanship, are clearly indicative of a failure to grasp many of
the leading principles involved. This shortcoming is the natural result
of a want of sufficient time for the consideration of details, and a
consequent tendency to imitate established customs in regard to railway
work which by no means apply with equal advantage to very narrow gauges,
where the conditions involved are wholly different. This is especially
true of small locomotive building, the specimens of which evidence in
their design not only ignorance on important points, but also a
deplorable absence of the sense of well-balanced proportion.
I venture to | 1,106.563893 |
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Produced by Louise Hope
[Transcriber's Note:
This text is intended for readers who cannot use the "real" (Unicode,
UTF-8) version of the file. Some adjustments have been made:
vowels with overline have been written out as am, an, em... without
further marking
the "dram" symbol is shown as [z]
The text is taken from the 1912 Cambridge edition of Caius's _Complete
Works_. The editor's general introduction says:
In this volume no attempt has been made to produce a facsimile
reprint. Even if such a design had been entertained, the great
variety of form in which the original editions were issued would
have made it impossible to carry out the re-issue with any
uniformity. Obvious misprints have been corrected, but where a
difference in spelling in the same work or on the same page--_e.g._
_baccalarius_, _baccalaureus_--is clearly due to the varying
practice of the writer and not to the printer, the words have been
left as they stood in the original. On the other hand the accents
in the very numerous Greek quotations have been corrected.
Numbers in parentheses (2, 3, 4...) were printed in the gutter; they
probably represent leaves of the 1552 original. Bracketed corrections
are from the 1912 text.
S | 1,106.605905 |
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Produced by Michael Gray
POPE ADRIAN IV.
AN
HISTORICAL SKETCH.
BY RICHARD RABY.
LONDON:
THOMAS RICHARDSON AND SON,
172, FLEET STREET; 9, CAPEL STREET, DUBLIN; AND DERBY.
1849.
I. PREFACE.
The following sketch was written to supply what its author felt
persuaded could not fail to interest his fellow Catholics in England;
namely, some account of the only English Pope who ever reigned.
In it he does not pretend to any novelty of research; but simply to
present a connected narrative of such events in the history of Pope
Adrian IV. as have hitherto lain broken and concealed in old
chronicles, or been slightly touched for the most part in an
incidental way by modern writers.
In the course of his sketch, the author has ventured to take part with
Pope Adrian in some acts of his, which it is commonly the mode to
condemn. Should his opinions in so doing not be deemed sound, he yet
hopes that at least the spirit which inspired them--in other words,
the spirit to promote the cause of practical rather than theoretical
policy, as also of public order and legitimate authority, will deserve
commendation.
For the rest, the striking similarity between the difficulties which
Pius IX. in our day has to contend with, and those which Pope Adrian
had to encounter in the twelfth century, should only lend the more
interest to his story.
R. R.
_Munich, May, 1849._
POPE ADRIAN IV.
AN HISTORICAL SKETCH.
I.
THE information, which has come down to us respecting the early life
of the only Englishman, who ever sat on the papal throne, is so
defective and scanty, as easily to be comprised in a few paragraphs.
Nicholas Breakspere was born near St. Albans, most probably about the
close of the 11th century. His father was a clergyman, who became a
monk in the monastery of that city, while his son was yet a boy. Owing
to extreme poverty, Nicholas could not pay for his education, and was
obliged to attend the school of the monks on charity. [1] This
circumstance would seem to have put his father so painfully to the
blush, that he took an unnatural dislike to his son; whom he shortly
compelled by his threats and reproaches to flee the neighbourhood in a
state of utter destitution.
Thus cruelly cast on the world, Nicholas to settle the church in those
remote countries, where it had been planted about 150 years. The
circumstances which led to this legation were as follows:[2]--originally
the three kingdoms of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, were
spiritually subject to the archbishop of Hamburg, whose province was
then the most extensive in Christendom. In the year 1102, Denmark
succeeded, after much protracted agitation of the question, in
obtaining from Pope Paschal II., a metropolitan see of its own, which
was founded at Lund; and to whose authority Sweden and Norway were
transferred. The same feeling of national independence, which had
procured this boon for Denmark, was not long before it began to work
in those kingdoms also; and the more so as the Danish supremacy was
asserted over them with much greater rigour than had formerly been
that of Hamburg, and was otherwise repugnant to them, as emanating
from a power with which they stood in far closer political relations,
and more constant rivalry than with Germany. After some indirect
preliminary steps in the business,--which do not seem to have
forwarded it,--the kings of Sweden and Norway sent ambassadors to Pope
Eugenius III., to request for their states the same privilege which
his predecessor had granted to Denmark; and which he himself had just
extended to Ireland, in the erection of the four archbishoprics of
that country. The arrival of these ambassadors at Rome happened a year
before the elevation of the abbot of St. Rufus to the see of Albano.
The pope promised to accede to their request. It was in fulfilment of
this promise that Nicholas Breakspere was sent into the north.
Doubtless, the circumstance of his being an Englishman had weight in
his selection; as, in consequence of that circumstance, he would be
viewed as far more likely to possess a correct knowledge of the
character and government peculiar to northern nations than an Italian.
Taking England in his way, the Cardinal legate passed thence into
Norway; where he landed in June of the year above-mentioned. The
country was then governed by three brothers, named Sigurd, Inge, and
Eystein, sons of the late King Harrold Gille. Between the first two, a
serious quarrel happened to rage. For a Norwegian nobleman having
murdered the brother of Sigurd's favourite concubine, and then entered
the service of Inge, the latter shielded his client against the
punishment which Sigurd sought to inflict.
Before entering on the affairs of the Church, the Cardinal Legate saw
that this quarrel must first be settled. Of the three brothers, Inge
seems to have stood the highest in the esteem of all classes in the
state, by reason of his benevolence, and other virtues. With him the
cardinal took part, and compelled Sigurd, together with Eystein,--who
seems also to have meddled in the dispute against Inge,--to agree to a
reconciliation. At the same time, he visited with ecclesiastical
censures the former two, for various crimes, of which they had been
guilty in other respects.
On the settlement of this quarrel, he proceeded at once to the special
business of his legation,--the erection of an archbishopric for the
kingdom. This he decided to fix at Nidrosia, or Nidaros, the capital
of the province, over which Sigurd in those days ruled, and
corresponding to the city and district of Drontheim now. The selection
of Nidrosia was made chiefly out of honor to St. Olaff, whose relics
reposed in its church.
Here, he invested John, Bishop of Stavanger, with the Pallium; and
subjected to his jurisdiction the sees of Apsloe, Bergen, and
Stavanger, those of the small Norwegian colonies, of the Orcades,
Hebrides, and Furo Isles, and that of Gaard in Greenland. The Shetland
and western isles of Scotland, with the Isle of Man, and a new
bishopric which the cardinal founded at Hammer in Norway,--and in
which he installed Arnold, at that time expelled the see of Gaard,--were
also included in the province of Nidrosia. The bishop of Sodor
and Man, as well as the bishops of the Shetland and western isles, had
till this time been suffragans of the see of York, but obeyed the
authority of Nidrosia for the next 200 years; after which, the
Norwegian primate lost his rights over those islands, which returned
under their first jurisdiction. The greater part of the other sees had
already, directly, or indirectly, acknowledged the authority of the
bishops of Nidrosia, while the rest had bowed to the supremacy of
Hamburg. [3]
The possession of a metropolitan see of their own spread such
satisfaction among the people of Norway, that no mark of respect
seemed too great for the immediate dispenser of the boon; and under
this feeling, they allowed the Cardinal Legate to introduce various
regulations into the country beyond what his powers entitled him to
do, and even to reform their civil institutions. Thus there is every
reason to assume,--though positive historical evidence is wanting,--that
he bound the Norwegian Church to the payment of Peter's pence to
the Holy See. He also effected extensive reforms as regards the
celibacy of the clergy; but, in spite of his great influence, does not
seem to have been able to carry them so far as he could have wished.
Various rites and ceremonies of religion, into which abuses had crept,
were purged by him. Moreover, he placed the public peace on a surer
footing than it was before, by means of a law which he procured to be
passed, forbidding all private persons to appear armed in the streets;
while to the king alone was reserved the right of a body guard of
twelve men. [4] Snorrow relates, that no foreigner ever came to
Norway, who gained so much public honor and deference among the people
as Nicholas Breakspere. On his departure he was loaded with presents,
and promised perpetual friendship to the country. When he became pope,
he kept his promise, and invariably treated all Norwegians who visited
Rome during his reign with extraordinary attention. He also sent into
Norway, architects and other artists from England, to build the
cathedral and convent of the new see of Hammer. On his death the
nation honored his memory as that of a saint.
Having finished the business of his legation to Norway, Nicholas
Breakspere next passed into Sweden. His first proceeding in this
kingdom was to hold a synod at Lingkopin; to fix on a see for the new
archbishopric about to be created. But the members, consisting of the
heads of the clergy of Sweden and Gothland, could not agree on the
point, as, out of a spirit of provincial rivalry, the one party
claimed the honor for Upsala, and the other for Skara. Finding that
the dispute was too hot to be soon settled, the Cardinal Legate
consecrated St. Henry of Upsala bishop of that city, introduced
various new regulations respecting the celibacy of the clergy and the
payment of Peter's pence to the pope; and then took his departure for
Denmark on his way to Rome. The pallium which was destined for the new
primate of Sweden, he deposited, until the difficulties in the way of
the election of that dignitary should be removed, with Eskill,
Archbishop of Lund, who received him in the most honorable and cordial
manner, notwithstanding that by his agency the authority of the Danish
Church was so seriously curtailed. The Cardinal Legate would seem to
have sought by this act of confidence to soothe the soreness, which
Eskill must naturally have felt at seeing his honors so shorn. The
primate of Lund was also informed that he should still continue to
preserve the title of Primate of Sweden, with the right of
consecrating and investing with the pallium the future archbishops of
that kingdom. Farther, he was promised, as some compensation for what
he had lost, the grant of a right from the Holy See of annexing to his
archiepiscopal dignity the style of "Legati nati Apostolicis Sedis" in
the three kingdoms. [5] During the stay of Nicholas Breakspere in
Denmark, it happened that John, a younger son of Swercus, King of
Sweden and Gothland, and a prince whose radically bad character had
been totally ruined by a neglected education, carried off by violence,
and dishonored the wife of his eldest brother Charles, together with
her widowed sister,--princesses of unsullied fame, and nearly related
to Sweno III., at that time, king of Denmark. This atrocity naturally
excited a deep resentment against its author, at home and abroad: and
roused Sweno to resolve on invading Sweden and Gothland with all his
forces, in revenge of so insulting an outrage; a resolution in which
he grew all the more fixed, by the recollection that Swercus himself
had formerly injured Nicholas, a predecessor of Sweno on the throne,
by perfidiously seducing, and marrying his intended bride--an injury
all the bitterer, as Nicholas never could retaliate it, by reason of
domestic broils with his own people.
The Cardinal Legate no sooner became aware of this gathering storm,
than he sought to avert its outbreak; and repaired to King Sweno, with
whom he remonstrated against the projected war, not only on religious,
but prudential grounds; depicting to him the many serious obstacles by
sea and land which must be surmounted before any advantage could be
won; and reminding him, "that if the spider, by disembowelling
herself, as least, caught the flies she gave chace to, yet the Danes
could only expect to run the certain peril of their lives in their
proposed campaign." [6] The cardinal's interference in this instance
in behalf of peace, seems not to have been crowned with the same
success, as in Norway. King Sweno, a proud and obstinate man, lent a
respectful, but callous ear to his arguments; and was equally
impervious to the efforts of the ambassadors, whom Swercus also sent
to prevent hostilities.
The events of the war which followed brought condign punishment to
each party: for Prince John, on being directed by his father to levy
troops for the defence of the state, was massacred in a popular riot
as the odious cause of the public dangers; and Sweno, on his invasion
of Sweden, having been inveigled by the wily tactics of Swercus--who
feigned to retire before him--to push his expedition beyond its
original destination as far as Finland, was there surprised by a
rising of the natives, who destroyed the flower of his army; while he
himself escaped with difficulty into Denmark, covered with shame, at
so ignoble and fatal a defeat. Not long afterwards, Sweno was murdered
in his bed by two of his chief nobles, who had long cherished disloyal
feelings towards their king; and, at last, entered into a treasonable
correspondence with Swercus. The end of the latter proved eventually
not less tragical. In the mean time, Nicholas Breakspere had quitted
the country, and returned to Rome. On his arrival he found Pope
Eugenius dead, and succeeded by Anastasius IV., an old man of ninety.
Anastasius, who reigned little more than a year, among other acts,
confirmed, by a bull addressed to John, Archbishop of Nidrosia, all
that the English legate had done in Norway, with the exception,
however, of that concession to the primate of Lund, by which the
latter was to enjoy the right of investing the new archbishops of
Norway and Sweden with the pallium. This right, Anastasius reserved to
the Holy See. The venerable pontiff died shortly afterwards, December
2nd, 1154.
On the following day the conclave met in St. Peter's church, and
elected the cardinal bishop of Albano to the vacant throne; in which
he was solemnly installed on the morrow, and took the name of Adrian
IV.--thus giving not the least striking among many examples in the
dynasty of the popes, of an exaltation from the meanest station in
society to one the sublimest in dignity, and most awful in
responsibility that exists under heaven.
[1] Guillelmus Neubrigensis, de rebus Anglicis, lib. 2. cap. 6. 8.
[2] Munter, Kirchengeschichte V. Danemark und Norwegen. Buch 2. tom.
2.
[3] Munter, ibid.
[4] Torfaeus, Hist. Rer. Norweg. pars. 3. lib. 9. cap. 12.
[5] Munter, &c., ibid.
[6] Joannes Magnus, Hist. Gott. lib. 18. cap. 17.
II.
At the moment, Adrian IV. took his seat behind the helm of Peter's
bark, the winds and waves raged furiously against her, nor ceased to
do so, during the whole time that he steered her course. That time,
though short, was yet long enough to prove him a skilful and fearless
pilot,--as much so as the very foremost of his predecessors or
successors, who have acquired greater fame than he, simply because a
more protracted term of office enabled them to carry out to completer
results than he could do, designs in no wise loftier than Adrian's;
and, in so doing, to unveil before the world more fully than was
permitted to him, characters not, therefore, nobler or more richly
endowed than his.
The first difficulty with which the English pope had to grapple, on
his accession to power, was the refractory spirit of the citizens of
Rome, among whom Arnold of Brescia had, some time before, stirred up
the republican mania.
Arnold was a native of the city, indicated by his surname, and was
born there most likely about the year 1105. His was one of those proud
and ambitious natures, in which imagination and enthusiasm are mixed
up in far greater proportions, than judgment and sobriety. From his
childhood he developed shining parts and an ardor for study,
calculated to elicit their full force. To pursue his studies with as
little interruption as possible, he adopted, while yet a boy, the
clerical habit, and not long afterwards obtained minor orders. [1]
In those days, events were passing, at home and abroad, well adapted
to excite all that extravagance, which was to be expected from a
character like his. In Italy, it was the era of the spread of those
republican principles, which were at last fought out so heroically and
through such perils by the cities of Lombardy, against local barons
and transalpine emperors; in Europe, at large, it was the era of the
bloom of intellectual chivalry, whose seat was Paris, whose foremost
champion, Abailard. But it was also the era of a wide-spread
demoralization of the clergy, among whom simony and concubinage were
the order of the day; and, consequently, every other disorder which
naturally follows in the wake of those two capital vices. In the midst
of such a complicated state of things, requiring so much steadiness of
eye to view it properly, so as not to be misled,--on the one hand by a
false admiration, and on the other by a false disgust,--the youth
Arnold devoured the pages of Livy; and imbibed from him, as well as
from other Roman classics, those principles of heathen republicanism,
which he subsequently sought to restore to practice, in the metropolis
of Christendom, with such fatal results to society and himself.
On the completion of his studies at home, he repaired, thirsting for
deeper draughts of knowledge, to Paris; and became one of the most
devoted scholars of Abailard; whose rationalist invasions of the
domain of theological doctrine,--by which the supreme authority of the
Church in matters of faith was threatened,--accorded with Arnold's
tone of mind. In fact, he soon arrived, by the line of argument which
the lessons of his master and his own feelings led him to adopt, at
the firm persuasion that he alone had hit upon the true plan for
reforming, not only the political, but the religious abuses of the
age; and, moreover, that none but he could carry that plan out. Under
this hallucination, which the fumes of pagan principles of
statesmanship and rationalist principles of Christianity, fermenting
together, had hatched in his brain, he returned, after a few years'
stay at Paris, to Brescia; not failing to visit, at his passage of the
Alps, the Waldenses, and other sects, with whose tenets he secretly
sympathized.
On his arrival at Brescia, he opened his career by a series of pulpit
philippics against the temporal government of the Prince Bishop, and
the immoral lives of the clergy. With fiery eloquence, that told all
the more by reason of the sanctity of the preacher's exterior--a
precaution which he took so well that even St. Bernard admitted its
success--Arnold opposed the doctrines and practice of Holy Writ to the
vices and luxuries which he denounced; affirming that the corruption
of the Church was caused by her having overstepped the boundaries of
her domain. That she had done so, was proved, he said, by the wealth
and political power which she had acquired, contrary to the spirit and
example of apostolic times; to whose simplicity she must return if she
was to be reformed as she ought to be, and as, for the good of
society, it was indispensable she should be. Of course, this line of
argument received all that applause which it never fails to do
whenever urged. For the reformation of the Church, by reducing her to
the poverty of the apostolic ages, involves,--besides such purely
spiritual advantages as are set forth at large in the plan,--others of
a material kind, which, if not usually paraded with the first, are not
the less kept steadily in view. For instance, that those who carry out
the reforms in question will be sure to get well paid for their pains;
seeing that the transaction necessarily passes so much money and goods
through their fingers, as well to private, as public profit. And,
then, there is the secret satisfaction naturally felt above all by the
rich and lax, at seeing the clergy, by means of this very reformation,
deprived of much formidable influence--such as wealth always bestows
on its possessors--and which is surely as necessary to the Church as
to any other public corporation, to the end that she may carry out
efficiently the affairs of her vast mission; keep up her dignity amid
an irreverent world; shield her oppressed; relieve her poor members,
and strike respect into powerful sinners, who would not only scorn but
trample on her too, if she had nothing but words to oppose to blows.
In consequence of Arnold's sermons--preached not only at Brescia, but
also in other towns of Lombardy,--and which, besides their virulent
censure of the existing abuses in Church and State, broached opinions
contrary to orthodox faith, especially in regard to infant baptism,
and the sacrament of the Eucharist,--an insurrection broke out against
the Prince Bishop Manfred, in the year 1138, and lasted through the
next.
Manfred made a vigorous stand to begin with; then seemed on the point
of giving way, when an unexpected event turned the scales in his
favour. This was the calling by Pope Innocent II., in the year 1139,
of all the bishops and abbots of the Church to an oecumenical council
at Rome, to condemn the memory of his late rival, the anti-pope
Anacletus II. Among the rest, the Bishop Manfred and the abbots of
Brescia appeared; and did not fail to seize the opportunity of
denouncing the actions and opinions of Arnold to the pope and the
curia. The proper course was forthwith taken; the proceedings of so
pernicious a disturber of the public peace were condemned; himself
warned to hold his tongue in future, and banished out of Italy under
an oath not to return thither, without an express papal permission.
Arnold now betook himself again into France; and smarting with wounded
pride and ambition, vindictively espoused the party of his old master
Abailard, just then embroiled in his famous dispute with St. Bernard.
For the abbot of Clairvaux had found out that it would never do to
allow that honest, but mistaken man to go on spreading his views any
longer unopposed, if the orthodox faith was to be preserved intact in
Christendom; and so, after more than once privately warning him of his
errors to no purpose, accepted a challenge which Abailard at last
vauntingly sent him to a public disputation. This disputation came off
at the Synod of Sens, A. D. 1140, and resulted in the total defeat of
the philosopher by the monk. But Abailard appealed from the synod to
the pope; whereupon the synod suspended its farther measures, and
advised the Holy See through St. Bernard of what had transpired. In
doing so, the latter took care to expose the fatal consequences to
revealed religion involved in Abailard's opinions, and, in one of his
letters on this subject, stated the case thus: "That inasmuch as
Abailard is prepared to explain everything by means of reason, he
combats as well Faith as Reason: for, what is so contrary to Reason,
as to wish to go beyond the limits of Reason by means of Reason? and,
what more contrary to Faith, than to be unwilling to believe that
which one is unable to reach by means of Reason?"
Abailard fared no better at Rome than at Sens. His defeat was ratified
by that authority from which there is no appeal. Moreover, he was
commanded to desist from holding any more lectures; and all persons
who should obstinately maintain his errors were excommunicated.
Foremost among these was Arnold of Brescia, who scorned to imitate
Abailard's submission to the authority of the Church, and blamed his
penitential retreat at Clugny, where he shortly died an edifying
death.
St. Bernard,--who had previously formed an ill opinion of Arnold from
the reports which preceded him out of Italy,--no sooner saw him at
Sens actively interested for Abailard, than he penetrated the entire
duplicity of his character; at the same time that he felt fully alive
to the damage, which the victory just won over error might yet suffer
from a man so able and resolute. Wherefore, as it was not his custom
to serve the cause of truth by halves, the saint resolved to include
the scholar with the master in his denunciations to the pope; who, at
his instance, ordered that Arnold too, as well as Abailard, should be
incarcerated in a convent. But the crafty Italian managed to elude his
doom by a timely flight; and after running many dangers by reason of
the keen chace which St. Bernard gave him, found a safe retreat at
Zurich.
In that age Zurich, by reason of the trade of Germany and Italy
passing through it, was the most flourishing town of Switzerland.
Trading communities are commonly as fond of novelty in opinion as in
wares. Zurich verified this assertion in many ways; for, owing to its
free government, its proximity to the republics of Lombardy, and to
the settlements of the Waldenses in the Alps, the place swarmed with
that motley tribe of political and religious dreamers which Liberty is
ever doomed to tolerate in her train. Of course, Arnold had his clique
among the rest. His reception by the citizens was enthusiastic; a
public situation was given to him; and he resided in the city for the
next six years. During that interval, he confined his activity to
Zurich and the cantons bordering it. In these he propagated his
doctrines with success, and seems to have been forgotten by the public
of France and Italy. No doubt, he may be viewed as having helped to
pave the way for Zwingli in the 16th, and Strauss in the 19th,--both
of whom, like Arnold, spread the poison of their ideas from Zurich.
In the meantime, events were transpiring at Rome which were destined
to call Arnold from his retreat, and produce him again on the great
stage of the world in a part more important than ever. These were the
attempts of the Romans to restore their ancient republic on the ruins
of the papal government. These attempts were not peculiar to the 12th
century, but had been made in preceding ages, invariably to no other
purpose than anarchy to the city, and scandal to the world. Indeed,
there seems always to have been a party at Rome whose adherents, more
pagan than Christian in their hearts, perversely mistook the destiny
of the city; and far from viewing its new spiritual empire as nobler
than its old material one, held the former as something meanly
inferior to the latter; wholly blind to the fact that the senate and
emperors had been merely types of the hierarchy and the popes, and
that in these, and not in those, God had decreed, from the time of
Romulus himself, the true power and majesty of Rome should eventually
reside. This party then,--who viewed the pope as the Jews viewed our
Saviour, whom they would not accept as their Messias, but reviled him
as an impostor because he possessed no worldly-power; this party it
was that, at the end of the 8th century, treated Leo III. with such
impious cruelty in their first recorded attempt to overthrow the papal
government; that in the 10th century not only dethroned, but
imprisoned and murdered, by the hands of the consul Crescentius,
Benedict VI., and plunged the state into such disorders as to render
necessary the bloody but just intervention of Otho III. Emperor of
Germany, who delivered the Holy See from the oppression and
indignities which overwhelmed it. About the middle of the 12th
century, the example of the cities of Lombardy, roused to their
struggle for freedom to a great degree by the eloquence of Arnold of
Brescia, again awoke the republican faction at Rome; where other
elements of lawlessness unhappily existed in the papal schism which
then raged, and in which the anti-pope Anacletus drove from the Holy
See Innocent II., the lawful pope. On the death of Anacletus and the
return of Innocent, the sentence of the council, above mentioned,
against Arnold of Brescia, still more embittered the revolutionary
spirits of the city, worked up to wild enthusiasm by the temporary
presence of that arch-demagogue on the spot to defend his cause. At
last the pope's conduct to the citizens of Tivoli burst the storm of
rebellion over his head.
During the late schism, Tivoli had sided with Anacletus, and on his
death still refused to acknowledge Innocent. A Roman army was
accordingly marched out to reduce the place to obedience, but was
defeated by a sudden sally of the besieged. A fresh army which was
shortly raised behaved better, and Tivoli was reduced. Burning with
shame at the disgraceful failure of their first attempt, the Romans
clamoured for the total destruction of a hated rival and the
dispersion of its inhabitants. But the pope, satisfied with the
triumph of his authority, would lend no countenance to so guilty a
severity, and concluded with his chastised children a fatherly peace.
For thus checking the bad passions of his subjects, he incurred their
displeasure; whereupon, the republican leaders, perceiving their
opportunity seized it at once, and, by their virulent denunciations to
the mob of the pretended tyranny of priests, soon stirred up an
insurrection; and got the citizens to hold a congress in the Capitol,
at which the papal government was declared at an end, and the ancient
republic restored. Innocent strove to counteract this revolution, and
called a synod at the Lateran; before which he protested against any
right of the laity to interfere with his government, much less to
alter it. But his efforts were vain; and he took his ill-fortune so
much to heart that he sickened and died of grief.
Celestine II., his successor, had, as papal legate in France, formerly
befriended Arnold of Brescia: a circumstance that could not fail to
make him popular, and conduce to give effect to his efforts at
conciliation; so that he completely succeeded in allaying the
revolutionary storm during his short reign, which his death terminated
in the spring of the following year.
Under Lucius II., who was next elected to the papal throne, the public
disorders burst forth again in an aggravated degree. Lucius deeply
offended the Romans by seeking to secure himself against their fickle
loyalty in an alliance with Roger, the Norman king of Sicily. In
resentment of this proceeding, the newly elected senate first caused
the strongholds of the Frangipani, and of other adherents of the papal
party within the city, to be demolished, and then sent an embassy to
Conrad III. of Germany to invite him to come and assume the imperial
crown under their auspices, and act as counter-check to the king of
Sicily. But Conrad, mistrusting the high-flown letter containing the
invitation, and feeling moreover little sympathy with rebels against
the pope, declined it.
Hereupon, Lucius thought it the proper time to strike a blow towards
recovering his authority. To this end he marshalled his cardinals and
other dignitaries in all their pomp; put himself at their head, and,
escorted by an armed array of lay partisans, set out for Rome with the
intention of besieging the Capitol.
At first the people, awed by so solemn and resolute an appearance of
the Supreme Pontiff, showed signs if not of helping, at least, of not
resisting his attempt. But the agents of the senate, actively at work
among the crowd, succeeded in dissipating this fatal apathy, and in
rousing, in its stead, so furious a spirit of hostility, that the
result announced itself in a sacr | 1,106.783293 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's note:
It is noted that on page 92 "From December 1, 1894, to September 12,
1892, 329 francs 75 centimes was collected;" that the dates are not
sequential. The word _sabotage_ has been consistently placed in italics.
Individual correction of printers' errors are listed at the end.]
STUDIES IN HISTORY, ECONOMICS AND PUBLIC LAW
EDITED BY THE FACULTY OF POLITICAL SCIENCE
OF COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
Volume XLVI] [Number 3
Whole Number 116
SYNDICALISM IN FRANCE
BY
LOUIS LEVINE
WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY
PROFESSOR FRANKLIN H. GIDDINGS
SECOND REVISED EDITION
OF
"The Labor Movement in France"
| 1,106.954229 |
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Produced by Giovanni Fini, Melissa McDaniel and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
A DECADE OF ITALIAN WOMEN.
[Illustration: VITTORIA COLONNA.]
_From an Original Painting in the Colonna Gallery at Rome_
A DECADE
OF
ITALIAN WOMEN.
BY
T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE,
AUTHOR OF "THE GIRLHOOD OF CATHERINE DE' MEDICI."
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1859.
[_The right of Translation is reserved._]
LONDON:
RADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
PREFACE.
The degree in which any social system has succeeded in ascertaining
woman's proper position, and in putting her into it, will be a very
accurate test of the progress it has made in civilisation. And the
very general and growing conviction, that our own social arrangements,
as they exist at present, have not attained any satisfactory measure
of success in this respect, would seem, therefore, to indicate,
that England in her nineteenth century has not yet reached years of
discretion after all.
But conscious deficiency is with nations at least, if not always with
individuals, the sure precursor of improvement. The path before us
towards the ideal in this matter is a very long one; extends, indeed,
further than eye can see. What path of progress does not? And our
advance upon it will still be a sure concomitant and proof of our
advance in all civilisation. But the question of more immediate moment
is, admitting that we are moving in this respect, are we moving in the
right direction? We have been _moving_ for a long time back. Have we
missed the right road? Have we unfortunately retrograded instead of
progressing?
There are persons who think so. And there are not wanting, in the
great storehouse of history, certain periods, certain individuals,
certain manifestations of social life, to which such persons point as
countenancing the notion, that better things have been, as regards
woman's position and possibilities, than are now. There are, painted
on the slides of Mnemosyne's magic lanthorn, certain brilliant and
captivating figures, which are apt to lead those who are disgusted with
the smoke and reek of the Phœnix-burning going on around them, to
suppose that the social conditions which produced such, must have been
less far from the true path than our present selves. Nay, more. There
have been constellations of such stars, quite sufficiently numerous to
justify the conclusion, that the circumstances of the time at which
they appeared were in their nature calculated to produce them.
Of such times, the most striking in this respect, as in so many others,
is that fascinating dawn time of modern life, that ever wonderful
"rénaissance" season, when a fresh sap seemed to rush through the
tissues of the European social systems, as they passed from their long
winter into spring. And in the old motherland of European civilisation,
where the new life was first and most vehemently felt,—in Italy,
the most remarkable constellations of these attractive figures were
produced.
The women of Italy, at that period remarkable in different walks, and
rich in various high gifts, form in truth a very notable phenomenon;
and one sufficiently prevalent to justify the belief, that the general
circumstances of that society favoured the production of such. But
the question remains, whether these brilliant types of womanhood,
attractive as they are as subjects of study, curiously illustrative as
they are of the social history of the times in which they lived, are
on the whole such as should lead us to conclude, that the true path of
progress would be found to lead towards social conditions that should
be likely to reproduce them?
Supposing it to be asserted, that they were not so necessarily
connected in the relationship of cause and effect with the whole social
condition of the times in which they lived, as that any attempt to
resuscitate such types need involve a reproduction of their social
environment; even then the question would remain, whether, if it were
really possible to take them as single figures out of the landscape
in which they properly stand, they would be such as we should find it
desirable to adopt as models of womanhood? Are these such as are wanted
to be put in the van of our march—in the first ranks of nineteenth
century civilisation? Not whether they are good to put in niches to be
admired and cited for this or that virtue or capacity; nor even whether
they might be deemed desirable captains in a woman's march towards
higher destinies and better conditioned civilisation, if, indeed, such
a progress were in any sane manner conceivable; but whether such women
would work harmoniously and efficiently with all the other forces
at our command for the advancement of a civilisation, of which the
absolute _sine quâ non_ must be the increased solidarity, co-operation,
and mutual influence of both the sexes?
It may be guessed, perhaps, from the tone of the above sentences,
that the writer is not one of those who think that the past can in
this matter be made useful to us, as affording ready-made models for
imitation. But he has no intention of dogmatising, or even indulging
in speculations on "the woman's question." On the contrary, in
endeavouring to set before the reader his little cabinet of types of
womanhood, he has abstained from all attempt at pointing any moral
of the sort. The wish to do so is too dangerously apt to lead one to
assimilate one's portrait less carefully to the original than to a
pattern figure conceived for the purpose of illustrating a theory.
Whatever conclusions on the subject of woman's destiny, proper
position, and means of development are to be drawn, therefore, from the
consideration of the very varied and certainly remarkable types set
before him, the reader must draw for himself. It has been the writer's
object to show his portraits, more or less fully delineated according
to their interest, and in some measure according to the abundance or
the reverse of available material, in their proper setting of social
environment. They have been selected, not so much with any intention of
bringing together the best, greatest, or most admirable, nor even the
most remarkable women Italy has produced, as with a view of securing
the greatest amount of variety, in point of social position and
character. Each figure of the small gallery will, it is hoped, be found
to illustrate a distinct phase of Italian social life and civilisation.
The canonised Saint, that most extraordinary product of the "ages of
faith," highly interesting as a social, and perhaps more so still as
a psychological phenomenon;—the feudal Châtelaine, one of the most
remarkable results of the feudal system, and affording a suggestive
study of woman in man's place;—the high-born and highly-educated
Princess of a somewhat less rude day, whose inmost spiritual nature was
so profoundly and injuriously modified by her social position;—the
brilliant literary denizen of "La Bohème;"—the equally brilliant
but large-hearted and high-minded daughter of the people, whose
literary intimacies were made compatible with the strictest feminine
propriety, and whom no princely connections, lay and ecclesiastical,
prevented from daring to think and to speak her thought, and to meet
with brave heart the consequences of so doing;—the popular actress,
again a daughter of the people, and again in that, as is said,
perilous walk in life, a model of correct conduct in the midst of
loose-lived princesses;—the nobly-born adventuress, every step in
whose extraordinary _excelsior_ progress was an advance in degradation
and infamy, and whose history, in showing us court life behind the
scenes, brings us among the worst company of any that the reader's
varied journey will call upon him to fall in with;—the equally
nobly-born, and almost equally worthless woman, who shows us that
wonderful and instructive phenomenon, the Queen of a papal court;—the
humbly born artist, admirable for her successful combination in perfect
compatibility of all the duties of the home and the studio;—and
lastly, the poor representative of the effeteness of that social system
which had produced the foregoing types, the net result, as may be said,
of the national passage through the various phases illustrated by
them:—all these are curiously distinct manifestations of womanhood,
and if any measure of success has been attained in the endeavour to
represent them duly surrounded by the social environment which produced
them, while they helped to fashion it, some contribution will have been
made to a right understanding of woman's nature, and of the true road
towards her more completely satisfactory social development.
CONTENTS.
ST. CATHERINE OF SIENA.
Born, 1347. Died, 1380.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Her Birth-place 1
CHAPTER II.
The Saint's Biographer 9
CHAPTER III.
The Facts of the Case 18
CHAPTER IV.
The Church View of the Case 32
CHAPTER V.
St. Catherine as an Author 51
CHAPTER VI.
Catherine's Letter to the King of France 67
CHAPTER VII.
Dupe or Impostor? 77
CHAPTER VIII.
The Secret of her Influence 83
CATERINA SFORZA.
Born, 1462. Died, 1509.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Of Catherine's father, the Duke, and of his magnificent
journey to Florence 90
CHAPTER II.
A Franciscan Pope and a Franciscan Cardinal.—A notable
illustration of the proverb concerning mendicants'
rides.—The Nemesis of Despotism 102
CHAPTER III.
Catherine's marriage.—"Petit Courrier des dames"
for 1476.—Four years of prosperity.—Life in Rome
in the fifteenth century.—A hunting party in the
Campagna.—Guilty or not guilty.—Catherine and her
husband leave Rome 121
CHAPTER IV.
From Rome to Forlì with bag and baggage.—First
presentation of a new lord and lady to their
lieges.—Venice again shows a velvet paw to a second
Riario.—Saffron-hill in brocade and ermine.—Sad conduct
on the part of our lieges.—Life in Rome again.—"Orso!
Orso!"—"Colonna! Colonna!"—A Pope's hate, and a Pope's
Vengeance.—Sixtus finally loses the game 140
CHAPTER V.
The Family is founded.—But finds it very difficult
to stand on its Foundations.—Life in Rome during an
Interregnum.—Magnificent Prince short of Cash.—Our
Heroine's Claims to that Title.—A Night Ride to Forlì,
and its results.—An Accident to which splendid Princes
are liable 166
CHAPTER VI.
Catherine in trouble.—"Libertà e Chiesà!" in Forlì.—The
Cardinal Savelli.—The Countess and her Castellano
perform a comedy before the lieges.—A veteran
revolutionist.—No help coming from Rome.—Cardinal
Legate in an awkward position.—All over with the
Orsi.—Their last night in Forlì.—Catherine herself
again.—Retribution.—An octogenarian conspirator's last
day 182
CHAPTER VII.
An unprotected Princess.—Match-making, and its
penalties.—A ladies' man for a Castellano.—A woman's
weakness, and a woman's political economy.—Wanted, by
the city of Forlì, a Jew; any Israelite, possessing
sufficient capital, will find this, &c. &c.—The new Pope,
Alexander VI.—The value of a Jubilee.—Troublous times in
Forlì.—Alliances made, and broken.—Catherine once more a
widow 204
CHAPTER VIII.
Guilty or not guilty again.—Mediæval Clanship.—A woman's
vengeance.—Funeral honours.—Royal-mindedness.—Its
costliness; and its mode of raising the wind.—Taxes spent
in alms to ruined tax-payers.—Threatening times.—Giovanni
de' Medici.—Catherine once more wife, mother, and widow 223
CHAPTER IX.
A nation of good haters.—Madama's soldier trade.—A
new Pope has to found a new family.—Catherine's bounty
to recruits.—A shrewd dealer meets his match.—Signs
of hard times.—How to manage a free council.—Forlì
ungrateful.—Catherine at Bay.—"A Borgia! A Borgia!"—A
new year's eve party in 1500.—The lioness in the
toils.—Catherine led captive to Rome 238
CHAPTER X.
Catherine arrives in Rome; is accused of attempting to
poison the Pope; is imprisoned in St. Angelo; is liberated;
and goes to Florence.—Her cloister life with the Murate
nuns.—Her collection of wonderful secrets.—Making
allowances.—Catherine's death 256
VITTORIA COLONNA.
Born, 1490. Died, 1547.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Changes in the Condition of Italy.—Dark
Days.—Circumstances which led to the Invasion of
the French.—State of things in Naples.—Fall of
the Arragonese Dynasty.—Birth of Vittoria.—The
Colonna.—Marino.—Vittoria's Betrothal.—The Duchessa di
Francavilla.—Literary Culture at Naples.—Education of
Vittoria in Ischia 271
CHAPTER II.
Vittoria's Personal Appearance.—First Love.—A Noble
Soldier of Fortune.—Italian Wars of the Fifteenth and
Sixteenth Centuries.—The Colonna Fortunes.—Death
of Ferdinand II.—The Neapolitans carry Coals to
Newcastle.—Events in Is | 1,107.254555 |
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Transcribed from the 1864 Chapman and Hall “Tales of All Countries”
edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org
THE PARSON’S DAUGHTER OF OXNEY COLNE.
THE prettiest scenery in all England—and if I am contradicted in that
assertion, I will say in all Europe—is in Devonshire, on the southern and
south-eastern skirts of Dartmoor, where the rivers Dart, and Avon, and
Teign form themselves, and where the broken moor is half cultivated, and
the wild-looking upland fields are half moor. In making this assertion I
am often met with much doubt, but it is by persons who do not really know
the locality. Men and women talk to me on the matter, who have travelled
down the line of railway from Exeter to Plymouth, who have spent a
fortnight at Torquay, and perhaps made an excursion from Tavistock to the
convict prison on Dartmoor. But who knows the glories of Chagford? Who
has walked through the parish of Manaton? Who is conversant with
Lustleigh Cleeves and Withycombe in the moor? Who has explored Holne
Chase? Gentle reader, believe me that you will be rash in contradicting
me, unless you have done these things.
There or thereabouts—I will not say by the waters of which little river
it is washed—is the parish of Oxney Colne. And for those who wish to see
all the beauties of this lovely country, a sojourn in Oxney Colne would
be most desirable, seeing that the sojourner would then be brought nearer
to all that he would wish to visit, than at any other spot in the
country. But there in an objection to any such arrangement. There are
only two decent houses in the whole parish, and these are—or were when I
knew the locality—small and fully occupied by their possessors. The
larger and better is the parsonage, in which lived the parson and his
daughter; and the smaller is a freehold residence of a certain Miss Le
Smyrger, who owned a farm of a hundred acres, which was rented by one
Farmer Cloysey, and who also possessed some thirty acres round her own
house, which she managed herself; regarding herself to be quite as great
in cream as Mr. Cloysey, and altogether superior to him in the article of
cyder. “But yeu has to pay no rent, Miss,” Farmer Cloysey would say,
when Miss Le Smyrger expressed this opinion of her art in a manner too
defiant. “Yeu pays no rent, or yeu couldn’t do it.” Miss Le Smyrger was
an old maid, with a pedigree and blood of her own, a hundred and thirty
acres of fee-simple land on the borders of Dartmoor, fifty years of age,
a constitution of iron, and an opinion of her own on every subject under
the sun.
And now for the parson and his daughter. The parson’s name was
Woolsworthy—or Woolathy, as it was pronounced by all those who lived
around him—the Rev. Saul Woolsworthy; and his daughter was Patience
Woolsworthy, or Miss Patty, as she was known to the Devonshire world of
those parts. That name of Patience had not been well chosen for her, for
she was a hot-tempered damsel, warm in her convictions, and inclined to
express them freely. She had but two closely intimate friends in the
world, and by both of them this freedom of expression had now been fully
permitted to her since she was a child. Miss Le Smyrger and her father
were well accustomed to her ways, and on the whole well satisfied with
them. The former was equally free and equally warm-tempered as herself,
and as Mr. Woolsworthy was allowed by his daughter to be quite paramount
on his own subject—for he had a subject—he did not object to his daughter
being paramount on all others. A pretty girl was Patience Woolsworthy at
the time of which I am writing, and one who possessed much that was
worthy of remark and admiration, had she lived where beauty meets with
admiration, or where force of character is remarked. But at Oxney Colne,
on the borders of Dartmoor, there were few to appreciate her, and it
seemed as though she herself had but little idea of carrying her talent
further afield, so that it might not remain for ever wrapped in a
blanket.
She was a pretty girl, tall end slender, with dark eyes and black hair.
Her eyes were perhaps too round for regular beauty, and her hair was
perhaps too crisp; her mouth was large and expressive; her nose was
finely formed, though a critic in female form might have declared it to
be somewhat broad. But her countenance altogether was wonderfully
attractive—if only it might be seen without that resolution for dominion
which occasionally marred it, though sometimes it even added to her
attractions.
It must be confessed on behalf of Patience Woolsworthy, that the
circumstances of her life had peremptorily called upon her to exercise
dominion. She had lost her mother when she was sixteen, and had had
neither brother nor sister. She had no neighbours near her fit either
from education or rank to interfere in the conduct of her life, excepting
always Miss La Smyrger. Miss Le Smyrger would have done anything for
her, including the whole management of her morals and of the parsonage
household, had Patience been content with such an arrangement. But much
as Patience had ever loved Miss Le Smyrger, she was not content with
this, and therefore she had been called on to put forth a strong hand of
her own. She had put forth this strong hand early, and hence had come
the character which I am attempting to describe. But I must say on
behalf of this girl, that it was not only over others that she thus
exercised dominion. In acquiring that power she had also acquired the
much greater power of exercising rule over herself.
But why should her father have been ignored in these family arrangements?
Perhaps it may almost suffice to say, that of all living men her father
was the man best conversant with the antiquities of the county in which
he lived. He was the Jonathan Oldbuck of Devonshire, and especially of
Dartmoor, without that decision of character which enabled Oldbuck to
keep his womenkind in some kind of subjection, and probably enabled him
also to see that his weekly bills did not pass their proper limits. Our
Mr. Oldbuck, of Oxney Colne, was sadly deficient in these. As a parish
pastor with but a small cure, he did his duty with sufficient energy, to
keep him, at any rate, from reproach. He was kind and charitable to the
poor, punctual in his services, forbearing with the farmers around him,
mild with his brother clergymen, and indifferent to aught that bishop or
archdeacon might think or say of him. I do not name this latter
attribute as a virtue, but as a fact. But all these points were as
nothing in the known character of Mr. Woolsworthy, of Oxney Colne. He
was the antiquarian of Dartmoor. That was his line of life. It was in
that capacity that he was known to the Devonshire world; it was as such
that he journeyed about with his humble carpet-bag, staying away from his
parsonage a night or two at a time; it was in that character that he
received now and again stray visitors in the single spare bedroom—not
friends asked to see him and his girl because of their friendship—but men
who knew something as to this buried stone, or that old land-mark. In
all these things his daughter let him have his own way, assisting and
encouraging him. That was his line of life, and therefore she respected
it. But in all other matters she chose to be paramount at the parsonage.
Mr. Woolsworthy was a little man, who always wore, except on Sundays,
grey clothes—clothes of so light a grey that they would hardly have been
regarded as clerical in a district less remote. He had now reached a
goodly age, being full seventy years old; but still he was wiry and
active, and showed but few symptoms of decay. His head was bald, and the
few remaining locks that surrounded it were nearly white. But there was
a look of energy about his mouth, and a humour in his light grey eye,
which forbade those who knew him to regard him altogether as an old man.
As it was, he could walk from Oxney Colne to Priestown, fifteen long
Devonshire miles across the moor; and he who could do that could hardly
be regarded as too old for work.
But our present story will have more to do with his daughter than with
him. A pretty girl, I have said, was Patience Woolsworthy; and one, too,
in many ways remarkable. She had taken her outlook into life, weighing
the things which she had and those which she had not, in a manner very
unusual, and, as a rule, not always desirable for a young lady. The
things which she had not were very many. She had not society; she had
not a fortune; she had not any assurance of future means of livelihood;
she had not high hope of procuring for herself a position in life by
marriage; she had not that excitement and pleasure in life which she read
of in such books as found their way down to Oxney Colne Parsonage. It
would be easy to add to the list of the things which she had not; and
this list against herself she made out with the utmost vigour. The
things which she had, or those rather which she assured herself of
having, were much more easily counted. She had the birth and education
of a lady, the strength of a healthy woman, and a will of her own. Such
was the list as she made it out for herself, and I protest that I assert
no more than the truth in saying that she never added to it either
beauty, wit, or talent.
I began these descriptions by saying that Oxney Colne would, of all
places, be the best spot from which a tourist could visit those parts of
Devonshire, but for the fact that he could obtain there none of the
accommodation which tourists require. A brother antiquarian might,
perhaps, in those days have done so, seeing that there was, as I have
said, a spare bedroom at the parsonage. Any intimate friend of Miss Le
Smyrger’s might be as fortunate, for she was equally well provided at
Oxney Combe, by which name her house was known. But Miss Le Smyrger was
not given to extensive hospitality, and it was only to those who were
bound to her, either by ties of blood or of very old friendship, that she
delighted to open her doors. As her old friends were very few in number,
as those few lived at a distance, and as her nearest relations were
higher in the world than she was, and were said by herself to look down
upon her, the visits made to Oxney Combe were few and far between.
But now, at the period of which I am writing, such a visit was about to
be made. Miss Le Smyrger had a younger sister, who had inherited a
property in the parish of Oxney Colne equal to that of the lady who now
lived there; but this the younger sister had inherited beauty also, and
she therefore, in early life, had found sundry lovers, one of whom became
her husband. She had married a man even then well to do in the world,
but now rich and almost mighty; a Member of Parliament, a lord of this
and that board, a man who had a house in Eaton Square, and a park in the
north of England; and in this way her course of life had been very much
divided from that of our Miss Le Smyrger. But the Lord of the Government
Board had been blessed with various children; and perhaps it was now
thought expedient to look after Aunt Penelope’s Devonshire acres. Aunt
Penelope was empowered to leave them to whom she pleased; and though it
was thought in Eaton Square that she must, as a matter of course, leave
them to one of the family, nevertheless a little cousinly intercourse
might make the thing more certain. I will not say that this was the sole
cause of such a visit, but in these days a visit was to be made by
Captain Broughton to his aunt. Now Captain John Broughton was the second
son of Alfonso Broughton, of Clapham Park and Eaton Square, Member of
Parliament, and Lord of the aforesaid Government Board.
“And what do you mean to do with him?” Patience Woolsworthy asked of Miss
Le Smyrger when that lady walked over from the Combe to say that her
nephew John was to arrive on the following morning.
“Do with him? Why I shall bring him over here to talk to your father.”
“He’ll be too fashionable for that; and papa won’t trouble his head about
him if he finds that he doesn’t care for Dartmoor.”
“Then he may fall in love with you, my dear.”
“Well, yes; there’s that resource at any rate, and for your sake I dare
say I should be more civil to him than papa. But he’ll soon get tired of
making love, and what you’ll do then I cannot imagine.”
That Miss Woolsworthy felt no interest in the coming of the Captain I
will not pretend to say. The advent of any stranger with whom she would
be called on to associate must be matter of interest to her in that
secluded place; and she was not so absolutely unlike other young ladies
that the arrival of an unmarried young man would be the same to her as
the advent of some patriarchal paterfamilias. In taking that outlook
into life of which I have spoken, she had never said to herself that she
despised those things from which other girls received the excitement, the
joys, and the disappointment of their lives. She had simply given
herself to understand that very little of such things would come her way,
and that it behoved her to live—to live happily if such might be
possible—without experiencing the need of them. She had heard, when
there was no thought of any such visit to Oxney Colne, that John
Broughton was a handsome, clever man—one who thought much of himself, and
was thought much of by others—that there had been some talk of his
marrying a great heiress, which marriage, however, had not taken place
through unwillingness on his part, and that he was on the whole a man of
more mark in the world than the ordinary captain of ordinary regiments.
Captain Broughton came to Oxney Combe, stayed there a fortnight,—the
intended period for his projected visit having been fixed at three or
four days,—and then went his way. He went his way back to his London
haunts, the time of the year then being the close of the Easter holidays;
but as he did so he told his aunt that he should assuredly return to her
in the autumn.
“And assuredly I shall be happy to see you, John—if you come with a
certain purpose. If you have no such purpose, you had better remain
away.”
“I shall assuredly come,” the Captain had replied, and then he had gone
on his journey.
The summer passed rapidly by, and very little was said between Miss Le
Smyrger and Miss Woolsworthy about Captain Broughton. In many
respects—nay, I may say, as to all ordinary matters, no two women could
well be more intimate with each other than they were,—and more than that,
they had the courage each to talk to the other with absolute truth as to
things concerning themselves—a courage in which dear friends often fail.
But nevertheless, very little was said between them about Captain John
Broughton. All that was said may be here repeated.
“John says that he shall return here in August,” Miss Le Smyrger said, as
Patience was sitting with her in the parlour at Oxney Combe, on the
morning after that gentleman’s departure.
“He told me so himself,” said Patience; and as she spoke her round dark
eyes assumed a look of more than ordinary self-will. If Miss Le Smyrger
had intended to carry the conversation any further, she changed her mind
as she looked at her companion. Then, as I said, the summer ran by, and
towards the close of the warm days of July, Miss Le Smyrger, sitting in
the same chair in the same room, again took up the conversation.
“I got a letter from John this morning. He says that he shall be here on
the third.”
“Does he?”
“He is very punctual to the time he named.”
“Yes; I fancy that he is a punctual man,” said Patience.
“I hope that you will be glad to see him,” said Miss Le Smyrger.
“Very glad to see him,” said Patience, with a bold clear voice; and then
the conversation was again dropped, and nothing further was said till
after Captain Broughton’s second arrival in the parish.
Four months had then passed since his departure, and during that time
Miss Woolsworthy had performed all her usual daily duties in their
accustomed course. No one could discover that she had been less careful
in her household matters than had been her wont, less willing to go among
her poor neighbours, or less assiduous in her attentions to her father.
But not the less was there a feeling in the minds of those around her
that some great change had come upon her. She would sit during the long
summer evenings on a certain spot outside the parsonage orchard, at the
top of a small sloping field in which their solitary cow was always
pastured, with a book on her knees before her, but rarely reading. There
she would sit, with the beautiful view down to the winding river below
her, watching the setting sun, and thinking, thinking, thinking—thinking
of something of which she had never spoken. Often would Miss Le Smyrger
come upon her there, and sometimes would pass by her even without a word;
but never—never once did she dare to ask her of the matter of her
thoughts. But she knew the matter well enough. No confession was
necessary to inform her that Patience Woolsworthy was in love with John
Broughton—ay, in love, to the full and entire loss of her whole heart.
On one evening she was so sitting till the July sun had fallen and hidden
himself for the night, when her father came upon her as he returned from
one of his rambles on the moor. “Patty,” he said, “you are always
sitting there now. Is it not late? Will you not be cold?”
“No, papa,” said she, “I shall not be cold.”
“But won’t you come to the house? I miss you when you come in so late
that there’s no time to say a word before we go to bed.”
She got up and followed him into the parsonage, and when they were in the
sitting-room together, and the door was closed, she came up to him and
kissed him. “Papa,” she said, “would it make you very unhappy if I were
to leave you?”
“Leave me!” he said, startled by the serious and almost solemn tone of
her voice. “Do you mean for always?”
“If I were to marry, papa?”
“Oh, marry! No; that would not make me unhappy. It would make | 1,107.256425 |
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THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVIS
by
"SAKI" (H. H. MUNRO)
with an Introduction by A. A. MILNE
TO THE LYNX KITTEN,
WITH HIS RELUCTANTLY GIVEN CONSENT,
THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY | 1,107.279135 |
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Transcribed from the 1913 Hodder and Stoughton edition by David Price,
email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
CATHARINE FURZE
CHAPTER I
It was a bright, hot, August Saturday in the market town of Eastthorpe,
in the | 1,107.676036 |
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E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau, Clive Pickton, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 29380-h.htm or 29380-h.zip:
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THE ADVENTURES OF HERR BABY
by
MRS. MOLESWORTH
Author of 'Carrots,' 'Us,' Etc.
'I have a boy of five years old:
His face is fair and fresh to see.'
WORDSWORTH
Illustrated by Walter Crane
[Illustration: There was Baby, seated on the grass, one arm fondly
clasping Minet's neck, while with the other he firmly held the famous
money-box.--P. 138.]
London
Macmillan and Co.
and New York
1895
First printed (4to) 1881
Reprinted (Globe 8vo) 1886, 1887, 1890, 1892, 1895
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
FOUR YEARS OLD 1
CHAPTER II.
INSIDE A TRUNK 20
CHAPTER III | 1,107.897852 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Books by Mr. Story.
POEMS. I. PARCHMENTS AND PORTRAITS. II. MONOLOGUES AND LYRICS. 2
vols. 16mo, $2.50.
HE AND SHE; or, A POET’S PORTFOLIO. 18mo, illuminated vellum, $1.00.
FIAMMETTA. A Novel. 16mo, $1.25.
ROBA DI ROMA. New Revised Edition, from new plates. With Notes. 2
vols. 16mo, $2.50.
CONVERSATIONS IN A STUDIO. 2 vols. 16mo, $2.50.
EXCURSIONS IN ART AND LETTERS. 16mo, $1.25.
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK.
EXCURSIONS IN ART
AND LETTERS
BY
WILLIAM WETMORE STORY
D.C.L. (OXON.)
COMM. CORONA ITALIA, OFF. LEG. D’HONNEUR, ETC.
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1893
Copyright, 1891,
BY WILLIAM WETMORE STORY.
_All rights reserved._
THIRD EDITION.
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
MICHEL ANGELO 1
PHIDIAS, AND THE ELGIN MARBLES 49
THE ART OF CASTING IN PLASTER AMONG THE ANCIENT GREEKS AND ROMANS 115
A CONVERSATION WITH MARCUS AURELIUS 190
DISTORTIONS OF THE ENGLISH STAGE AS INSTANCED IN “MACBETH” 232
EXCURSIONS IN ART AND LETTERS.
MICHEL ANGELO.
The overthrow of the pagan religion was the deathblow of pagan Art. The
temples shook to their foundations, the statues of the gods shuddered,
a shadow darkened across the pictured and sculptured world, when
through the ancient realm was heard the wail, “Pan, great Pan is dead.”
The nymphs fled to their caves affrighted. Dryads, Oreads, and Naiads
abandoned the groves, mountains, and streams that they for ages had
haunted. Their voices were heard no more singing by shadowy brooks,
their faces peered no longer through the sighing woods; and of all the
mighty train of greater and lesser divinities and deified heroes to
whom Greece and Rome had bent the knee and offered sacrifice, Orpheus
alone lingered in the guise of the Good Shepherd.
Christianity struck the deathblow not only to pagan Art, but for a time
to all Art. Sculpture and Painting were in its mind closely allied
to idolatry. Under its influence the arts slowly wasted away as with
a mortal disease. With ever-declining strength they struggled for
centuries, gasping as it were for breath, and finally, almost in utter
atrophy, half alive, half dead,—a ruined, maimed, deformed presence,
shorn of all their glory and driven out by the world,—they found a
beggarly refuge and sufferance in some Christian church or monastery.
The noble and majestic statues of the sculptured gods of ancient Greece
were overthrown and buried in the ground, their glowing and pictured
figures were swept from the walls of temples and dwellings, and in
their stead only a crouching, timid race of bloodless saints were seen,
not glad to be men, and fearful of God. Humanity dared no longer to
stand erect, but groveled in superstitious fear, and lashed its flesh
in penance, and was ashamed and afraid of all its natural instincts.
How then was it possible for Art to live? Beauty, happiness, life, and
joy were but a snare and a temptation, and Religion and Art, which can
never be divorced, crouched together in fear.
The long black period of the Middle Ages came to shroud everything in
ignorance. Literature, art, poetry, science, sank into a nightmare of
sleep. Only arms survived. The world became a battlefield, simply for
power and dominion, until religion, issuing from the Church, bore in
its van the banner of chivalry.
But the seasons of history are like the seasons of the year. Nothing
utterly dies. And after the long apparently dead winter of the Middle
Ages the spring came again—the spring of the Renaissance—when liberty
and humanity awoke, and art, literature, science, poesy, all suddenly
felt a new influence come over them. The Church itself shook off
its apathy, inspired by a new spirit. Liberty, long downtrodden and
tyrannized over, roused itself, and struck for popular rights. The
great contest of the Guelphs and Ghibellines began. There was a ferment
throughout all society. The great republics of Italy arose. Commerce
began to flourish; and despite all the wars, contests, and feuds of
people and nobles, and the decimations from plague and disease, art,
literature, science, and religion itself, burst forth into a new and
vigorous life. One after another there arose those great men whose
names shine like planets in history—Dante, with his wonderful “Divina
Commedia,” written, as it were, with a pen of fire against a stormy
background of night; Boccaccio, with his sunny sheaf of idyllic tales;
Petrarca, the earnest lover of liberty, the devoted patriot, the
archæologist and philosopher as well as poet, whose tender and noble
spirit is marked through his exquisitely finished canzone and sonnets,
and his various philosophical works; Villari, the historian; and all
the illustrious company that surrounded the court of Lorenzo the
Magnificent—Macchiavelli, Poliziano, Boiardo, the three Pulci, Leon
Battista Alberti, Aretino, Pico della Mirandola, and Marsilio Ficino;
and, a little later, Ariosto and Tasso, whose stanzas are still sung
by the gondoliers of Venice; and Guarini and Bibbiena and Bembo,—and
many another in the fields of poesy and literature. Music then also
began to develop itself; and Guido di Arezzo arranged the scale and
the new method of notation. Art also sent forth a sudden and glorious
coruscation of genius, beginning with Cimabue and Giotto, to shake off
the stiff cerements of Byzantine tradition in which it had so long been
swathed, and to stretch its limbs to freer action, and spread its wings
to higher flights of power, invention, and beauty. The marble gods,
which had lain dethroned and buried in the earth for so many centuries,
rose with renewed life from their graves, and reasserted over the world
of Art the dominion they had lost in the realm of Religion. It is
useless to rehearse the familiar names that then illumined the golden
age of Italian art, where shine preëminent those of Leonardo, the
widest and most universal genius that perhaps the world has ever seen;
of Michel Angelo, the greatest power that ever expressed itself in
stone or color; of Raffaelle, whose exquisite grace and facile design
have never been surpassed; and of Titian, Giorgione, Veronese, and
Tintoretto, with their Venetian splendors. Nor did science lag behind.
Galileo ranged the heavens with his telescope, and, like a second
Joshua, bade the sun stand still; and Columbus, ploughing the unknown
deep, added another continent to the known world.
This was the Renaissance or new birth in Italy; after the long
drear night of ignorance and darkness, again the morning came and
the glory returned. As Italy above all other lands is the land of
the Renaissance, so Florence above all cities is the city of the
Renaissance. Its streets are haunted by historic associations; at
every corner, and in every byplace or piazza, you meet the spirits
of the past. The ghosts of the great men who have given such a charm
and perfume to history meet you at every turn. Here they walked and
worked centuries ago; here to the imagination they still walk, and
they scarcely seem gone. Here is the stone upon which Dante sat and
meditated,—was it an hour ago or six centuries? Here Brunelleschi
watched the growing of his mighty dome, and here Michel Angelo stood
and gazed at it while dreaming of that other mighty dome of St.
Peter’s which he was afterwards to raise, and said, “Like it I will
not, and better I cannot.” As one walks through the piazza of Sta
Maria Novella, and looks up at the façade that Michel Angelo called
his “sposa,” it is not difficult again to people it with the glad
procession that bore Cimabue’s famous picture, with shouts and pomp
and rejoicing, to its altar within the church. In the Piazza della
Signoria one may in imagination easily gather a crowd of famous men
to listen to the piercing tones and powerful eloquence of Savonarola.
Here gazing up, one may see towering against the sky, and falling as it
were against the trooping clouds, the massive fortress-like structure
of the Palazzo Publico, with its tall machicolated tower, whence the
bell so often called the turbulent populace together; or dropping
one’s eyes, behold under the lofty arches of the Loggia of Orcagna
the marble representations of the ancient and modern world assembled
together,—peacefully: the antique Ajax, the Renaissance Perseus of
Cellini, the Rape of the Sabines, by John of Bologna, and the late
group of Polyxines, by Fedi, holding solemn and silent conclave. In
the Piazza del Duomo at the side of Brunelleschi’s noble dome, the
exquisite campanile of Giotto, slender, graceful, and joyous, stands
like a bride and whispers ever the name of its master and designer.
And turning round, one may see the Baptistery celebrated by Dante, and
those massive bronze doors storied by Ghiberti, which Michel Angelo
said were worthy to be the doors of Paradise. History and romance
meets us everywhere. The old families still give their names to the
streets, and palaces, and _loggie_. Every now and then a marble slab
upon some house records the birth or death within of some famous
citizen, artist, writer, or patriot, or perpetuates the memory of some
great event. There is scarcely a street or a square which has not
something memorable to say and to recall, and one walks through the
streets guided by memory, looking behind more than before, and seeing
with the eyes of the imagination. Here is the Bargello, by turns the
court of the Podestà and the prison of Florence, whence so many edicts
were issued, and where the groans of so many prisoners were echoed.
Here is the Church of the Carmine, where Masaccio and Lippi painted
those frescoes which are still living on its walls, though the hands
that painted and the brains that dreamed them into life are gone
forever. Here are the _loggie_ which were granted only to the fifteen
highest citizens, from which fair ladies, who are now but dust, looked
and laughed so many a year ago. Here are the _piazze_ within whose
tapestried stockades gallant knights jousted in armor, and fair eyes,
gazing from above, “rained influence and adjudged the prize.” Here are
the fortifications at which Michel Angelo worked as an engineer and
as a combatant; and here among the many churches, each one of which
bears on its walls or over its altars the painted or sculptured work
of some of the great artists of the flowering prime of Florence, is
that of the Santa Croce, the sacred and solemn mausoleum of many of
its mighty dead. As we wander through its echoing nave at twilight,
when the shadows of evening are deepening, we may hold communion with
these great spirits of the past. The Peruzzi and Baldi Chapels are
illustrated by the frescoes of Giotto. The foot treads upon many a
slab under which lie the remains of soldier, and knight, and noble,
and merchant prince, who, centuries ago, their labors and battles and
commerce done, were here laid to rest. The nave on either side is lined
with monumental statues of the illustrious dead. Ungrateful Florence,
who drove her greatest poet from her gates to find a grave in Ravenna,
_patriis extorris ab urbe_, here tardily and in penitence raised to him
a monument after vainly striving to reclaim his bones. Here, too, among
others, are the statues and monuments of Michel Angelo, Macchiavelli,
Galileo, Lanzi, Aretino, Guicciardini, Alfieri, Leon Battista Alberti,
and Raffaelle Morghen.
Of all the great men who shed a lustre over Florence, no one so
domineers over it and pervades it with his memory and his presence as
Michel Angelo. The impression he left upon his own age and upon all
subsequent ages is deeper, perhaps, than that left by any other save
Dante. Everything in Florence recalls him. The dome of Brunelleschi,
impressive and beautiful as it is, and prior in time to that of
St. Peter’s, cannot rid itself of its mighty brother in Rome. With
Ghiberti’s doors are ever associated his words. In Santa Croce we all
pause longer before the tomb where his body is laid than before any
other—even that of Dante. The empty place before the Palazzo Vecchio,
where his David stood, still holds its ghost. All places which knew
him in life are still haunted by his memory. The house where he lived,
thought, and worked is known to every pilgrim of art. The least
fragment which his hand touched is there preserved as precious, simply
because it was his; and it is with a feeling of reverence that we enter
the little closet where his mighty works were designed. There still
stands his folding desk, lit by a little slip of a window; and there
are the shelves and pigeon-holes where he kept his pencils, colors,
tools, and books. The room is so narrow that one can scarcely turn
about in it; and the contrast between this narrow, restricted space and
the vastness of the thoughts which there were born, and the extent of
his fame which fills the world, is strangely impressive and affecting.
Here, barring the door behind him to exclude the world, he sat and
studied and wrote and drew, little dreaming that hundreds of thousands
of pilgrims would in after-centuries come to visit it in reverence from
a continent then but just discovered, and peopled only with savages.
But more than all other places, the Church of San Lorenzo is identified
with him; and the Medicean Chapel, which he designed, is more a
monument to him than to those in honor of whom it was built.
Here, therefore, under the shadow of these noble shapes, and in the
silent influence of this solemn place, let us cast a hurried glance
over the career and character of Michel Angelo as exhibited in his life
and his greatest works. To do more than this would be impossible within
the brief limits we can here command. We may then give a glance into
the adjoining and magnificent Hall, which is the real mausoleum of the
Medici, and is singularly in contrast with it.
Michel Angelo was born at Caprese, in the Casentino, near Florence, on
March 6, 1474 or 1475, according as we reckon from the nativity or the
incarnation of Christ. He died at Rome on Friday, February 23, 1564, at
the ripe age of eighty-nine or ninety. He claimed to be of the noble
family of the Counts of Canossa. He certainly was of the family of the
Berlinghi. His father was one of the twelve Buonomini, and was Podestà
of Caprese when Michel Angelo was born. From his early youth he showed
a strong inclination to art, and vainly his father sought to turn him
aside from this vocation. His early studies were under Ghirlandajo.
But he soon left his master to devote himself to sculpture; and he was
wont to say that he “had imbibed this disposition with his nurse’s
milk”—she being the wife of a stone-carver. Lorenzo the Magnificent
favored him and received him into his household; and there under his
patronage he prosecuted his studies, associating familiarly with some
of the most remarkable men of the period, enriching his mind with
their conversation, and giving himself earnestly to the study not
only of art, but of science and literature. The celebrated Angelo
Poliziano, then tutor to the sons of Lorenzo, was strongly attracted
to him, and seems to have adopted him also as a pupil. His early
efforts as a sculptor were not remarkable; and though many stories
are told of his great promise and efficiency, but little weight is
to be given to them. He soon, however, began to distinguish himself
among his contemporaries; and his Cupid and Bacchus, though wanting
in all the spirit and characteristics of antique work, were, for the
time and age of the sculptor, important and remarkable. After this
followed the Pietà, now in St. Peter’s at Rome, in which a different
spirit began to exhibit itself; but it was not till later on that the
great individuality and originality of his mind was shown, when from
an inform block of rejected marble he hewed the colossal figure of
David. He had at last found the great path of his genius. From this
time forward he went on with ever-increasing power—working in many
various arts, and stamping on each the powerful character of his mind.
His grandest and most characteristic works in sculpture and painting
were executed in his middle age. The Sistine Chapel he completed when
he was thirty-eight years old, the stern figure of the Moses when he
was forty, the great sculptures of the Medici Chapel when he was from
fifty to fifty-five; and in his sixty-sixth year he finished the Last
Judgment. Thenceforth his thoughts were chiefly given to architecture,
with excursions into poetry—though during this latter period he painted
the frescoes in the Pauline Chapel; and after being by turns sculptor,
painter, architect, engineer, and poet, he spent the last years of his
life in designing and superintending the erection of St. Peter’s at
Rome.
One of his last works, if not the last, was the model of the famous
cupola of St. Peter’s, which he never saw completed. In some respects
this was departed from in its execution by his successors; but in every
change it lost, and had it been carried out strictly as he designed
it, it would have been even nobler and more beautiful than it is.
Here was a long life of ceaseless study, of untiring industry, of
never-flagging devotion to art. Though surrounded by discouragements
of every kind, harassed by his family, forced to obey the arbitrary
will of a succession of Popes, and, in accordance with their orders,
to abandon the execution of his high artistic conceptions and waste
months and years on mere mechanic labor in superintending mines and
quarries—driven against his will, now to be a painter when he desired
to be a sculptor, now to be an architect when he had learned to be
a painter, now as an engineer to be employed on fortifications when
he was longing for his art; through all the exigencies of his life,
and all the worrying claims of patrons, family, and country, he kept
steadily on, never losing courage even to the end—a man of noble
life, high faith, pure instincts, great intellect, powerful will, and
inexhaustible energy; proud and scornful, but never vain; violent of
character, but generous and true,—never guilty through all his long
life of a single mean or unworthy act: a silent, serious, unsocial,
self-involved man, oppressed with the weight of great thoughts, and
burdened by many cares and sorrows. With but a grim humor, and none
of the lighter graces of life, he went his solitary way, ploughing a
deeper furrow in his age than any of his contemporaries, remarkable as
they were,—an earnest and unwearied student and seeker, even to the
last.
It was in his old age that he made a drawing of himself in a child’s
go-cart with the motto “Ancora imparo”—I am still learning. And one
winter day toward the end of his life, the Cardinal Gonsalvi met him
walking down towards the Colosseum during a snowstorm. Stopping his
carriage, the Cardinal asked where he was going in such stormy weather.
“To school,” he answered “to try to learn something.”
Slowly, as years advanced, his health declined, but his mind retained
to the last all its energy and clearness; and many a craggy sonnet
and madrigal he wrote towards the end of his life, full of high
thought and feeling—struggling for expression, and almost rebelliously
submitting to the limits of poetic form; and at last, peacefully, after
eighty-nine long years of earnest labor and never-failing faith, he
passed away, and the great light went out. No! it did not go out; it
still burns as brightly as ever across these long centuries to illumine
the world.
Fitly to estimate the power of Michel Angelo as a sculptor, we must
study the great works in the Medicean Chapel in the Church of San
Lorenzo, which show the culmination of his genius in this branch of art.
The original church of San Lorenzo was founded in 930, and is one of
the most ancient in Italy. It was burned down in 1423, and reërected in
1425 by the Medici from Brunelleschi’s designs. Later, in 1523, by the
order of Leo X., Michel Angelo designed and began to execute the new
sacristy, which was intended to serve as a mausoleum to Giuliano dei
Medici, Duke of Nemours, brother of Leo X., and younger son of Lorenzo
the Magnificent; and to Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, and grandson of the
great Lorenzo. Within this mausoleum, which is now called the Medici
Chapel, were placed the statues of Giuliano and Lorenzo. They are both
seated on lofty pedestals, and face each other on opposite sides of
the chapel. At the base of one, reclining on a huge sarcophagus, are
the colossal figures of Day and Night, and at the base of the other
the figures of Aurora and Crepuscule. This chapel is quite separated
from the church itself. You enter from below by a dark and solemn
crypt, beneath which are the bodies of thirty-four of the family,
with large slabs at intervals on the pavement, on which their names
are recorded. You ascend a staircase, and go through a corridor into
this chapel. It is solemn, cold, bare, white, and lighted from above
by a lantern open to the sky. There is no color, the lower part being
carved of white marble, and the upper part and railings wrought in
stucco. A chill comes over you as you enter it; and the whole place is
awed into silence by these majestic and solemn figures. You at once
feel yourself to be in the presence of an influence, serious, grand,
impressive, and powerful, and of a character totally different from
anything that sculpture has hitherto produced, either in the ancient
or modern world. Whatever may be the defects of these great works, and
they are many and evident, one feels that here a lofty intellect and
power has struggled, and fought its way, so to speak, into the marble,
and brought forth from the insensate stone a giant brood of almost
supernatural shapes. It is not nature that he has striven to render,
but rather to embody thoughts, and to clothe in form | 1,108.05928 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 41409-h.htm or 41409-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
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Transcriber's note:
The original text includes Greek characters that have been
replaced with transliterations in this text version.
OLD ROME:
A Handbook to the Ruins of the City and the Campagna.
by
ROBERT BURN, M.A.,
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge.
Being an Epitome of His Larger Work 'Rome and the Campagna.'
[Illustration]
London: George Bell and Sons, York Street,
Covent Garden.
Cambridge: Deighton, Bell, & Co.
1880.
[The Right of Translation is reserved.]
London:
Printed by William Clowes and Sons,
Stamford Street | 1,108.154693 |
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Produced by James Simmons
VIDYĀPATI
VIDYĀPATI: BANGĪYA PADĀBALI
SONGS OF THE LOVE OF RĀDHĀ AND KRISHNA TRANSLATED
INTO ENGLISH BY ANANDA COOM | 1,108.254927 |
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Produced by Linda Hamilton, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Les
Galloway and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
John Fiske's Writings.
=MYTHS AND MYTH-MAKERS=: Old Tales and Superstitions interpreted by
Comparative Mythology. 12mo, $2.00.
=OUTLINES OF COSMIC PHILOSOPHY.= Based on the Doctrines of Evolution,
with Criticisms on the Positive Philosophy. In two volumes, 8vo, $6.00.
=THE UNSEEN WORLD=, and other Essays. 12mo, $2.00.
=EXCURSIONS OF AN EVOLUTIONIST.= 12mo, $2.00.
=DARWINISM=, and other Essays. 12mo, $2.00.
=THE DESTINY OF MAN=, viewed in the Light of His Origin. 16mo, $1.00.
=THE IDEA OF GOD=, as affected by Modern Knowledge. A Sequel to "The
Destiny of Man." 16mo, $1.00.
[asterism] _For sale by all Booksellers. Sent by mail, post-paid, on
receipt of price, by the Publishers_,
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., BOSTON.
=AMERICAN POLITICAL IDEAS=, viewed from the Stand-point of Universal
History. 12mo, $1.00. HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
THE IDEA OF GOD AS AFFECTED
BY MODERN KNOWLEDGE
[Illustration; Decorative symbol]
BY JOHN FISKE
[Illustration; Decorative panel]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1886
Copyright, 1885,
BY JOHN FISKE.
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge_:
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
To
MY WIFE,
IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE SWEET SUNDAY MORNING
UNDER THE APPLE-TREE ON THE HILLSIDE,
WHEN WE TWO SAT LOOKING DOWN INTO FAIRY WOODLAND PATHS,
AND TALKED OF THE THINGS
SINCE WRITTEN IN THIS LITTLE BOOK,
I now dedicate it.
* * * * *
+Arghyrion kai chrysion ouch hyparchei
moi; ho de echo, touto soi didomi.+
PREFACE
When asked to give a second address before the Concord School of
Philosophy, I gladly accepted the invitation, as affording a proper
occasion for saying certain things which I had for some time wished to
say about theism. My address was designed to introduce the discussion
of the question whether pantheism is the legitimate outcome of modern
science. It seemed to me that the object might best be attained by
passing in review the various modifications which the idea of God
has undergone in the past, and pointing out the shape in which it is
likely to survive the rapid growth of modern knowledge, and especially
the establishment of that great doctrine of evolution which is fast
obliging us to revise our opinions upon all subjects whatsoever.
Having thus in the text outlined the idea of God most likely to be
conceived by minds trained in the doctrine of evolution, I left it for
further discussion to decide whether the term "pantheism" can properly
be applied to such a conception. While much enlightenment may be got
from carefully describing the substance of a philosophic doctrine,
very little can be gained by merely affixing to it a label; and I
could not but feel that my argument would be simply encumbered by the
introduction of any question of nomenclature involving such a vague and
uninstructive epithet as "pantheism." Such epithets are often regarded
with favour and freely used, as seeming to obviate the necessity for
that kind of labour to which most people are most averse,--the labour
of sustained and accurate thinking. People are too apt to make such
general terms do duty in place of a careful examination of facts, and
are thus sometimes led to strange conclusions. When, for example, they
have heard somebody called an "agnostic," they at once think they know
all about him; whereas they have very likely learned nothing that is
of the slightest value in characterizing his opinions or his mental
attitude. A term that can be applied at once to a Comte, a Mansel, and
a Huxley is obviously of little use in the matter of definition. But,
it may be asked, in spite of their world-wide differences, do not these
three thinkers agree in holding that nothing can be known about the
nature of God? Perhaps so,--one cannot answer even this plain question
with an unqualified yes; but, granting that they fully agree in this
assertion of ignorance, nevertheless, in their philosophic attitudes
with regard to this ignorance, in the use they severally make of the
assertion, in the way it determines their inferences about all manner
of other things, the differences are so vast that nothing but mental
confusion can come from a terminology which would content itself
by applying to all three the common epithet "agnostic." The case is
similar with such a word as "pantheism," which has been familiarly
applied to so many utterly diverse systems of thought that it is
very hard to tell just what it means. It has been equally applied to
the doctrine of "the Hindu philosophers of the orthodox Brahmanical
schools," who "hold that all finite existence is an illusion, and life
mere vexation and mistake, a blunder or sorry jest of the Absolute;"
and to the doctrine of the Stoics, who "went to the other extreme,
and held that the universe was the product of perfect reason and in
an absolute sense good." (Pollock's "Spinoza," p. 356.) In recent
times it has been commonly used as a vituperative epithet, and hurled
indiscriminately at such unpopular opinions as do not seem to call
for so heavy a missile as the more cruel term "atheism." The writer
who sets forth in plain scientific language a physical theory of the
universe is liable to be scowled at and called an atheist; but, when
the very same ideas are presented in the form of oracular apophthegm or
poetic rhapsody, the author is more gently described as "tinctured with
pantheism."
But out of the chaos of vagueness in which this unhappy word has been
immersed it is perhaps still possible to extract something like a
definite meaning. In the broadest sense there are three possible ways
in which we may contemplate the universe.
_First_, we may regard the world of phenomena as sufficient unto
itself, and deny that it needs to be referred to any underlying and
all-comprehensive unity. Nothing has an ultimate origin or destiny;
there is no dramatic tendency in the succession of events, nor any
ultimate law to which everything must be referred; there is no
reasonableness in the universe save that with which human fancy
unwarrantably endows it; the events of the world have no orderly
progression like the scenes of a well-constructed plot, but in the
manner of their coming and going they constitute simply what Chauncey
Wright so aptly called "cosmical weather;" they drift and eddy about in
an utterly blind and irrational manner, though now and then evolving,
as if by accident, temporary combinations which have to us a rational
appearance. This is Atheism, pure and unqualified. It recognizes no
Omnipresent Energy.
_Secondly_, we may hold that the world of phenomena is utterly
unintelligible unless referred to an underlying and all-comprehensive
unity. All things are manifestations of an Omnipresent Energy which
cannot be in any imaginable sense personal or anthropomorphic; out
from this eternal source of phenomena all individualities proceed, and
into it they must all ultimately return and be absorbed; the events
of the world have an orderly progression, but not toward any goal
recognizable by us; in the process of evolution there is nothing that
from any point of view can be called teleological; the beginning and
end of things--that which is Alpha and Omega--is merely an inscrutable
essence, a formless void. Such a view as this may properly be called
Pantheism. It recognizes an Omnipresent Energy, but virtually
identifies it with the totality of things.
_Thirdly_, we may hold that the world of phenomena is intelligible
only when regarded as the multiform manifestation of an Omnipresent
Energy that is in some way--albeit in a way quite above our finite
comprehension--anthropomorphic or quasi-personal. There is a
true objective reasonableness in the universe; its events have
an orderly progression, and, so far as those events are brought
sufficiently within our ken for us to generalize them exhaustively,
their progression is toward a goal that is recognizable by human
intelligence; "the process of evolution is itself the working out of
a mighty Teleology of which our finite understandings can fathom but
the scantiest rudiments" ("Cosmic Philosophy," vol. ii. p. 406); it is
indeed but imperfectly that we can describe the dramatic tendency in
the succession of events, but we can see enough to assure us of the
fundamental fact that there is such a tendency; and this tendency is
the objective aspect of that which, when regarded on its subjective
side, we call Purpose. Such a theory of things is Theism. It recognizes
an Omnipresent Energy, which is none other than the living God.
It is this theistic doctrine which I hold myself, and which in the
present essay I have sought to exhibit as the legitimate outcome
of modern scientific thought. I was glad to have such an excellent
occasion for returning to the subject as the invitation from Concord
gave me, because in a former attempt to expound the same doctrine I
do not seem to have succeeded in making myself understood. In my
"Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy," published in 1874, I endeavoured to
set forth a theory of theism identical with that which is set forth
in the present essay. But an acute and learned friend, writing under
the pseudonym of "Physicus," in his "Candid Examination of Theism"
(London, 1878), thus criticizes my theory: In it, he says, "while I am
able to discern the elements which I think may properly be regarded as
common to Theism and to Atheism, I am not able to discern any single
element that is specifically distinctive of Theism" (p. 145). The
reason for the inability of "Physicus" to discern any such specifically
distinctive element is that he misunderstands me as proposing to
divest the theistic idea of every shred of anthropomorphism, while
still calling it a theistic idea. This, he thinks, would be an utterly
illegitimate proceeding, and I quite agree with him. In similar wise my
friend Mr. Frederick Pollock, in his admirable work on Spinoza (London,
1880), observes that "Mr. Fiske's doctrine excludes the belief in a
so-called Personal God, and the particular forms of religious emotion
dependent on it" (p. 356). If the first part of this sentence stood
alone, I might pause to inquire how much latitude of meaning may be
conveyed in the expression "so-called;" is it meant that I exclude the
belief in a Personal God as it was held by Augustine and Paley, or as
it was held by Clement and Schleiermacher, or both? But the second
clause of the sentence seems to furnish the answer; it seems to imply
that I would practically do away with Theism altogether.
Such a serious misstatement of my position, made in perfect good faith
by two thinkers so conspicuous for ability and candour, shows that,
in spite of all the elaborate care with which the case was stated in
"Cosmic Philosophy," some further explanation is needed. It is true
that there are expressions in that work which, taken singly and by
themselves, might seem to imply a total rejection of theism. Such
expressions occur chiefly in the chapter entitled "Anthropomorphic
Theism," where great pains are taken to show the inadequacy of
the Paley argument from design, and to point out the insuperable
difficulties in which we are entangled by the conception of a Personal
God as it is held by the great majority of modern theologians
who have derived it from Plato and Augustine. In the succeeding
chapters, however, it is expressly argued that the total elimination
of anthropomorphism from the idea of God is impossible. There are
some who, recognizing that the ideas of Personality and Infinity are
unthinkable in combination, seek to escape the difficulty by speaking
of God as the "Infinite Power;" that is, instead of a symbol derived
from our notion of human consciousness, they employ a symbol derived
from our notion of force in general. For many philosophic purposes the
device is eminently useful; but it should not be forgotten that, while
the form of our experience of Personality does not allow us to conceive
it as infinite, it is equally true that the form of our experience
of Force does not allow us to conceive it as infinite, since we know
force only as antagonized by other force. Since, moreover, our notion
of force is purely a generalization from our subjective sensations of
effort overcoming resistance, there is scarcely less anthropomorphism
lurking in the phrase "Infinite Power" than in the phrase "Infinite
Person." Now in "Cosmic Philosophy" I argue that the presence of God
is the one all-pervading fact of life, from which there is no escape;
that while in the deepest sense the nature of Deity is unknowable by
finite Man, nevertheless the exigencies of our thinking oblige us to
symbolize that nature in some form that has a real meaning for us; and
that we cannot symbolize that nature as in any wise physical, but are
bound to symbolize it as in some way psychical. I do not here repeat
the arguments, but simply state the conclusions. The final conclusion
(vol. ii. p. 449) is that we must not say that "God is Force," since
such a phrase inevitably calls up those pantheistic notions of blind
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
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UNDERSTOOD BETSY
BY
DOROTHY CANFIELD
Author of "The Bent Twig," etc.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ADA C. WILLIAMSON
[Illustration: Uncle Henry looked at her, eyeing her sidewise over the
top of one spectacle glass. (Page 34)]
CONTENTS
I Aunt Harriet Has a Cough
II Betsy Holds the Reins
III A Short Morning
IV Betsy Goes to School
V What Grade is Betsy?
VI If You Don't Like Conversation in a Book Skip this Chapter!
VII Elizabeth Ann Fails in an Examination
VIII Betsy Starts a Sewing Society
IX The New Clothes Fail
X Betsy Has a Birthday
XI "Understood Aunt Frances"
ILLUSTRATIONS
Uncle Henry looked at her, eying her sidewise
over the top of one spectacle-glass Frontispiece
Elizabeth Ann stood up before the doctor.
"Do you know," said Aunt Abigail, "I think
it's going to be real nice, having a little girl
in the house again"
She had greatly enjoyed doing her own hair.
"Oh, he's asking for more!" cried Elizabeth Ann
Betsy shut her teeth together hard, and started across
"What's the matter, Molly? What's the matter?"
Betsy and Ellen and the old doll
He had fallen asleep with his head on his arms
Never were dishes washed better!
Betsy was staring down at her shoes, biting her
lips and winking her eyes
CHAPTER I
AUNT HARR | 1,108.454428 |
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Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Ernest Schaal. and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 108.
JUNE 8, 1895.
ROBERT ON THE TEMS.
Me and sum of the Gents of the Lundon County Counsel, as they calls
theirselves, has had sum considerable differences of opinion lately, but
I don't suppose as it will cum to much. It seems as sum on em has got
theirselves elected into the Tems Conserwancy Gents, and nothink as is
dun quite sattisfys em unless they has the best places on bord the
crack steamers as takes em either up the River or Down the River, as the
case may be. In course they all wants the werry best heatables and
drinkables, and plenty on em; but if the water appens to be jest a
| 1,108.486059 |
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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.)
[Illustration: Copyright, 1891, by A. S. Burbank.
_Frontispiece._ PLYMOUTH IN 1622.]
American Historic Towns
HISTORIC TOWNS
OF
NEW ENGLAND
Edited by
LYMAN P. POWELL
Illustrated
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
NEW YORK & LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1898
COPYRIGHT, 1898
BY
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
[Illustration]
PREFACE
In July, 1893, while the first Summer Meeting of the American Society
for the Extension of University Teaching was in session at the
University of Pennsylvania, I conducted the students, in trips taken
from week to week, to historic spots in Philadelphia, the battle-fields
of the Brandywine and of Germantown, and to the site of the winter camp
at Valley Forge. The experiment was brought to the attention of Dr.
Albert Shaw, and at his instance I made a plea through the pages of _The
American Monthly Review of Reviews_, October, 1893, for the revival of
the mediæval pilgrimage, and for its adaptation to educational and
patriotic uses. After pointing out some of the advantages of visits paid
under competent guidance and with reverent spirit to spots made sacred
by high thinking and self-forgetful living, I suggested a ten days’
pilgrimage in the footsteps of George Washington.
The suggestion took root in the public mind. Leading journals commended
the idea. New England people, already acquainted with the thought of
local historical excursions, hailed the proposed pilgrimage with
enthusiasm. Men and women from a score of States avowed their eagerness
to make the experiment; and at the close of the University Extension
Summer Meeting of July, 1894, in which I had lectured on American
history, I found myself conducting for the University Extension Society
a pilgrimage, starting from Philadelphia, to Hartford, Boston,
Cambridge, Lexington, Concord, Salem, Plymouth, Newburg, West Point,
Tarrytown, Tappan, New York, Princeton, and Trenton.
The press contributed with discrimination the publicity essential to
success. Every community visited rendered intelligent and generous
co-operation. And surely no pilgrims, mediæval or modern, ever had such
leadership; for among our cicerones and patriotic orators were: Col. T.
W. Higginson, Drs. Edward Everett Hale and Talcott Williams, Hon.
Hampton L. Carson, Messrs. Charles Dudley Warner, Richard Watson Gilder,
Charles Carlton Coffin, Frank B. Sanborn, Edwin D. Mead, Hezekiah
Butterworth, George P. Morris, Professors W. P. Trent, William M.
Sloane, W. W. Goodwin, E. S. Morse, Brig.-Gen. O. B. Ernst, Major
Marshall H. Bright, and Rev. William E. Barton.
I had planned in the months that followed to publish a souvenir volume
containing the more important addresses made by distinguished men on the
historic significance of the places visited; but as the happy experience
receded into the past a larger thought laid hold of me. Why not sometime
in the infrequent leisure of a busy minister’s life edit a series of
volumes on _American Historic Towns_? Kingsley’s novels were written
amid parish duties, and Dr. McCook has found time, amid exacting
ministerial duties, to make perhaps the most searching study ever made
by an American of the habits of spiders. Medical experts agree
concerning the value of a wholesome avocation to the man who takes his
vocation seriously; and congregations are quick to give ear to the
earnest preacher whose sermons betray a large outlook on life.
A series of illustrated volumes on _American Historic Towns_, edited
with intelligence, would prove a unique and important contribution to
historical literature. To the pious pilgrim to historic shrines the
series would, perhaps, give the perspective that every pilgrim needs,
and furnish information that no guide-book ever offers. To those who
have to stay at home the illustrated volumes would present some
compensation for the sacrifice, and would help to satisfy a recognized
need. The volumes would probably quicken public interest in our historic
past, and contribute to the making of another kind of patriotism than
that Dr. Johnson had in mind when he defined it as the “last refuge of a
scoundrel.”
I foresaw some at least of the serious difficulties that await the
editor of such a series. If all the towns for which antiquarians and
local enthusiasts would fain find room should be included, the series
would be too long. A staff of contributors must be secured, possessing
literary skill, historical insight, the antiquarian’s patience, and
enough confidence in the highest success of the series to be prepared to
waive any requirement of adequate pecuniary compensation. Space must be
apportioned with impartial but not unsympathetic hand, and the
illustrations selected with due discrimination. And, finally, publishers
were to be found willing to assume the expense required for the
production in suitable form of a series for which no one could with
accuracy forecast the sale.
The last and perhaps most serious difficulty was removed almost a year
ago when Messrs. G. P. Putnam’s Sons expressed a willingness to take the
commercial risk involved in publishing the present volume, which will,
it is hoped, be the first of a series. Contributors were then found
whose work has, I trust, secured for the undertaking an auspicious
beginning. Critics inclined at first glance to speak harshly of the
differences among the contributors in style and in literary method are
advised to withhold judgment till a closer reading has made clear, as it
will, the fundamental differences there are among the towns themselves
in history and in spirit. Adequate reasons which need not be stated here
have made it advisable to omit Lexington, Groton, Portsmouth, the Mystic
towns, and other towns which would naturally be included in a later
volume on New England Towns, in case the publication should be
continued.
So many have co-operated in the making of this book that I will not
undertake to name them all. But I cannot forbear to acknowledge the
valuable assistance I have received at every stage of the work from Mr.
G. H. Putnam, Mr. George P. Morris, associate editor of _The
Congregationalist_, and Miss Gertrude Wilson, instructor in history at
the historic Emma Willard School. The Century Company has, in the
preparation of the first chapter on Boston and the chapter on Newport,
kindly allowed the use of certain illustrations and portions of articles
on Boston and Newport, which have appeared in _St. Nicholas_ and old
_Scribner’s_ respectively. Some of the illustrations for the Portland
chapter have been furnished by Lamson, the Portland photographer.
The Essex Institute, with characteristic generosity, has loaned most of
the cuts for the Salem chapter. The Ohio State Archæological and
Historical Society has allowed the reproduction from _The Ohio
Quarterly_ of some of the designs in the Rutland chapter, while certain
of the illustrations in the Cape Cod Towns chapter appeared first in
_Falmouth Illustrated_.
Conscious of the editorial shortcomings of the volume, I still dare to
hope that it may have such a cordial reception as will justify the
publication at some time of a volume on Historic Towns of the Middle
States.
LYMAN P. POWELL
AMBLER, PENNSYLVANIA
September 21, 1898.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION George Perry Morris 1
PORTLAND Samuel T. Pickard 53
RUTLAND, MASS. Edwin D. Mead 81
SALEM George Dimmick Latimer 121
BOSTON {Thomas Wentworth Higginson 167
{Edward Everett Hale 187
CAMBRIDGE Samuel A. Eliot 211
CONCORD Frank B. Sanborn 243
PLYMOUTH Ellen Watson 299
CAPE COD TOWNS Katharine Lee Bates 345
DEERFIELD George Sheldon 403
NEWPORT Susan Coolidge 443
PROVIDENCE William B. Weeden 475
HARTFORD Mary K. Talcott 507
NEW HAVEN Frederick H. Cogswell 553
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Plymouth in 1622[1] _Frontispiece_
PORTLAND
WHITE HEAD, CUSHING ISLAND 55
DEERING’S WOODS 59
Showing brook which the soldiers had to ford in the fight
with the Indians in 1689.
FIRST PARISH CHURCH 63
Containing the Mowatt cannon-ball.
THE BIRTHPLACE OF LONGFELLOW 67
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW 73
N. P. WILLIS 77
RUTLAND
DR. CUTLER’S CHURCH AND PARSONAGE AT IPSWICH HAMLET,
1787[2] 83
VIEW OF RUTLAND STREET[3] 85
MANASSEH CUTLER[4] 91
NATHAN DANE[5] 92
RUFUS PUTNAM[6] 95
SITE OF MARIETTA AND HARMAR, 1788[7] 101
THE “CENTRAL TREE”[8] 103
THE OLD RUTLAND INN[9] 104
VIEW OF RUTLAND CENTRE FROM MUSCHOPAUGE HILL[10] 107
BRITISH BARRACKS[11] 112
THE RUFUS PUTNAM HOUSE[12] 114
SALEM
GOVERNOR ENDICOTT’S SUN-DIAL AND SWORD[13] 122
THE FIRST MEETING-HOUSE, 1634-39[14] 123
GOVERNOR SIMON BRADSTREET[15] 125
GOVERNOR JOHN ENDICOTT[16] 126
THE PICKERING FIREBACK[17] 128
OLD CRADLE[18] 131
THE ROGER WILLIAMS’ OR “WITCH HOUSE”[19] 137
WITCH PINS[20] 142
TIMOTHY PICKERING 153
SOME OLD DOORWAYS[21] 155
BOWDITCH DESK AND QUADRANT[22] 158
WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT 160
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 163
From an engraving from a painting by C. G. Thompson.
NATH | 1,109.287394 |
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[Illustration: _London, Published by I. Murray, 1819_
SWISS COTTAGE.]
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
ON
A TOUR UPON THE CONTINENT
IN THE SUMMER OF 1818,
THROUGH PARTS OF
FRANCE, ITALY, SWITZERLAND,
THE BORDERS OF GERMANY,
AND A PART OF
_FRENCH FLANDERS_.
BY MARIANNE BAILLIE.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET.
1819.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRIARS.
TO
ONE OF THE MOST VALUED FRIENDS OF HER EARLIEST YEARS,
THE RIGHT HON. JOHN TREVOR,
THE AUTHOR
| 1,109.754266 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Melissa McDaniel, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
LEARN ONE THING
EVERY DAY
SEPTEMBER 15 1916
SERIAL NO. 115
THE
MENTOR
WALTER SCOTT
By HAMILTON W. MABIE
Author and Editor
DEPARTMENT OF
LITERATURE
VOLUME 4
NUMBER 15
FIFTEEN CENTS A COPY
The Wizard of the North
[Illustration]
The causes of Sir Walter Scott's ascendancy are to be found in the
goodness of his heart, the integrity of his conduct, the romantic
and picturesque accessories and atmosphere of his life, the fertile
brilliancy of his literary execution, the charm that he exercises,
both as man and artist, over the imagination, the serene, tranquilizing
spirit of his works, and, above all, the buoyancy, the happy freedom of
his genius.
[Illustration]
He was not simply an intellectual power, he was also a human and gentle
comforter. He wielded an immense mental force, but he always wielded it
for good, and always with tenderness. It is impossible to conceive of
his ever having done a wrong act, or of any contact with his influence
that would not inspire the wish to be virtuous and noble. The scope
of his sympathy was as broad as are the weakness and need of the human
race. He understood the hardship in the moral condition of mankind and
he wished and tried to relieve it.
[Illustration]
His writings are full of sweetness and cheer, and they contain nothing
that is morbid--nothing that tends toward surrender or misery. He
did not sequester himself in mental pride, but simply and sturdily,
through years of conscientious toil, he employed the faculties of a
strong, tender, gracious genius for the good of his fellow-creatures.
The world loves him because he is worthy to be loved, and because
he has lightened the burden of its care and augmented the sum of its
happiness.
From "Over the Border" by William Winter
[Illustration: FLORA MACIVOR--"WAVERLEY"
COURTESY, THE PAGE COMPANY
FROM A DRAWING BY R. W. MACBETH]
Waverley
ONE
"Waverley" is a story of the rebellion of the chevalier Prince Charles
Edward, in Scotland, in 1745.
Edward Waverley, the central figure of the tale, was a captain of
dragoons in the English army. He obtained a leave of absence from
his regiment and went to Scotland for a rest, staying at the home of
Baron Bradwardine. During his stay a band of Highlanders drove off the
Baron's cattle, and Waverley offered his assistance in recovering them.
Fergus MacIvor was the chief of the band which stole the cattle.
Waverley met his sister, Flora, and fell in love with her, but she
discouraged him.
Later Waverley was wounded by a stag; and the rebellion having started
in the meanwhile, one of the Highlanders, assuming Waverley to be a
sympathizer, used his name and seal to start a mutiny in Waverley's
troop. For this reason Waverley was dismissed from his regiment for
desertion and treason. Indignant at this unjust treatment, Waverley
joined the rebellion, first, however, returning home in an attempt
to justify himself. On this trip he was arrested for treason, but was
rescued by the Highlanders when on his way to the dungeon of Stirling
Castle.
Waverley served in the war, and when the rebellion was crushed he
escaped, and later made his way to London. There his name was cleared
from the false charges, and a pardon obtained for both himself and
Baron Bradwardine. Flora's brother was executed, and she herself
retired to a convent at Paris. Waverley married Rose, the beautiful
daughter of Baron Bradwardine.
One of the most charming scenes in the story took place shortly after
Waverley met Flora at the home of her brother. Flora had promised to
sing a Gaelic song for him in one of her favorite haunts. One of the
attendants guided him to a beautiful waterfall in the neighborhood, and
there he saw Flora.
"Here, like one of those lovely forms which decorate the landscapes
of Poussin, Waverley found Flora gazing on the waterfall. Two paces
farther back stood Cathleen, holding a small Scottish harp, the use of
which had been taught to Flora by Rory Dall, one of the last harpers
of the western Highlands. The sun, now stooping in the west, gave a
rich and varied tinge to all the objects which surrounded Waverley,
and seemed to add more than human brilliancy to the full, expressive
darkness of Flora's eye, exalted the richness and purity of her
complexion, and enhanced the dignity and grace of her beautiful form.
Edward thought he had never, even in his wildest dreams, imagined a
figure of such exquisite and interesting loveliness. The wild beauty of
the retreat, bursting upon him as if by magic, augmented the mingled
feelings of delight and awe with which he approached her, like a fair
enchantress of Boiardo or Ariosto, by whose nod the scenery around
seemed to have been created--an Eden in the wilderness.
"Flora, like every beautiful woman, was conscious of her own power,
and pleased with its effects, which she could easily discern from
the respectful yet confused address of the young soldier. But as she
possessed excellent sense, she gave the romance of the scene and other
accidental circumstance full weight in appreciating the feelings with
which Waverley seemed obviously to be impressed; and unacquainted with
the fanciful and susceptible peculiarities of his character, considered
his homage as the passing tribute which a woman of even inferior charms
might have expected in such a situation. She therefore quietly led the
way to a spot at such a distance from the cascade that its sound should
rather accompany than interrupt that of her voice and instrument, and
sitting down upon a mossy fragment of rock, she took the harp from
Cathleen."
"Waverley" was the first of the world-famous series of romances
to which it gives the title. It was published anonymously in 1814.
Although the authorship of the series was generally accredited to
Scott, it was never formally acknowledged until business conditions
necessitated it in 1826.
[Illustration: MEG MERRILIES DIRECTS BERTRAM TO THE CAVE--"GUY
MANNERING"
COURTESY, THE PAGE COMPANY
FROM AN ETCHING BY C. O. MURRAY]
Guy Mannering
TWO
Guy Mannering, a young Englishman traveling through Scotland, stopped
one night at the home of the Laird of Ellangowan. When the Laird
learned that the young man had studied astrology, he begged him to
cast the horoscope of his son, who had been born that night. What was
Mannering's dismay to find that two catastrophes overhung the lad,
one at his fifth, and the other at his twenty-first year! He told the
father, however, that he might be warned; and later went his way.
The fortunes of the Laird of Ellangowan, Godfrey Bertram, waned
rapidly. In addition to this, his son, Harry, at the age of five, was
kidnapped. It was impossible to learn whether the child was alive or
dead. The boy's mother died from the shock; and some years later the
Laird himself followed her, leaving his daughter Lucy penniless.
In the | 1,109.758325 |
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Has been mantained the ancient style, therefore just the more evident
printing errors have been corrected. Punctuation has not been corrected
also if inconsistent with modern English.
—Italics and smallcaps have been manteined as far as possible, since as
in old books (this one was printed in 1621) sometimes text style
changes when a word is hyphenated.
HIS
MAIESTIES
DECLARATION,
Touching his proceedings in the
_late Assemblie and Conuention_
of Parliament.
[Illustration: DIEV ET MON DROIT.]
_Imprinted at London by_ BONHAM
NORTON and IOHN BILL,
Printers to the Kings most Excellent
MAIESTIE. 1621.
[Illustration]
HIS
MAIESTIES
Declaration, touching his proceedings
in the late Assembly and
_Conuention of Parliament_.
Hauing of late, vpon mature deliberation, with the aduice and vniforme
consent of Our whole Priuie Councell, determined to dissolue the
Assembly and Conuention of Parliament, lately called together by Our
Regall power and Authoritie, Wee were pleased by Our Proclamation,
giuen at Our Palace of _Westminster_ the sixt day of this instant
_Ianuary_, to declare, not onely Our pleasure and resolution therein,
but also to expresse some especiall passages and proceedings, moouing
vs to that resolution: Wherein, albeit hauing so many yeeres swayed
the swords and scepters of three renowned kingdomes, Wee cannot but
discerne (as much as any Prince liuing) what apperteineth to the height
of a powerfull Monarch: yet, that all men might discerne, that Wee,
like Gods true Viceregent, delight not so much in the greatnesse of
Our place, as in the goodnesse & benignitie of our gouernment, We were
content in that one Act to descend many degrees beneath Our Selfe:
First, by communicating to all Our people the reasons of a resolution
of State, which Princes vse to reserue, _inter arcana Imperij_, to
themselues and their Priuie Councell: Secondly, by mollifying and
mixing the peremptorie and binding qualitie of a Proclamation, with
the indulgence of a milde and fatherly instruction: And lastly,
leading them, and opening to them that forbidden Arke of Our absolute
and indisputable Prerogatiue, concerning the calling, continuing,
and dissoluing of Parliaments: which, though it were more then
superabundant to make Our Subiects know the realitie of Our sincere
intentions; yet Wee not satisfied therewith, but finding the bounds of
a Proclamation too straight to conteine and expresse the boundlesse
affection that Wee beare to Our good and louing people, are pleased
hereby to inlarge Our Selfe, (as Wee promised in Our said Proclamation)
by a more full and plaine expression of those Letters and Messages that
passed from Vs to the Commons in Parliament, which by reason of the
length of them, could not bee related at large, but briefly pointed
at in Our said Proclamation. For, as in generall the great actions of
Kings are done as vpon a stage, obuious to the publike gazing of euery
man; so are Wee most willing, that the trueth of this particular,
concerning Our owne honour, and the satisfaction of Our Subjects,
should bee represented vnto all men without vaile or couering, being
assured that the most plainnesse and freedome will most aduantage Vs,
hauing in this, and all Our Actions euer affected such sinceritie and
vprightnes of heart, as were Wee all transparent, and that men might
readily passe to Our inward thoughts, they should there perceiue the
selfe–same affections which Wee haue euer professed in Our outward
words and Actions.
Hauing anticipated the time of reassembling Our Parliament to the
twentieth day of _Nouember_ last, (which Wee formerly appointed to
haue met vpon the eighth of _February_ next,) vpon the confidence
that their noble and generous declaration at their parting the fourth
of _Iune_ put vs in, of their free and liberall assistance to the
recouery of Our Childrens ancient inheritance, and hauing declared to
them Our resolution of taking vpon Vs the defence of Our childrens
patrimonie by way of Armes, the Commons very heartily and dutifully
fell immediatly after their reassembling, to treat of a necessary
supplie, and concluded, for the present, to grant a Subsidie to be paid
in _February_ next, (the last paiment of the latter Subsidie granted
by them being not to come in vntill _May_ following) whereby Wee were
well and cleerly satisfied of the good intenti[=o] of the Commons in
generall, by whose vniforme vote & assent that Subsidy was resolued
on, not without intimation of a more ample supplie to be yeelded in
conuenient time.
But before this their resolution was reduced into a formall Acte or
Bill, some discontented persons that were the cause of all that euill
which succeeded, endeauouring to clog the good will of the Commons with
their owne vnreasonable ends, fell to dispute in the House of Our high
Prerogatiues, namely of the match of Our dearest sonne the Prince, of
the making warre with forreigne Princes Our Allies, betweene whom and
Vs there was a firme peace religiously made and obserued hitherunto:
All which they couered with the cloake of Religion, and with the
faire pretence of a duetifull Petition to bee preferred to Vs. Wee
vnderstanding right well, that those points were not disputable in
Parliament, without Our owne Royall direction, being of Our highest
Prerogatiues, the very Characters of Souereignty; & thinking, that
when euery Subiect by nature, and the Lawes of the Realme, had the
power of matching their children according to their owne best liking,
none should denie Vs the like; especially Wee hauing at the beginning
of the Parliament declared Our purpose concerning the matching of Our
Sonne, the Prince, were fully perswaded, that those specious outsides
of Religion and humble petitioning, were added onely to gaine passage
vnto those things, which being propounded in their true colours, must
needs haue appeared vniust and vnreasonable, as matters wherewith
neuer any Parliament had presumed to meddle before, except they had
bene thereunto required by their King; nay, not befitting Our Priuie
Councell to meddle with, without Our speciall command and allowance;
since the very consulting vpon such matters (though in neuer so priuate
a maner) being discouered abroad, might at some time produce as ill
effects, as if they were publikely resolued vpon. For as concerning the
point of Religion, We aswell in the beginning of the Parliament, by a
publike and open Declaration made to both Houses in the higher House of
Parliament, as also shortly after, by a gracious answere vnto a former
Petition of theirs, expressed to the full Our immutable resolution to
maintaine true Religion, besides the vntainted practise of Our whole
life in that point. And howsoeuer an humble Petition beare a faire shew
of respect; yet if vnder colour of concluding on a Petition, a way
should bee opened to treat in Parliament of the mysteries of State,
without Our Royall allowance, it were a great and vnusuall breach vpon
the Royall power: Besides, who knoweth not that the preferring of a
Petition, includes an expectation to haue it graunted? and therefore to
nippe this springing euill in the beginning, Wee directed Our Letters
to the Speaker of that House, the tenour of which Letters followeth.
Master Speaker, _Wee haue heard by diuers reports to Our great griefe,
That the farre distance of Our Person at this time from Our high
Court of Parliament, caused by Our want of health, hath emboldened
some fiery and popular spirits in Our House of Commons, to debate and
argue publikely, in matters farre beyond their reach or capacitie,
and so tending to Our high dishonour, and to the trenching vpon Our
Prerogatiue Royall. You shall therefore acquaint that House with Our
Pleasure, That none therein shall henceforth presume to meddle with any
thing concerning Our gouernment, or mysteries of State; namely, not
to speake of Our dearest Sonnes match with the Daughter of_ Spaine,
_nor to touch the Honour of that King, or any other Our friends or
Confederates: And also not to meddle with any mens particulars, which
haue their due motion in Our ordinarie Courts of Justice. And whereas
We heare that they haue sent a message to_ S^[ir] Edwin Sandys, _to
know the reasons of his late restraint, you shall in Our name resolue
them, That it was not for any misdemeanour of his in Parliament: But
to put them out of doubt of any question of that nature that may arise
among them hereafter, you shall resolue them in Our name, That We
thinke our Selfe very free and able to punish any mans misdemeanours
in Parliament, as well during their sitting, as after; which We
meane not to spare hereafter, vpon any occasion of any mans insolent
behauiour there, that shall be ministred vnto Us. And if they haue
already touched any of these points which Wee haue here forbidden, in
any Petition of theirs which is to be sent vnto Vs, it is Our pleasure
that you shall tell them, That except they reforme it before it come
to Our hands, Wee will not deigne the hearing nor answering of it. And
whereas Wee heare that they are desirous, that We should make this a
Seßion of Parliament before Christmas, You may tell them, It shall be
in their default if they want it: For if they will make ready betweene
this and that time, some such Lawes as shall be really good for the
Common–wealth, Wee will very willingly giue Our Royall assent vnto
them: And so it shall thereby appeare, That if good Lawes be not made
at this time for the weale of the people, the blame shall onely and
most iustly lie vpon such turbulent spirits, as shall preferre their
particular ends to the weale of this Kingdome and Common–wealth. And so
We bid you farewell. Giuen at Our Court at Newmarket, the third day of
December, 1621._
To Our trustie and welbeloued,
_The Speaker of Our Commons_
House of Parliament.
Which Letters being publikely read in the House, they were so farre
either from reforming their intended Petition, which conteined those
points by Vs forbidden, or yet from going on cheerefully in propounding
of good Lawes, for which they were called, and to which purpose Wee
granted them in the end of Our said Letter to the Speaker, to make it
a Session before Christmas, whereof Wee vnderstood them to bee very
desirous, that they resolued to send the same vnto vs together with
another Petition iustifying the former, notwithstanding Our forbidding
them in Our said Letter to send the former Petition vnto Vs, as also
sate euer silent thereafter, till they were dissolued, as shall
hereafter more largely be expressed.
Those petitions being sent from the Commons by a select number of that
House vnto Vs then being at _Newmarket_ for Our health, the House
forbare to proceed in any businesse of importance, purposing, as
was apparently discerned, and as the euent prooued, so to continue
vntill the returne of their Messengers with Our Answere, which wee
vnderstanding, and being desirous to haue the time better husbanded, as
was fit (the shortnesse thereof, by reason of the approach of Christmas
being respected) required Our Secretarie to deliuer a Message vnto them
for this purpose, which he did, first by word of mouth, and after by
appointment of the House set it downe in writing in these words, viz.
_His Majestie, remembring that this House was desirous to haue a Seßion
betweene this and Christmasse, whereupon it pleased Him to signifie
vnto vs, that wee should haue contentment therein, and that there
should be a Seßion, if wee our selues were not in fault, taking now
notice that the House forbeares to proceede with any Billes vntill
the returne of the Messengers, lately sent vnto his Majestie, hath
enioyned mee to commaund the House in his Name not to lose time in
their proceeding for preparing of good Lawes in the meane while, in
consideration of this so neere approach of Christmaße; And that his
Majestie hopes they will not take vpon them to make a Recesse in
effect, though not in shew without his warrant._
Bvt this Message being deliuered, was so farre from working that good
effect, which Wee did most iustly expect, that contrariwise some
captious and curious heads tooke exception thereat, as tending to the
breach of their Priuiledges, by commanding them to proceede with Bills | 1,109.781572 |
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ORGANIZATION
ORGANIZATION
HOW ARMIES ARE FORMED FOR | 1,109.854189 |
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OLD CROSSES
AND LYCHGATES
[Illustration:
_Frontispiece_
1. NORTHAMPTON
ELEANOR CROSS]
OLD CROSSES
AND LYCHGATES
BY
AYMER VALLANCE
[Illustration]
LONDON
B·T·BATSFORD, L^{TD} 94, HIGH HOLBORN
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT
THE DARIEN PRESS, EDINBURGH
PREFACE
The genesis of this book was an article on "Churchyard Crosses,"
written by request for the _Burlington Magazine_, and published
therein in September 1918. It was at a time when the hearts of the
British people were being stirred to their innermost depths, for the
European War was yet raging, and the question of the most suitable
form of memorials of our heroic dead, sacrificed day by day, was
continually present to us. Nor, though hostilities happily ceased
when the Armistice was agreed upon within a few weeks thereafter,
has the subject of commemorating the fallen on that account declined
in interest and importance. Nay, its claims are, if anything, more
insistent than ever, for, the vital necessity of concentrating our
energies on the attainment of victory having passed away, the nation
is now at leisure "to pour out its mourning heart in memorials that
will tell the generations to come how it realised the bitterness and | 1,109.956348 |
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provided by the Internet Archive
THE BOOK OF FABLES AND FOLK STORIES
By Horace E. Scudder
New Illustrated Edition
Boston And New York Houghton Mifflin Company
1882 To 1919
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0006]
PUBLISHERS' NOTE
For more than a generation Mr. Scudder's _Book of Fables and Folk
Stories_ has been a prime favorite with young readers. It has seemed to
the publishers that a book which has maintained its popularity so long
might well be furnished with illustrations more in accordance with the
taste of the present day than those which were originally used. All the
old pictures have therefore been replaced by drawings made by a modern
artist, and it is hoped that readers of the volume will find its old
charm heightened by this new feature.
4 Park St., Boston October, 1919
THE BOOK OF FABLES AND FOLK STORIES
LITTLE RED-RIDING-HOOD
[Illustration: 9015]
|Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little girl. Her
mother was very fond of her, and her grandmother loved her even more.
This good old woman made for her a red cloak, which suited the child so
well that ever after she was called Little Red-Riding-Hood. One day her | 1,110.054317 |
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THE CALL OF THE TOWN
The Call of the Town
A Tale of Literary Life
By
J. A. HAMMERTON
AUTHOR OF
"J. M. BARRIE AND HIS BOOKS," "LORD ROSEBERY," "TONY'S
HIGHLAND TOUR," Etc.
LONDON
R. A. EVERETT & CO.
42 ESSEX STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1904
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. "THE PROUD PARENT" 9
II. HENRY LEAVES HOME 22
III. THE REAL AND THE IDEAL 36
IV. MR. TREVOR SMITH, IF YOU PLEASE 53
V. IN WHICH HENRY DECIDES 61
VI. WHICH INTRODUCES AN EDITOR 70
VII. AMONG NEW FRIENDS 80
VIII. THE YOUNG JOURNALIST 91
IX. WHAT THE NECKTIE TOLD 100
X. VIOLET EYES 111
XI. ONE'S FOLLY, ANOTHER'S OPPORTUNITY 122
XII. "A JOLLY, DASHING SORT OF GIRL" 136
XIII. THE PHILANDERERS 147
XIV. FATE AND A FIDDLER 157
XV. "THE MYSTERIOUS MR. P." 164
XVI. DRIFTING 177
XVII. THE WAY OF A WOMAN 192
XVIII. IN LONDON TOWN 202
XIX. THE PEN AND THE PENCIL CLUB 214
XX. THREE LETTERS, AND SOME OTHERS 228
XXI. "THAT BOOK" 238
XXII. HOME AGAIN 244
XXIII. A TRAGIC ENDING 254
XXIV. ONE SUNDAY, AND AFTER 259
THE CALL OF THE TOWN
CHAPTER I
"THE PROUD PARENT"
IF you happen to be riding a bicycle you arrive somewhat unexpectedly in
the little Ardenshire village of Hampton Bagot, and are through it in a
flash, before you quite realise its existence. But in the unlikely event
of your having business or pleasure there, you approach the place more
leisurely in the carrier's cart from the little station which absurdly
bears the name of the village, though two miles distant.
The ancient Parish Church, with its curious old chained library and bits
of Saxon masonry, "perfectly unique," as Mr. Godfrey Needham, the vicar,
used to say, and the one wide street of quaint old houses, with their
half-timbered fronts, remain to this day much as they were, no doubt,
when good Queen Bess ruled England. But the thirsty cyclist, whose
throat may happen to be parched at this particular stage of his journey,
is a poor substitute for the old-time stage-coach which made Hampton
Bagot a place of change. Somehow, the village continues to exist, though
its few hundred people scrape their livings in ways that are not obvious
to the casual visitor. The surrounding district is richly pastoral,
plentifully sprinkled with cosy farm-houses, and here, perhaps, we have
the reason why Hampton continues under the sun.
If you wandered along the few hundred yards of street, and noted the
various substitutes for shops, in which oranges and sweets and babies'
clothing mingle familiarly with hams and shoe-laces, you would be struck
by the more pretentious exterior of one which bears in crudely-painted
letters the legend, EDWARD JOHN CHARLES, and underneath, in smaller
characters, the words POST OFFICE. The building, a two-storied one, with
the familiar blackened timbers supporting high-pitched gables, and a
bay-window of lozenged glass, was, at the time of which I write, the
place of next importance in the village to the "Wings and Spur." Behind
this window, and by peering closely, one could see dusty packets of
writing-paper and fly-blown envelopes, a few cheap books, clay and briar
pipes, tobacco, and some withered-looking cigars. Below the window,
after diligent search, a slit for the admission of letters might be
found.
But while the place itself would easily have been passed over, not so
the figure at the door; for there, most days of the week and most hours
of the day, stood the portly form of Edward John Charles himself.
It was as though the legend overhead referred to the man beneath, and
the smile usually on his face spoke of contentment with himself and the
world at large. His face was ruddy and clean-shaven, as he chose to coax
his whisker underneath his chin, where it sprouted so amply that the
need to wear a collar or a tie did not exist; certainly, was not
recognised.
Somewhat under medium height, and of more than medium girth, Edward John
Charles was by no means an unpleasant figure to the eye, and if the
commonplace caste of face and prominent ears did not suggest any marked
intellectual gifts, the net result of a casual survey was "a
good-natured sort." He had a habit of concealing his hands mysteriously
underneath his coat-tails as he stood at the door beneath the staring
sign, and his coat had absorbed something of its owner's nature, for by
the perch of the tails one could guess his mood. They were flapped
nervously when the wearer was displeased; they opened into a wide and
settled =V= inverted when he was in the full flavour of his
satisfaction; and happily that was their most common condition. Indeed,
the coat-tails of Edward John Charles were as eloquent as the stumpy
appendage of the Irish terrier usually to be seen at the door with him.
Edward John stood in his familiar place this morning, and surveyed
placidly the one and only street of Hampton Bagot.
The street does not belong to Hampton at all, but is only so many yards
of a great highway to London. If you asked a Hampton man where it led
to, he would say to Stratford, as that is the end of his world. That he
is spending his life on a main-travelled road that goes on and on until
it is lost in the multitudinous streets of modern Babylon has never
occurred to him. Stratford is his _ultima thule_, the objective of his
longest travels.
But Edward John was no ordinary man, despite his common exterior, and it
was in the list of his distinctions that he had in his early manhood
spent two days in London. To him, the road on which he looked out for so
many hours each day was one of the tentacles thrown out by the mighty
City to drag the sons of Nature into its gluttonous maw.
"It ain't got me, 'owever," he reflected, as he contentedly wagged his
tails; "but as for 'Enry, why, 'oo knows?"
And really, what London would have | 1,110.063367 |
2023-11-16 18:35:34.1361260 | 1,117 | 11 |
E-text prepared by David Edwards, Mary Akers, 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 45720-h.htm or 45720-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45720/45720-h/45720-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45720/45720-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/jackyoungranchma00grinrich
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
In Chapter VII the Indian name "Ikuts tarush" is mentioned
twice. The "u" in both words has a macron above it and is
represented as [=u].
JACK, THE YOUNG RANCHMAN
[Illustration: "JACK COULD NOT UNDERSTAND WHY THE CALF HAD NOT
BEEN CHOKED TO DEATH."--_Page 101._]
JACK, THE YOUNG RANCHMAN
Or
A Boy's Adventures in the Rockies
by
GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
Author of "Pawnee Hero Stories," "Blackfoot Lodge Tales," Etc.
[Illustration]
New York
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1899,
By Frederick A. Stokes Company
Nineteenth Printing
Printed in the United States of America
PREFACE.
Far away in the west, close to the backbone of the continent,
lies the sage-brush country where the happenings described in the
following pages took place.
The story is about real things and about real people, many of whom
are alive to-day. The ranch lies in the Rocky Mountains, in a great
basin, walled in by mountains on every hand, and 7,500 feet above the
level of the sea.
The life there was exciting. There was good hunting--antelope and
elk and bears and buffalo; and, far away--yet near enough to be very
real--there were wild Indians.
It is a pleasure to review those days in memory.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Jack Danvers 1
II. Prairie Wolves and Antelope 11
III. The Road to the Ranch 21
IV. A Grizzly Killed 30
V. Roping and Riding 37
VI. An Ancient Massacre 49
VII. Hugh Chased by Indians 62
VIII. Jack's First Antelope 72
IX. John Monroe, Halfbreed 89
X. Cows in a Snow-drift 98
XI. Jack's First Elk 107
XII. Antelope Kids 116
XIII. Jack Kills a Lion 125
XIV. Wolves and Wolf-hounds 136
XV. Digging out a Wolf's Den 148
XVI. Birds and their Nests 157
XVII. Hunting on the Mountain 167
XVIII. With the Horse Roundup 180
XIX. Busting Broncos 194
XX. A Trip to Smith's Hole 206
XXI. Jack's First Camp-fire 214
XXII. A Load of Blacktail 225
XXIII. Occupations of a <DW36> 236
XXIV. A Berrying Party 245
XXV. An Elk Hunt 254
XXVI. Jack Rides a Wild Horse 263
XXVII. A Mysterious Cave 274
XXVIII. What the Cave Held 285
XXIX. Swiftfoot in New York 297
ILLUSTRATIONS
"JACK COULD NOT UNDERSTAND WHY THE CALF HAD NOT
BEEN CHOKED TO DEATH." frontispiece
"JACK CREPT UP PAST HUGH... AND TOOK A CAREFUL
AIM." 84
"THE ANIMAL LAUNCHED ITSELF FROM ITS PERCH FULL
TOWARDS JACK." 130
"RAISED HIS RIFLE TO HIS SHOULDER AND FIRED." 256
JACK, THE YOUNG RANCHMAN
CHAPTER I
JACK DANVERS
The door-bell rang, and from the library Jack heard the soft tread of
Aunt Hannah, as she walked through the hall to answer it. There was
a murmur of voices, and then Hannah's tones, loud and high pitched:
"Guns! no indeedy, chile, ye can't leave 'em here. Not here, chile.
Take 'em away. No, I don't keer if they is Mr. Sturgis'. Go 'way. I
won't take 'em. Gib 'em to the policeman | 1,110.156166 |
2023-11-16 18:35:34.1362320 | 50 | 10 |
Produced by David Kline, David Cortesi and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note: in this pure-ASCII edition, a small number of
non-ASCII | 1,110.156272 |
2023-11-16 18:35:34.2352620 | 3,198 | 10 |
Produced by sp1nd, Diane Monico, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
BEDFORD STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON.
_September 1874._
_MACMILLAN & CO.'S CATALOGUE of Works in BELLES
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_The two volumes comprehend the First and Second Series
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2023-11-16 18:35:34.5341820 | 7,418 | 94 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Memoirs of Napoleon--1814, v12
#12 in our series by Louis Antoine Fauvelet de Bourrienne
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Title: Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte, v12
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MEMOIRS OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, VOLUME 12.
By LOUIS ANTOINE FAUVELET DE BOURRIENNE
His Private Secretary
Edited by R. W. Phipps
Colonel, Late Royal Artillery
1891
CONTENTS:
CHAPTER XXVIII. to CHAPTER XXXVI. 1813-1814
CHAPTER XXVIII.
1813.
Riots in Hamburg and Lubeck--Attempted suicide of M. Konning--
Evacuation of Hamburg--Dissatisfaction at the conduct of General St.
Cyr--The Cabinets of Vienna and the Tuileries--First appearance of
the Cossacks--Colonel Tettenborn invited to occupy Hamburg--Cordial
reception of the Russians--Depredations--Levies of troops--
Testimonials of gratitude to Tettenborn--Napoleon's new army--Death
of General Morand--Remarks of Napoleon on Vandamme--Bonaparte and
Gustavus Adolphus--Junction of the corps of Davoust and Vandamme--
Reoccupation of Hamburg by the French--General Hogendorff appointed
Governor of Hamburg--Exactions and vexatious contributions levied
upon Hamburg and Lubeck--Hostages.
A considerable time before Napoleon left Paris to join the army, the bulk
of which was in Saxony, partial insurrections occurred in many places.
The interior of France proper was indeed still in a state of
tranquillity, but it was not so in the provinces annexed by force to the
extremities of the Empire, especially in the north, and in the
unfortunate Hanse Towns, for which, since my residence at Hamburg, I have
always felt the greatest interest. The intelligence I received was
derived from such unquestionable sources that I can pledge myself for the
truth of what I have to state respecting the events which occurred in
those provinces at the commencement of 1813; and subsequently I obtained
a confirmation of all the facts communicated by my correspondence when I
was sent to Hamburg by Louis XVIII. in 1815.
M. Steuve, agent from the Court of Russia, who lived at Altona apparently
as a private individual, profited by the irritation produced by the
measures adopted at Hamburg. His plans were so well arranged that he was
promptly informed of the route of the Grand Army from Moscow, and the
approach of the Allied troops. Aided by the knowledge and activity of
Sieur Hanft of Hamburg, M. Steuve profited by the discontent of a people
so tyrannically governed, and seized the opportunity for producing an
explosion. Between eight and nine o'clock on the morning of the 24th of
February 1813 an occurrence in which the people were concerned was the
signal for a revolt. An individual returning to Hamburg by the Altona
gate would not submit to be searched by a fiscal agent, who in
consequence maltreated him and wounded him severely. The populace
instantly rose, drove away the revenue guard, and set fire to the guard-
house. The people also, excited by secret agents, attacked other French
posts, where they committed the same excesses. Surprised at this
unexpected movement, the French authorities retired to the houses in
which they resided. All the respectable inhabitants who were unconnected
with the tumult likewise returned to their homes, and no person appeared
out of doors.
General Carry St. Cyr had the command of Hamburg after the Prince of
Eckmuhl's departure for the Russian campaign.
--[General Carry St. Cyr is not to be contused with the Marshal
Gonvion de St. Cyr; he fell into disgrace for his conduct at
Hamburg at this time, and was not again employed by Napoleon. Under
the Restoration he became Governor of French Guiana.]--
At the first news of the revolt he set about packing up his papers, and
Comte de Chaban, M. Konning, the Prefect of Hamburg, and M. Daubignosc,
the Director of Police, followed his example. It was not till about four
o'clock in the afternoon that a detachment of Danish hussars arrived at
Hamburg, and the populace: was then speedily dispersed. All the
respectable citizens and men of property assembled the next morning and
adopted means for securing internal tranquillity, so that the Danish
troops were enabled to return to Altona. Search was then made for the
ringleaders of the disturbance. Many persons were arrested, and a
military commission, ad hoc; was appointed to try them. The commission,
however, condemned only one individual, who, being convicted of being one
of the most active voters, was sentenced to be shot, and the sentence was
carried into execution.
On the 26th February a similar commotion took place at Lubeck. Attempts
were made to attack the French Authorities. The respectable citizens
instantly assembled, protected them against outrage, and escorted them in
safety to Hamburg, where they arrived on the 27th. The precipitate
flight of these persons from Lubeck spread some alarm in Hamburg. The
danger was supposed to be greater than it was because the fugitives were
accompanied by a formidable body of troops.
But these were not the only attempts to throw off the yoke of French
domination, which had become insupportable. All the left bank of the
Elbe was immediately in a state of insurrection, and all the official
persons took refuge in Hamburg. During these partial insurrections
everything was neglected. Indecision, weakness, and cupidity were
manifested everywhere. Instead of endeavours to soothe the minds of the
people, which had been, long exasperated by intolerable tyranny, recourse
was had to rigorous measures. The prisons were crowded with a host of
persons declared to be suspected upon the mere representations of the
agents of the police. On the 3d of March a special military commission
condemned six householders of Hamburg and its neighbourhood to be shot on
the glacis for no other offence than having been led, either by chance or
curiosity, to a part of the town which was the scene of one of the riots.
These executions excited equal horror and indignation, and General Carra
St. Cyr was obliged to issue a proclamation for the dissolution of the
military commission by whom the men had been sentenced.
The intelligence of the march of the Russian and Prussian troops; who
were descending the Elbe, increased the prevailing agitation in
Westphalia, Hanover, Mecklenburg, and Pomerania, and all the French
troops cantoned between Berlin and Hamburg, including those who occupied
the coast of the Baltic, fell back upon Hamburg. General Carra St. Cyr
and Baron Konning, the Prefect of Hamburg, used to go every evening to
Altona. The latter, worn out by anxiety and his unsettled state of life,
lost his reason; and on his way to Hamburg, on the 5th of May, he
attempted to cut his throat with a razor. His 'valet de chambre' saved
his life by rushing upon him before he had time to execute his design.
It was given out that he had broken a blood-vessel, and he was conveyed
to Altona, where his wound was cured, and he subsequently recovered from
his derangement. M. Konning, who was a native of Holland, was a worthy
man, but possessed no decision of character, and but little ability.
At this juncture exaggerated reports were circulated respecting the
approach of a Russian corps. A retreat was immediately ordered, and it
was executed on the 12th of March. General Carra St. Cyr having no money
for the troops, helped himself to 100,000 francs out of the municipal
treasury. He left Hamburg at the head of the troops and the enrolled men
of the custom-house service. He was escorted by the Burgher Guard, which
protected him from the insults of the populace; and the good people of
Hamburg never had any visitors of whom they were more happy to be rid.
This sudden retreat excited Napoleon's indignation. He accused General
St. Cyr of pusillanimity, in an article inserted in the 'Moniteur', and
afterwards copied by his order into all the journals. In fact, had
General St. Cyr been better informed, or less easily alarmed, he might
have kept Hamburg, and prevented its temporary occupation by the enemy,
to dislodge whom it was necessary to besiege the city two months
afterwards. St. Cyr had 3000 regular troops, and a considerable body of
men in the custom-house service. General Morand could have furnished him
with 5000 men from Mecklenburg. He might, therefore, not only have kept
possession of Hamburg two months longer, but even to the end of the war,
as General Lexnarrois retained possession of Magdeburg. Had not General
St. Cyr so hastily evacuated the Elbe he would have been promptly aided
by the corps which General Vandamme soon brought from the Wesel, and
afterwards by the very, corps with which Marshal Davoust recaptured
Hamburg.
The events just described occurred before Napoleon quitted Paris. In the
month of August all negotiation was broken off with Austria, though that
power, still adhering to her time-serving policy, continued to protest
fidelity to the cause of the Emperor Napoleon until the moment when her
preparations were completed and her resolution formed. But if there was
duplicity at Vienna was there not folly, nay, blindness, in the Cabinet
of the Tuileries? Could we reasonably rely upon Austria? She had seen
the Russian army pass the Vistula and advance as far as the Saale without
offering any remonstrance. At that moment a single movement of her
troops, a word of declaration, would have prevented everything. As,
therefore, she would not avert the evil when she might have done so with
certainty and safety, there must have been singular folly and blindness
in the Cabinet who saw this conduct and did not understand it.
I now proceed to mention the further misfortunes which occurred in the
north of Germany, and particularly at Hamburg. At fifteen leagues east
of Hamburg, but within its territory, is a village named Bergdorf.
It was in that village that the Cossacks were first seen. Twelve or
fifteen hundred of them arrived there under the command of Colonel
Tettenborn. But for the retreat of the French troops, amounting to 3000,
exclusive of men in the customhouse service, no attempt would have been
made upon Hamburg; but the very name of the Cossacks inspired a degree of
terror which must be fresh in the recollection of every one. Alarm
spread in Hamburg, which, being destitute of troops and artillery, and
surrounded with dilapidated fortifications, could offer no defence. The
Senator Bartch and Doctor Know took upon themselves to proceed to
Bergdorf to solicit Colonel Tettenborn to take possession of Hamburg,
observing that they felt sure of his sentiments of moderation, and that
they trusted they would grant protection to a city which had immense
commercial relations with Russia. Tettenborn did not place reliance on
these propositions because he could not suppose that there had been such
a precipitate evacuation; he thought they were merely a snare to entrap
him, and refused to accede to them. But a Doctor Von Hess, a Swede,
settled. in Hamburg some years, and known to Tettenborn as a decided
partisan of England and Russia, persuaded the Russian Commander to comply
with the wishes of the citizens of Hamburg. However, Tettenborn
consented only on the following conditions:--That the old Government
should be instantly re-established; that a deputation of Senators in
their old costume should invite him to take possession of Hamburg, which
he would enter only as a free and Imperial Hanse Town; that if those
conditions were not complied with he would regard Hamburg as a French
town, and consequently hostile. Notwithstanding the real satisfaction
with which the Senators of Hamburg received those propositions they were
restrained by the fear of a reverse of fortune. They, however,
determined to accept them, thinking that whatever might happen they could
screen themselves by alleging that necessity had driven them to the step
they took. They therefore declared their compliance with the conditions,
and that night and the following day were occupied in assembling the
Senate, which had been so long dissolved, and in making the preparations
which Tettenborn required.
At four o'clock in the afternoon of the 17th of March a picket of
Cossacks, consisting of only forty men, took possession of a town
recently flourishing, and containing a population of 124,000, but ruined
and reduced to 80,000 inhabitants by the blessing of being united to the
French Empire. On the following day, the 18th, Colonel Tettenborn
entered Hamburg at the head of 1000 regular and 200 irregular Cossacks.
I have described the military situation of Hamburg when it was evacuated
on the 12th of March, and Napoleon's displeasure may be easily conceived.
Tettenborn was received with all the honours usually bestowed upon a
conqueror. Enthusiasm was almost universal. For several nights the
people devoted themselves to rejoicing. The Cossacks were gorged with
provisions and drink, and were not a little astonished at the handsome
reception they experienced.
It was not until the expiration of three or four days that the people
began to perceive the small number of the allied troops. Their amount
gradually diminished. On the day after the arrival of the Cossacks a
detachment was sent to Lubeck, where they were received with the same
honours as at Hamburg. Other detachments were sent upon different
places, and after four days' occupation there remained in Hamburg only 70
out of the 1200 Cossacks who had entered on the 18th March.
The first thing their commander did was to take possession of the post-
office and the treasuries of the different public offices. All the
movable effects of the French Government and its agents were seized and
sold. The officers evinced a true Cossack disregard of the rights of
private property. Counts Huhn, Buasenitz, and Venechtern, who had joined
Tettenborn's staff, rendered themselves conspicuous by plundering the
property of M. Pyonnier, the Director of the Customs, and M. Gonae, the
Postmaster, and not a bottle of wine was left in their cellars.
Tettenborn laid hands upon a sum of money, consisting of upwards of 4000
Louis in gold, belonging to M. Gonse, which had been lodged with M.
Schwartz, a respectable banker in Hamburg, who filled the office of
Prussian Consul. M. Schwartz, with whom this money had been deposited
for the sake of security, had also the care of some valuable jewels
belonging to Mesdames Carry St. Cyr and Daubignoac; Tettenborn carried
off these as well as the money. M. Schwartz remonstrated in his
character of Prussian Consul, Prussia being the ally of Russia, but he
was considered merely as a banker, and could obtain no redress.
Tettenborn, like most of the Cossack chiefs, was nothing but a man for
blows and pillage, but the agent of Russia was M. Steuve, whose name I
have already mentioned.
Orders were speedily given for a levy of troops, both in infantry and
cavalry, to be called Hanseatic volunteers. A man named Hanft, who had
formerly been a butcher, raised at his own expense a company of foot and
one of lancers, of which he took the command. This undertaking, which
cost him 130,000 francs, may afford some idea of the attachment of the
people of Hamburg to the French Government! But money, as well as men,
was wanting, and a heavy contribution was imposed to defray the expense
of enrolling a number of workmen out of employment and idlers, of various
kinds. Voluntary donations were solicited, and enthusiasm was so general
that even servant-maids gave their rings. The sums thus collected were
paid into the chest of Tettenborn's staff, and became a prey to dishonest
appropriation. With respect to this money a Sieur Oswald was accused of
not having acted with the scrupulous delicacy which Madame de Stael
attributes to his namesake in her romance of Corinne.
Between 8000 and 10,000 men were levied in the Hanse Towns and their
environs, the population of which had been so greatly reduced within two
years. These undisciplined troops, who had been for the most part levied
from the lowest classes of society, committed so many outrages that they
soon obtained the surname of the Cossacks of the Elbe; and certainly they
well deserved it.
Such was the hatred which the French Government had inspired in Hamburg
that the occupation of Tettenborn was looked upon as a deliverance. On
the colonel's departure the Senate, anxious to give high a testimonial of
gratitude, presented him with the freedom of the city, accompanied by
5000 gold fredericks (105,000 francs), with which he was doubtless much
more gratified than with the honour of the citizenship.
The restored Senate of Hamburg did not long survive. The people of the
Hanse Towns learned, with no small alarm, that the Emperor was making
immense preparations to fall upon Germany, where his lieuten | 1,110.554222 |
2023-11-16 18:35:34.5362860 | 1,726 | 8 |
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
THE BOOK OF HOUSEHOLD MANAGEMENT;
Comprising Information for the
MISTRESS,
HOUSEKEEPER,
COOK,
KITCHEN-MAID,
BUTLER,
FOOTMAN,
COACHMAN,
VALET,
UPPER AND UNDER HOUSE-MAIDS,
LADY'S-MAID,
MAID-OF-ALL-WORK,
LAUNDRY-MAID,
NURSE AND NURSE-MAID,
MONTHLY, WET, AND SICK NURSES,
ETC. ETC.
ALSO, SANITARY, MEDICAL, & LEGAL MEMORANDA;
WITH A HISTORY OF THE ORIGIN, PROPERTIES, AND USES OF ALL THINGS
CONNECTED WITH HOME LIFE AND COMFORT.
BY MRS. ISABELLA BEETON.
Nothing lovelier can be found
In Woman, than to study household good.--MILTON.
Published Originally By
S. O. Beeton in 24 Monthly Parts
1859-1861.
First Published in a Bound Edition 1861.
PREFACE.
I must frankly own, that if I had known, beforehand, that this book
would have cost me the labour which it has, I should never have been
courageous enough to commence it. What moved me, in the first instance,
to attempt a work like this, was the discomfort and suffering which I
had seen brought upon men and women by household mismanagement. I have
always thought that there is no more fruitful source of family
discontent than a housewife's badly-cooked dinners and untidy ways. Men
are now so well served out of doors,--at their clubs, well-ordered
taverns, and dining-houses, that in order to compete with the
attractions of these places, a mistress must be thoroughly acquainted
with the theory and practice of cookery, as well as be perfectly
conversant with all the other arts of making and keeping a comfortable
home.
In this book I have attempted to give, under the chapters devoted to
cookery, an intelligible arrangement to every recipe, a list of the
_ingredients_, a plain statement of the _mode_ of preparing each dish,
and a careful estimate of its _cost_, the _number of people_ for whom it
is _sufficient_, and the time when it is _seasonable_. For the matter of
the recipes, I am indebted, in some measure, to many correspondents of
the "Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine," who have obligingly placed at my
disposal their formulas for many original preparations. A large private
circle has also rendered me considerable service. A diligent study of
the works of the best modern writers on cookery was also necessary to
the faithful fulfilment of my task. Friends in England, Scotland,
Ireland, France, and Germany, have also very materially aided me. I have
paid great attention to those recipes which come under the head of "COLD
MEAT COOKERY." But in the department belonging to the Cook I have
striven, too, to make my work something more than a Cookery Book, and
have, therefore, on the best authority that I could obtain, given an
account of the natural history of the animals and vegetables which we
use as food. I have followed the animal from his birth to his appearance
on the table; have described the manner of feeding him, and of slaying
him, the position of his various joints, and, after giving the recipes,
have described the modes of carving Meat, Poultry, and Game. Skilful
artists have designed the numerous drawings which appear in this work,
and which illustrate, better than any description, many important and
interesting items. The plates are a novelty not without value.
Besides the great portion of the book which has especial reference to
the cook's department, there are chapters devoted to those of the other
servants of the household, who have all, I trust, their duties clearly
assigned to them.
Towards the end of the work will be found valuable chapters on the
"Management of Children"----"The Doctor," the latter principally
referring to accidents and emergencies, some of which are certain to
occur in the experience of every one of us; and the last chapter
contains "Legal Memoranda," which will be serviceable in cases of doubt
as to the proper course to be adopted in the relations between Landlord
and Tenant, Tax-gatherer and Tax-payer, and Tradesman and Customer.
These chapters have been contributed by gentlemen fully entitled to
confidence; those on medical subjects by an experienced surgeon, and the
legal matter by a solicitor.
I wish here to acknowledge the kind letters and congratulations I have
received during the progress of this work, and have only further to add,
that I trust the result of the four years' incessant labour which I have
expended will not be altogether unacceptable to some of my countrymen
and countrywomen.
ISABELLA BEETON.
GENERAL CONTENTS
CHAP.
I.--THE MISTRESS.
2.--THE HOUSEKEEPER.
3.--ARRANGEMENT AND ECONOMY OF THE KITCHEN.
4.--INTRODUCTION TO COOKERY.
5.--GENERAL DIRECTIONS FOR MAKING SOUPS.
6.--RECIPES.
7.--THE NATURAL HISTORY OF FISHES.
8.--RECIPES.
9.--SAUCES, PICKLES, GRAVIES, AND FORCEMEATS.--GENERAL REMARKS.
10.--RECIPES.
11.--VARIOUS MODES OF COOKING MEAT.
12.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON QUADRUPEDS.
13.--RECIPES.
14.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE SHEEP AND LAMB.
15.--RECIPES.
16.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE COMMON HOG.
17.--RECIPES.
18.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE CALF.
19.--RECIPES.
20.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON BIRDS.
21.--RECIPES.
22.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON GAME.
23.--RECIPES.
24.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON VEGETABLES.
25.--RECIPES.
26.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON PUDDINGS AND PASTRY.
27.--RECIPES
28.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON CREAMS, JELLIES, SOUFFLES, OMELETS,
AND SWEET DISHES.
29--RECIPES.
30.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON PRESERVES, CONFECTIONERY, ICES,
AND DESSERT DISHES.
31.--RECIPES.
32.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON MILK, BUTTER, CHEESE, AND EGGS.
33.--RECIPES.
34.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON BREAD, BISCUITS, AND CAKES.
35.--RECIPES.
36.--GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON BEVERAGES.
37.--RECIPES.
38.--INVALID COOKERY.
39.--RECIPES.
40.--DINNERS AND DINING.
41.--DOMESTIC SERVANTS.
42.--THE REARING AND MANAGEMENT OF CHILDREN, AND DISEASES OF
INFANCY AND CHILDHOOD.
43.--THE DOCTOR
44.--LEGAL MEMORANDA
ANALYTICAL INDEX.
NOTE.--Where a "_p_" occurs before the number for reference, the
_page_, and not the paragraph, is to be sought.
Accidents, injuries, &c. remarks on 2578
Agreements 2705-7
Alexanders 1108
Alkalis 2654
Allium, the genus 1129
Allspice 438
Almond, the 1219
Bitter 1220
Cake 1752
Cheesecakes 1219
Flowers 1316
Icing for cakes 1735
Paste, for second-course dishes 1220
Pudding, baked 1221
Puddings, small 1222
Puffs 1223
| 1,110.556326 |
2023-11-16 18:35:34.7754550 | 50 | 10 | PALACE***
Transcribed from the [1860s] J. F. Shaw edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Tract cover]
THE SABBATH AND | 1,110.795495 |
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A LIST OF
_KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO.'S
PUBLICATIONS_.
_1, Paternoster Square, London_.
A LIST OF
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
GENERAL LITERATURE 2
PARCHMENT LIBRARY 18
PULPIT COMMENTARY 21
INTERNATIONAL SCIENTIFIC SERIES 30
MILITARY WORKS 33
POETRY 35
NOVELS AND TALES 41
BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG 43
GENERAL LITERATURE.
_A. K. H. B._--From a Quiet Place. A Volume of Sermons. Crown 8vo,
5_s._
_ALEXANDER, William, D.D., Bishop of Derry._--The Great Question, and
other Sermons. Crown 8vo, 6_s._
_ALLIES, T. W., M.A._--Per Crucem ad Lucem. The Result of a Life. 2
vols. Demy 8vo, 25_s._
A Life's Decision. Crown 8vo, 7_s._ 6_d._
_AMHERST, Rev. W. J._--The History of Catholic Emancipation and the
Progress of the Catholic Church in the British Isles (chiefly in
England) from 1771-1820. 2 vols. Demy 8vo, 24_s._
_AMOS, Professor Sheldon._--The History and Principles of the Civil Law
of Rome. An aid to the Study of Scientific and Comparative
Jurisprudence. Demy 8vo, 16_s._
Ancient and Modern Britons. A Retrospect. 2 vols. Demy 8vo, 24_s._
_ARISTOTLE._--The Nicomachean Ethics of Aristotle. Translated by F. H.
Peters, M.A. Third Edition. Crown 8vo, 6_s._
_AUBERTIN, J. J._--A Flight to Mexico. With 7 full-page Illustrations
and a Railway Map of Mexico. Crown 8vo, 7_s._ 6_d._
Six Months in Cape Colony and Natal. With Illustrations and
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Aucassin and Nicolette. Edited in Old French and rendered in Modern
English by F. W. BOURDILLON. Fcap 8vo, 7_s._ 6_d._
_AUCHMUTY, A. C._--Dives and Pauper, and other Sermons. Crown 8vo,
3_s._ 6_d._
_AZARIUS, Brother._--Aristotle and the Christian Church. Small crown
8vo, 3_s._ 6_d._
_BADGER, George Percy, D.C.L._--An English-Arabic Lexicon. In which the
equivalent for English Words and Idiomatic Sentences are rendered into
literary and colloquial Arabic. Royal 4to, 80_s._
_BAGEHOT, Walter._--The English Constitution. Fourth Edition. Crown
8vo, 7_s._ 6_d._
Lombard Street. A Description of the Money Market. Eighth
Edition. Crown 8vo, 7_s._ 6_d._
Essays on Parliamentary Reform. Crown 8vo, 5_s._
Some Articles on the Depreciation of Silver, and Topics
connected with it. Demy 8vo, 5_s._
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The Principles of Colliery Ventilation. Second Edition,
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The Principles of Civil Engineering as applied to
Agriculture and Estate Management. Crown 8vo, 7_s._ 6_d._
_BAIRD, Henry M._--The Huguenots and Henry of Navarre. 2 vols. With
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North-Western Provinces of India. With 20 Illustrations. New and
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_BALLIN, Ada S. and F. L._--A Hebrew Grammar. With Exercises selected
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PAUL, M.A., and E. D. STONE, M.A. Third Edition. Crown 8vo, 6_s._
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Birth and Growth of Religion. A Book for Workers. Crown 8vo, cloth,
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Preached in Scarborough and in Cannes. New and Cheaper Edition. Crown
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Ideas about India. Crown 8vo. Cloth, 6_s._
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English Grammar for Beginners. Fcap. 8vo, 1_s._
Simple English Poems. English Literature for Junior Classes.
In four parts. Parts I., II., and III., 6_d._ each. Part
IV., 1_s._ Complete, 3_s._
_BRADLEY, F. H._--The Principles of Logic. Demy 8vo, 16_s._
_BRIDGETT, Rev. T. E._--History of the Holy Eucharist in Great Britain.
2 vols. Demy 8vo, 18_s._
_BROOKE, Rep. Stopford A._--The Fight of Faith. Sermons preached on
various occasions. Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo, 7_s._ 6_d._
The Spirit of the Christian Life. Third Edition. Crown 8vo,
5_s._
Theology in the English Poets.--Cowper, Coleridge,
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Christ in Modern Life. Sixteenth Edition. Crown 8vo, 5_s._
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Crown 8vo, 6_s._
Venetian Studies. Crown 8vo, 7_s._ 6_d._
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Doctrine of Annihilation in the Light of the Gospel of Love.
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Helps to Health. The Habitation--The Nursery--The Schoolroom
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_CHARLES, Rev. R. H._--Forgiveness, and other Sermons. Crown 8vo, 4_s._
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_HOWARD, Robert, M.A._--The Church of England and other Religious
Communions. A course of Lectures delivered in the Parish Church of
Clapham. Crown 8vo, 7_s._ 6_d._
How to Make a Saint; or, The Process of Canonization in the Church of
England. By the PRIG. Fcap 8vo, 3_s._ 6_d._
_HUNTER, William C._--Bits of Old China | 1,111.054446 |
2023-11-16 18:35:35.1384040 | 1,039 | 7 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 86. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, June 21, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE ARREST OF EMILY GEIGER.]
THE FAIR MESSENGER.
BY BENSON J. LOSSING.
On a warm, hazy day in January, 1849, I was at Orangeburg, South
Carolina, eighty miles west of Charleston. My purpose was to visit the
battle-ground of Eutaw Springs, on the right bank of the Santee River,
forty miles distant. I hired a horse and gig for the journey. The steed
was fleet, and the road was level and smooth most of the way. It lay
through cultivated fields and dark pine forests, and across dry swamps
wherein the Spanish moss hung like trailing banners from the live-oak
and cypress trees.
At sunset I had travelled thirty miles. I lodged at the house of a
planter not far from Vance's Ferry, on the Santee, where I passed the
evening with an intelligent and venerable woman (Mrs. Buxton)
eighty-four years of age. She was a maiden of seventeen when the armies
of Greene and Rawdon made lively times in the region of the Upper
Santee, Catawba, Saluda, and Broad rivers. She knew Marion, and Sumter,
and Horry, and other less famous partisans, who were frequently at her
father's home, on the verge of a swamp not far from the High Hills of
Santee.
"We were Whigs," she said, "but the Tories were so thick and cruel
around us, when Rawdon was at Camden, that father had to pretend he was
a King's man to save his life and property. Oh, those were terrible
times, when one was not sure on going to bed that the house would not be
burned before morning."
"Did you witness any exciting scenes yourself?" I inquired.
"Yes, many. One in particular so stirred my young blood that I actually
resolved to put on brother Ben's clothes, take our old fowling-piece,
join the Swamp Fox, as the British called Marion, and fight for freedom
to call my soul my own."
"What was the event?" I asked.
"You have read, maybe," said Mrs. Buxton, "how Lord Rawdon, after
chasing General Greene far toward the Saluda, suddenly turned back,
abandoned Fort Ninety-Six, and retreated toward Charleston. Well, Greene
sent Harry Lee, with his light-horse, to get in front of Rawdon before
he should reach the ferry on the Congaree at Granby. He was anxious to
call Marion and Sumter to the same point to help Lee. Sumter was then
encamped a dozen miles south of our home."
The venerable woman's dark brown eyes sparkled with emotion as she
proceeded with the story. She said her cousin, on Greene's staff at the
time, told her that when the General called for a volunteer messenger to
carry a letter to Sumter, not one of the soldiers offered to undertake
the perilous task, for the way was swarming with Tories. Greene was
perplexed. Brave and pretty Emily Geiger, the young daughter of a German
planter in Fairfield District, had just arrived at head-quarters with
important information for the General. She rode a spirited horse with
the ease and grace of a dragoon. Emily saw the hesitation of the
soldiers, and Greene's anxiety. Earnestly but modestly she said to the
General, "May I carry the letter?"
Greene was astonished. He was unwilling to expose her to the dangers
which he knew awaited a messenger, for the Tories were vigilant.
"They won't hurt a young girl, I am sure; and I know the way," said
Emily.
Greene's want was great, and he accepted the proffer of important
service, but with many misgivings. Fearing Emily might lose the letter
on the way, he informed her of its contents, that she might deliver the
message orally. She mounted her fleet horse, and with the General's
blessing, and cheered by the admiring officers, she rode off on a brisk
gallop. She crossed the Wateree River at the Camden ferry, and pressed
on toward the High Hills of Santee.
Emily was riding at a rapid pace through an open, dry swamp, at noonday,
when one of three Tory scouts | 1,111.158444 |
2023-11-16 18:35:35.3965460 | 1,774 | 10 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Case of General Opel
by George Meredith
#99 in our series by George Meredith
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Title: The Case of General Opel
Author: George Meredith
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
Release Date: September, 2003 [Etext #4493]
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The Project Gutenberg Etext The Case of General Opel by George Meredith
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entire meal of them. D.W.]
THE CASE OF GENERAL OPLE AND LADY CAMPER
By George Meredith
CHAPTER I
An excursion beyond the immediate suburbs of London, projected long
before his pony-carriage was hired to conduct him, in fact ever since his
retirement from active service, led General Ople across a famous common,
with which he fell in love at once, to a lofty highway along the borders
of a park, for which he promptly exchanged his heart, and so gradually
within a stone's-throw or so of the river-side, where he determined not
solely to bestow his affections but to settle for life. It may be seen
that he was of an adventurous temperament, though he had thought fit to
loosen his sword-belt. The pony-carriage, however, had been hired for
the very special purpose of helping him to pass in review the lines of
what he called country houses, cottages, or even sites for building, not
too remote from sweet London: and as when Coelebs goes forth intending to
pursue and obtain, there is no doubt of his bringing home a wife, the
circumstance that there stood a house to let, in an airy situation, at a
certain distance in hail of the metropolis he worshipped, was enough to
kindle the General's enthusiasm. He would have taken the first he saw,
had it not been for his daughter, who accompanied him, and at the age of
eighteen was about to undertake the management of his house. Fortune,
under Elizabeth Ople's guiding restraint, directed him to an epitome of
the comforts. The place he fell upon is only to be described in the
tongue of auctioneers, and for the first week after taking it he modestly
followed them by terming it bijou. In time, when his own imagination,
instigated by a state of something more than mere contentment, had been
at work on it, he chose the happy phrase, 'a gentlemanly residence.' For
it was, he declared, a small estate. There was a lodge to it, resembling
two sentry-boxes forced into union, where in one half an old couple sat
bent, in the other half lay compressed; there was a backdrive to
discoverable stables; there was a bit of grass that would have appeared a
meadow if magnified; and there was a wall round the kitchen-garden and a
strip of wood round the flower-garden. The prying of the outside world
was impossible. Comfort, fortification; and gentlemanliness made the
place, as the General said, an ideal English home.
The compass of the estate was half an acre, and perhaps a perch or two,
just the size for the hugging love General Ople was happiest in giving.
He wisely decided to retain the old couple at the lodge, whose members
were used to restriction, and also not to purchase a cow, that would have
wanted pasture. With the old man, while the old woman attended to the
bell at the handsome front entrance with its gilt-spiked gates, he
undertook to do the gardening; a business he delighted in, so long as he
could perform it in a gentlemanly manner, that is to say, so long as he
was not overlooked. He was perfectly concealed from the road. Only one
house, and curiously indeed, only one window of the house, and further to
show the protection extended to Douro Lodge, that window an attic,
overlooked him. And the house was empty.
The house (for who can hope, and who should desire a commodious house,
with conservatories, aviaries, pond and boat-shed, and other joys of
wealth, to remain unoccupied) was taken two seasons later by a lady, of
whom Fame, rolling like a dust-cloud from the place she had left,
reported that she was eccentric. The word is uninstructive: it does not
frighten. In a lady of a certain age, it is rather a characteristic of
aristocracy in retirement. And at least it implies wealth.
General Ople was very anxious to see her. He had the sentiment of humble
respectfulness toward aristocracy, and there was that in riches which
aroused his admiration. London, for instance, he was not afraid to say
he thought the wonder of the world. He remarked, in addition, that the
sacking of London would suffice to make every common soldier of the
foreign army of occupation an independent gentleman for the term of his
natural days. But this is a nightmare! said he, startling himself with
an abhorrent dream of envy of those enriched invading officers: for Booty
is the one lovely thing which the military mind can contemplate in the
abstract. His habit was to go off in an explosion of heavy sighs when he
had delivered himself so far, like a man at war with himself.
The lady arrived in time: she received the cards of the neighbourhood,
and signalized her eccentricity by paying no attention to them, excepting
the card of a Mrs. Baerens, who had audience of her at once. By express
arrangement, the card of General Wilson Ople, as her nearest neighbour,
followed the card of the rector, the social head of the district; and the
rector was granted an interview, but Lady Camper was not at home to
General Ople. She is of superior station to me, and may not wish to
associate with me, the General modestly said. Nevertheless he was
wounded: for in spite of | 1,111.416586 |
2023-11-16 18:35:35.4755800 | 380 | 21 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Christian
Boissonnas, The Internet Archive for some images and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
BIRDS AND NATURE.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.
VOL. VIII. DECEMBER, 1900. NO. 5.
CONTENTS.
Page
DECEMBER. 193
THE WESTERN HORNED OWL. 194
THE OWL. 198
THE LONG-CRESTED JAY. 201
THE SUNRISE SERENADE. 202
A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 203
THE FULVOUS TREE-DUCK. 204
HOW THE SWIFTS CAME TO BUILD IN AUNT DOROTHY'S CHIMNEY. 207
THE RED-BREASTED SAPSUCKER. 213
A WHITE TABLE IN THE WOODS. 214
THE MOON-BABY. 215
THE CECROPIA AND PROMETHEA MOTHS. 216
A PLEA FOR LEGISLATIVE PROTECTION. 221
THE DOG AND ITS ANCESTORS. 225
A FAVORITE HAUNT. 227
CARNIVOROUS PLANTS. 228
MAPLE LEAVES. 232
MAY-APPLE. 235
INDEX.
DECEMBER.
The lakes of ice gleam bluer than the lakes
Of water 'neath the summer sunshine gleamed;
Far fairer than when placidly it | 1,111.49562 |
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Produced by Sue Asscher and David Widger
MASTER FRANCIS RABELAIS
FIVE BOOKS OF THE LIVES, HEROIC DEEDS AND SAYINGS OF
GARGANTUA AND HIS SON PANTAGRUEL
Book V.
Translated into English by
Sir Thomas Urquhart of Cromarty
and
Peter Antony Motteux
The text of the first Two Books of Rabelais has been reprinted from the
first edition (1653) of Urquhart's translation. Footnotes initialled 'M.'
are drawn from the Maitland Club edition (1838); other footnotes are by the
translator. Urquhart's translation of Book III. appeared posthumously in
1693, with a new edition of Books I. and II., under Motteux's editorship.
Motteux's rendering of Books IV. and V. followed in 1708. Occasionally (as
the footnotes indicate) passages omitted by Motteux have been restored from
the 1738 copy edited by Ozell.
THE FIFTH BOOK
The Author's Prologue.
Indefatigable topers, and you, thrice precious martyrs of the smock, give
me leave to put a serious question to your worships while you are idly
striking your codpieces, and I myself not much better employed. Pray, why
is it that people say that men are not such sots nowadays as they were in
the days of yore? Sot is an old word that signifies a dunce, dullard,
jolthead, gull, wittol, or noddy, one without guts in his brains, whose
cockloft is unfurnished, and, in short, a fool. Now would I know whether
you would have us understand by this same saying, as indeed you logically
may, that formerly men were fools and in this generation are grown wise?
How many and what dispositions made them fools? How many and what
dispositions were wanting to make 'em wise? Why were they fools? How
should they be wise? Pray, how came you to know that men were formerly
fools? How did you find that they are now wise? Who the devil made 'em
fools? Who a God's name made 'em wise? Who d'ye think are most, those
that loved mankind foolish, or those that love it wise? How long has it
been wise? How long otherwise? Whence proceeded the foregoing folly?
Whence the following wisdom? Why did the old folly end now, and no later?
Why did the modern wisdom begin now, and no sooner? What were we the worse
for the former folly? What the better for the succeeding wisdom? How
should the ancient folly be come to nothing? How should this same new
wisdom be started up and established?
Now answer me, an't please you. I dare not adjure you in stronger terms,
reverend sirs, lest I make your pious fatherly worships in the least
uneasy. Come, pluck up a good heart; speak the truth and shame the devil.
Be cheery, my lads; and if you are for me, take me off three or five
bumpers of the best, while I make a halt at the first part of the sermon;
then answer my question. If you are not for me, avaunt! avoid, Satan! For
I swear by my great-grandmother's placket (and that's a horrid oath), that
if you don't help me to solve that puzzling problem, I will, nay, I already
do repent having proposed it; for still I must remain nettled and
gravelled, and a devil a bit I know how to get off. Well, what say you?
I'faith, I begin to smell you out. You are not yet disposed to give me an
answer; nor I neither, by these whiskers. Yet to give some light into the
business, I'll e'en tell you what had been anciently foretold in the matter
by a venerable doctor, who, being moved by the spirit in a prophetic vein,
wrote a book ycleped the Prelatical Bagpipe. What d'ye think the old
fornicator saith? Hearken, you old noddies, hearken now or never.
The jubilee's year, when all like fools were shorn,
Is about thirty supernumerary.
O want of veneration! fools they seemed,
But, persevering, with long breves, at last
No more they shall be gaping greedy fools.
For they shall shell the shrub's delicious fruit,
Whose flower they in the spring so much had feared.
Now you have it, what do you make on't? The seer is ancient, the style
laconic, the sentences dark like those of Scotus, though they treat of
matters dark enough in themselves. The best commentators on that good
father take the jubilee after the thirtieth to be the years that are
included in this present age till 1550 (there being but one jubilee every
fifty years). Men shall no longer be thought fools next green peas season.
The fools, whose number, as Solomon certifies, is infinite, shall go to pot
like a parcel of mad bedlamites as they are; and all manner of folly shall
have an end, that being also numberless, according to Avicenna, maniae
infinitae sunt species. Having been driven back and hidden towards the
centre during the rigour of the winter, 'tis now to be seen on the surface,
and buds out like the trees. This is as plain as a nose in a man's face;
you know it by experience; you see it. And it was formerly found out by
that great good man Hippocrates, Aphorism Verae etenim maniae, &c. This
world therefore wisifying itself, shall no longer dread the flower and
blossoms of every coming spring, that is, as you may piously believe,
bumper in hand and tears in eyes, in the woeful time of Lent, which used to
keep them company.
Whole cartloads of books that seemed florid, flourishing, and flowery, gay,
and gaudy as so many butterflies, but in the main were tiresome, dull,
soporiferous, irksome, mischievous, crabbed, knotty, puzzling, and dark as
those of whining Heraclitus, as unintelligible as the numbers of
Pythagoras, that king of the bean, according to Horace; those books, I say,
have seen their best days and shall soon come to nothing, being delivered
to the executing worms and merciless petty chandlers; such was their
destiny, and to this they were predestinated.
In their stead beans in cod are started up; that is, these merry and
fructifying Pantagruelian books, so much sought nowadays in expectation of
the following jubilee's period; to the study of which writings all people
have given their minds, and accordingly have gained the name of wise.
Now I think I have fairly solved and resolved your problem; then reform,
and be the better for it. Hem once or twice like hearts of oak; stand to
your pan-puddings, and take me off your bumpers, nine go-downs, and huzza!
since we are like to have a good vintage, and misers hang themselves. Oh!
they will cost me an estate in hempen collars if fair weather hold. For I
hereby promise to furnish them with twice as much as will do their business
on free cost, as often as they will take the pains to dance at a rope's end
providently to save charges, to the no small disappointment of the finisher
of the law.
Now, my friends, that you may put in for a share of this new wisdom, and
shake off the antiquated folly this very moment, scratch me out of your
scrolls and quite discard the symbol of the old philosopher with the golden
thigh, by which he has forbidden you to eat beans; for you may take it for
a truth granted among all professors in the science of good eating, that he
enjoined you not to taste of them only with the same kind intent that a
certain fresh-water physician had when he did forbid to Amer, late Lord of
Camelotiere, kinsman to the lawyer of that name, the wing of the partridge,
the rump of the chicken, and the neck of the pigeon, saying, Ala mala,
rumpum dubium, collum bonum, pelle remota. For the duncical dog-leech was
so selfish as to reserve them for his own dainty chops, and allowed his
poor patients little more than the bare bones to pick, lest they should
overload their squeamish stomachs.
To the heathen philosopher succeeded a pack of Capuchins, monks who forbid
us the use of beans, that is, Pantagruelian books. They seem to follow the
example of Philoxenus and Gnatho, one of whom was a Sicilian of fulsome
memory, the ancient master-builders of their monastic cram-gut
voluptuousness, who, when some dainty bit was served up at a feast,
filthily used to spit on it, that none but their nasty selves might have
the stomach to eat of it, though their liquorish chops watered never so
much after it.
So those hideous, snotty, phthisicky, eaves-dropping, musty, moving forms
of mortification, both in public and private, curse those dainty books, and
like toads spit their venom upon them.
Now, though we have in our mother-tongue several excellent works in verse
and prose, and, heaven be praised! but little left of the trash and
trumpery stuff of those duncical mumblers of ave-maries and the barbarous
foregoing Gothic age, I have made bold to choose to chirrup and warble my
plain ditty, or, as they say, to whistle like a goose among the swans,
rather than be thought deaf among so many pretty poets and eloquent
orators. And thus I am prouder of acting the clown, or any other
under-part, among the many ingenious actors in that noble play, than of
herding among those mutes, who, like so many shadows and ciphers, only serve
to fill up the house and make up a number, gaping and yawning at the flies,
and pricking up their lugs, like so many Arcadian asses, at the striking up
of the music; thus silently giving to understand that their fopships are
tickled in the right place.
Having taken this resolution, I thought it would not be amiss to move my
Diogenical tub, that you might not accuse me of living without example. I
see a swarm of our modern poets and orators, your Colinets, Marots,
Drouets, Saint Gelais, Salels, Masuels, and many more, who, having
commenced masters in Apollo's academy on Mount Parnassus, and drunk
brimmers at the Caballin fountain among the nine merry Muses, have raised
our vulgar tongue, and made it a noble and everlasting structure. Their
works are all Parian marble, alabaster, porphyry, and royal cement; they
treat of nothing but heroic deeds, mighty things, grave and difficult
matters, and this in a crimson, alamode, rhetorical style. Their writings
are all divine nectar, rich, racy, sparkling, delicate, and luscious wine.
Nor does our sex wholly engross this honour; ladies have had their share of
the glory; one of them, of the royal blood of France, whom it were a
profanation but to name here, surprises the age at once by the transcendent
and inventive genius in her writings and the admirable graces of her style.
Imitate those great examples if you can; for my part I cannot. Everyone,
you know, cannot go to Corinth. When Solomon built the temple, all could
not give gold by handfuls.
Since then 'tis not in my power to improve our architecture as much as
they, I am e'en resolved to do like Renault of Montauban: I'll wait on the
masons, set on the pot for the masons, cook for the stone-cutters; and
since it was not my good luck to be cut out for one of them, I will live
and die the admirer of their divine writings.
As for you, little envious prigs, snarling bastards, puny critics, you'll
soon have railed your last; go hang yourselves, and choose you out some
well-spread oak, under whose shade you may swing in state, to the
admiration of the gaping mob; you shall never want rope enough. While I
here solemnly protest before my Helicon, in the presence of my nine
mistresses the Muses, that if I live yet the age of a dog, eked out with
that of three crows, sound wind and limbs, like the old Hebrew captain
Moses, Xenophilus the musician, and Demonax the philosopher, by arguments
no ways impertinent, and reasons not to be disputed, I will prove, in the
teeth of a parcel of brokers and retailers of ancient rhapsodies and such
mouldy trash, that our vulgar tongue is not so mean, silly, inept, poor,
barren, and contemptible as they pretend. Nor ought I to be afraid of I
know not what botchers of old threadbare stuff, a hundred and a hundred
times clouted up and pieced together; wretched bunglers that can do nothing
but new-vamp old rusty saws; beggarly scavengers that rake even the
muddiest canals of antiquity for scraps and bits of Latin as insignificant
as they are often uncertain. Beseeching our grandees of Witland that, as
when formerly Apollo had distributed all the treasures of his poetical
exchequer to his favourites, little hulchbacked Aesop got for himself the
office of apologue-monger; in the same manner, since I do not aspire
higher, they would not deny me that of puny rhyparographer, or riffraff
follower of the sect of Pyreicus.
I dare swear they will grant me this; for they are all so kind, so
good-natured, and so generous, that they'll ne'er boggle at so small a
request. Therefore, both dry and hungry souls, pot and trenchermen, fully
enjoying those books, perusing, quoting them in their merry conventicles,
and observing the great mysteries of which they treat, shall gain a singular
profit and fame; as in the like case was done by Alexander the Great with
the books of prime philosophy composed by Aristotle.
O rare! belly on belly! what swillers, what twisters will there be!
Then be sure all you that take care not to die of the pip, be sure, I say,
you take my advice, and stock yourselves with good store of such books as
soon as you meet with them at the booksellers; and do not only shell those
beans, but e'en swallow them down like an opiate cordial, and let them be
in you; I say, let them be within you; then you shall find, my beloved,
what good they do to all clever shellers of beans.
Here is a good handsome basketful of them, which I here lay before your
worships; they were gathered in the very individual garden whence the
former came. So I beseech you, reverend sirs, with as much respect as was
ever paid by dedicating author, to accept of the gift, in hopes of somewhat
better against next visit the swallows give us.
THE FIFTH BOOK.
Chapter 5.I.
How Pantagruel arrived at the Ringing Island, and of the noise that we
heard.
Pursuing our voyage, we sailed three days without discovering anything; on
the fourth we made land. Our pilot told us that it was the Ringing Island,
and indeed we heard a kind of a confused and often repeated noise, that
seemed to us at a great distance not unlike the sound of great,
middle-sized, and little bells rung all at once, as 'tis customary at Paris,
Tours, Gergeau, Nantes, and elsewhere on high holidays; and the nearer we
came to the land the louder we heard that jangling.
Some of us doubted that it was the Dodonian kettle, or the portico called
Heptaphone in Olympia, or the eternal humming of the colossus raised on
Memnon's tomb in Thebes of Egypt, or the horrid din that used formerly to
be heard about a tomb at Lipara, one of the Aeolian islands. But this did
not square with chorography.
I do not know, said Pantagruel, but that some swarms of bees hereabouts may
be taking a ramble in the air, and so the neighbourhood make this
dingle-dangle with pans, kettles, and basins, the corybantine cymbals of
Cybele, grandmother of the gods, to call them back. Let's hearken. When we
were nearer, among the everlasting ringing of these indefatigable bells we
heard the singing, as we thought, of some men. For this reason, before we
offered to land on the Ringing Island, Pantagruel was of opinion that we
should go in the pinnace to a small rock, near which we discovered an
hermitage and a little garden. There we found a diminutive old hermit,
whose name was Braguibus, born at Glenay. He gave us a full account of all
the jangling, and regaled us after a strange sort of fashion--four livelong
days did he make us fast, assuring us that we should not be admitted into
the Ringing Island otherwise, because it was then one of the four fasting,
or ember weeks. As I love my belly, quoth Panurge, I by no means understand
this riddle. Methinks this should rather be one of the four windy weeks;
for while we fast we are only puffed up with wind. Pray now, good father
hermit, have not you here some other pastime besides fasting? Methinks it is
somewhat of the leanest; we might well enough be without so many palace
holidays and those fasting times of yours. In my Donatus, quoth Friar John,
I could find yet but three times or tenses, the preterit, the present, and
the future; doubtless here the fourth ought to be a work of supererogation.
That time or tense, said Epistemon, is aorist, derived from the
preter-imperfect tense of the Greeks, admitted in war (?) and odd cases.
Patience perforce is a remedy for a mad dog. Saith the hermit: It is, as I
told you, fatal to go against this; whosoever does it is a rank heretic, and
wants nothing but fire and <DW19>, that's certain. To deal plainly with
you, my dear pater, cried Panurge, being at sea, I much more fear being wet
than being warm, and being drowned than being burned.
Well, however, let us fast, a God's name; yet I have fasted so long that it
has quite undermined my flesh, and I fear that at last the bastions of this
bodily fort of mine will fall to ruin. Besides, I am much more afraid of
vexing you in this same trade of fasting; for the devil a bit I understand
anything in it, and it becomes me very scurvily, as several people have
told me, and I am apt to believe them. For my part, I have no great
stomach to fasting; for alas! it is as easy as pissing a bed, and a trade
of which anybody may set up; there needs no tools. I am much more inclined
not to fast for the future; for to do so there is some stock required, and
some tools are set a-work. No matter, since you are so steadfast, and
would have us fast, let us fast as fast as we can, and then breakfast in
the name of famine. Now we are come to these esurial idle days. I vow I
had quite put them out of my head long ago. If we must fast, said
Pantagruel, I see no other remedy but to get rid of it as soon as we can,
as we would out of a bad way. I'll in that space of time somewhat look
over my papers, and examine whether the marine study be as good as ours at
land. For Plato, to describe a silly, raw, ignorant fellow, compares him
to those that are bred on shipboard, as we would do one bred up in a
barrel, who never saw anything but through the bung-hole.
To tell you the short and the long of the matter, our fasting was most
hideous and terrible; for the first day we fasted on fisticuffs, the second
at cudgels, the third at sharps, and the fourth at blood and wounds: such
was the order of the fairies.
Chapter 5.II.
How the Ringing Island had been inhabited by the Siticines, who were become
birds.
Having fasted as aforesaid, the hermit gave us a letter for one whom he
called Albian Camar, Master Aedituus of the Ringing Island; but Panurge
greeting him called him Master Antitus. He was a little queer old fellow,
bald-pated, with a snout whereat you might easily have lighted a
card-match, and a phiz as red as a cardinal's cap. He made us all very
welcome, upon the hermit's recommendation, hearing that we had fasted, as I
have told you.
When we had well stuffed our puddings, he gave us an account of what was
remarkable in the island, affirming that it had been at first inhabited by
the Siticines; but that, according to the course of nature--as all things,
you know, are subject to change--they were become birds.
There I had a full account of all that Atteius Capito, Paulus, Marcellus,
A. Gellius, Athenaeus, Suidas, Ammonius, and others had writ of the
Siticines and Sicinnists; and then we thought we might as easily believe
the transmutations of Nectymene, Progne, Itys, Alcyone, Antigone, Tereus,
and other birds. Nor did we think it more reasonable to doubt of the
transmogrification of the Macrobian children into swans, or that of the men
of Pallene in Thrace into birds, as soon as they had bathed themselves in
the Tritonic lake. After this the devil a word could we get out of him but
of birds and cages.
The cages were spacious, costly, magnificent, and of an admirable
architecture. The birds were large, fine, and neat accordingly, looking as
like the men in my country as one pea does like another; for they ate and
drank like men, muted like men, endued or digested like men, farted like
men, but stunk like devils; slept, billed, and trod their females like men,
but somewhat oftener: in short, had you seen and examined them from top to
toe, you would have laid your head to a turnip that they had been mere men.
However, they were nothing less, as Master Aedituus told us; assuring us,
at the same time, that they were neither secular nor laic; and the truth
is, the diversity of their feathers and plumes did not a little puzzle us.
Some of them were all over as white as swans, others as black as crows,
many as grey as owls, others black and white like magpies, some all red
like red-birds, and others purple and white like some pigeons. He called
the males clerg-hawks, monk-hawks, priest-hawks, abbot-hawks, bish-hawks,
cardin-hawks, and one pope-hawk, who is a species by himself. He called
the females clerg-kites, nun-kites, priest-kites, abbess-kites, bish-kites,
cardin-kites, and pope-kites.
However, said he, as hornets and drones will get among the bees, and there
do nothing but buzz, eat, and spoil everything; so, for these last three
hundred years, a vast swarm of bigottelloes flocked, I do not know how,
among these goodly birds every fifth full moon, and have bemuted, berayed,
and conskited the whole island. They are so hard-favoured and monstrous
that none can abide them. For their wry necks make a figure like a crooked
billet; their paws are hairy, like those of rough-footed pigeons; their
claws and pounces, belly and breech, like those of the Stymphalid harpies.
Nor is it possible to root them out, for if you get rid of one, straight
four-and-twenty new ones fly thither.
There had been need of another monster-hunter such as was Hercules; for
Friar John had like to have run distracted about it, so much he was nettled
and puzzled in the matter. As for the good Pantagruel, he was even served
as was Messer Priapus, contemplating the sacrifices of Ceres, for want of
skin.
Chapter 5.III.
How there is but one pope-hawk in the Ringing Island.
We then asked Master Aedituus why there was but one pope-hawk among such
venerable birds multiplied in all their species. He answered that such was
the first institution and fatal destiny of the stars that the clerg-hawks
begot the priest-hawks and monk-hawks without carnal copulation, as some
bees are born of a young bull; the priest-hawks begat the bish-hawks, the
bish-hawks the stately cardin-hawks, and the stately cardin-hawks, if they
live long enough, at last come to be pope-hawk.
Of this last kind there never is more than one at a time, as in a beehive
there is but one king, and in the world is but one sun.
When the pope-hawk dies, another arises in his stead out of the whole brood
of cardin-hawks, that is, as you must understand it all along, without
carnal copulation. So that there is in that species an individual unity,
with a perpetuity of succession, neither more or less than in the Arabian
phoenix.
'Tis true that, about two thousand seven hundred and sixty moons ago, two
pope-hawks were seen upon the face of the earth; but then you never saw in
your lives such a woeful rout and hurly-burly as was all over this island.
For all these same birds did so peck, clapperclaw, and maul one another all
that time, that there was the devil and all to do, and the island was in a
fair way of being left without inhabitants. Some stood up for this
pope-hawk, some for t'other. Some, struck with a dumbness, were as mute as
so many fishes; the devil a note was to be got out of them; part of the
merry bells here were as silent as if they had lost their tongues, I mean
their clappers.
During these troublesome times they called to their assistance the
emperors, kings, dukes, earls, barons, and commonwealths of the world that
live on t'other side the water; nor was this schism and sedition at an end
till one of them died, and the plurality was reduced to a unity.
We then asked what moved those birds to be thus continually chanting and
singing. He answered that it was the bells that hung on the top of their
cages. Then he said to us, Will you have me make these monk-hawks whom you
see bardocuculated with a bag such as you use to still brandy, sing like
any woodlarks? Pray do, said we. He then gave half-a-dozen pulls to a
little rope, which caused a diminutive bell to give so many ting-tangs; and
presently a parcel of monk-hawks ran to him as if the devil had drove 'em,
and fell a-singing like mad.
Pray, master, cried Panurge, if I also rang this bell could I make those
other birds yonder, with red-herring- feathers, sing? Ay, marry
would you, returned Aedituus. With this Panurge hanged himself (by the
hands, I mean) at the bell-rope's end, and no sooner made it speak but
those smoked birds hied them thither and began to lift up their voices and
make a sort of untowardly hoarse noise, which I grudge to call singing.
Aedituus indeed told us that they fed on nothing but fish, like the herns
and cormorants of the world, and that they were a fifth kind of cucullati
newly stamped.
He added that he had been told by Robert Valbringue, who lately passed that
way in his return from Africa, that a sixth kind was to fly hither out of
hand, which he called capus-hawks, more grum, vinegar-faced, brain-sick,
froward, and loathsome than any kind whatsoever in the whole island.
Africa, said Pantagruel, still uses to produce some new and monstrous
thing.
Chapter 5.IV.
How the birds of the Ringing Island were all passengers.
Since you have told us, said Pantagruel, how the pope-hawk is begot by the
cardin-hawks, the cardin-hawks by the bish-hawks, and the bish-hawks by the
priest-hawks, and the priest-hawks by the clerg-hawks, I would gladly know
whence you have these same clerg-hawks. They are all of them passengers,
or travelling birds, returned Aedituus, and come hither from t'other world;
part out of a vast country called Want-o'-bread, the rest out of another
toward the west, which they style Too-many-of-'em. From these two
countries flock hither, every year, whole legions of these clerg-hawks,
leaving their fathers, mothers, friends, and relations.
This happens when there are too many children, whether male or female, in
some good family of the latter country; insomuch that the house would come
to nothing if the paternal estate were shared among them all (as reason
requires, nature directs, and God commands). For this cause parents use to
rid themselves of that inconveniency by packing off the younger fry, and
forcing them to seek their fortune in this isle Bossart (Crooked Island).
I suppose he means L'Isle Bouchart, near Chinon, cried Panurge. No,
replied t'other, I mean Bossart (Crooked), for there is not one in ten
among them but is either crooked, crippled, blinking, limping,
ill-favoured, deformed, or an unprofitable load to the earth.
'Twas quite otherwise among the heathens, said Pantagruel, when they used
to receive a maiden among the number of vestals; for Leo Antistius affirms
that it was absolutely forbidden to admit a virgin into that order if she
had any vice in her soul or defect in her body, though it were but the
smallest spot on any part of it. I can hardly believe, continued Aedituus,
that their dams on t'other side the water go nine months with them; for
they cannot endure them nine years, nay, scarce seven sometimes, in the
house, but by putting only a shirt over the other clothes of the young
urchins, and lopping off I don't well know how many hairs from their
crowns, mumbling certain apostrophized and expiatory words, they visibly,
openly, and plainly, by a Pythagorical metempsychosis, without the least
hurt, transmogrify them into such birds as you now see; much after the
fashion of the Egyptian heathens, who used to constitute their isiacs by
shaving them and making them put on certain linostoles, or surplices.
However, I don't know, my good friends, but that these she-things, whether
clerg-kites, monk-kites, and abbess-kites, instead of singing pleasant
verses and charisteres, such as used to be sung to Oromasis by Zoroaster's
institution, may be bellowing out such catarates and scythropys (cursed
lamentable and wretched imprecations) as were usually offered to the
Arimanian demon; being thus in devotion for their kind friends and
relations that transformed them into birds, whether when they were maids,
or thornbacks, in their prime, or at their last prayers.
But the greatest numbers of our birds came out of Want-o'-bread, which,
though a barren country, where the days are of a most tedious lingering
length, overstocks this whole island with the lower class of birds. | 1,111.506147 |
2023-11-16 18:35:35.7683260 | 311 | 10 |
Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Rowe and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Road To Providence
by
Maria Thompson Daviess
CONTENTS
I THE DOCTORS MAYBERRY, MOTHER AND SON
II THE SINGER LADY AND THE BREAD-BOWL
III THE PEONY GIRL AND THE BUMPKIN
IV LOVE, THE CURE-ALL
V THE LITTLE RAVEN AND HER COVERED DISH
VI THE PROVIDENCE TAG-GANG
VII PRETTY BETTIE'S WEDDING DAY
VIII THE NEST ON PROVIDENCE NOB
IX THE LITTLE HARPETH WOMAN OF MANY SORROWS
X THE SONG OF THE MASTER'S GRAIL
CHAPTER I
THE DOCTORS MAYBERRY, MOTHER AND SON
"Now, child, be sure and don't mix 'em with a heavy hand! Lightness is
expected of riz biscuits and had oughter be dealt out to 'em by the
mixer from the start. Just this way--"
"Mother, oh, Mother," came a perturbed hail in Doctor Mayberry's voice
from the barn door, "Spangles is off the nest again--better come quick!"
"Can't you persuade her some, Tom?" Mother called back from the kitchen
door as she peered anx | 1,111.788366 |
2023-11-16 18:35:36.0400080 | 7,435 | 39 | CONSEQUENCES***
E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Julia Neufeld, 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: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/abolitioncrusade00herbrich
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
THE ABOLITION CRUSADE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
Four Periods of American History
by
HILARY A. HERBERT, LL.D.
New York
Charles Scribner's Sons
1912
Copyright, 1912, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
Published April, 1912
TO MY GRANDCHILDREN
THIS LITTLE BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
IN THE HOPE THAT ITS PERUSAL
WILL FOSTER IN THEM, AS CITIZENS OF THIS GREAT
REPUBLIC, A DUE REGARD FOR THE CONSTITUTION
OF THEIR COUNTRY
AS THE SUPREME LAW OF THE LAND
PREFATORY NOTE BY JAMES FORD RHODES
"Livy extolled Pompey in such a panegyric that Augustus called him
Pompeian, and yet this was no obstacle to their friendship." That we
find in Tacitus. We may therefore picture to ourselves Augustus reading
Livy's "History of the Civil Wars" (in which the historian's republican
sympathies were freely expressed), and learning therefrom that there
were two sides to the strife which rent Rome. As we are more than
forty-six years distant from our own Civil War, is it not incumbent on
Northerners to endeavor to see the Southern side? We may be certain that
the historian a hundred years hence, when he contemplates the lining-up
of five and one-half million people against twenty-two millions, their
equal in religion, morals, regard for law, and devotion to the common
Constitution, will, as matter of course, aver that the question over
which they fought for four years had two sides; that all the right was
not on one side and all the wrong on the other. The North should
welcome, therefore, accounts of the conflict written by candid Southern
men.
Mr. Herbert, reared and educated in the South, believing in the moral
and economical right of slavery, served as a Confederate soldier during
the war, but after Appomattox, when thirty-one years old, he told his
father he had arrived at the conviction that slavery was wrong. Twelve
years later, when home-rule was completely restored to the South (1877),
he went into public life as a Member of Congress, sitting in the House
for sixteen years. At the end of his last term, in 1893, he was
appointed Secretary of the Navy by President Cleveland, whom he
faithfully served during his second administration.
Such an experience is an excellent training for the treatment of any
aspect of the Civil War. Mr. Herbert's devotion to the Constitution, the
Union, and the flag now equals that of any soldier of the North who
fought against him. We should expect therefore that his work would be
pervaded by practical knowledge and candor.
After a careful reading of the manuscript I have no hesitation in saying
that the expectation is realized. Naturally unable to agree entirely
with his presentation of the subject, I believe that his work exhibits a
side that entitles it to a large hearing. I hope that it will be placed
before the younger generation, who, unaffected by any memory of the heat
of the conflict, may truly say:
Tros Tyriusve, mihi nullo discrimine agetur.
JAMES FORD RHODES.
BOSTON, _November_, 1911.
PREFACE
In 1890 Mr. L. E. Chittenden, who had been United States Treasurer under
President Lincoln, published an interesting account of $10,000,000
United States bonds secretly sent to England, as he said, in 1862, and
he told all about what thereupon took place across the water. It was a
reminiscence. General Charles Francis Adams in his recent instructive
volume, "Studies Military and Diplomatic," takes up this narrative and,
in a chapter entitled "An Historical Residuum," conclusively shows from
contemporaneous evidence that the bonds were sent, not in 1862, but in
1863, but that, as for the rest of the story, the residuum of truth in
it was about like the speck of moisture that is left when a soap bubble
is pricked by a needle.
General Adams did not mean that Mr. Chittenden knew he was drawing on
his imagination. He was only demonstrating that one who intends to
write history cannot rely on his memory.
The author, in the following pages, is undertaking to write a connected
story of events that happened, most of them, in his lifetime, and as to
many of the most important of which he has vivid recollections; but,
save in one respect, he has not relied upon his own memory for any
important fact. The picture he has drawn of the relations between the
slave-holder and non-slave-holder in the South is, much of it, given as
he recollects it. His opportunities for observation were somewhat
extensive, and here he is willing to be considered in part as a witness.
Elsewhere he has relied almost entirely upon contemporaneous written
evidence, memory, however, often indicating to him sources of
information.
Nowhere are there so many valuable lessons for the student of American
history as in the story of the great sectional movement of 1831, and of
its results, which have profoundly affected American conditions through
generation after generation.
An effort is here made to tell that story succinctly, tracing it, step
after step, from cause to effect. The subject divides itself naturally
into four historic periods:
1. The anti-slavery crusade, 1831 to 1860.
2. Secession and four years of war, 1861 to 1865.
3. Reconstruction under the Lincoln-Johnson plan, with the overthrow by
Congress of that plan and the rule of the <DW64> and carpet-bagger, from
1865 to 1876.
4. Restoration of self-government in the South, and the results that
have followed.
The greater part of the book is devoted to the first period--1831 to
1860, the period of causation. The sequences running through the three
remaining periods are more briefly sketched.
Italics, throughout the book, it may be mentioned here, are the
author's.
Now that the country is happily reunited in a Union which all agree is
indissoluble, the South wants the true history of the times here treated
of spread before its children; so does the North. The mistakes that were
committed on both sides during that lamentable and prolonged sectional
quarrel (and they were many) should be known of all, in order that like
mistakes may not be committed in the future. The writer has, with
diffidence, attempted to lay the facts before his readers, and so to
condense the story that it may be within the reach of the ordinary
student. How far he has succeeded will be for his readers to say. The
verdict he ventures to hope for is that he has made an honest effort to
be fair.
The author takes this occasion to thank that accomplished young teacher
of history, Mr. Paul Micou, for valuable suggestions, and his friend,
Mr. Thomas H. Clark, who with his varied attainments has aided him in
many ways.
HILARY A. HERBERT.
WASHINGTON, D. C., _March_, 1912.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION 3
I. SECESSION AND ITS DOCTRINE 15
II. EMANCIPATION PRIOR TO 1831 37
III. THE NEW ABOLITIONISTS 56
IV. FEELING IN THE SOUTH--1835 77
V. ANTI-ABOLITION AT THE NORTH 84
VI. A CRISIS AND A COMPROMISE 93
VII. EFFORTS FOR PEACE 128
VIII. INCOMPATIBILITY OF SLAVERY AND FREEDOM 147
IX. FOUR YEARS OF WAR 180
X. RECONSTRUCTION, LINCOLN-JOHNSON PLAN AND CONGRESSIONAL 208
XI. THE SOUTH UNDER SELF-GOVERNMENT 229
INDEX 245
THE ABOLITION CRUSADE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
INTRODUCTION
The Constitution of the United States attempts to define and limit the
power of our Federal Government.
Lord Brougham somewhere said that such an instrument was not worth the
parchment it was written on; people would pay no regard to self-imposed
limitations on their own will.
When our fathers by that written Constitution established a government
that was partly national and partly federal, and that had no precedent,
they knew it was an experiment. To-day that government has been in
existence one hundred and twenty-three years, and we proudly claim that
the experiment of 1789 has been the success of the ages.
Happy should we be if we could boast that, during all this period, the
Constitution had never been violated in any respect!
The first palpable infringement of its provisions occurred in the
enactment of the alien and sedition laws of 1798. The people at the
polls indignantly condemned these enactments, and for years thereafter
the government proceeded peacefully; the people were prosperous, and the
Union and the Constitution grew in favor.
Later, there grew up a rancorous sectional controversy about slavery
that lasted many years; that quarrel was followed by a bloody sectional
war; after that war came the reconstruction of the Southern States.
During each of these three trying eras it did sometimes seem as if that
old piece of "parchment," derided by Lord Brougham, had been utterly
forgotten. Nevertheless, and despite all these trying experiences, we
have in the meantime advanced to the very front rank of nations, and our
people have long since turned, not only to the Union, but, we are happy
to think, to the Constitution as well, with more devotion than ever.
It may be further said that, notwithstanding all the bitter animosities
that for long divided our country into two hostile sections, that
wonderful old Constitution, handed down to us by our fathers, was
always, and in all seasons, in the hearts of our people, and that never
for a moment was it out of mind. Even in our sectional war Confederates
and Federals were both fighting for it--one side to maintain it over
themselves as an independent nation; the other to maintain it over the
whole of the old Union. In the very madness of reconstruction the
fundamental idea of the Constitution, the equality of the States,
ultimately prevailed--this idea it was that imperatively demanded the
final restoration of the seceded States, with the right of
self-government unimpaired.
The future is now bright before us. The complex civilization of the
present is, we do not forget, continually presenting new and complex
problems of government, and we are mindful, too, that, for the people
who must deal with these problems, a higher culture is required, but to
all this our national and State governments seem to be fully alive. We
are everywhere erecting memorials to our patriotic dead, we have our
"flag day" and many ceremonies to stimulate patriotism, and, throughout
our whole country, young Americans are being taught more and more of
American history and American traditions.
The essence of these teachings presumably is that time has hallowed our
Constitution, and that experience has fully shown the wisdom of its
provisions. In this land of ours, where there are so much property and
so many voters who want it, and where the honor and emoluments of high
place are so tempting to the demagogue, there can be no such security
for either life, liberty, or property as those safeguards which our
fathers devised in the Constitution of the United States.
Our teachers of history must therefore expose fearlessly every violation
in the past of our Constitution, and point out the penalties that
followed; and, above all, they cannot afford to condone, or to pass by
in silence, the conduct of those who have heretofore advocated, or acted
on, any law which to them was _higher than the American Constitution_.
One of the most serious troubles in the past, many think our greatest,
was our terrible war among ourselves. Perhaps, after the lapse of nearly
fifty years, we can all now agree that if our people and our States had
always, between 1830 and 1860, faithfully observed the Federal
Constitution we should have not had that war. However that may be, the
crusade of the Abolitionists, which began in 1831, was the beginning of
an agitation in the North against the existence of slavery in the South,
which continued, in one form or another, until the outbreak of that war.
The <DW64> is now located, geographically, much as he was then. If
another attempt shall be made to project his personal status into
national politics, the voters of the country ought to know and consider
the mistakes that occurred, North and South, during the unhappy era of
that sectional warfare. This little book is a study of that period of
our history. It concludes with a glance at the war between the North and
South, and the reconstruction that followed.
The story of Cromwell and the Great Revolution it was impossible for any
Englishman to tell correctly for nearly or quite two centuries. The
changes that had been wrought were too profound, too far-reaching; and
English writers were too human. The changes--economic, political, and
social--wrought in our country by the great controversy over slavery and
State-rights, and by the war that ended it, have been quite as profound,
and the revolution in men's ideas and ways of looking at their past
history has been quite as complete as those which followed the downfall
of the government founded by Cromwell. But we are now in the twentieth
century; history is becoming a science, and we ought to succeed better
in writing our past than the Englishmen did.
The culture of this day is very exacting in its demands, and if one is
writing about our own past the need of fairness is all the more
imperative. And why not? The masses of the people, who clashed on the
battlefields of a war in which one side fought for the supremacy of the
Union and the other for the sovereignty of the States, had honest
convictions; they differed in their convictions; they had made honest
mistakes about each other; now they would like their histories to tell
just where those mistakes were; they do not wish these mistakes to be
repeated hereafter. Nor is there any reason why the whole history of
that great controversy should not now be written with absolute fairness;
the two sections of our country have come together in a most wonderful
way. There has been reunion after reunion of the blue and the gray. The
survivors of a New Jersey regiment, forty-four years after the bloody
battle of Salem Church, put up on its site a monument to their dead, on
one side of which was a tablet to the memory of the "brave Alabama
boys," who were their opponents in that fight. One of those "Alabama
boys" wrote the story of that battle for the archives of his own State,
and the State of New Jersey has published it in her archives, as a fair
account of the battle.
The author has attempted to approach his subject in a spirit like this,
and while he hopes to be absolutely fair, he is perfectly aware that he
sees things from a Southern view-point. For this, however, no apology is
needed. Truth is many-sided and must be seen from every direction.
Nearly all the school-books dealing with the period here treated of, and
now considered as authority, have been written from a Northern
stand-point; and many of the extended histories that are most widely
read seem to the writer to be more or less partisan, although the
authors were apparently quite unconscious of it. Attempts made here to
point out some of the errors in these books are, as is conceived, in the
interests of history.
Of course it is important that readers should know the stand-point of an
author who writes at this day of events as recent as those here treated
of. Dr. Albert Bushnell Hart, professor of history in Harvard
University, in the preface to his "Slavery and Abolition" (Harper
Brothers, 1906), says of himself: "It is hard for a son and grandson of
abolitionists to approach so explosive a question with impartiality."
Following this example, the writer must tell that he was born in the
South, of slave-holding parents, three years after the Abolition crusade
began in 1831. Growing up in the South under the stress of that crusade,
he maintained all through the war, in which he was a loyal Confederate
soldier, the belief in which he had been educated--that slavery was
right, morally and economically.
One day, not long after Appomattox, he told his father he had reached
the conclusion that slavery was wrong. The reply was, to the writer's
surprise, that his mother in early life had been an avowed
emancipationist; that she (who had lived until the writer was sixteen
years old) had never felt at liberty to discuss slavery after the rise
of the new abolitionists and the Nat Turner insurrection; and then
followed the further information that when, in 1846, the family removed
from South Carolina to Alabama, Greenville, Ala., was chosen for a home
because it was thought that the danger from slave insurrections would be
less there than in one of the richer "black counties."
What a creature of circumstances man is! The writer's belief about a
great moral question, his home, his school-mates, and the companions of
his youth, were all determined by a movement begun in Boston,
Massachusetts, before he was born in the far South!
With a vivid personal recollection of the closing years of the great
anti-slavery crusade always in his mind, the writer has studied closely
many of the histories dealing with that movement, and he has found quite
a consensus of opinion among Northern writers--a view that has even been
sometimes accepted in the South--that it was not so much the fear of
insurrections, created by Abolition agitation, that shut off discussion
in the South about the rightfulness of slavery as it was the invention
of the cotton-gin, that made cotton growing and slavery profitable. The
cotton-gin was invented in 1792, and was in common use years before the
writer's mother was born. A native of, she grew to maturity entirely in,
the South, and in 1830 was an avowed emancipationist. The subject was
then being freely discussed.
The author has ventured to relate in the pages that follow this
introduction two or three incidents that were more or less personal, in
the hope that their significance may be his sufficient excuse.
And now, having spoken of himself as a Southerner, the author thinks it
but fair, when invoking for the following pages fair consideration, to
add that, since 1865, he has never ceased to rejoice that slavery is no
more, and that secession is now only an academic question; and, further,
that he has, since Appomattox, served the government of the United
States for twenty years as loyally as he ever served the Confederacy. He
therefore respectfully submits that his experiences ought to render him
quite as well qualified for an impartial consideration of the
anti-slavery crusade and its consequences as are those who have never,
either themselves or through the eyes of their ancestors, seen more than
one side of those questions. Certain he is, in his own mind, that this
Union has now no better friend than is he who submits this little study,
conscious of its many shortcomings, claiming for it nothing except that
it is the result of an honest effort to be fair in every statement of
facts and in the conclusions reached.
Not much effort has been made in the direction of original research.
Facts deemed sufficient to illustrate salient points, which alone can be
treated of in a short story, have been found in published documents,
and other facts have been purposely taken, most of them, from Northern
writers; and the authorities have been duly cited. These facts have been
compressed into a small compass, so that the book may be available to
such students as have not time for a more extended examination.
Of the results of the crusade of the Abolitionists, and the consequent
sectional war, George Ticknor Curtis, one of New England's distinguished
biographers, says in his "Life of Buchanan," vol. II, p. 283:
"It is cause for exultation that slavery no longer exists in the broad
domain of this republic--that our theory of government and practice are
now in complete accord. But it is no cause for national pride that we
did not accomplish this result without the cost of a million of precious
lives and untold millions of money."
CHAPTER I
SECESSION AND ITS DOCTRINE
John Fiske has said in his school history: "Under the government of
England before the Revolution the thirteen commonwealths were
independent of one another, and were held together juxtaposed, rather
than united, only through their allegiance to the British Crown. Had
that allegiance been maintained there is no telling how long they might
have gone on thus disunited."
They won their independence under a very imperfect union, a government
improvised for the occasion. The "Articles of Confederation," the first
formal constitution of the United States of America, were not ratified
by Maryland, the last to ratify, until in 1781, shortly before Yorktown.
In 1787 the thirteen States, each claiming to be still sovereign, came
together in convention at Philadelphia and formed the present
Constitution, looking to "a more perfect union." The Constitution that
created this new government has been rightly said to be "the most
wonderful work ever struck off, at a given time, by the brain and
purpose of man."[1] And so it was, but it left unsettled the great
question whether a State, if it believed that its rights were denied to
it by the general government, could peaceably withdraw from the Union.
[1] Gladstone, "Kin Beyond the Sea."
The Federal Government was given by the Constitution only limited
powers, powers that it could not transcend. Nowhere on the face of that
Constitution was any right expressly conferred on the general government
to decide exclusively and finally upon the extent of the powers granted
to it. If any such right had been clearly given, it is certain that many
of the States would not have entered into the Union. As it was, the
Constitution was only adopted by eleven of the States after months of
discussion. Then the new government was inaugurated, with two of the
States, Rhode Island and North Carolina, still out of the Union. They
remained outside, one of them for eighteen months and the other for a
year.
The States were reluctant to adopt the Constitution, because they were
jealous of, and did not mean to give up, the right of self-government.
The framers of the Constitution knew that the question of the right of a
State to secede was thus left unsettled. They knew, too, that this might
give trouble in the future. Their hope was that, as the advantages of
the Union became, in process of time, more and more apparent, the Union
would grow in favor and come to be regarded in the minds and hearts of
the people as indissoluble.
From the beginning of the government there were many, including
statesmen of great influence, who continued to be jealous of the right
of self-government, and insisted that no powers should be exercised by
the Federal Government except such as were very clearly granted in the
Constitution. These soon became a party and called themselves
Republicans. Some thirty years later they called themselves Democrats.
Those, on the other hand, who believed in construing the grants of
power in the Constitution liberally or broadly, called themselves
Federalists.
Washington was a Federalist, but such was his influence that the dispute
between the Republicans and the Federalists about the meaning of the
Constitution did not, during his administration, assume a serious
aspect; but when a new president, John Adams, also a Federalist, came in
with a congress in harmony with him, the Republicans made bitter war
upon them. France, then at war with England, was even waging what has
been denominated a "quasi war" upon us, to compel the United States,
under the old treaty of the Revolution, to take her part against
England; and England was also threatening us. Plots to force the
government into the war as an ally of France were in the air.
Adams and his followers believed in a strong and spirited government. To
strike a fatal blow at the plotters against the public peace, and to
crush the Republicans at the same time, Congress now passed the famous
alien and sedition laws.
One of the alien laws, June 25, 1798, gave the President, for two years
from its passage, power to order out of the country, _at his own will,
and without "trial by jury" or other "process of law," any alien he
deemed dangerous_ to the peace and safety of the United States.
The sedition law, July 14, 1798, made criminal any unlawful conspiracy
to oppose any measure of the government of the United States "which was
directed by proper authority," as well as also any "false and scandalous
accusations against the Government, the President, or the Congress."
The opportunity of the Republicans had come. They determined to call
upon the country to condemn the alien and sedition laws, and at the
presidential election in 1800 the Federalists received their death-blow.
The party as an organization survived that election only a few years,
and in localities the very name, Federalist, later became a reproach.
The Republicans began their campaign against the alien and sedition laws
by a series of resolutions, which, drawn by Jefferson, were passed by
the Kentucky legislature in November, 1798. Other quite similar
resolutions, drawn by Madison, passed the Virginia assembly the next
year; and these together became the celebrated Kentucky and Virginia
resolutions of 1798-9.[2] The alien and sedition laws were denounced in
these resolutions for the exercise of powers not delegated to the
general government. Adverting to the sedition law, it was declared that
no power over the freedom of religion, freedom of speech, or freedom of
the press had been given. On the contrary, it had been expressly
provided by the Constitution that "Congress shall make no law respecting
an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof,
_or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press_."
[2] Warfield, in his "Kentucky Resolutions of 1798," relates that John
Breckenridge introduced the Kentucky and John Taylor, of Caroline, moved
the Virginia resolutions. In 1814 Taylor made it known that Madison was
the author of the Virginia resolves, but not till 1821 did Jefferson
admit his authorship of the Kentucky resolutions. Jefferson was
Vice-President when they were drawn, and it would have been thought
unseemly for him to appear openly in a canvass against the President,
but by correspondence with his friends he "gradually drew out a program
of action" (Warfield, p. 17). The Kentucky Resolutions were sent by the
Governor to the Legislatures of the other States, ten of which, being
controlled by the Federalists, are known to have declared against them
(Warfield, p. 115). But of course the resolutions were canvassed by the
public before the presidential election of 1800.
The first of the Kentucky resolutions was as follows:
"_Resolved_, That the several States composing the United States of
America, are not united on the principle of unlimited submission to
their general government, _but that by compact_, under the style
and title of a constitution for the United States, and of
amendments thereto, they constituted a general government for
specific purposes, delegated to that Government certain definite
powers, _reserving, each State to itself_, the residuary mass of
right to their own self-government; and _that whensoever the
general government assumes undelegated powers its acts are
unauthoritative, void, and of no effect_: That to this _compact
each State acceded as a State_, and is an integral party, its
co-States forming, as to itself, the other party: That the
government created by _this compact, was not made the exclusive or
final judge of the extent of the powers delegated to itself_, since
that would have made its direction, and not the Constitution, the
measure of its powers; but that, _as in all other cases of compact
among parties having no common judge, each party has a right to
judge for itself as well of infractions as of the mode and measure
of redress._"
Undoubtedly it is from the famous resolutions of 1798-9 that the
secessionists of a later date drew their arguments. The authors of these
celebrated resolutions were, both of them, devoted friends of the Union
they had helped to construct. Why should they announce a theory of the
Constitution that was so full of dangerous possibilities?
The answer is, they were announcing the theory upon which the States, or
at least many of the States, had ten years before ratified the
Constitution. A crisis in the life of the new government had now come.
Congress had usurped powers not given; it had exercised powers that had
been prohibited, and the government was enforcing the obnoxious statutes
with a high hand. Dissatisfaction was intense.
Jefferson and Madison were undoubtedly Republican partisans, Jefferson
especially; but it is equally certain that they were both friends of the
Union, and as such they concluded, with the lights before them, that the
wise course would be to submit to the people, in ample time for full
consideration, before the then coming presidential election, a full,
clear, and comprehensive exposition of the Constitution precisely as
they, and as the people, then understood it. This they did in the
resolutions of 1798 and 1799, and the very same voters who had created
the Constitution of 1789, now, with their sons to aid them, endorsed
these resolutions in the election of 1800, which had been laid before
them by the legislatures of two Republican States as a correct
construction of that instrument.
The Republicans under Jefferson came into power with an immense
majority. The people were satisfied with the Constitution as it had been
construed in the election of 1800, and the country under control of the
Republicans was happy and prosperous for three decades. Then the party
in power began to split into National Republicans and Democratic
Republicans. The National Republicans favored a liberal construction of
the Constitution and became Whigs; the Democratic Republicans dropped
the name Republican and became Democrats.
The foregoing sketch has been given with no intent to write a political
history, but only to show with what emphasis the American people
condemned all violations of the Constitution up to the time when, in
1831, our story of the Abolitionists is to begin. The sketch has also
served to explain the theory of State-rights, as it was held in early
days, and later, by the Southern people.
Whether the union of the States under the Constitution as expounded by
the Kentucky and Virginia resolutions would survive every trial that was
to come, remained to be seen. The question was destined to perplex Mr.
Jefferson himself, more than once.
Indeed, even while Washington was President there had been disunion
sentiment in Congress. In 1794 the celebrated Virginian, John Taylor, of
Caroline, shortly after he had expressed an intention of publicly
resigning from the United States Senate, was approached in the privacy
of a committee room by Rufus King, senator from New York, and Oliver
Ellsworth, a senator from Massachusetts, both Federalists, with a
proposition for a dissolution of the Union by mutual consent, the line
of division to be somewhere from the Potomac to the Hudson. This was on
the ground "that it was utterly impossible for the Union to continue.
That the Southern and the Eastern people thought quite differently,"
etc. Taylor contended for the Union, and nothing came of the
conference, the story of which remained a secret for over a hundred
years.[3]
[3] Taylor was so deeply impressed by the conference, which was
protracted, that two days later, May 11, 1794, he made an extended note
of it which he sent to Mr. Madison. At the foot of his note Taylor says,
among other things: "He (T.) is thoroughly convinced that the design to
break up the Union is contemplated. The assurance, the manner, the
earnestness, and the countenances with which the idea was uttered, all
disclosed the most serious intention. It is also probable that K. (King)
and E. (Ellsworth) having heard that T. (Taylor) was against the
(adoption of) the Constitution have hence imbibed a mistaken opinion
that he was secretly an enemy of the Union, and conceived that he was a
fit instrument (as he was about retiring) to infuse notions into the
anti-federal temper of Virginia, conson | 1,112.060048 |
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BLOOD and IRON
_Origin of German Empire
As Revealed by Character
of Its Founder, Bismarck_
BY
JOHN HUBERT GREUSEL
THE SHAKESPEARE PRESS
114-116 E. 28th St.
New York
1915
Copyright, 1915, John Hubert Greusel
_Dedicated to Stella My Wife_
CONTENTS
BOOK THE FIRST: BISMARCK'S HUMAN ESSENCE
Chapter I--The Man Himself
1. The Giant's Ponderous Hammer
2. Grossly Human Is Our Bismarck
3. Despite Political Bogs
4. Genius Combined with Foibles
Chapter II--Blood Will Tell
5. Iron-headed Ancestry
6. Animal Basis of Rise to Power
7. "The Wooden Donkey Dies Today!"
Chapter III--The Gothic Cradle
8. The Child of Destiny
9. Soft Carl, Spartan Louise
Chapter IV--Sunshine and Shadow
10. Amazing Powers of Hereditary Traits
11. The Wolf's Breed
12. Twenty-eight Duels!
13. Fizzle of First Official Service
BOOK THE SECOND: THE GERMAN NATIONAL PROBLEM
Chapter V--The Great Sorrow
14. The German Crazy Quilt
15. The Diamond Necklace
Chapter VI--Prussia's De Profundis
16. The Lash and the Kiss
17. The Prussian Downfall
18. Prussia Becomes Germany
19. Kingcraft Comes Upon Evil Days
20. The Star of Hope
21. The King Keeps Reading His Bible
22. The Deluge
BOOK THE THIRD: BISMARCK SUPPORTS HIS KING
Chapter VII--Fighting Fire with Fire
23. Voice in the Wilderness
24. The Young Giant
25. Speechless for One Whole Month
26. Bellowing His Defiance
Chapter VIII--Bismarck Suffers a Great Shock
27. Bismarck Scorns French Political Millennium
28. Militarism as National Salvation
29. King Marches with Mob!
Chapter IX--So Much the Worse for Zeitgeist
30. Not Politics--Human Nature
31. Setting Back the Century Clock
32. The Master at Work
33. Bismarck Nudges His King
34. Mystical High-flown Speeches
BOOK THE FOURTH: BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER
Chapter X--Socrates in Politics
35. The Frankfort School of Intrigue
36. Preparing for German Unity
37. Tyrants Are Necessary
38. Bismarck, in Naked Realism
Chapter XI--The Mailed Fist
39. Democracy Stems from Aristocracy
40. Parallel Elements of Power
Chapter XII--By Blood and Iron!
41. The Man of the Hour
42. Rough and Tumble
43. On Comes the Storm
44. Bismarck Decides to Rule Alone
Chapter XIII--The Dream of Empire
45. Bismarck Tricks Them All
46. Prussian Domination Essential
47. By Faith Ye Shall Conquer
48. Was Bismarck a Beast?
BOOK THE FIFTH: THE GERMAN PEOPLE ARE ONE AND UNITED
Chapter XIV--Windrows of Corpses
49. Devil or Saint, Which?
50. Sleeping Beside the Dead
51. The Rejected Stone
52. His Ikon?
53. "The Dying Warrior"
54. Sadowa Summed Up
55. Manure
Chapter XV--The Great Year, 1870
56. "These Poor Times"
57. The Bugle Blast
58. Bismarck's Ironical Revenge
59. The Weaver's Hut
60. Zenith!
Chapter XVI--The Versailles Masterpiece
61. The Kaiser's Crown
62. Divine-right, a Politico-Military Fact
BOOK THE SIXTH: ONCE A MAN AND TWICE A CHILD
Chapter XVII--The Downfall
63. Bismarck's Secret Discontent
64. "Who Made United Germany?"
65. The Irony of Fate
66. Last Illusion Dispelled
67. Binding Up the Old Man's Wounds
68. Awaiting the Call
69. Refuses to Pass Under the Yoke
70. Glory Turns to Ashes
Chapter XVIII--Hail and Farewell
71. His Final and Most Glorious Decoration
72. "As One Asleep"
BOOK THE FIRST
Bismarck's Human Essence
CHAPTER I
The Man Himself
1
Hark, Hark! The giant's ponderous hammer rings on the anvil
of destiny. Enter, thou massive figure, Bismarck, and in
deadly earnest take thy place before Time's forge.
¶ It is, it must be, a large story--big with destiny! The details
often bore with their monotony; they do not at all times march on;
they drag, but they do indeed never halt permanently; ahead always is
the great German glory.
¶ Forward march, under Prince Bismarck. He is our grim blacksmith,
looming through the encircling dark, massive figure before Time's
forge.
The sparks fly, the air rings with the rain of blows: he is in deadly
earnest, this half-naked, brawny Prussian giant; magnificent in his
Olympian mien; his bellows cracking, his shop aglow with
cheery- sparks as the heavy hammer falls on the unshapen ores
on the big black anvil.
¶ Thus, toiling hour after hour in the heat and sweat, our Pomeranian
smith with ponderous hammer beats and batters the stubborn German iron
into a noble plan--for a great Nation!
* * * * *
¶ From a human point, we do not always see the ultimate glory.
For that is obscured by dark clouds of party strife, extending over
years, the caprices of men and the interplay of ambitions both within
and without the distracted German lands. Russia, Austria, Italy, Great
Britain, France, Spain, have their spies engaged in all the under-play
of political intrigue; there are a thousand enemies at home and
abroad, in camp, court and peasant's cottage.
¶ And at times, weary of it all, we throw down the book convinced
that, in a welter of sordid ends, the cause is lost in shame.
But, somehow, some way, Germany does in truth ultimately emerge
triumphant, in spite of her amazing errors and the endless plots of
enemies.
She does indeed justify her manhood--and thus the Bismarck story is of
imperishable glory.
* * * * *
¶ We say that Bismarck had to re-inspire the Germans to be a fighting
nation.
What we mean is that the spirit of the ancient Teutons had to be
aroused; for though it slumbered for centuries, it never died.
Rome found that out when she was still in her infancy; the Germans
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THE RAINBOW BOOK
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
LITTLEDOM CASTLE
MY SON AND I
MARGERY REDFORD
THE LOVE FAMILY
THE CHILD OF THE AIR
_All rights reserved_
[Illustration: _The Fish-King and the Dog-Fish_]
[Illustration:
The
Rainbow
Book
Tales of Fun & Fancy
By
Mrs. M. H. SPIELMANN
Illustrated by
Arthur Rackham
Hugh Thomson
Bernard Partridge
Lewis Baumer
Harry Rountree
C. Wilhelm
NEW YORK
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.
1909]
TO
BARBARA MARY RACKHAM
WITH ALL GOOD WISHES
FOR HER FUTURE HAPPINESS
MABEL H. SPIELMANN
PREFACE
It's all very well--but you, and I, and most of us who are healthy in
mind and blithe of spirit, love to give rein to our fun and fancy, and
to mingle fun with our fancy and fancy with our fun.
The little Fairy-people are the favourite children of Fancy, and were
born into this serious world ages and ages ago to help brighten it, and
make it more graceful and dainty and prettily romantic than it was. They
found the Folk-lore people already here--grave, learned people whose
learning was all topsy-turvy, for it dealt with toads, and storms, and
diseases, and what strange things would happen if you mixed them up
together, and how the devil would flee if you did something with a herb,
and how the tempest would stop suddenly, as Terence records, if you
sprinkled a few drops of vinegar in front of it. No doubt, since then
thousands of people have sprinkled tens of thousands of gallons of good
vinegar before advancing tempests, and although tempests pay far less
attention to the liquid than the troubled waters to a pint of oil, the
sprinklers and their descendants have gone on believing with a touching
faith. It is pretty, but not practical.
But what _is_ pretty and practical too, is that all of us should
sometimes let our fancy roam, and that we should laugh as well, even
over a Fairy-story. Yet there are some serious-minded persons, very
grave and very clever, who get angry if a smile so much as creeps into a
Fairy-tale, and if our wonder should be disturbed by anything so worldly
as a laugh. A Fairy-tale, they say, should be like an old Folk-tale,
marked by sincerity and simplicity--as if humour cannot be sincere and
simple too. "The true Fairy-story is not comic." Why not? Of this we may
be sure--take all the true humourless Fairy-stories and take
"Alice"--and "Alice" with its fun and fancy will live beside them as
long as English stories are read, loved for its fancy and its fun, and
hugged and treasured for its jokes and its laughter. The one objection
is this: the "true Fairy-story" appeals to all children, young and old,
in all lands, equally, by translation; and jokes and fun are sometimes
difficult to translate. But that is on account of the shortcomings of
language, and it is hard to make young readers suffer by starving them
of fun, because the power of words is less absolute than the power of
fancy in its merrier mood.
Some people, of course, take their Fairies very seriously indeed, and
we cannot blame them, for it is a very harmless and very beautiful
mental refreshment. Some, indeed, not only believe firmly in Fairies--in
their existence and their exploits--but believe themselves to be
actually visited by the Little People. For my part, I would rather be
visited by a Fairy than by a Spook any day, or night: but when the
"sincerity" of some of us drove the Fairies out, the world was left so
blank and unimaginative, that the Spooks had to be invited in. The
admixture of faith and imagination produces strange results, while it
raises us above the commonplaceness of everyday life.
But, as I say, certain favoured people, mostly little girls, it is true,
are regularly visited by Fairies even in the broad daylight, and they
watch them at their pretty business, at their games and play (for
Fairies, you may be sure, play and laugh, however much the Folk-lorists
may frown when we are made to laugh with them). Two hundred and fifty
years ago a Cornish girl declared that she had wonderful adventures with
the Fairies--and she meant truly what she said. And it is only fifty
years since an educated lady wrote a sincere account of her doings with
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THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS
VOL. IV, DECEMBER, 1859, NO. XXVI
THE EXPERIENCE OF SAMUEL ABSALOM, FILIBUSTER.
In the winter of 1856, the outlook of the present writer, known
somewhere as Samuel Absalom, became exceedingly troubled, and indeed
scarcely respectable. As gold-digger in California, Fortune had looked
upon him unkindly, and he was grown to be one of the indifferent,
ragged children of the earth. Those who came behind him might read as
they ran, stamped on canvas once white, "Stockton Mills. Self-Rising
Flour!"--the well-known label in California, at that day, of greatest
embarrassment.
One morning, after sleeping out the night in the streets of Oroville,
he got up, and read these words, or some like them, in the village
newspaper:--"The heavy frost which fell last night brings with it at
least one source of congratulation for our citizens. Soon the crowd of
vagrant street-sleepers, which infests our town, will be forced to go
forth and work for warmer quarters. It has throughout this summer been
the ever-present nuisance and eyesore of our otherwise beautiful and
romantic moonlit nights." "Listen to this scoundrel!" said he; "how he
can insult an unfortunate man! Makes his own living braying, lying, and
flinging dirt, and spits upon us sad devils who fail to do it in an
honest manner! Ah, the times are changing in California! Once, no one
knew but this battered hat I sit under might partially cover the head
of a nobleman or man of honor; but men begin to show their quality by
the outside, as they do elsewhere in the world, and are judged and
spoken to accordingly. I will shake California dust from my feet, and
be gone!"
In this mood, I thought of General Walker, down there in Nicaragua,
striving to regenerate the God-forsaken Spanish Americans. "I will go
down and assist General Walker," said I. So next morning found me on my
way to San Francisco, with a roll of blankets on my shoulder and some
small pieces of money in my pocket. Arrived in the city, I sought out
General Walker's agent, one Crittenden by name, a respectable,
honest-looking man, and obtained from him the promise of two hundred
and fifty acres of Nicaraguan land and twenty-five dollars per month
for service in the army of General Walker, and also a steerage-ticket
of free passage to the port of San Juan del Norte by one of the
steamers of the Nicaragua Transit Line. Of my voyage down I do not
intend to speak; several unpublished sensations might have been picked
up in that steerage crowd of bog Irish, low Dutch, New Yorkers, and
California savages of every tribe, returning home in red flannel shirts
and boots of cowhide large; but my business is not with them, and I say
only that after a brief and prosperous voyage we anchored early one
morning in the harbor of San Juan del Sur, at that time part of the
dominions of General Walker.
Whilst the great crowd of home-bound passengers, with infinite din and
shouting, are bustling down the gangways toward the shore, our little
party of twenty or thirty Central American regenerators assemble on the
ship's bow, and answer to our names as read out by a small,
mild-featured man, whom at a glance I should have thought no
filibuster. It seems he was our captain _pro tem._, and bore
recommendations from the agent at San Francisco to a commission in the
Nicaraguan service. He had made the voyage on the cabin side of the
ship, and I saw him now for the first time. His looks betokened no
fire-eating soul; but your brave man has not necessarily a truculent
countenance; and I was, indeed, thankful for the prospect of fighting
under an honest man and no cut-throat outwardly.
We followed this our chief down the vessel's side to the shore,
catching a glimpse of Fate as we passed over the old hulk in our
course. It was one of Walker's soldiers in the last stage of fever. His
skin was as yellow and glazed as parchment, and seemed drawn over a
mere fleshless skeleton. Poor man! he lay there watching the noisy
passengers descend from the ship. "His eyes are with his heart, and
that is far away," carried back by the bustling scene to another
shore,--the goal of that passing crowd, | 1,112.155339 |
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Produced by Rosanna Murphy 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: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
THE OLD | 1,112.19771 |
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Produced by John Bickers and Dagny
THE CIVILIZATION OF CHINA
by Herbert A. Giles
Professor of Chinese in the University of Cambridge,
And sometime H.B.M. Consul at Ningpo
PREFACE
The aim of this work is to suggest a rough outline of Chinese
civilization from the earliest times down to the present period of rapid
and startling transition.
It has been written, primarily, for readers who know little or nothing
of China, in the hope that it may succeed in alluring them to a wider
and more methodical survey.
H.A.G.
Cambridge, May 12, 1911.
THE CIVILIZATION OF CHINA
CHAPTER I--THE FEUDAL AGE
It is a very common thing now-a-days to meet people who are going to
"China," which can be reached by the Siberian railway in fourteen or
fifteen days. This brings us at once to the question--What is meant by
the term China?
Taken in its widest sense, the term includes Mongolia, Manchuria | 1,112.357136 |
2023-11-16 18:35:37.0009650 | 6 | 12 |
Produced by Chuck | 1,113.021005 |
2023-11-16 18:35:37.5890330 | 7,421 | 7 |
Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
FRIENDSHIP VILLAGE LOVE STORIES
BY
ZONA GALE
AUTHOR OF "FRIENDSHIP VILLAGE," "THE LOVES
OF PELLEAS AND ETARRE," ETC.
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1909,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published November, 1909. Reprinted
November, 1909; April, 1912.
_Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A._
To
MY FRIENDS IN PORTAGE
WISCONSIN
Certain of the following chapters have appeared in _Everybody's_, _The
American Magazine_, _The Outlook_, _The Woman's Home Companion_, and
_The Delineator_. Thanks are due to the editors for their courteous
permission to reprint these chapters, and to Messrs. Harper Brothers for
permission to reprint the sonnet in Chapter XI.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. OPEN ARMS 1
II. INSIDE JUNE 15
III. MIGGY 33
IV. SPLENDOUR TOWN 43
V. DIFFERENT 62
VI. THE FOND FORENOON 81
VII. AFRAID 96
VIII. THE JAVA ENTERTAINMENT 116
IX. THE COLD SHOULDER 136
X. EVENING DRESS 148
XI. UNDERN 176
XII. THE WAY THE WORLD IS 191
XIII. HOUSEHOLDRY 206
XIV. POSTMARKS 223
XV. PETER 248
XVI. THE NEW VILLAGE 258
XVII. ADOPTION 274
XVIII. AT PETER'S HOUSE 293
XIX. THE CUSTODIAN 309
Friendship Village Love Stories
I
OPEN ARMS
Although it is June, the Little Child about whom I shall sometimes write
in these pages this morning brought me a few violets. June violets. They
sound unconvincing and even sentimental. However, here they are in their
vase; and they are all white but one.
"Only one blue one," said Little Child, regretfully; "May must be'most
dead by mistake."
"Don't the months die as soon as they go away?" I asked her, and a
little shocked line troubled her forehead.
"Oh, no," she said; "they never die at all. They wait and show the next
months how."
So this year's May is showing June how. As if one should have a kind of
pre-self, who kept on, after one's birth, and told one what to live and
what not to live. I wish that I had had a pre-self and that it had kept
on with me to show me how. It is what one's mother is, only one is so
occupied in being one's born self that one thinks of her worshipfully
as one's mother instead. But this young June seems to be chiefly May,
and I am glad: for of all the months, May is to me most nearly the
essence of time to be. In May I have always an impulse to date my
letters "To-morrow," for all the enchantment of the usual future seems
come upon me. The other months are richly themselves, but May is all the
great premonitory zest come true; it is expectation come alive; it is
the Then made Now. Conservatively, however, I date my May letters merely
"To-morrow," and it is pleasant to find a conservative estimate which no
one is likely to exceed. For I own that though there is a conservatism
which is now wholly forbidden to me, yet I continue to take in it a
sensuous, stolen pleasure, such as I take in certain ceremonies; and I
know that if I were wholly pagan, extreme conservatism would be my chief
indulgence.
This yet-May morning, then, I have been down in the village, gardening
about the streets. My sort of gardening. As in spring another looks
along the wall for her risen phlox and valley-lilies, or for the
upthrust of the annuals, so after my year's absence I peered round this
wall and that for faces and things in the renascence of recognition, or
in the pleasant importance of having just been born. Many a gate and
façade and well-house, of which in my absence I have not thought even
once, has not changed a whit in consequence. And when changes have come,
they have done so with the prettiest preening air of accomplishment: "We
too," they say, "have not been idle."
Thus the streets came unrolling to meet me and to show me their
treasures: my neighbour's new screened-in porch "with a round extension
so to see folks pass on the cross street"; in the house in which I am to
live a former blank parlour wall gravely regarding me with a magnificent
new plate glass eye; Daphne Street, hitherto a way of sand, now become a
thing of proud macadam; the corner catalpas old enough to bloom; a white
frame cottage rising like a domestic Venus from a once vacant lot of
foam-green "Timothy"; a veranda window-box acquired, like a bright
bow-knot at its house's throat; and, farther on, the Herons' freshly
laid cement sidewalk, a flying heron stamped on every block. I fancy
they will have done that with the wooden heron knocker which in the
kitchen their grandfather Heron himself carved on sleepless nights.
("Six hundred and twenty hours of Grandpa Heron's life hanging on our
front door," his son's wife said; "I declare I feel like that bird could
just about lay.") To see all these venturesome innovations, these
obscure and pleasant substitutions, is to be greeted by the very annuals
of this little garden as a real gardener in green lore might be
signalled, here by a trembling of new purple and there by a yellow
marching line of little volunteers.
I do not miss from their places many friends. In this house and that I
find a new family domiciled and to be divined by the subtle changes
which no old tenant would ever have made: the woodpile in an
unaccustomed place, the side shed door disused and strung for vines, a
wagon now kept by a north and south space once sacred to the sweet-pea
trench. Here a building partly ruined by fire shows grim, returned to
the inarticulate, not evidently to be rebuilt, but to be accepted, like
any death. But these variations are the exception, and only one
variation is the rule, and against that one I have in me some special
heritage of burning. I mean the felling of the village trees. We have
been used wantonly to sacrifice to the base and the trivial, trees
already stored with years of symmetry when we of these Midlands were the
intruders and not they--and I own that for me the time has never wholly
passed. They disturb the bricks in our walks, they dishevel our lawns
with twigs, they rot the shingles on our barns. It has seemed to occur
to almost nobody to pull down his barn instead. But of late we, too, are
beginning to discern, so that when in the laying of a sidewalk we meet a
tree who was there before we were anywhere at all, though we may not
yet recognize the hamadryad, we do sacrifice to her our love of a
straight line, and our votive offering is to give the tree the
walk--such a slight swerving is all the deference she asks!--and in
return she blesses us with balms and odours.... For me these signs of
our mellowing are more delightful to experience than might be the
already-made quietudes of a nation of effected and distinguished
standards. I have even been pleased when we permit ourselves an
elemental gesture, though I personally would prefer not to be the one to
have made the gesture. And this is my solace when with some
inquisitioner I unsuccessfully intercede for a friend of mine--an
isolated silver cottonwood, or a royally skirted hemlock: verily, I say,
it was so that we did here in the old days when there were forests to
conquer, and this good inquisitioner has tree-taking in his blood as he
has his genius for toil. And I try not to remember that if in America we
had had plane trees, we should almost certainly have cut them into
cabins.... But this morning even the trees that I missed could not make
me sad. No, nor even the white crape and the bunch of garden flowers
hanging on a street door which I passed. All these were as if something
elementary had happened, needless wounds, it might be, on the plan of
things, contortions which science has not yet bred away, but, as truly
as the natural death from age, eloquent of the cosmic persuading to
shape in which the nations of quietude and we of strivings are all in
fellowship.
In fellowship! I think that in this simple basic emotion lies my joy in
living in this, my village. Here, this year long, folk have been
adventuring together, knowing the details of one another's lives,
striving a little but companioning far more than striving, kindling to
one another's interests instead of practising the faint morality of mere
civility; and I love them all--unless it be only that little Mrs. Oliver
Wheeler Johnson, newly come to Friendship; and perhaps my faint liking
for her arises from the fact that she has not yet lived here long enough
to be understood, as Friendship Village understands. The ways of these
primal tribal bonds are in my blood, for from my heart I felt what my
neighbour felt when she told me of the donation party which the whole
village has just given to Lyddy Ember:--
"I declare," she said, "it wasn't so much the stuff they brought in,
though that was all elegant, but it was the _Togetherness_ of it. I
couldn't get to sleep that night for thinkin' about God not havin'
anybody to neighbour with."
It was no wonder, therefore, that when in the middle of Daphne Street my
neighbour met me this morning, for the first time since my return, and
held out her arms, I walked straight into them. Here is the secret, as
more of us know than have the wisdom to acknowledge: fellowship,
comradeship, kinship--call it what you will. My neighbour and I will
understand.
"I heard you was here," my neighbour said--bless her, her voice
trembled. I suppose there never was such a compliment as that tremor of
her voice.
I am afraid that I am not going to tell what else she said. But it was
all about our coming to Friendship Village to live; and that is a thing
which, as I feel about it, should be set to music and sung in the
wind--where Thoreau said that some apples are to be eaten. As for me, I
nodded at my neighbour, and could do no more than that--as is the custom
of mortals when they are face to face with these sorceries of Return and
Meeting and Being Together.
I am not yet wonted to the sweetness of our coming to Friendship Village
to live, the Stranger and I. Here they still call him the Stranger; and
this summer, because of the busts and tablets which he must fashion in
many far places, so do I. Have I said that that Stranger of mine is a
sculptor? He is. But if anyone expects me to write about him, I tell you
that it is impossible. Save this: That since he came out of the mist one
morning on the Plank Road here in Friendship Village, we two have kept
house in the world, shared in the common welfare, toiled as we might
for the common good, observed the stars, and thanked God. And this: that
since that morning, it is as if Someone had picked us up and set us to
music and sung us to the universal piping. And we remember that once we
were only words, and that sometime we shall be whatever music is when it
is free of its body of sound, and for that time we strive. But I repeat
that these vagrant notes are not about this great Stranger, absent on
his quests of holy soul prisoned in this stone and that marble, nor yet
about our life together. Rather, I write about our Family, which is this
loved town of ours. For we have bought Oldmoxon House, and here, save
for what flights may be about and over-seas, we hope that we may tell
our days to their end.
My neighbour had both my hands, there in the middle of Daphne Street,
and the white horse of the post-office store delivery wagon turned out
for us as if he knew.
"If I'd thought of seeing you out so early I'd have put on my other
hat," my neighbour said, "but I'm doing up berries, an' I just run down
for some rubbers for my cans. Land, fruit-jar rubbers ain't what they
used to be, are they? One season an' they lay down life. I could jounce
up an' down I'm so glad to see you. I heard you'd been disappointed
gettin' somebody to help you with your writin'. I heard the girl that
was comin' to help you ain't comin' near."
My secretary, it is true, has disappointed me, and she has done the
disappointing by telegraph. I had almost said, publicly by telegraph.
But I protest that I would rather an entire village should read my
telegrams and rush to the rescue, than that a whole city should care
almost nothing for me or my telegrams either. And if you please, I would
rather not have that telegram-reading criticised.
"Well," said my neighbour, with simplicity, "I've got you one. She'll be
up to talk to you in a day or two--I saw to that. It's Miggy. She can
spell like the minister."
I had never heard of Miggy, but I repeated her name with something of
that sense of the inescapable to which the finality of my neighbour
impressed me. As if I were to have said, "So, then, it is to be Miggy!"
Or was it something more than that? Perhaps it was that Miggy's hour and
mine had struck. At all events, I distinctly felt what I have come to
call the emotion of finality. I suppose that other people have it: that
occasional prophetic sense which, when a thing is to happen, expresses
this futurity not by words, but by a consciousness of--shall I
say?--brightness; a mental area of clearness; a quite definite physical
emotion of yes-ness. But if the thing will not happen this says itself
by a complementary apprehension of dim, down-sloping, vacant negation. I
have seldom known this divination to fail me--though I am chary of using
it lest I use it up! And then I do not always wish to know. But this
morning my emotion of finality prevailed upon me unaware: I _knew_ that
it would be Miggy.
"What a curious name," I said, in a manner of feebly fending off the
imminent; "_why_ Miggy?" For it seemed to me one of those names instead
of which any other name would have done as well and perhaps better.
"Her name is Margaret," my neighbour explained, "and her mother was a
real lady that come here from Off and that hard work killed her because
she _was_ a lady. The father was bound there shouldn't be any lady about
Miggy, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Margaret was her mother's
name and so he shaved it and shrunk it and strained it down to Miggy.
'No frills for nobody,' was his motto, up to his death. Miggy and her
little sister lives with her old Aunt Effie that dress-makes real French
but not enough to keep 'em alive on. Miggy does odd jobs around. So when
I heard about your needin' somebody, I says to myself, 'Miggy!'--just
like I've said it to you."
It was not the name, as a name, which I would have said could be
uppermost in my mind as I walked on that street of June--that May was
helping to make fair. And I was annoyed to have the peace of my return
so soon invaded. I fell wondering if I could not get on, as I usually
do, with no one to bother. I have never wanted a helper at all if I
could avoid it, and I have never, never wanted a helper with a
personality. A personality among my strewn papers puts me in a fever of
embarrassment and misery. Once such an one said to me in the midst of a
chapter: "Madame, I'd like to ask you a question. What do _you_ think of
your hero?" In an utter rout of confusion I owned that I thought very
badly of him, indeed; but I did not add the truth, that she had
effectually drugged him and disabled me for at least that day. My taste
in helpers is for one colourless, noiseless, above all intonationless,
usually speechless, and always without curiosity--some one, save for the
tips of her trained fingers, negligible. As all this does sad violence
to my democratic passions, I usually prefer my negligible self. So the
idea of a Miggy terrified me, and I said to myself that I would not have
one about. As I knew the village, she was not of it. She was not a part
of my gardening. She was no proper annual. She was no doubt merely a
showy little seedling, chance sown in the village.... But all the time,
moving within me, was that serene area of brightness, that clear
certainty that, do what I could, it would still be Miggy.
... It is through this faint soothsaying, this conception which is
partly of sight and partly of feeling, that some understanding may be
won of the orchestration of the senses. I am always telling myself that
if I could touch at that fluent line where the senses merge, I should
occasionally find there that silent Custodian who is myself. I think,
because emotion is so noble, that the Custodian must sometimes visit
this line where the barrier between her and me is so frail. Her presence
seems possible to me only for a moment, only, it may be, for the
fraction of a second in which I catch the romance, the _idea_ of
something old and long familiar. And when this happens, I say: She has
just been there, between the seeing and the feeling, or between the
seeing and the knowing. Often I am sure that I have barely missed her.
But I am never quick enough to let her know....
When I finished my walk and stepped under the poplars before my gate, I
caught a faint exclamation. It was that Little Child, who had been
waiting for me on my doorstep and came running to meet me and bring me
the violets. When she saw me, she said, "Oh!" quickly and sweetly in her
throat, and, as I stood still to taste the delight of having her run
toward me, I felt very sorry for every one who has not heard that
involuntary "Oh!" of a child at one's coming. Little Child and I have
met only once before, and that early this morning, at large, on the
village street, as spirits met in air, with no background of names nor
auxiliary of exchange of names; but we had some talk which for me
touched on eternal truth and for her savoured of story-telling; and we
are friends. So now when she gave me the violets and explained to me Who
was showing June how, I accepted this fair perception of the motherhood
of May, this childish discernment of the familyhood of things, and,
"Will you come some day soon to have another story?" I asked her.
"Prob'ly I can," said Little Child. "I'll ask Miggy."
"Miggy! But is it your Miggy, too?" I demanded.
"It's my sister," said Little Child, nodding.
I thought that the concreteness of her reply to my ill-defined query was
almost as if she remembered how to understand without words. You would
think that children would need to have things said out, but they are
evidently closer to a more excellent way.
So when I entered the house just now, I brought in with me a kind of
premonitory Miggy, one of those ghostly, anticipatory births which we
are constantly giving to those whom we have not met. As if every one
had for us a way of life without the formality of being seen. As if we
are a big, near family whether we want to be so or not. Verily, it is
not only May and June, or Little Child and Miggy, who are found
unexpectedly to be related; it is the whole world, it seems, and he is
wise who quickens to many kinships. I like to think of the comrade
company that already I have found here: June and Little Child and
Miggy-to-be and my neighbour and Daphne Street and the remembered faces
of the village and the hamadryads. I think that I include the very
herons in the cement sidewalk. Like a kind of perpetual gift it is, this
which my neighbour called _Togetherness_.
II
INSIDE JUNE
_The difficulty with a June day is that you can never get near enough to
it. This month comes within few houses, and if you want it you must go
out to it. When you are within doors, knowing that out-of-doors it is
June, the urge to be out there with it is resistless. But though you
wade in green, steep in sun, breast wind, and glory in them all, still
the day itself eludes you. It would seem, in June, that there should be
a specific for the malady of being oneself, so that one might get to be
a June day outright. However, if one were oneself more and more, might
not one finally become a June day?..._
Or something of this sort. I am quoting, as nearly as may be, from the
Book of Our Youth, your youth and mine. Always the Book of Youth will
open at a page like this. And occasionally it is as if we turned back
and read there and made a path right away through the page.
This morning a rose-breasted grosbeak wakened me, singing on a bough of
box-elder so close to my window that the splash of rose on his throat
almost startled me. It was as if I ought not to have been looking. And
to turn away from out-of-doors was like leaving some one who was saying
something. But as soon as I stepped into the day I perceived my old
problem: _The difficulty with a June day is that you can never get near
enough_.
I stood for a little at the front gate trying soberly to solve the
matter--or I stood where the front gate should have been; for in our
midland American villages we have few fences or hedges, and, alas, no
stone walls. Though undoubtedly this lack comes from an insufficient
regard for privacy, yet this negative factor I am inclined to condone
for the sake of the positive motive. And this I conceive to be that we
are wistful of more ample occupation than is commonly contrived by our
fifty-feet village lots, and so we royally add to our "yards" the
sidewalk and the planting space and the road and as much of our
neighbour's lawn as our imagination can annex. There seems to me to be
in this a certain charming pathos; as it were, a survival in us of the
time when we had only to name broad lands our own and to stay upon them
in order to make them ours in very fact. And now it is as if this serene
pushing back of imaginary borders were in reality an appending, a kind
of spiritual taking up of a claim.
How to get nearer to June? I admit that it is a question of the veriest
idler. But what a delightful company of these questions one can
assemble. As, How to find one's way to a place that _is_ the way it
seems Away Across a Meadow. How to meet enough people who hear what one
says in just the way that one means it. How to get back at will those
fugitive moments when one almost _knows_... what it is all about. And
with this question the field of the idler becomes the field of the wise
man; and, indeed, if one idles properly--or rather, if the proper person
idles--the two fields are not always on opposite sides of the road. To
idle is by no means merely to do nothing. It is an avocation, a calling
away, nay, one should say, a piping away. To idle is to inhibit the body
and to let the spirit keep on. Not every one can idle. I know estimable
people who frequently relax, like chickens in the sun; but I know only a
few who use relaxation as a threshold and not as a goal, and who idle
until the hour yields its full blessing.
I wondered if to idle at adventure might not be the way to June, so I
went out on the six o'clock street in somewhat the spirit in which
another might ride the greenwood. Almost immediately I had an encounter,
for I came on my neighbour in her garden. Not my neighbour who lives on
the other side of me, and who is a big and obvious deacon, with a
family of a great many Light Gowns; but My Neighbour. She was watering
her garden. These water rules and regulations of the village are among
its spells. To look at the members of the water commission one would
never suspect them of romance. But if they have it not, why have they
named from five until nine o'clock the only morning hours when one may
use the city water for one's lawn and garden? I insist that it cannot be
a mere regard for the municipal resources, and that the commissioners
must see something of the romance of getting up before five o'clock to
drench one's garden, and are providing for the special educational value
of such a custom. Or, if I do not believe this, I wish very much that I
did, with the proper grounds.
To tell the truth, however, I do not credit even my neighbour with
feeling the romance of the hour and of her occupation. She is a still
woman of more than forty, who does not feel a difference between her
flower and her vegetable gardens, but regards them both as a part of her
life in the kind of car-window indifference and complacency of certain
travellers. She raises foxgloves and parsley, and the sun shines over
all. I must note a strange impression which my neighbour gives me: she
has always for me an air of personal impermanence. I have the fancy,
amounting to a sensation, that she is where she is for just a moment,
and that she must rush back and be at it again. I do not know at what.
But whether I see her in church or at a festival, I have always all I
can do to resist saying to her, "How _did_ you get away?" It was so that
she was watering her flowers; as if she were intending at any moment to
hurry off to get breakfast or put up the hammock or mend. And yet before
she did so she told me, who was a willing listener, a motion or two of
the spirit of the village.
There is, I observe, a nicety of etiquette here, about the
Not-quite-news, Not-quite-gossip shared with strangers and
semi-strangers. The rules seem to be:--
Strangers shall be told only the pleasant occurrences and conditions.
Half strangers may discuss the unpleasant matters which they themselves
have somehow heard, but only pleasant matters may be added by accretion.
The rest of society may say whatever it "has a mind." But this mind, as
I believe, is not harsh, since nobody ever gossips except to people who
gossip back.
"Mis' Toplady told me last night that Calliope Marsh is coming home for
the Java entertainment, next week," my neighbour imparted first. And
this was the best news that she could have given me.
It has been a great regret to me that this summer Calliope is not in the
village. She has gone to the city to nurse some distant kinswoman more
lonely than she, and until ill-health came, long forgetful of Calliope.
But she is to come back now and again, to this and to that, for the
village interests are all her own. I have never known any one in whom
the tribal sense is so persistently alive as in Calliope.
I asked my neighbour what this Java entertainment would be, which was to
give back Calliope, and she looked her amazement that I did not know. It
would be, it appeared, one of those great fairs which the missionary
society is always projecting and carrying magnificently forward.
"It's awful feet-aching work," said my neighbour, reflectively; "but
honestly, Calliope seems to like it. I donno but I do, too. The Sodality
meant to have one when they set out to pave Daphne Street, but it turned
out it wasn't needed. Well, big affairs like that makes it seem as if
we'd been born into the whole world and not just into Friendship
Village."
My neighbour told me that a new public library had been opened in a
corner of the post-office store, and that "a great crowd" was drawing
books, though for this she herself cannot vouch, since the library is
only open Saturday evenings, and "Saturday," she says with decision, "is
a bad night." It is, in fact, I note, very difficult to find a free
night in the village, save only Tuesday. Monday, because of its obvious
duties and incident fatigue, is as impossible as Sunday; Wednesday is
club day; Thursday "is prayer-meeting"; Friday is sacred to church
suppers and entertainments and the Ladies' Aid Society; and Saturday is
invariably denominated a bad night and omitted without question. We are
remote from society, but Tuesday is literally our only free evening.
"Of course it won't be the same with you about books," my neighbour
admits. "You can send your girl down to get a book for you. But I have
to be home to get out the clean clothes. How's your girl going to like
the country?" she asked.
I am to have here in the village, I find, many a rebuke for habits of
mine which lag behind my theories. For though I try to solve my share of
a tragic question by giving to my Swedish maid, Elfa, the self-respect
and the privilege suited to a human being dependent on me, together with
ways of comfort and some leisure, yet I find the homely customs of the
place to have accomplished more than my careful system. And though, when
I took her from town I scrupulously added to the earnings of my little
maid, I confess that it had not occurred to me to wonder whether or not
she would like Friendship Village. We seem so weary-far from the
conditions which we so facilely conceive. Especially, I seem far. I am
afraid that I engaged Elfa in the first place with less attention to her
economic fitness than that she is so trim and still and wistful, with
such a peculiarly winning upward look; and that her name is Elfa. I told
my neighbour that I did not know yet, whether Elfa would like it here or
not; and for refuge I found fault with the worms on the rose bushes.
Also I made a note in my head to ask Elfa how she likes the country. But
the spirit of a thing is flown when you make a note of it in your head.
How does Elfa like the town, for that matter? I never have asked her
this, either.
"She'll be getting married on your hands, anyway," my neighbour
observed; "the ladies here say that's one trouble with trying to keep a
hired girl. They _will_ get married. But I say, let 'em."
At least here is a matter in which my theory, like that of my
neighbour's, outruns those of certain folk of both town and village. For
I myself have heard women complain of their servants marrying and
establishing families, and deplore this shortsightedness in not staying
where there is "a good home, a nice room, plenty to eat, and all the
flat pieces sent to the laundry."
"Speaking of books," said my neighbour, "have you seen Nicholas Moor?"
"I see almost no new books," I told her guiltily.
"Me either," she said; "I don't mean he's a book. He's a boy. Nicholas
Moor--that does a little writ | 1,113.609073 |
2023-11-16 18:35:37.6384920 | 50 | 10 |
Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
TWO POETS
(Lost Illusions Part I)
By Honore De Balzac
Translated By Ellen Marriage
PREPARER'S NOTE
Two Poets is part | 1,113.658532 |
2023-11-16 18:35:37.6385400 | 7 | 18 |
Produced by David Edwards | 1,113.65858 |
2023-11-16 18:35:37.7573650 | 3,200 | 7 |
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 54086-h.htm or 54086-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54086/54086-h/54086-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/54086/54086-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/humanleopardsacc00beatuoft
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
HUMAN LEOPARDS
[Illustration: SACKVILLE STREET, FREETOWN.]
HUMAN LEOPARDS
An Account of the Trials of Human Leopards Before the Special
Commission Court; With a Note on Sierra Leone, Past and Present
by
K. J. BEATTY
Of the Middle Temple, Barrister-at-Law for Some Years Resident in
Sierra Leone
With a Preface by Sir William Brandford Griffith
33 Illustrations
London
Hugh Rees, Ltd.
5 Regent Street, Pall Mall, S.W.
1915
Printed by
Hazell, Watson and Viney, Ld.,
London and Aylesbury.
PREFACE
Captain Beatty, just before leaving for the Dardanelles, asked me to
write a preface. I think that the best preface will be to answer, as far
as I am able, several questions which were frequently put to me on my
return to civilization after the conclusion of the Special Commission
Court. These questions were, “What was the object of the Human Leopard
Society? Were its members cannibals for the purpose of satisfying an
appetite for human flesh, or was it some religious rite? Would the
sentences inflicted by the Special Commission Court have the effect of
stamping out the horrible practice?”
The first question can be answered with some confidence. The trend of
the whole evidence showed that the prime object of the Human Leopard
Society was to secure human fat wherewith to anoint the Borfima. The
witnesses told us how the occasion of a murder is used to “blood” the
Borfima, but the potency of this terrible fetish depends upon its being
frequently supplied with human fat. Hence these murders.
The question as to cannibalism it is not possible to answer with any
degree of certainty. The Commission sat for over five months, had before
it hundreds of witnesses, and the notes of evidence ran into thousands
of pages; but the Court was a judicial tribunal, and it was anxious to
bring its labours to an end as speedily as possible, so that no question
was asked or allowed by the Court which was not relevant to the issue.
Again and again answers given by witnesses opened up avenues which it
would have been most interesting to investigate, but, unless the
investigation was relevant to the case in hand or would have served to
elucidate some other part of the evidence which was doubtful, the Court
could not allow it to be pursued. Nor would it have been seemly for the
members of the Court to make private investigation into a matter before
them judicially. Consequently we could not probe down and ascertain the
reason of things, but had to be content with the bare facts which came
out by way of evidence.
Moreover, although it was possible to have a fair idea as to whether a
witness was generally speaking the truth or not, it was extremely
difficult to lay one’s finger on any detail and be satisfied as to its
reasonable correctness. Furthermore, whenever a witness approached
cannibalism he palpably made reservations or additions, whilst at all
the more interesting junctures we had to keep severely in mind that we
were not holding a scientific inquiry but were a judicial tribunal
having as the sole issue before us whether the deceased was murdered by
the prisoners in the dock in connection with an unlawful society.
Consequently, notwithstanding the time spent over the different trials,
and despite the fact that whenever the subject of cannibalism came up
the Court was keenly on the alert to fathom its objects, it is not
possible to state definitely why the members of the Human Leopard
Society ate their victims. There was, however, one outstanding fact: all
the principal offenders were men of mature age, past their prime; they
were the ones who, so to speak, managed the concern, who arranged for
victims, and who received the most coveted portions of the slaughtered
bodies; and I formed the opinion that when they devoured the human flesh
the idea uppermost in their minds was that they were increasing their
virile powers.
There is no sentence in the notes of evidence which I can quote in
support of this theory, but after an extended experience of the point of
view of the West African mind, and with some acquaintance with the
subject on the spot, I venture the opinion that the Human Leopards eat
the flesh of their victims, not to satisfy any craving for human flesh
nor in connection with any religious rite, but in the belief that their
victims’ flesh will increase their virility.
Whether that was the original idea when the first person fell a victim
to the Human Leopards may be questioned. Cannibalism is probably only a
bye-product in these murders. Originally it may have been to bind the
murderers together and so preserve inviolable secrecy that each member
of the Society partook of a portion of the flesh; or it may have been to
continue the leopard-acting, i.e. by devouring the prey; or it may have
been with a combination of these ideas that cannibalism originated.
Gradually, however, the notion arose that human flesh had specific
virtues; as the Borfima’s energy was replenished with human fat so would
the cannibal be reinvigorated with other parts of the human body; and
possibly during the last few decades the value placed upon human flesh
was equal to or even exceeded that set upon human fat. Such an
explanation would help to account for the expansion and increased
activity of the Society during the past twenty years.
Then comes the question whether the punishments inflicted by the Special
Commission Court will have the effect of stamping out the Society. In
considering this question the environment of the people must be taken
into account. I have been in many forests, but in none which seemed to
me to be so uncanny as the Sierra Leone bush. In Mende-land the bush is
not high, as a rule it is little more than scrub, nor is the vegetation
exceptionally rank, but there is something about the Sierra Leone bush,
and about the bush villages as well, which makes one’s flesh creep. It
may be the low hills with enclosed swampy valleys, or the associations
of the slave trade, or the knowledge that the country is alive with
Human Leopards; but to my mind the chief factor in the uncanniness is
the presence of numerous half-human chimpanzees with their maniacal
shrieks and cries. The bush seemed to me pervaded with something
supernatural, a spirit which was striving to bridge the animal and the
human. Some of the weird spirit of their surroundings has, I think,
entered into the people, and accounts for their weird customs. The
people are by no means a low, savage race. I found many of them highly
intelligent, shrewd, with more than the average sense of humour, and
with the most marvellous faculty for keeping hidden what they did not
wish to be known—the result probably of secret societies for countless
generations. But beyond such reasoning powers as are required for their
daily necessities their whole mental energies are absorbed in fetish,
witchcraft, “medicine” such as Borfima and the like. What they need is a
substitute for their bottomless wells of secret societies, for their
playing at being leopards or alligators and acting the part with such
realism that they not only kill their quarry but even devour it. In my
opinion the only way to extirpate these objectionable societies is the
introduction of the four R’s—the fourth, Religion, being specially
needed to supply the place of the native crude beliefs. No doubt the
energetic action of the Government, and in a lesser degree the labours
of the Special Commission Court, will have a good effect; but, I fear,
only a temporary effect. The remedy must go deeper than mere punishment:
the Human Leopard Society must be superseded by Education and Religion.
W. BRANDFORD GRIFFITH.
2, ESSEX COURT, TEMPLE,
_September, 1915_.
CONTENTS
_PART I_
CHAPTER I
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 1
CHAPTER II
THE PORO, TONGO PLAY, BORFIMA, WITCH-DOCTORS, OATHS 15
CHAPTER III
THE KALE CASE 27
CHAPTER IV
THE IMPERRI CASE 36
CHAPTER V
THE KABATI CASE 44
CHAPTER VI
THE YANDEHUN CASE 61
CHAPTER VII
BORFIMA AND MEMBERSHIP CASES 71
CHAPTER VIII
OTHER CASES OF LEOPARD MURDER; THE HUMAN BABOON SOCIETY 80
_PART II_
CHAPTER IX
A NOTE ON SIERRA LEONE, PAST AND PRESENT 88
APPENDIX
DESPATCH FROM THE GOVERNOR OF SIERRA LEONE REPORTING ON THE 119
MEASURES ADOPTED TO DEAL WITH UNLAWFUL SOCIETIES IN THE
PROTECTORATE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
SACKVILLE STREET, FREETOWN _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
VIEW OF FREETOWN 1
A TEMNE GIRL 3
OBLIVIOUS OF HUMAN ALLIGATORS 9
PORO DEVILS 15
ENTRANCE TO A PORO BUSH 19
BUNDU DEVILS, SIERRA LEONE 21
WIVES OF A NATIVE CHIEF 25
A PORO DEVIL 28
WEAVING COUNTRY CLOTH 30
BUNDU GIRLS AND DEVIL 35
STOCKADE SURROUNDING GBANGBAMA PRISON AND GUARDHOUSE. 38
PRISONERS AWAITING TRIAL, GBANGBAMA PRISON
A NATURAL BRIDGE ON THE ROAD TO GBANGBAMA 43
A NATIVE VILLAGE 46
PALM FOREST, SIERRA LEONE 51
A NATIVE VILLAGE 56
A SELF-CONFESSED CANNIBAL 63
A WATER-SIDE VILLAGE 66
HINTERLAND TYPES 71
WEST AFRICAN SOLDIERS 74
THE PRISONERS OF A NATIVE CHIEFTAINESS, CRACKING 79
PALM-KERNELS
LADIES OF THE SIERRA LEONE HINTERLAND 83
A NATIVE CHIEFTAINESS 85
EMPIRE DAY IN FREETOWN 88
WHERE HAWKINS MAY HAVE LANDED FOR SLAVES 90
THRESHING RICE, SIERRA LEONE PROTECTORATE 93
A NATIVE HUNTER 96
PICKING PALM-KERNELS 99
THE HIGHLAND OF SIERRA LEONE, WITH HILL STATION IN THE 104
FOREGROUND
BUNDU GIRLS AND BUNDU DEVILS 111
COTTON TREE STATION, 9 A.M. BUNGALOW TRAIN, FREETOWN 115
FREETOWN FROM THE HARBOUR 117
VIEW FROM GOVERNMENT HOUSE, FREETOWN 125
[Illustration: VIEW OF FREETOWN, SIERRA LEONE.]
HUMAN LEOPARDS
_PART I_
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
That there were cannibals in the Hinterland of Sierra Leone in former
days appears from the observations[1] of William Finch, who visited
Sierra Leone in August, 1607. This accurate observer states, “To the
South of the Bay, some fortie or fiftie leagues distant within the
Countrey, inhabiteth a very fierce people which are man-eaters, which
sometimes infest them.” This clearly points to the Mende country, where
the Human Leopard Society was lately flourishing. Finch does not,
however, refer to anything but pure cannibalism.
In 1803 Dr. Thomas Winterbottom, the Colonial Surgeon, Sierra Leone,
wrote an account of the native Africans in the neighbourhood of Sierra
Leone, and, after quoting and criticizing various authorities who had
alleged the existence of cannibalism in different parts of West Africa,
states (vol. i. p. 166) as follows:
“That this horrid practice does not exist in the neighbourhood of Sierra
Leone, nor for many hundred leagues along the coast to the northward and
southward of that place, may be asserted with the utmost confidence, nor
is there any tradition among the natives which can prove that it ever
was the custom; on the contrary, they appear struck with horror when
they are questioned individually on the subject, though at the same time
they make no scruple of accusing other nations at a distance, and whom
they barely know by name, of cannibalism.”
Joseph Corry[2] (1806) hints at human sacrifices, but neither he nor
Major Laing[3] (1822) heard anything of cannibalism, whilst Harrison
Rankin[4] (1834), who appears to have made considerable inquiry into the
matter, and who speaks of “slavery, cannibalism and polygamy” as being
deemed domestic virtues in the wilds of Africa, specifically mentions
the only definite and well-ascertained case of cannibalism which came to
his notice; it was the case of a liberated resident (i.e. a native
African liberated from a captured slaver) who had wandered in the bush
and had killed another native for food. Rankin in conclusion states, “In
the heterogeneous commixture of tribes in the British Colony, I
discovered none which doubted the practice of cannibalism, but none of
the established residents would plead | 1,113.777405 |
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Produced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive.)
IN NORTHERN MISTS
[Illustration:
"THE GOLDEN CLOUDS CURTAINED THE DEEP WHERE IT LAY,
AND IT LOOKED LIKE AN EDEN AWAY, FAR AWAY"]
IN NORTHERN MISTS
ARCTIC EXPLORATION IN EARLY TIMES
BY FRIDTJOF NANSEN
G.C.V.O., D.Sc., D.C.L., Ph.D., PROFESSOR OF OCEANOGRAPHY
IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CHRISTIANIA, ETC.
TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR G. CHATER
ILLUSTRATED
VOLUME ONE
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN: MCMXI
PRINTED BY
BALLANTYNE & COMPANY LTD
AT THE BALLANTYNE PRESS
TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN
LONDON
PREFACE
This book owes its existence in the first instance to a rash promise made
some years ago to my friend Dr. J. Scott Keltie, of London, that I would
try, when time permitted, to contribute a volume on the history of arctic
voyages to his series of books on geographical exploration. The subject
was an attractive one; I thought I was fairly familiar with it, and did
not expect the book to take a very long time when once I made a start with
it. On account of other studies it was a long while before I could do
this; but when at last I seriously took the work in hand, the subject in
return monopolised my whole powers.
It appeared to me that the natural foundation for a history of arctic
voyages was in the first place to make clear the main features in the
development of knowledge of the North in early times. By tracing how ideas
of the Northern World, appearing first in a dim twilight, change from age
to age, how the old myths and creations of the imagination are constantly
recurring, sometimes in new shapes, and how new ones are added to them, we
have a curious insight into the working of the human mind in its endeavour
to subject to itself the world and the universe.
But as I went deeper into the subject I became aware that the task was far
greater than I had supposed: I found that much that had previously been
written about it was not to be depended upon; that frequently one author
had copied another, and that errors and opinions which had once gained
admission remained embedded in the literary tradition. What had to be done
was to confine one's self to the actual sources, and as far as possible to
build up independently the best possible structure from the very
foundation. But the more extensive my studies became, the more riddles I
perceived--riddle after riddle led to new riddles, and this drew me on
farther and farther.
On many points I arrived at views which to some extent conflicted with
those previously held. This made it necessary to give, not merely the bare
results, but also a great part of the investigations themselves. I have
followed the words of Niebuhr, which P. A. Munch took as a motto for "Det
norske Folks Historie":
"Ich werde suchen die Kritik der Geschichte nicht nach dunkeln Gefühlen,
sondern forschend, auszuführen, nicht ihre Resultate, welche nur blinde
Meinungen stiften, sondern die Untersuchungen selbst in ihrem ganzen
Umfange vortragen."
But in this way my book has become something quite different from what was
intended, and far larger. I have not reached the history of arctic voyages
proper.
Many may think that too much has been included here, and yet what it has
been possible to mention here is but an infinitesimal part of the mighty
labour in vanished times that makes up our knowledge of the North. The
majority of the voyages, and those the most important, on which the first
knowledge was based, have left no certain record; the greatest steps have
been taken by unknown pioneers, and if a halo has settled upon a name here
and there, it is the halo of legend.
My investigations have made it necessary to go through a great mass of
literature, for which I lacked, in part, the linguistic qualifications.
For the study of classical, and of mediæval Latin literature, I found in
Mr. Amund Sommerfeldt a most able assistant, and most of the translations
of Greek and Latin authors are due to him. By his sound and sober
criticism of the often difficult original texts he was of great help to
me.
In the study of Arabic literature | 1,113.968077 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
TRAGIC ROMANCES
[Illustration]
RE-ISSUE OF THE SHORTER
ST | 1,114.160247 |
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Produced by Diane Monico and The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: J. W. (WATT) GIBSON.]
RECOLLECTIONS
_of a_ PIONEER
BY
J. W. (WATT) GIBSON
Press of Nelson-Hanne Printing Co.
107 South Third Street
St. Joseph, Mo.
[Illustration]
FOREWORD.
The following pages are entirely from memory. I kept no notes or other
record of the events I have attempted to relate, but I am sure my
memory has not often deceived me. My early responsibilities compelled
me to give close attention to the things which transpired about me
and thus fixed them permanently in my mind. In fact, most of the
experiences which I have attempted to relate were of such personal
consequence that I was compelled to be alert and to know what was
passing.
I undertook the present task at the solicitation of many friends and
acquaintances who urged that my recollections of a period, now fast
passing out of personal memory, ought to be preserved. It is probable
that I have made a good many errors, especially, in my attempts to
locate places and to give distances, but it must be remembered that
we had no maps or charts with us on the plains and that but few state
lines or other sub-divisions were in existence. The location of the
places where events occurred with reference to present geographical
lines has been my most difficult task.
J. W. (WATT) GIBSON.
_St. Joseph, Mo., August 15, 1912._
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Early Days in Buchanan County. | 1,114.256012 |
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Produced by Paul Haxo from a copy generously made available
by the University of California, Davis, and with special
thanks to the Victorian Plays Project.
"WANTED, A YOUNG LADY"--
_A Farce_,
IN ONE ACT.
BY
W. E. SUTER,
AUTHOR OF
The Pirates of the Savannah, Idiot of the Mountain, Syren of Paris,
Angel of Midnight, Old House on the Bridge, Outlaw of the Adriatic,
Sarah's Young Man, A Quiet Family, John Wopps, Rifle Volunteer,
Brother Bill and Me, Highwayman's Holiday, Accusing Spirit, First
Love, Our New Man, Fan-fan, the Tulip, &c., &c.
THOMAS HAILES LACY,
89, STRAND, LONDON.
"WANTED, A YOUNG LADY."
_Characters._
ADELAIDE STIRLING (_First Comedy_)
FRANK MITCHELL (_First Comedy_)
SIMON SNOOZLE (_Low Comedy_)
_Costumes._
FRANK. _First Dress_--Travelling suit. _Second_--Old lady's hood, silk
gown, shawl, spectacles, and stick. _Third_--Same as first.
SIMON. _First Dress_--Half livery. _Second_--Velvet cap and silk
dressing gown.
ADELAIDE. _First Dress_--Travelling dress. _Second_--Silk bonnet,
veil, spectacles, shawl, and stick.
_Time in Representation_--40 _Minutes._
"WANTED, A YOUNG LADY"--
SCENE.--_Interior of an old Country Mansion; door, C.; door, R.; door
L.; easy chairs; couch, L.; fire-place, R.; clock, C.; chairs, &c.;
table, R., on it a lighted lamp; closet at back, L._
SIMON. (_entering, door C._) Yes, yes, godfather, make your mind easy,
you may sleep quietly on both sides of your face. (_advancing_) That's
a saying in our parts; but I have tried it, and I couldn't do it.
(_looking at clock_) Seven o'clock! what a litter this room is in.
(_placing chairs, &c._) And look here. (_indicating clothes scattered
over an easy chair_) What's all this? Oh, old master's morning gown.
(_places it in the closet_) I have an idea that this place of mine
suits me very well. I am boarded and lodged and washed, eight pounds a
year, and the key of the cellar. I fancy I shall soon get my nose red
in this house. (_sits_) This here easy chair is uncommon comfortable.
FRANK. (_entering, C. door, a portmanteau in his hand_) I don't see a
soul about. (_seeing SIMON_) Eh! halloa, my friend! (_shaking him_)
What are you doing there?
SIMON. (_all aback_) Me, sir! I--I'm a doing my work.
FRANK. Doing what?
SIMON. (_rising_) What do you please to want?
FRANK. I wish to see Mr. or Mrs. Mitchell.
SIMON. Oh! either of them would do, then?
FRANK. (L. C.) Yes.
SIMON. (R. C.) That's lucky, for they are both gone out.
FRANK. Out! then I will await their return.
SIMON. I don't think you will, sir.
FRANK. How do you mean?
SIMON. Why, when master and missus went away this morning, they said
they were going on a visit, and should be away nine or ten days--and
the same number of nights too, no doubt.
FRANK. (_aside_) Pleasant information! all this distance from London,
and not a shilling in my pocket. (_to SIMON_) Are you alone here?
SIMON. Yes, I'm quite alone in the house, except my godfather, who
lives at the bottom of the garden.
FRANK. The surly old brute I met in the park?
SIMON. Yes, that's godfather.
FRANK. Agreeable society! Well, I must teach myself resignation.
(_offering portmanteau_) Go and prepare a chamber for me.
SIMON. You are labouring under a mistake, sir; the Golden Lion is on
the other side of----
FRANK. Ah, true! you do not know me. I am Fra----(_checking himself_)
No, I mean Harry Mitchell, your master's grandson.
SIMON. Really! well, how lucky! I have a letter for your brother.
FRANK. For my brother Frank?
SIMON. Yes, here it is. (_drawing a letter from his pocket_) I have
been ordered to post it.
FRANK. (_aside_) I know what are its contents--the old story--you are
a good-for-nothing fellow, and I shall not give you a sixpence.
(_aloud, taking letter and putting it into his pocket_) All right, I
will take care he has it.
SIMON. And so you are Master Harry, eh? You are the favourite, you
are.
FRANK. How did you learn that?
SIMON. Godfather has made me acquainted with all the family matters,
for I am quite fresh, I am.
FRANK. You are quite fresh! what do you mean?
SIMON. I mean I was quite new this morning. Godfather brought me here
and showed me to your grandmother just as she was stepping into the
old family coach; she had only just time to say, "Oh! this is the
stupid animal you have told me about." You see, she is so old that she
doesn't always know what she is talking about.
FRANK. I think, though, her faculties were pretty clear this morning.
But, as you say, she is rather old--eighty-two. Considerably wrinkled,
I should think.
SIMON. Her face is just like a little apple that has been dried in the
sun.
FRANK. And my grandfather?
SIMON. He is like a little pear that has been baked in an oven.
FRANK. I am certain I should not recognize them; they must be very
dull here, all by themselves.
SIMON. Godfather says that they sometimes yawn till they get a
lock-jaw; that's why they have just advertised in the papers for
somebody to read to them.
FRANK. Read to them!
SIMON. Yes, a young lady.
FRANK. (_quickly_) Ah, there is a young lady here?
SIMON. No, sir, she hasn't come yet.
FRANK. What a pity!
SIMON. And they won't want a young lady now they have engaged me.
FRANK. (_laughing_) But you are not a young lady.
SIMON. No, and I can't read, but----
FRANK. Idiot! go and prepare my chamber.
SIMON. (_going, L._) Yes, Master Harry.
FRANK. Stop a moment; is there anything to eat in the pantry?
SIMON. I saw the plate chest there; but I'll go and see, Master Harry.
Ah! if you were Mr. Frank.
FRANK. Well?
SIMON. I shouldn't be able to find anything. (_confidentially_)
Godfather says that you are a pet, and that your brother is a bad | 1,114.354212 |
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Transcribed from the 1918 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
THE JOLLY CORNER
by Henry James
CHAPTER I
"Every one asks me what I 'think' of everything," said Spencer Brydon;
"and I make answer as I can--begging or dodging the question, putting
them off with any nonsense. It wouldn't matter to any of them really,"
he went on, "for, even were it possible to meet in that stand-and-deliver
way so silly a demand on so big a subject, my 'thoughts' would still be
almost altogether about something that concerns only myself." He was
talking to Miss Staverton, with whom for a couple of months now he had
availed himself of every possible occasion to talk; this disposition and
this resource, this comfort and support, as the situation in fact
presented itself, having promptly enough taken the first place in the
considerable array of rather unattenuated surprises attending his so
strangely belated return to America. Everything was somehow a surprise;
and that might be natural when one had so long and so consistently
neglected everything, taken pains to give surprises so much margin for
play. He had given them more than thirty years--thirty-three, to be
exact; and they now seemed to him to have organised their performance
quite on the scale of that licence. He had been twenty-three on leaving
New York--he was fifty-six to-day; unless indeed he were to reckon as he
had sometimes, since his repatriation, found himself feeling; in which
case he would have lived longer than is often allotted to man. It would
have taken a century, he repeatedly said to himself, and said also to
Alice Staverton, it would have taken a longer absence and a more averted
mind than those even of which he had been guilty, to pile up the
differences, the newnesses, the queernesses, above all the bignesses, for
the better or the worse, that at present assaulted his vision wherever he
looked.
The great fact all the while, however, had been the incalculability;
since he _had_ supposed himself, from decade to decade, to be allowing,
and in the most liberal and intelligent manner, for brilliancy of change.
He actually saw that he had allowed for nothing; he missed what he would
have been sure of finding, he found what he would never have imagined.
Proportions and values were upside-down; the ugly things he had expected,
the ugly things of his far-away youth, when he had too promptly waked up
to a sense of the ugly--these uncanny phenomena placed him rather, as it
happened, under the charm; whereas the "swagger" things, the modern, the
monstrous, the famous things, those he had more particularly, like
thousands of ingenuous enquirers every year, come over to see, were
exactly his sources of dismay. They were as so many set traps for
displeasure, above all for reaction, of which his restless tread was
constantly pressing the spring. It was interesting, doubtless, the whole
show, but it would have been too disconcerting hadn't a certain finer
truth saved the situation. He had distinctly not, in this steadier
light, come over _all_ for the monstrosities; he had come, not only in
the last analysis but quite on the face of the act, under an impulse with
which they had nothing to do. He had come--putting the thing
pompously--to look at his "property," which he had thus for a third of a
century not been within four thousand miles of; or, expressing it less
sordidly, he had yielded to the humour of seeing again his house on the
jolly corner, as he usually, and quite fondly, described it--the one in
which he had first seen the light, in which various members of his family
had lived and had died, in which the holidays of his overschooled boyhood
had been passed and the few social flowers of his chilled adolescence
gathered, and which, alienated then for so long a period, had, through
the successive deaths of his two brothers and the termination of old
arrangements, come wholly into his hands. He was the owner of another,
not quite so "good"--the jolly corner having been, from far back,
superlatively extended and consecrated; and the value of the pair
represented his main capital, with an income consisting, in these later
years, of their respective rents which (thanks precisely to their
original excellent type) had never been depressingly low. He could live
in "Europe," as he had been in the habit of living, on the product of
these flourishing New York leases, and all the better since, that of the
second structure, the mere number in its long row, having within a
twelvemonth fallen in, renovation at a high advance had proved
beautifully possible.
These were items of property indeed, but he had found himself since his
arrival distinguishing more than ever between them. The house within the
street, two bristling blocks westward, was already in course of
reconstruction as a tall mass of flats; he had acceded, some time before,
to overtures for this conversion--in which, now that it was going
forward, it had been not the least of his astonishments to find himself
able, on the spot, and though without a previous ounce of such
experience, to participate with a certain intelligence, almost with a
certain authority. He had lived his life with his back so turned to such
concerns and his face addressed to those of so different an order that he
scarce knew what to make of this lively stir, in a compartment of his
mind never yet penetrated, of a capacity for business and a sense for
construction. These virtues, so common all round him now, had been
dormant in his own organism--where it might be said of them perhaps that
they had slept the sleep of the just. At present, in the splendid autumn
weather--the autumn at least was a pure boon in the terrible place--he
loafed about his "work" undeterred, secretly agitated; not in the least
"minding" that the whole proposition, as they said, was vulgar and
sordid, and ready to climb ladders, to walk the plank, to handle
materials and look wise about them, to ask questions, in fine, and
challenge explanations and really "go into" figures.
It amused, it verily quite charmed him; and, by the same stroke, it
amused, and even more, Alice Staverton, though perhaps charming her
perceptibly less. She wasn't, however, going to be better-off for it, as
_he_ was--and so astonishingly much: nothing was now likely, he knew,
ever to make her better-off than she found herself, in the afternoon of
life, as the delicately frugal possessor and tenant of the small house in
Irving Place to which she had subtly managed to cling through her almost
unbroken New York career. If he knew the way to it now better than to
any other address among the dreadful multiplied numberings which seemed
to him to reduce the whole place to some vast ledger-page, overgrown,
fantastic, of ruled and criss-crossed lines and figures--if he had
formed, for his consolation, that habit, it was really not a little
because of the charm of his having encountered and recognised, in the
vast wilderness of the wholesale, breaking through the mere gross
generalisation of wealth and force and success, a small still scene where
items and shades, all delicate things, kept the sharpness of the notes of
a high voice perfectly trained, and where economy hung about like the
scent of a garden. His old friend lived with one maid and herself dusted
her relics and trimmed her lamps and polished her silver; she stood oft,
in the awful modern crush, when she could, but she sallied forth and did
battle when the challenge was really to "spirit," the spirit she after
all confessed to, proudly and a little shyly, as to that of the better
time, that of _their_ common, their quite far-away and antediluvian
social period and order. She made use of the street-cars when need be,
the terrible things that people scrambled for as the panic-stricken at
sea scramble for the boats; she affronted, inscrutably, under stress, all
the public concussions and ordeals; and yet, with that slim mystifying
grace of her appearance, which defied you to say if she were a fair young
woman who looked older through trouble, or a fine smooth older one who
looked young through successful indifference with her precious reference,
above all, to memories and histories into which he could enter, she was
as exquisite for him as some pale pressed flower (a rarity to begin
with), and, failing other sweetnesses, she was a sufficient reward of his
effort. They had communities of knowledge, "their" knowledge (this
discriminating possessive was always on her lips) of presences of the
other age, presences all overlaid, in his case, by the experience of a
man and the freedom of a wanderer, overlaid by pleasure, by infidelity,
by passages of life that were strange and dim to her, just by "Europe" in
short, but still unobscured, still exposed and cherished, under that
pious visitation of the spirit from which she had never been diverted.
She had come with him one day to see how his "apartment-house" was
rising; he had helped her over gaps and explained to her plans, and while
they were there had happened to have, before her, a brief but lively
discussion with the man in charge, the representative of the building
firm that had undertaken his work. He had found himself quite "standing
up" to this personage over a failure on the latter's part to observe some
detail of one of their noted conditions, and had so lucidly argued his
case that, besides ever so prettily flushing, at the time, for sympathy
in his triumph, she had afterwards said to him (though to a slightly
greater effect of irony) that he had clearly for too many years neglected
a real gift. If he had but stayed at home he would have anticipated the
inventor of the sky-scraper. If he had but stayed at home he would have
discovered his genius in time really to start some new variety of awful
architectural hare and run it till it burrowed in a gold mine. He was to
remember these words, while the weeks elapsed, for the small silver ring
they had sounded over the queerest and deepest of his own lately most
disguised and most muffled vibrations.
It had begun to be present to him after the first fortnight, it had
broken out with the oddest abruptness, this particular wanton wonderment:
it met him there--and this was the image under which he himself judged
the matter, or at least, not a little, thrilled and flushed with it--very
much as he might have been met by some strange figure, some unexpected
occupant, at a turn of one of the dim passages of an empty house. The
quaint analogy quite hauntingly remained with him, when he didn't indeed
rather improve it by a still intenser form: that of his opening a door
behind which he would have made sure of finding nothing, a door into a
room shuttered and void, and yet so coming, with a great suppressed
start, on some quite erect confronting presence, something planted in the
middle of the place and facing him through the dusk. After that visit to
the house in construction he walked with his companion to see the other
and always so much the better one, which in the eastward direction formed
one of the corners,--the "jolly" one precisely, of the street now so
generally dishonoured and disfigured in its westward reaches, and of the
comparatively conservative Avenue. The Avenue still had pretensions, as
Miss Staverton said, to decency; the old people had mostly gone, the old
names were unknown, and here and there an old association seemed to
stray, all vaguely, like some very aged person, out too late, whom you
might meet and feel the impulse to watch or follow, in kindness, for safe
restoration to shelter.
They went in together, our friends; he admitted himself with his key, as
he kept no one there, he explained, preferring, for his reasons, to leave
the place empty, under a simple arrangement with a good woman living in
the neighbourhood and who came for a daily hour to open windows and dust
and sweep. Spencer Brydon had his reasons and was growingly aware of
them; they seemed to him better each time he was there, though he didn't
name them all to his companion, any more than he told her as yet how
often, how quite absurdly often, he himself came. He only let her see
for the present, while they walked through the great blank rooms, that
absolute vacancy reigned and that, from top to bottom, there was nothing
but Mrs. Muldoon's broomstick, in a corner, to tempt the burglar. Mrs.
Muldoon was then on the premises, and she loquaciously attended the
visitors, preceding them from room to room and pushing back shutters and
throwing up sashes--all to show them, as she remarked, how little there
was to see. There was little indeed to see in the great gaunt shell
where the main dispositions and the general apportionment of space, the
style of an age of ampler allowances, had nevertheless for its master
their honest pleading message, affecting him as some good old servant's,
some lifelong retainer's appeal for a character, or even for a retiring-
pension; yet it was also a remark of Mrs. Muldoon's that, glad as she was
to oblige him by her noonday round, there was a request she greatly hoped
he would never make of her. If he should wish her for any reason to come
in after dark she would just tell him, if he "plased," that he must ask
it of somebody else.
The fact that there was nothing to see didn't militate for the worthy
woman against what one _might_ see, and she put it frankly to Miss
Staverton that no lady could be expected to like, could she? "craping up
to thim top storeys in the ayvil hours." The gas and the electric light
were off the house, and she fairly evoked a gruesome vision of her march
through the great grey rooms--so many of them as there were too!--with
her glimmering taper. Miss Staverton met her honest glare with a smile
and the profession that she herself certainly would recoil from such an
adventure. Spencer Brydon meanwhile held his peace--for the moment; the
question of the "evil" hours in his old home had already become too grave
for him. He had begun some time since to "crape," and he knew just why a
packet of candles addressed to that pursuit had been stowed by his own
hand, three weeks before, at the back of a drawer of the fine old
sideboard that occupied, as a "fixture," the deep recess in the dining-
room. Just now he laughed at his companions--quickly however changing
the subject; for the reason that, in the first place, his laugh struck
him even at that moment as starting the odd echo, the conscious human
resonance (he scarce knew how to qualify it) that sounds made while he
was there alone sent back to his ear or his fancy; and that, in the
second, he imagined Alice Staverton for the instant on the point of
asking him, with a divination, if he ever so prowled. There were
divinations he was unprepared for, and he had at all events averted
enquiry by the time Mrs. Muldoon had left them, passing on to other
parts.
There was happily enough to say, on so consecrated a spot, that could be
said freely and fairly; so that a whole train of declarations was
precipitated by his friend's having herself broken out, after a yearning
look round: "But I hope you don't mean they want you to pull _this_ to
pieces!" His answer came, promptly, with his re-awakened wrath: it was
of course exactly what they wanted, and what they were "at" him for,
daily, with the iteration of people who couldn't for their life
understand a man's liability to decent feelings. He had found the place,
just as it stood and beyond what he could express, an interest and a joy.
There were values other than the beastly rent-values, and in short, in
short--! But it was thus Miss Staverton took him up. "In short you're
to make so good a thing of your sky-scraper that, living in luxury on
_those_ ill-gotten gains, you can afford for a while to be sentimental
here!" Her smile had for him, with the words, the particular mild irony
with which he found half her talk suffused; an irony without bitterness
and that came, exactly, from her having so much imagination--not, like
the cheap sarcasms with which one heard most people, about the world of
"society," bid for the reputation of cleverness, from nobody's really
having any. It was agreeable to him at this very moment to be sure that
when he had answered, after a brief demur, "Well, yes; so, precisely, you
may put it!" her imagination would still do him justice. He explained
that even if never a dollar were to come to him from the other house he
would nevertheless cherish this one; and he dwelt, further, while they
lingered and wandered, on the fact of the stupefaction he was already
exciting, the positive mystification he felt himself create.
He spoke of the value of all he read into it, into the mere sight of the
walls, mere shapes of the rooms, mere sound of the floors, mere feel, in
his hand, of the old silver-plated knobs of the several mahogany doors,
which suggested the pressure of the palms of the dead the seventy years
of the past in fine that these things represented, the annals of nearly
three generations, counting his grandfather's, the one that had ended
there, and the impalpable ashes of his long-extinct youth, afloat in the
very air like microscopic motes. She listened to everything; she was a
woman who answered intimately but who utterly didn't chatter. She
scattered abroad therefore no cloud of words; she could assent, she could
agree, above all she could encourage, without doing that. Only at the
last she went a little further than he had done himself. "And then how
do you know? You may still, after all, want to live here." It rather
indeed pulled him up, for it wasn't what he had been thinking, at least
in her sense of the words, "You mean I may decide to stay on for the sake
of it?"
"Well, _with_ such a home--!" But, quite beautifully, she had too much
tact to dot so monstrous an _i_, and it was precisely an illustration of
the way she didn't rattle. How could any one--of any wit--insist on any
one else's "wanting" to live in New York?
"Oh," he said, "I _might_ have lived here (since I had my opportunity
early in life); I might have put in here all these years. Then
everything would have been different enough--and, I dare say, 'funny'
enough. But that's another matter. And then the beauty of it--I mean of
my perversity, of my refusal to agree to a 'deal'--is just in the total
absence of a reason. Don't you see that if I had a reason about the
matter at all it would _have_ to be the other way, and would then be
inevitably a reason of dollars? There are no reasons here _but_ of
dollars. Let us therefore have none whatever--not the ghost of one."
They were back in the hall then for departure, but from where they stood
the vista was large, through an open door, into the great square main
saloon, with its almost antique felicity of brave spaces between windows.
Her eyes came back from that reach and met his own a moment. "Are you
very sure the 'ghost' of one doesn't, much rather, serve--?"
He had a positive sense of turning pale. But it was as near as they were
then to come. For he made answer, he believed, between a glare and a
grin: "Oh ghosts--of course the place must swarm with them! I should be
ashamed of it if it didn't. Poor Mrs. Muldoon's right, and it's why I
haven't asked her to do more than look in."
Miss Staverton's gaze again lost itself, and things she didn't utter, it
was clear, came and went in her mind. She might even for the minute, off
there in the fine room, have imagined some element dimly gathering.
Simplified like the death-mask of a handsome face, it perhaps produced
for her just then an effect akin to the stir of an expression in the
"set" commemorative plaster. Yet whatever her impression may have been
she produced instead a vague platitude. "Well, if it were only furnished
and lived in--!"
She appeared to imply that in case of its being still furnished he might
have been a little less opposed to the idea of a return. But she passed
straight into the vestibule, as if to leave her words behind her, and the
next moment he had opened the house-door and was standing with her on the
steps. He closed the door and, while he re-pocketed his key, looking up
and down, they took in the comparatively harsh actuality of the Avenue,
which reminded him of the assault of the outer light of the Desert on the
traveller emerging from an Egyptian tomb. But he risked before they
stepped into the street his gathered answer to her speech. "For me it
_is_ lived in. For me it is furnished." At which it was easy for her to
sigh "Ah yes!" all vaguely and discreetly; since his parents and his
favourite sister, to say nothing of other kin, in numbers, had run their
course and met their end there. That represented, within the walls,
ineffaceable life.
It was a few days after this that, during an hour passed with her again,
he had expressed his impatience of the too flattering curiosity--among
the people he met--about his appreciation of New York. He had arrived at
none at all that was socially producible, and as for that matter of his
"thinking" (thinking the better or the worse of anything there) he was
wholly taken up with one subject of thought. It was mere vain egoism,
and it was moreover, if she liked, a morbid obsession. He found all
things come back to the question of what he personally might have been,
how he might have led his life and "turned out," if he had not so, at the
outset, given it up. And confessing for the first time to the intensity
within him of this absurd speculation--which but proved also, no doubt,
the habit of too selfishly thinking--he affirmed the impotence there of
any other source of interest, any other native appeal. "What would it
have made of me, what would it have made of me? I keep for ever
wondering, all idiotically; as if I could possibly know! I see what it
has made of dozens of others, those I meet, and it positively aches
within me, to the point of exasperation, that it would have made
something of me as well. Only I can't make out what, and the worry of
it, the small rage of curiosity never to be satisfied, brings back what I
remember to have felt, once or twice, after judging best, for reasons, to
burn some important letter unopened. I've been sorry, I've hated it--I've
never known what was in the letter. You may, of course, say it's a
trifle--!"
"I don't say it's a trifle," Miss Staverton gravely interrupted.
She was seated by her fire, and before her, on his feet and restless, he
turned to and fro between this intensity of his idea and a fitful and
unseeing inspection, through his single eye-glass, of the dear little old
objects on her chimney-piece. Her interruption made him for an instant
look at her harder. "I shouldn't care if you did!" he laughed, however;
"and it's only a figure, at any rate, for the way I now feel. _Not_ to
have followed my perverse young course--and almost in the teeth of my
father's curse, as I may say; not to have kept it up, so, 'over there,'
from that day to this, without a doubt or a pang; not, above all, to have
liked it, to have loved it, so much, loved it, no doubt, with such an
abysmal conceit of my own preference; some variation from _that_, I say,
must have produced some different effect for my life and for my 'form.' I
should have stuck here--if it had been possible; and I was too young, at
twenty-three, to judge, _pour deux sous_, whether it _were_ possible. If
I had waited I might have seen it was, and then I might have been, by
staying here, something nearer to one of these types who have been
hammered so hard and made so keen by their conditions. It isn't that I
admire them so much--the question of any charm in them, or of any charm,
beyond that of the rank money-passion, exerted by their conditions _for_
them, has nothing to do with the matter: it's only a question of what
fantastic, yet perfectly possible, development of my own nature I mayn't
have missed. It comes over me that I had then a strange _alter ego_ deep
down somewhere within me, as the full-blown flower is in the small tight
bud, and that I just took the course, I just transferred him to the
climate, that blighted him for once and for ever."
"And you wonder about the flower," Miss Staverton said. "So do I, if you
want to know; and so I've been wondering these several weeks. I believe
in the flower," she continued, "I feel it would have been quite splendid,
quite huge and monstrous."
"Monstrous above all!" her visitor echoed; "and I imagine, by the same
stroke, quite hideous and offensive."
"You don't believe that," she returned; "if you did you wouldn't wonder.
You'd know, and that would be enough for you. What you feel--and what I
feel _for_ you--is that you'd have had power."
"You'd have liked me that way?" he asked.
She barely hung fire. "How should I not have liked you?"
"I see. You'd have liked me, have preferred me, a billionaire!"
"How should I not have liked you?" she simply again asked.
He stood before her still--her question kept him motionless. He took it
in, so much there was of it; and indeed his not otherwise meeting it
testified to that. "I know at least what I am," he simply went on; "the
other side of the medal's clear enough. I've not been edifying--I
believe I'm thought in a hundred quarters to have been barely decent.
I've followed strange paths and worshipped strange gods; it must have
come to you again and again--in fact you've admitted to me as much--that
I was leading, at any time these thirty years, a selfish frivolous
scandalous life. And you see what it has made of me."
She just waited, smiling at him. "You see what it has made of _me_."
"Oh you're a person whom nothing can have altered. You were born to be
what you are, anywhere, anyway: you've the perfection nothing else could
have blighted. And don't you see how, without my exile, I shouldn't have
been waiting till now--?" But he pulled up for the strange pang.
"The great thing to see," she presently said, "seems to me to be that it
has spoiled nothing. It hasn't spoiled your being here at last. It
hasn't spoiled this. It hasn't spoiled your speaking--" She also
however faltered.
He wondered at everything her controlled emotion might mean. "Do you
believe then--too dreadfully!--that I _am_ as good as I might ever have
been?"
"Oh no! Far from it!" With which she got up from her chair and was
nearer to him. "But I don't care," she smiled.
"You mean I'm good enough?"
She considered a little. "Will you believe it if I say so? I mean will
you let that settle your question for you?" And then as if making out in
his face that he drew back from this, that he had some idea which,
however absurd, he couldn't yet bargain away: "Oh you don't care
either--but very differently: you don't care for anything but yourself."
Spencer Brydon recognised it--it was in fact what he had absolutely
professed. Yet he importantly qualified. "_He_ isn't myself. He's the
just so totally other person. But I do want to see him," he added. "And
I can. And I shall."
Their eyes met for a minute while he guessed from something in hers that
she divined his strange sense. But neither of them otherwise expressed
it, and her apparent understanding, with no protesting shock, no easy
derision, touched him more deeply than anything yet, constituting for his
stifled perversity, on the spot, an element that was like breatheable
air. What she said however was unexpected. "Well, _I've_ seen him."
"You--?"
"I've seen him in a dream."
"Oh a 'dream'--!" It let him down.
"But twice over," she continued. "I saw him as I see you now."
"You've dreamed the same dream--?"
"Twice over," she repeated. "The very same."
This did somehow a little speak to him, as it also gratified him. "You
dream about me at that rate?"
"Ah about _him_!" she smiled.
His eyes again sounded her. "Then you know all about him." And as she
said nothing more: "What's the wretch like?"
She hesitated, and it was as if he were pressing her so hard that,
resisting for reasons of her own, she had to turn away. "I'll tell you
some other time!"
CHAPTER II
It was after this that there was most of a virtue for him, most of a
cultivated charm, most of a preposterous secret thrill, in the particular
form of surrender to his obsession and of address to what he more and
more believed to be his privilege. It was what in these weeks he was
living for--since he really felt life to begin but after Mrs. Muldoon had
retired from the scene and, visiting the ample house from attic to
cellar, making sure he was alone, he knew himself in safe possession and,
as he tacitly expressed it, let himself go. He sometimes came twice in
the twenty-four hours; the moments he liked best were those of gathering
dusk, of the short autumn twilight; this was the time of which, again and
again, he found himself hoping most. Then he could, as seemed to him,
most intimately wander and wait, linger and listen, feel his fine
attention, never in his life before so fine, on the pulse of the great
vague place: he preferred the lampless hour and only wished he might have
prolonged each day the deep crepuscular spell. Later--rarely much before
midnight, but then for a considerable vigil--he watched with his
glimmering light; moving slowly, holding it high, playing it far,
rejoicing above all, as much as he might, in open vistas, reaches of
communication between rooms and by passages; the long straight chance or
show, as he would have called it, for the revelation he pretended to
invite. It was a practice he found he could perfectly "work" without
exciting remark; no one was in the least the wiser for it; even Alice
Staverton, who was moreover a well of discretion, didn't quite fully
imagine.
He let himself in and let himself out with the assurance of calm
proprietorship; and accident so far favoured him that, if a fat Avenue
"officer" had happened on occasion to see him entering at eleven-thirty,
he had never yet, to the best of his belief, been noticed as emerging at
two. He walked there on the crisp November nights, arrived regularly at
the evening's end; it was as easy | 1,114.471569 |
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THE
NEW-YORK BOOK
OF
POETRY.
_______________
"Patriae fumus igne alieno luculentior."
_______________
NEW-YORK.
GEORGE DEARBORN, PUBLISHER,
NO. 38 GOLD STREET.
_______
1837.
NEW-YORK:
Printed by SCATCH | 1,114.713463 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and | 1,115.583568 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: "TOM! TOM! STOP!" SCREAMED DICK AND SAM IN UNISON. _The
Rover Boys in Alaska._]
THE ROVER BOYS IN ALASKA
OR
_LOST IN THE FIELDS OF ICE_
BY
ARTHUR M. WINFIELD
(Edward Stratemeyer)
AUTHOR OF THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL, THE
ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN, THE PUTNAM
HALL SERIES, ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
BOOKS BY ARTHUR M. WINFIELD (Edward Stratemeyer)
THE FIRST ROVER BOYS SERIES
THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE JUNGLE
THE ROVER BOYS OUT WEST
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE MOUNTAINS
THE ROVER BOYS IN CAMP
THE ROVER BOYS ON LAND AND SEA
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE RIVER
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE PLAINS
THE ROVER BOYS IN SOUTHERN WATERS
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE FARM
THE ROVER BOYS ON TREASURE ISLE
THE ROVER BOYS AT COLLEGE
THE ROVER BOYS DOWN EAST
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE AIR
THE ROVER BOYS IN NEW YORK
THE ROVER BOYS IN ALASKA
THE ROVER BOYS IN BUSINESS
THE ROVER BOYS ON A TOUR
THE SECOND ROVER BOYS SERIES
THE ROVER BOYS AT COLBY HALL
THE PUTNAM HALL SERIES
THE PUTNAM HALL CADETS
THE PUTNAM HALL RIVALS
THE PUTNAM HALL CHAMPIONS
THE PUTNAM HALL REBELLION
THE PUTNAM HALL ENCAMPMENT
THE PUTNAM HALL MYSTERY
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
_The Rover Boys in Alaska_
INTRODUCTION
MY DEAR BOYS: This book is a complete story in itself, but forms the
eighteenth volume in a line issued under the general title of "The
Rover Boys Series for Young Americans."
As I have mentioned in some of the other volumes, this line was started
with the publication of "The Rover Boys at School," "On the Ocean," and
"In the Jungle." The books were so well received that they were
followed, year after year, by the publication of "The Rover Boys Out
West," "On the Great Lakes," "In Camp," "On Land and Sea," "On the
River," "On the Plains," "In Southern Waters," "On the Farm," "On
Treasure Isle," "At College," "Down East," "In the Air," and then "In
New York," where we last met the lads.
The boys are growing older--as all boys do--and Dick is married, and
helping his father in business. In the present story Sam and Tom
return to college, until something quite out of the ordinary occurs and
the fun-loving Tom disappears most mysteriously. Sam and Dick go in
search of their brother, and the trail leads them to far-away Alaska,
where they encounter many perils in the fields of ice and snow.
The publishers assure me that by the end of the present year the total
of sales on this series of books will have reached _one million and a
half copies_! This is, to me, truly amazing, and I cannot help but
feel profoundly grateful to all the boys and girls, and their parents,
who have taken such an interest in my stories. I trust with all my
heart that the reading of the books will do the young folks good.
Affectionately and sincerely yours,
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. TOM AND SAM
II. SOMETHING ABOUT THE PAST
III. TOM'S JOKE
IV. THE OLD WELL HOLE
V. TOM'S QUEER ACTIONS
VI. BOYS AND GIRLS
VII. COLLEGE DAYS
VIII. THE JOKE ON WILLIAM PHILANDER
IX. WILLIAM PHILANDER TURNS THE TABLES
X. IN WHICH TOM DISAPPEARS
XI. WHAT THE GIRLS KNEW
XII. AT HIRAM DUFF'S COTTAGE
XIII. THE WESTERN EXPRESS
XIV. DICK AND SAM IN CHICAGO
XV. BOUND WEST
XVI. THE ROVER BOYS IN SEATTLE
XVII. OFF FOR ALASKA
XVIII. AT JUNEAU AND SKAGWAY
XIX. FROM ONE CLUE TO ANOTHER
XX. IN THE MOUNTAINS OF ALASKA
XXI. AT THE FOOT OF THE CLIFF
XXII. IKE FURNER'S CAMP
XXIII. A SLIDE DOWN THE MOUNTAIN SIDE
XXIV. IN WHICH TOM IS FOUND
XXV. THE SHELTER UNDER THE CLIFF
XXVI. IN THE GRIP OF THE TORNADO
XXVII. LOST IN THE FIELDS OF ICE
XXVIII. AT TONY BINGS'S CABIN
XXIX. TOM'S WILD RIDE
XXX. GOOD-BYE TO ALASKA--CONCLUSION
ILLUSTRATIONS
"TOM! TOM! STOP!" SCREAMED DICK AND SAM IN UNISON.... _Frontispiece_
"THAT MUST SURELY HAVE BEEN TAKEN IN ALASKA," SAID SAM.
"HERE, HOLD MY TORCH," SAID DICK.
THE ROVER BOYS IN ALASKA
CHAPTER I
TOM AND SAM
"Well, here we are again, Tom, down to the grind of college life."
"That's right, Sam. Not so much fun as attending a wedding, is it?"
And Tom Rover grinned broadly at his brother.
"We can't expect to go to weddings all the time," returned Sam Rover, a
grin showing on his own face. "Wonder how Dick and Dora are making
out," he mused.
"Oh, fine, you can be sure of that. Dora is just the girl for Dick."
"How do you like being back here, Tom?" and the youngest Rover looked
anxiously at his brother.
Tom heaved a deep sigh before replying.
"To tell the truth, Sam, I wish I had stayed home a bit longer," he
said slowly. "My head isn't just as clear as it might be. That whack
Pelter gave me with that footstool was an awful one."
"It certainly was, and it's a wonder it didn't split your skull open.
Maybe you'd better go back home for a rest."
"Oh, no, it isn't as bad as that. Sometimes I feel a bit dizzy, that's
all. But I guess that will wear away, sooner or later. You see, I've
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CONCRETE CONSTRUCTION
METHODS AND COST
BY
HALBERT P. GILLETTE
_M. Am. Soc. C. E.; M. Am. Inst. M. E._
_Managing Editor, Engineering-Contracting_
AND
CHARLES S. HILL, C. E.
_Associate Editor, Engineering-Contracting_
NEW YORK AND CHICAGO
THE MYRON C. CLARK PUBLISHING CO.
1908
COPYRIGHT. 1908
BY
THE MYRON C. CLARK PUBLISHING CO.
Transcriber's note:
For Text: A word surrounded by a cedilla such as ~this~ signifies that
the word is bolded in the text. A word surrounded by underscores like
_this_ signifies the word is italics in the text. The italic and bold
markup for single italized letters (such as variables in equations) and
"foreign" abbreviations are deleted for easier reading.
For numbers and equations: Parentheses have been added to clarify
fractions. Underscores before bracketed numbers in equations denote a
subscript. Superscripts are designated with a caret and brackets, e.g.
11.1^{3} is 11.1 to the third power. Greek letters in equations are
translated to their English version.
Minor typos have been corrected.
PREFACE.
How best to perform construction work and what it will cost for
materials, labor, plant and general expenses are matters of vital
interest to engineers and contractors. This book is a treatise on the
methods and cost of concrete construction. No attempt has been made to
present the subject of cement testing which is already covered by Mr. W.
Purves Taylor's excellent book, nor to discuss the physical properties
of cements and concrete, as they are discussed by Falk and by Sabin, nor
to consider reinforced concrete design as do Turneaure and Maurer or
Buel and Hill, nor to present a general treatise on cements, mortars and
concrete construction like that of Reid or of Taylor and Thompson. On
the contrary, the authors have handled the subject of concrete
construction solely from the viewpoint of the builder of concrete
structures. By doing this they have been able to crowd a great amount of
detailed information on methods and costs of concrete construction into
a volume of moderate size.
Though the special information contained in the book is of most
particular assistance to the contractor or engineer engaged in the
actual work of making and placing concrete, it is believed that it will
also prove highly useful to the designing engineer and to the architect.
It seems plain that no designer of concrete structures can be a really
good designer without having a profound knowledge of methods of
construction and of detailed costs. This book, it is believed, gives
these methods and cost data in greater number and more thoroughly
analyzed than they can be found elsewhere in engineering literature.
The costs and other facts contained in the book have been collected from
a multitude of sources, from the engineering journals, from the
transactions of the engineering societies, from Government Reports and
from the personal records of the authors and of other engineers and
contractors. It is but fair to say that the great bulk of the matter
contained in the book, though portions of it have appeared previously
in other forms in the authors' contributions to the technical press, was
collected and worked up originally by the authors. Where this has not
been the case the original data have been added to and re-analyzed by
the authors. Under these circumstances it has been impracticable to give
specific credit in the pages of the book to every source from which the
authors have drawn aid. They wish here to acknowledge, therefore, the
help secured from many engineers and contractors, from the volumes of
Engineering News, Engineering Record and Engineering-Contracting, and
from the Transactions of the American Society of Civil Engineers and the
proceedings and papers of various other civil engineering societies and
organizations of concrete workers. The work done by these journals and
societies in gathering and publishing information on concrete
construction is of great and enduring value and deserves full
acknowledgment.
In answer to any possible inquiry as to the relative parts of the work
done by the two authors in preparing this book, they will answer that it
has been truly the labor of both in every part.
H. P. G.
C. S. H.
Chicago, Ill., April 15, 1908.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.--METHODS AND COST OF SELECTING AND PREPARING
MATERIALS FOR CONCRETE. 1
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THE FROGS OF ARISTOPHANES
By Aristophanes
The Harvard Classics
Edited By Charles W Eliot Lld
Nine Greek Dramas
By AEschylus, Sophocles, Euripides And Aristophanes
Translations By
E D A Morshead
E H Plumptre
Gilbert Murray
And
B B Rogers
With Introductions And Notes
VOLUME 8
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
Aristophanes, _the greatest of comic writers in Greek and in the
opinion of many, in any language, is the only one of the Attic
comedians any of whose works has survived in complete form He was born
in Athens about the middle of the fifth century B C, and had his first
comedy produced when he was so young that his name was withheld on
account of his youth. He is credited with over forty plays, eleven of
which survive, along with the names and fragments of some twenty-six
others. His satire deal with political, religious, and literary topics,
and with all its humor and fancy is evidently the outcome of profound
conviction and a genuine patriotism. The Attic comedy was produced at
the festivals of Dionysus, which were marked by great license, and to
this, rather than to the individual taste of the poet, must be ascribed
the undoubted coarseness of many of the jests. Aristophanes seems,
indeed, to have been regarded by his contemporaries as a man of noble
character. He died shortly after the production of his "Plutus," in 388
B. C.
"The Frogs" was produced the year after the death of Euripides, and
laments the decay of Greek tragedy which Aristophanes attributed to
that writer. It is an admirable example of the brilliance of his style,
and of that mingling of wit and poetry with rollicking humor and keen
satirical point which is his chief characteristic. Here, as elsewhere,
he stands for tradition against innovation of all kinds, whether in
politics, religion, or art. The hostility to Euripides displayed here
and in several other plays, like his attacks on Socrates, is a result
of this attitude of conservatism. The present play is notable also as a
piece of elaborate if not over-serious literary criticism from the pen
of a great poet._
THE FROGS OF ARISTOPHANES
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE GOD DIONYSUS
XANTHIAS, _his slave_
AESCHYLUS
EURIPIDES
HERACLES
PLUTO
CHARON AEACUS, _house porter to Pluto_
A CORPSE
A MAIDSERVANT OF PERSEPHONE
A LANDLADY IN HADES
PLATHANE, _her servant_
A CHORUS OF FROGS
A CHORUS OF INITIATED PERSONS
_Attendants at a Funeral;
Women worshipping Iacchus;
Servants of Pluto, &c._
*****
_XANTHIAS_
Shall I crack any of those old jokes, master,
At which the audience never fail to laugh?
DIONYSUS. Aye, what you will, except _I'm getting crushed:_ Fight shy
of that: I'm sick of that already.
XAN. Nothing else smart?
DIO. Aye, save _my shoulder's aching._
XAN. Come now, that comical joke?
DIO. With all my heart. Only be careful not to shift your pole,
And--
XAN. What?
DIO. And vow that you've a bellyache.
XAN. May I not say I'm overburdened so
That if none ease me, I must ease myself?
DIO. For mercy's sake, not till I'm going to vomit.
XAN.
What! must I bear these burdens, and not make
One of the jokes Ameipsias and Lycis
And Phrynichus, in every play they write,
Put in the mouths of all their burden-bearers?
DIO.
Don't make them; no! I tell you when I see
Their plays, and hear those jokes, I come away
More than a twelvemonth older than I went.
XAN.
O thrice unlucky neck of mine, which now
Is _getting crushed_, yet must not crack its joke!
DIO.
Now is not this fine pampered insolence
When I myself, Dionysus, son of--Pipkin,
Toil on afoot, and let this fellow ride,
Taking no trouble, and no burden bearing?
XAN. What, don't I bear?
DIO. How can you when you're riding?
XAN. Why, I bear these.
DIO. How?
XAN. Most unwillingly.
DIO. Does not the donkey bear the load you're bearing?
XAN. Not what I bear myself: by Zeus, not he.
DIO. How can you bear, when you are borne yourself?
XAN. Don't know: but anyhow _my shoulder's aching_.
DIO.
Then since you say the donkey helps you not,
You lift him up and carry him in turn.
XAN.
O hang it all! why didn't I fight at sea?
You should have smarted bitterly for this.
DIO.
Get down, you rascal; I've been trudging on
Till now I've reached the portal, where I'm going
First to turn in.
Boy! Boy! I say there, Boy!
HERACLES.
Who banged the door? How like a prancing Centaur
He drove against it! Mercy o' me, what's this?
DIO. Boy.
XAN. Yes.
DIO. Did you observe?
XAN. What?
DIO. How alarmed He is.
XAN. Aye truly, lest you've lost your wits.
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Transcriber's Note
Footnotes have been placed at the end of each paragraph in which they
are referenced.
There are several captioned photographs, which are indicated as
[Illustration: Caption]. Hearn also included in his letters small
sketches. Their approximate positions are indicated with [Illustration].
Any handwritten text in those sketches is included here as captions.
Italic text is denoted with underscores as _italic_. There is a small
amount of Greek which is transliterated and enclosed in brackets as
[Larkadie]. The characters 'o', 'a' and 'u' appear with a macron, a
straight bar atop the letter. These use the '=' sign as 'T[=o]ky[=o]'.
The occasional superscript is simply left inline (e.g., 'nth'). The use
of subscripts is limited to a single instance. The underscore character
indicates this: L_3 H_9 NG_4.
The sole instance of the 'oe' ligature is given as is seen here:
'onomatopoeia'.
Some corrections were made where printer's errors were most likely,
as described in the Note at the end of the text. Other than those
corrections, no changes to spelling have been made. Hyphenation of
words at line or page breaks are removed if other instances of the word
warrant it.
This book was published in two volumes, of which this is the first.
The second volume was released as Project Gutenberg ebook #42313,
available at: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42313.
+--------------------------------------------------------+
| By Lafcadio Hearn |
| |
| THE ROMANCE OF THE MILKY WAY, AND OTHER STUDIES AND |
| STORIES. 12mo, gilt top, $1.25 _net._ Postage |
| extra. |
| |
| KWAIDAN: Stories and Studies of Strange Things. With |
| two Japanese Illustrations. 12mo, gilt top, $1.50. |
| |
| GLEANINGS IN BUDDHA-FIELDS. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. |
| |
| KOKORO. Hints and Echoes of Japanese Inner Life. 16mo, |
| gilt top, $1.25. |
| |
| OUT OF THE EAST. Reveries and Studies in New Japan. |
| 16mo, $1.25. |
| |
| GLIMPSES OF UNFAMILIAR JAPAN. 2 vols. crown 8vo, gilt |
| top, $4.00. |
| |
| STRAY LEAVES FROM STRANGE LITERATURE. 16mo, $1.50. |
| |
| |
| HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. |
| BOSTON AND NEW YORK. |
+--------------------------------------------------------+
LIFE AND LETTERS OF LAFCADIO HEARN
VOLUME I
[Illustration: Lafcadio Hearn]
THE LIFE AND LETTERS
OF
LAFCADIO HEARN
BY
ELIZABETH BISLAND
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I
[Illustration: The Riverside Press]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
COPYRIGHT 1906 BY ELIZABETH BISLAND WETMORE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published December 1906_
PREFACE
In the course of the preparation of these volumes there was gradually
accumulated so great a number of the letters written by Lafcadio Hearn
during twenty-five years of his life, and these letters proved of so
interesting a nature, that eventually the plan of the whole work was
altered. The original intention was that they should serve only to
illuminate the general text of the biography, but as their number and
value became more apparent it was evident that to reproduce them in full
would make the book both more readable and more illustrative of the
character of the man than anything that could possibly be related of
him.
No biographer could have so vividly pictured the modesty and
tender-heartedness, the humour and genius of the man as he has
unconsciously revealed these qualities in unstudied communications to
his friends. Happily--in these days when the preservation of letters is
a rare thing--almost every one to whom he wrote appeared instinctively
to treasure--even when he was still unknown--every one of his
communications, though here and there regrettable gaps occur, owing to
the accidents of changes of residence, three of which, as every one
knows, are more destructive of such treasures than a fire. To all of his
correspondents who have so generously contributed their treasured
letters I wish to express my sincere thanks. Especially is gratitude due
to Professor Masanubo Otani, of the Shinshu University of T[=o]ky[=o],
for the painstaking accuracy and fulness of the information he
contributed as to the whole course of Hearn's life in Japan.
The seven fragments of autobiographical reminiscence, discovered after
Hearn's death, added to the letters, narrowed my task to little more
than the recording of dates and such brief comments and explanations as
were required for the better comprehension of his own contributions to
the book.
Naturally some editing of the letters has been necessary. Such parts as
related purely to matters of business have been deleted as uninteresting
to the general public; many personalities, usually both witty and
trenchant, have been omitted, not only because such personalities are
matters of confidence between the writer and his correspondent, a
confidence which death does not render less inviolable, but also because
the dignity and privacy of the living have every claim to respect.
Robert Browning's just resentment at the indiscreet editing of the
FitzGerald Letters is a warning that should be heeded, and it is
moreover certain that Lafcadio Hearn himself would have been profoundly
unwilling to have any casual criticism of either the living or the dead
given public record. Of those who had been his friends he always spoke
with tenderness and respect, and I am but following what I know to be
his wishes in omitting all references to his enemies.
That such a definite and eccentric person as he should make enemies was
of course unavoidable. If any of these retain their enmity to one who
has passed into the sacred helplessness of death, and are inclined to
think that the mere outline sketch of the man contained in the following
pages lacks the veracity of shadow, my answer is this: In the first
place, I have taken heed of the opinion he himself has expressed in one
of his letters: "I believe we ought not to speak of the weaknesses of
very great men"--and the intention of such part of this book as is my
own is to give a history of the circumstances under which a great man
developed his genius. I have purposely ignored all such episodes as
seemed impertinent to this end, as from my point of view there seems a
sort of gross curiosity in raking among such details of a man's life as
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Volume I is available as Project Gutenberg ebook
number 49844.
WILLIAM COBBETT.
A BIOGRAPHY.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.
WILLIAM COBBETT:
_A BIOGRAPHY_.
BY EDWARD SMITH.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
London:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1878.
[_All rights reserved._]
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER XIV.
1805-1806.
“I NEVER SAT MYSELF DOWN ANYWHERE, WITHOUT MAKING THE FRUITS
AND FLOWERS TO GROW” 1
CHAPTER XV.
1806-1807.
“I DID DESTROY THEIR POWER TO ROB US ANY LONGER WITHOUT THE
ROBBERY BEING PERCEIVED” 24
CHAPTER XVI.
1807-1809.
“THEY NATURALLY HATE ME” 45
CHAPTER XVII.
1808-1809.
“THE OUTCRY AGAINST ME IS LOUDER THAN EVER” 63
CHAPTER XVIII.
1809-1810.
“COMPARED WITH DEFEATING ME, DEFEATING BUONAPARTE IS A MERE
TRIFLE” 88
CHAPTER XIX.
1810.
“THE FOLLY, COMMON TO ALL TYRANTS, IS THAT THEY PUSH THINGS
TOO FAR” 114
CHAPTER XX.
1810-1812.
“TO PUT A MAN IN PRISON FOR A YEAR OR TWO DOES NOT KILL HIM” 127
CHAPTER XXI.
1812-1816.
“THE NATION NEVER CAN BE ITSELF AGAIN WITHOUT A REFORM” 149
CHAPTER XXII.
1816-1817.
“BETWEEN SILENCE AND A DUNGEON LAY MY ONLY CHOICE” 173
CHAPTER XXIII.
1817-1821.
“WHATEVER OTHER FAULTS I MAY HAVE, THAT OF LETTING GO MY
HOLD IS NOT ONE” 198
CHAPTER XXIV.
1821-1826.
“THEY COMPLAIN THAT THE TWOPENNY TRASH IS READ” 229
CHAPTER XXV.
1821-1831.
“I HAVE PLEADED THE CAUSE OF THE WORKING-PEOPLE, AND I SHALL
NOW SEE THAT CAUSE TRIUMPH” 249
CHAPTER XXVI.
1832-1835.
“I NOW BELONG TO THE PEOPLE OF OLDHAM” 275
CHAPTER XXVII.
1835.
“I HAVE BEEN THE GREAT ENLIGHTENER OF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND” 291
APPENDIX: BIBLIOGRAPHICAL LIST OF WILLIAM COBBETT’S
PUBLICATIONS 305
INDEX 321
WILLIAM COBBETT: A BIOGRAPHY.
CHAPTER XIV.
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THE MESSAGE
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage
To M. le Marquis Damaso Pareto
THE MESSAGE
I have always longed to tell a simple and true story, which should
strike terror into two young lovers, and drive them to take refuge each
in the other's heart, as two children cling together at the sight of a
snake by a woodside. At the risk of spoiling my story and of being taken
for a coxcomb, I state my intention at the outset.
I myself played a part in this almost commonplace tragedy; so if it
fails to interest you, the failure will be in part my own fault, in
part owing to historical veracity. Plenty of things in real life are
superlatively uninteresting; so that it is one-half of art to select
from realities those which contain possibilities of poetry.
In 1819 I was traveling from Paris to Moulins. The state of my finances
obliged me to take an outside place. Englishmen, as you know, regard
those airy perches on the top of the coach as the best seats; and for
the first few miles I discovered abundance of excellent reasons for
justifying the opinion of our neighbors. A young fellow, apparently in
somewhat better circumstances, who came to take the seat beside me
from preference, listened to my reasoning with inoffensive smiles. An
approximate nearness of age, a similarity in ways of thinking, a common
love of fresh air, and of the rich landscape scenery through which the
coach was lumbering along,--these things, together with an indescribable
magnetic something, drew us before long into one of those short-lived
traveller's intimacies, in which we unbend with the more complacency
because the intercourse is by its very nature transient, and makes no
implicit demands upon the future.
We had not come thirty leagues before we were talking of women and love.
Then, with all the circumspection demanded in such matters, we proceeded
naturally to the topic of our lady-loves. Young as we both were, we
still admired "the woman of a certain age," that is to say, the woman
between thirty-five and forty. Oh! any poet who should have listened to
our talk, for heaven knows how many stages beyond Montargis, would have
reaped a harvest of flaming epithet, rapturous description, and very
tender confidences. Our bashful fears, our silent interjections, our
blushes, as we met each other's eyes, were expressive with an eloquence,
a boyish charm, which I have ceased to feel. One must remain young, no
doubt, to understand youth.
Well, we understood one another to admiration on all the essential
points of passion. We had laid it down as an axiom at the very outset,
that in theory and practice there was no such piece of driveling
nonsense in this world as a certificate of birth; that plenty of women
were younger at forty than many a girl of twenty; and, to come to the
point, that a woman is no older than she looks.
This theory set no limits to the age of love, so we struck out, in all
good faith, into a boundless sea. At length, when we had portrayed our
mistresses as young, charming, and devoted to us, women of rank, women
of taste, intellectual and clever; when we had endowed them with
little feet, a satin, nay, a delicately fragrant skin, then came the
admission--on his part that Madame Such-an-one was thirty-eight years
old, and on mine that I worshiped a woman of forty. Whereupon, as if
released on either side from some kind of vague fear, our confidences
came thick and fast, when we found that we were in the same
confraternity of love. It was which of us should overtop the other in
sentiment.
One of us had traveled six hundred miles to see his mistress for an
hour. The other, at the risk of being shot for a wolf, had prowled about
her park to meet her one night. Out came all our follies in fact. If it
is pleasant to remember past dangers, is it not at least as pleasant
to recall past delights? We live through the joy a second time. We told
each other everything, our perils, our great joys, our little pleasures,
and even the humors of the situation. My friend's countess had lighted
a cigar for him; mine made chocolate for me, and wrote to me every day
when we did not meet; his lady had come to spend three days with him at
the risk of ruin to her reputation; mine had done even better, or worse,
if you will have it so. Our countesses, moreover, were adored by their
husbands; these gentlemen were enslaved by the charm possessed by every
woman who loves; and, with even supererogatory simplicity, afforded us
that just sufficient spice of danger which increases pleasure. Ah! how
quickly the wind swept away our talk and our happy laughter!
When we reached Pouilly, I scanned my new friend with much interest, and
truly, it was not difficult to imagine him the hero of a very serious
love affair. Picture to yourselves a young man of middle height, but
very well proportioned, a bright, expressive face, dark hair, blue eyes,
moist lips, and white and even teeth. A certain not unbecoming pallor
still overspread his delicately cut features, and there were faint dark
circles about his eyes, as if he were recovering from an illness. Add,
furthermore, that he had white and shapely hands, of which he was as
careful as a pretty woman should be; add that he seemed to be very well
informed, and was decidedly clever, and it should not be difficult for
you to imagine that my traveling companion was more than worthy of a
countess. Indeed, many a girl might have wished for such a husband, for
he was a Vicomte with an income of twelve or fifteen thousand livres,
"to say nothing of expectations."
About a league out of Pouilly the coach was overturned. My
luckless comrade, thinking to save himself, jumped to the edge of a
newly-ploughed field, instead of following the fortunes of the vehicle
and clinging tightly to the roof, as I did. He either miscalculated in
some way, or he slipped; how it happened, I do not know, but the coach
fell over upon him, and he was crushed under it.
We carried him into a peasant's cottage, and there, amid the moans wrung
from him by horrible sufferings, he contrived to give me a commission--a
sacred task, in that it was laid upon me by a dying man's last wish.
Poor boy, all through his agony he was torturing himself in his young
simplicity of heart with the thought of the painful shock to his
mistress when she should suddenly read of | 1,128.379026 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
PICTURES
OF
SOUTHERN LIFE,
SOCIAL, POLITICAL, AND MILITARY.
WRITTEN FOR THE LONDON TIMES,
BY
WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL. D.,
SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.
NEW YORK:
James G. Gregory,
(SUCCESSOR TO W. A. TOWNSEND & CO.,)
46 WALKER STREET.
1861.
PICTURES OF SOUTHERN LIFE.
CHARLESTON, _April_ 30, 1861.[A]
[A] Mr. Russell wrote one letter from Charleston previous to
this, but it is occupied exclusively with a description of the
appearance of Fort Sumter after the siege. His “Pictures of Southern
Life” properly begin at the date above.
NOTHING I could say can be worth one fact which has forced itself upon
my mind in reference to the sentiments which prevail among the gentlemen
of this state. I have been among them for several days. I have visited
their plantations; I have conversed with them freely and fully, and I
have enjoyed that frank, courteous, and graceful intercourse which
constitutes an irresistible charm of their society. From all quarters
have come to my ears the echoes of the same voice; it may be feigned,
but there is no discord in the note, and it sounds in wonderful strength
and monotony all over the country. Shades of George III., of North, of
Johnson, of all who contended against the great rebellion which tore
these colonies from England, can you hear the chorus which rings through
the state of Marion, Sumter, and Pinckney, and not clap your ghostly
hands in triumph? That voice says, “If we could only get one of the
royal race of England to rule over us, we should be content.” Let there
be no misconception on this point. That sentiment, varied in a hundred
ways, has been repeated to me over and over again. There is a general
admission that the means to such an end are wanting, and that the desire
cannot be gratified. But the admiration for monarchical institutions on
the English model, for privileged classes, and for a landed aristocracy
and gentry, is undisguised and apparently genuine. With the pride of
having achieved their independence is mingled in the South Carolinians’
hearts a strange regret at the result and consequences, and many are
they who “would go back to-morrow if we could.” An intense affection for
the British connection, a love of British habits and customs, a respect
for British sentiment, law, authority, order, civilization, and
literature, pre-eminently distinguish the inhabitants of this state,
who, glorying in their descent from ancient families on the three
islands, whose fortunes they still follow, and with whose members they
maintain not unfrequently familiar relations, regard with an aversion of
which it is impossible to give an idea to one who has not seen its
manifestations, the people of New England and the populations of the
Northern States, whom they regard as tainted beyond cure by the venom of
“Puritanism.” Whatever may be the cause, this is the fact and the
effect. “The state of South Carolina was,” I am told, “founded by
gentlemen.” It was not established by witch-burning Puritans, by cruel
persecuting fanatics, who implanted in the North the standard of
Torquemada, and breathed into the nostrils of their newly-born colonies
all the ferocity, bloodthirstiness, and rabid intolerance of the
Inquisition. It is absolutely astounding to a stranger who aims at the
preservation of a decent neutrality to mark the violence of these
opinions. “If that confounded ship had sunk with those ---- Pilgrim
Fathers on board,” says one, “we never should have been driven to these
extremities!” “We could have got on with the fanatics if they had been
either Christians or gentlemen,” says another; “for in the first case
they would have acted with common charity, and in the second they would
have fought when they insulted us; but there are neither Christians nor
gentlemen among them!” “Any thing on the earth!” exclaims a third, “any
form of government, any tyranny or despotism you will; but”--and here is
an appeal more terrible than the adjuration of all the gods--“nothing on
earth shall ever induce us to submit to any union with the brutal,
bigoted blackguards of the New England States, who neither comprehend
nor regard the feelings of gentlemen! Man, woman, and child, we’ll die
first.” Imagine these and an infinite variety of similar sentiments
uttered by courtly, well-educated men, who set great store on a nice
observance of the usages of society, and who are only moved to extreme
bitterness and anger when they speak of the North, and you will fail to
conceive the intensity of the dislike of the South Carolinians for the
free states. There are national antipathies on our side of the Atlantic
which are tolerably strong, and have been unfortunately pertinacious and
long-lived. The hatred of the Italian for the Tedesco, of the Greek for
the Turk, of the Turk for the Russ, is warm and fierce enough to satisfy
the Prince of Darkness, not to speak of a few little pet aversions among
allied powers and the atoms of composite empires; but they are all mere
indifference and neutrality of feeling compared to the animosity evinced
the “gentry” of South Carolina for the “rabble of the North.”
The contests of Cavalier and Roundhead, of Vendean and Republican, even
of Orangeman and Croppy, have been elegant joustings, regulated by the
finest rules of chivalry, compared with those which North and South will
carry on if their deeds support their words. “Immortal hate, the study
of revenge,” will actuate every blow, and never in the history of the
world, perhaps, will go forth such a dreadful _væ victis_ as that which
may be heard before the fight has begun. There is nothing in all the
dark caves of human passion so cruel and deadly as the hatred the South
Carolinians profess for the Yankees. That hatred has been swelling for
years till it is the very life-blood of the state. It has set South
Carolina to work steadily to organize her resources for the struggle
which she intended to provoke if it did not come in the course of time.
“Incompatibility of temper” would have been sufficient ground for the
divorce, and I am satisfied that there has been a deep-rooted design,
conceived in some men’s minds thirty years ago, and extended gradually
year after year to others, to break away from the Union at the very
first opportunity. The North is to South Carolina a corrupt and evil
thing, to which for long years she has been bound by burning chains,
while monopolists and manufacturers fed on her tender limbs. She has
been bound in a Maxentian union to the object she loathes. New England
is to her the incarnation of moral and political wickedness and social
corruption. It is the source of every thing which South Carolina hates,
and of the torrents of free thought and taxed manufactures, of
Abolitionism and of Filibustering, which have flooded the land. Believe
a Southern man as he believes himself, and you must regard New England
and the kindred states as the birthplace of impurity of mind among men
and of unchastity in women--the home of Free Love, of Fourierism, of
Infidelity, of Abolitionism, of false teachings in political economy and
in social life; a land saturated with the drippings of rotten
philosophy, with the poisonous infections of a fanatic press; without
honor or modesty; whose wisdom is paltry cunning, whose valor and
manhood have been swallowed up in a corrupt, howling demagogy, and in
the marts of a dishonest commerce. It is the merchants of New York who
fit out ships for the slave-trade, and carry it on in Yankee ships. It
is the capital of the North which supports, and it is Northern men who
concoct and execute, the filibustering expeditions which have brought
discredit on the slave-holding states. In the large cities people are
corrupted by itinerant and ignorant lecturers--in the towns and in the
country by an unprincipled press. The populations, indeed, know how to
read and write, but they don’t know how to think, and they are the easy
victims of the wretched impostors on all the ’ologies and ’isms who
swarm over the region, and subsist by lecturing on subjects which the
innate vices of mankind induce them to accept with eagerness, while they
assume the garb of philosophical abstractions to cover their nastiness,
in deference to a contemptible and universal hypocrisy.
“Who fills the butchers’ shops with large blue flies?”
Assuredly the New England demon, who has been persecuting the South
until its intolerable cruelty and insolence forced her, in a spasm of
agony, to rend her chains asunder. The New Englander must have something
to persecute, and as he has hunted down all his Indians, burnt all his
witches, and persecuted all his opponents to the death, he invented
Abolitionism as the sole resource left to him for the gratification of
his favorite passion. Next to this motive principle is his desire to
make money dishonestly, trickily, meanly, and shabbily. He has acted on
it in all his relations with the South, and has cheated and plundered
her in all his dealings by villainous tariffs. If one objects that the
South must have been a party to this, because her boast is that her
statesmen have ruled the government of the country, you are told that
the South yielded out of pure good-nature. Now, however, she will have
free-trade, and will open the coasting trade to foreign nations, and
shut out from it the hated Yankees, who so long monopolized and made
their fortunes by it. Under all the varied burdens and miseries to which
she was subjected, the South held fast to her sheet-anchor. South
Carolina was the mooring-ground in which it found the surest hold. The
doctrine of State Rights was her salvation, and the fiercer the storm
raged against her--the more stoutly demagogy, immigrant preponderance,
and the blasts of universal suffrage bore down on her, threatening to
sweep away the vested interests of the South in her right to govern the
states--the greater was her confidence and the more resolutely she held
on her cable. The North attracted “hordes of ignorant Germans and
Irish,” and the scum of Europe, while the South repelled them. The
industry, the capital of the North increased with enormous rapidity,
under the influence of cheap labor and manufacturing ingenuity and
enterprise, in the villages which swelled into towns, and the towns
which became cities, under the unenvious eye of the South. She, on the
contrary, toiled on slowly, clearing forests and draining swamps to find
new cotton-grounds and rice-fields, for the employment of her only
industry and for the development of her only capital--“involuntary
labor.” The tide of immigration waxed stronger, and by degrees she saw
the districts into which she claimed the right to introduce that capital
closed against her, and occupied by free labor. The doctrine of squatter
“sovereignty,” and the force of hostile tariffs, which placed a heavy
duty on the very articles which | 1,128.383228 |
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DEFENSE OF THE FAITH
AND THE SAINTS
BY
B. H. ROBERTS
AUTHOR OF
"The Gospel"
"Outlines of Ecclesiastical History"
"New Witness for God"
"Mormon Doctrine of Deity"
Etc., Etc.
VOLUME II.
Salt Lake City
1912
GENERAL FOREWORD
No word of Preface is necessary to this Volume, except to say that
in presenting it to his readers, the author feels that that he is
fulfilling a promise made to them when Volume I of the series was
issued.
A word of explanation will be found as an introduction to each
subdivision of the book, which excludes the necessity of making any
reference to such subdivisions in this General Forward.
THE AUTHOR.
Salt Lake City, January, 1912.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
GENERAL FOREWORD
Part I.
ORIGIN OF THE BOOK OF MORMON.
Schroeder-Roberts' Debate.
Foreword | 1,128.384187 |
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Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
THE ETERNAL QUEST, Volume 3e--WITH VOLTAIRE
THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR MACHEN TO
WHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED BY ARTHUR SYMONS.
THE ETERNAL QUEST
WITH VOLTAIRE
CHAPTER XIX
M. de Voltaire; My Discussions with That Great Man--Ariosto--The Duc de
Villars--The Syndic and the Three Girls--Dispute with
Voltaire--Aix-en-Savoie--The Marquis Desarmoises
"M. de Voltaire," said I, "this is the happiest moment of my life. I have
been your pupil for twenty years, and my heart is full of joy to see my
master."
"Honour me with your attendance on my course for twenty years more, and
promise me that you will bring me my fees at the end of that time."
"Certainly, if you promise to wait for me."
This Voltairean sally made all present laugh, as was to be expected, for
those who laugh keep one party in countenance at the other's expense, and
the side which has the laughter is sure to win; this is the rule of good
society.
I was not taken by surprise, and waited to have my revenge.
Just then two Englishmen came in and were presented to him.
"These gentlemen are English," said Voltaire; "I wish I were."
I thought the compliment false and out of place; for the gentlemen were
obliged to reply out of politeness that they wished they had been French,
or if they did not care to tell a lie they would be too confused to tell
the truth. I believe every man of honour should put his own nation first.
A moment after, Voltaire turned to me again and said that as I was a
Venetian I must know Count Algarotti.
"I know him, but not because I am a Venetian, as seven-eights of my dear
countrymen are not even aware of his existence."
"I should have said, as a man of letters."
"I know him from having spent two months with him at Padua, seven years
ago, and what particularly attracted my attention was the admiration he
professed for M. de Voltaire."
"That is flattering for me, but he has no need of admiring anyone."
"If Algarotti had not begun by admiring others, he would never have made
a name for himself. As an admirer of Newton he endeavoured to teach the
ladies to discuss the theory of light."
"Has he succeeded?"
"Not as well as M. de Fontenelle in his 'Plurality of Worlds;' however,
one may say he has succeeded."
"True. If you see him at Bologna, tell him I am expecting to hear from
him about Russia. He can address my letters to my banker, Bianchi, at
Milan, and they will be sent on to me."
"I will not fail to do so if I see him."
"I have heard that the Italians do not care for his style."
"No; all that he writes is full of French idioms. His style is wretched."
"But do not these French turns increase the beauty of your language?"
"They make it insufferable, as French would be mixed with Italian or
German even though it were written by M. de Voltaire."
"You are right; every language should preserve its purity. Livy has been
criticised on this account; his Latin is said to be tainted with
patavinity."
"When I began to learn Latin, the Abbe Lazzarini told me he preferred
Livy to Sallust."
"The Abbe Lazzarini, author of the tragedy, 'Ulisse il giovine'? You must
have been very young; I wish I had known him. But I knew the Abbe Conti
well; the same that was Newton's friend, and whose four tragedies contain
the whole of Roman history."
"I also knew and admired him. I was young, but I congratulated myself on
being admitted into the society of these great men. It seems as if it
were yesterday, though it is many years ago; and now in your presence my
inferiority does not humiliate me. I wish to be the younger son of all
humanity."
"Better so than to be the chief and eldest. May I ask you to what branch
of literature you have devoted yourself?"
"To none; but that, perhaps, will come afterwards. In the meantime I read
as much as I can, and try to study character on my travels."
"That is the way to become learned, but the book of humanity is too vast.
Reading a history is the easier way."
"Yes, if history did not lie. One is not sure of the truth of the facts.
It is tiring, while the study of the world is amusing. Horace, whom I
know by heart, is my guide-book."
"Algarotti, too, is very fond of Horace. Of course you are fond of
poetry?"
"It is my passion."
"Have you made many sonnets?"
"Ten or twelve I like, and two or three thousand which in all probability
I have not read twice."
"The Italians are mad after sonnets."
"Yes; if one can call it a madness to desire to put thought into measured
harmony. The sonnet is difficult because the thought has to be fitted
exactly into the fourteen lines."
"It is Procrustes' bed, and that's the reason you have so few good ones.
As for us, we have not one; but that is the fault of our language."
"And of the French genius, which considers that a thought when extended
loses all its force."
"And you do not think so?"
"Pardon me, it depends on the kind of thought. A witty saying, for
example, will not make a sonnet; in French or Italian it belongs to the
domain of epigram."
"What Italian poet do you like best?"
"Ariosto; but I cannot say I love him better than the others, for he is
my only love."
"You know the others, though?"
"I think I have read them all, but all their lights pale before
Ariosto's. Fifteen years ago I read all you have written against him, and
I said that you, would retract when you had read his works."
"I am obliged to you for thinking that I had not read them. As a matter
of fact I had done so, but I was young. I knew Italian very imperfectly,
and being prejudiced by the learned Italians who adore Tasso I was
unfortunate enough to publish a criticism of Ariosto which I thought my
own, while it was only the echo of those who had prejudiced me. I adore
your Ariosto!"
"Ah! M. de Voltaire, I breathe again. But be good enough to have the work
in which you turned this great man into ridicule excommunicated."
"What use would that be? All my books are excommunicated; but I will
give you a good proof of my retractation."
I was astonished! The great man began to recite the two fine passages
from the thirty-fourth and thirty-fifth cantos, in which the divine poet
speaks of the conversation of Astolpho with St. John and he did it
without missing a single life or committing the slightest fault against
the laws of prosody. He then pointed out the beauties of the passages
with his natural insight and with a great man's genius. I could not have
had anything better from the lips of the most skilled commentators in
Italy. I listened to him with the greatest attention, hardly daring to
breath, and waiting for him to make a mistake, but I had my trouble for
nothing. I turned to the company crying that I was more than astonished,
and that all Italy should know what I had seen. "And I, sir," said the
great man, "will let all Europe know of the amends I owe to the greatest
genius our continent has produced."
Greedy of the praise which he deserved so well, Voltaire gave me the next
day his translation which Ariosto begins thus:
"Quindi avvien the tra principi a signori."
At the end of the recitation which gained the applause of all who heard
it, although not one of them knew Italian, Madame Denis, his niece, asked
me if I thought the passage her uncle had just recited one of the finest
the poet had written.
"Yes, but not the finest."
"It ought to be; for without it Signor Lodovico would not have gained his
apotheosis."
"He has been canonised, then? I was not aware of that."
At these words the laugh, headed by Voltaire, went for Madame Denis.
Everybody laughed except myself, and I continued to look perfectly
serious.
Voltaire was vexed at not seeing me laugh like the rest, and asked me the
reason.
"Are you thinking," said he, "of some more than human passage?"
"Yes," I answered.
"What passage is that?"
"The last thirty-six stanzas of the twenty-third canto, where the poet
describes in detail how Roland became mad. Since the world has existed no
one has discovered the springs of madness, unless Ariosto himself, who
became mad in his old age. These stanzas are terrible, and I am sure they
must have made you tremble."
"Yes, I remember they render love dreadful. I long to read them again."
"Perhaps the gentleman will be good enough to recite them," said Madame
Denis, with a side-glance at her uncle.
"Willingly," said I, "if you will have the goodness to listen to me."
"You have learn them by heart, then, have you?" said Voltaire.
"Yes, it was a pleasure and no trouble. Since I was sixteen, I have read
over Ariosto two or three times every year; it is my passion, and the
lines naturally become linked in my memory without my having given myself
any pains to learn them. I know it all, except his long genealogies and
his historical tirades, which fatigue the mind and do not touch the
heart. It is only Horace that I know throughout, in spite of the often
prosaic style of his epistles, which are certainly far from equalling
Boileau's."
"Boileau is often too lengthy; I admire Horace, but as for Ariosto, with
his forty long cantos, there is too much of him."
"It is fifty-one cantos, M. de Voltaire."
The great man was silent, but Madame Denis was equal to the occasion.
"Come, come," said she, "let us hear the thirty-six stanzas which earned
the author the title of divine, and which are to make us tremble."
I then began, in an assured voice, but not in that monotonous tone
adopted by the Italians, with which the French so justly reproach us. The
French would be the best reciters if they were not constrained by the
rhyme, for they say what they feel better than any other people. They
have neither the passionate monotonous tone of my fellow-countrymen, nor
the sentimentality of the Germans, nor the fatiguing mannerisms of the
English; to every period they give its proper expression, but the
recurrence of the same sounds partly spoils their recitation. I recited
the fine verses of Ariosto, as if it had been rhythmic prose, animating
it by the sound of my voice and the movements of my eyes, and by
modulating my intonation according to the sentiments with which I wished
to inspire my audience. They saw how hardly I could restrain my tears,
and every eye was wet; but when I came to the stanza,
"Poiche allargare il freno al dolor puote,
Che resta solo senza altrui rispetto,
Giu dagli occhi rigando per le gote
Sparge un fiume de lacrime sul petto,"
my tears coursed down my cheeks to such an extent that everyone began to
sob. M. de Voltaire and Madame Denis threw their arms round my neck, but
their embraces could not stop me, for Roland, to become mad, had to
notice that he was in the same bed in which Angelica had lately been
found in the arms of the too fortunate Medor, and I had to reach the next
stanza. For my voice of sorrow and wailing I substituted the expression
of that terror which arose naturally from the contemplation of his fury,
which was in its effects like a tempest, a volcano, or an earthquake.
When I had finished I received with a sad air the congratulations of the
audience. Voltaire cried,
"I always said so; the secret of drawing tears is to weep one's self, but
they must be real tears, and to shed them the heart must be stirred to
its depths. I am obliged to you, sir," he added, embracing me, "and I
promise to recite the same stanzas myself to-morrow, and to weep like
you."
He kept his word.
"It is astonishing," said Madame Denis, "that intolerant Rome should not
have condemned the song of Roland."
"Far from it," said Voltaire, "Leo X. excommunicated whoever should dare
to condemn it. The two great families of Este and Medici interested
themselves in the poet's favour. Without that protection it is probable
that the one line on the donation of Rome by Constantine to Silvester,
where the poet speaks 'puzza forte' would have sufficed to put the whole
poem under an interdict."
"I believe," said I, "that the line which has excited the most talk is
that in which Ariosto throws doubt on the general resurrection. Ariosto,"
I added, "in speaking of the hermit who would have hindered Rhodomonte
from getting possession of Isabella, widow of Zerbin, paints the African,
who wearied of the hermit's sermons, seizes him and throws him so far
that he dashes him against a rock, against which he remains in a dead
swoon, so that 'che al novissimo di forse fia desto'."
This 'forse' which may possibly have only been placed there as a flower
of rhetoric or as a word to complete the verse, raised a great uproar,
which would doubtless have greatly amused the poet if he had had time!
"It is a pity," said Madame Denis, "that Ariosto was not more careful in
these hyperbolical expressions."
"Be quiet, niece, they are full of wit. They are all golden grains, which
are dispersed throughout the work in the best taste."
The conversation was then directed towards various topics, and at last we
got to the 'Ecossaise' we had played at Soleure.
They knew all about it.
M. de Voltaire said that if I liked to play it at his house he would
write to M. de Chavigni to send the Lindane, and that he himself would
play Montrose. I excused myself by saying that Madame was at Bale and
that I should be obliged to go on my journey the next day. At this he
exclaimed loudly | 1,128.388538 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
A HISTORY OF THE FRENCH NOVEL
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO
DALLAS SAN FRANCISCO
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA. LTD.
TORONTO
A HISTORY OF THE FRENCH NOVEL
(TO THE CLOSE OF THE 19TH CENTURY)
BY GEORGE SAINTSBURY
M.A. AND HON. D.LITT. OXON.; HON. LL.D. ABERD.; HON. D.LITT. DURH.;
FELLOW OF THE BRITISH ACADEMY; HON. FELLOW OF MERTON COLLEGE, OXFORD;
LATE PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE UNIVERSITY OF
EDINBURGH
VOL. I
FROM THE BEGINNING TO 1800
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON 1917
COPYRIGHT
PREFACE
In beginning what, if it ever gets finished, must in all probability be
the last of some already perhaps too numerous studies of literary
history, I should like to point out that the plan of it is somewhat
different from that of most, if not all, of its predecessors. I have
usually gone on the principle (which I still think a sound one) that, in
studying the literature of a country, or in dealing with such general
characteristics of parts of literature as prosody, or such coefficients
of all literature as criticism, minorities are, sometimes at least, of
as much importance as majorities, and that to omit them altogether is to
risk, or rather to assure, an imperfect--and dangerously
imperfect--product.
In the present instance, however, I am attempting something that I have
never, at such length, attempted before--the history of a Kind, and a
Kind which has distinguished itself, as few others have done, by
communicating to readers the _pleasure_ of literature. I might almost
say that it is the history of that pleasure, quite as much as the
history of the kind itself, that I wish to trace. In doing so it is
obviously superfluous to include inferiorities and failures, unless they
have some very special lesson or interest, or have been (as in the case
of the minorities on the bridge of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries) for the most part, and unduly, neglected, though they are
important as experiments and links.[1] We really do want here--what the
reprehensible hedonism of Mr. Matthew Arnold, and his submission to what
some one has called "the eternal enemy, Caprice," wanted in all
cases--"only the chief and principal things." I wish to give a full
history of how what is commonly called the French Novel came into being
and kept itself in being; but I do not wish to give an exhaustive,
though I hope to give a pretty full, account of its practitioners.
In another point, however, I have kept to my old ways, and that is the
way of beginning at the beginning. I disagree utterly with any Balbus
who would build an absolute wall between romance and novel, or a wall
hardly less absolute between verse- and prose-fiction. I think the
French have (what is not common in their language) an advantage over us
in possessing the general term _Roman_, and I have perhaps taken a
certain liberty with my own title in order to keep the noun-part of it
to a single word. I shall extend the meaning of "novel"--that of _roman_
would need no extension--to include, not only the prose books, old and
new, which are more generally called "romance," but the verse romances
of the earlier period.
The subject is one with which I can at least plead almost lifelong
familiarity. I became a subscriber to "Rolandi's," I think, during my
holidays as a senior schoolboy, and continued the subscriptions during
my vacations when I was at Oxford. In the very considerable leisure
which I enjoyed during the six years when I was Classical Master at
Elizabeth College, Guernsey, I read more French than any other
literature, and more novels than anything else in French. In the late
'seventies and early 'eighties, as well as more recently, I had to round
off and fill in my knowledge of the older matter, for an elaborate
account of French literature in the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, for a
long series of articles on French novelists in the _Fortnightly Review_,
and for the _Primer_ and _Short History_ of the subject which I wrote
for the Clarendon Press; while from 1880 to 1894, as a _Saturday
Review_er, I received, every month, almost everything notable (and a
great deal hardly worth noting) that had appeared in France.
Since then, the cutting off of this supply, and the extreme and constant
urgency of quite different demands on my time, have made my cultivation
of the once familiar field "_parc_ and infrequent." But I doubt whether
any really good judge would say that this was a serious drawback in
itself; and it ceases to be one, even relatively, by the restriction of
the subject to the close of the last century. It will be time to write
of the twentieth-century novel when the twentieth century itself has
gone more than a little farther.
For the abundance of translation, in the earlier part especially, I
need, I think, make no apology. I shall hardly, by any one worth
hearing, be accused of laziness or scamping in consequence of it, for
translation is much more troublesome, and takes a great deal more time,
than comment or history. The advantage, from all other points of view,
should need no exposition: nor, I think, should that of pretty full
story-abstract now and then.
There is one point on which, at the risk of being thought to "talk too
much of my matters," I should like to say a further word. All my books,
before the present volume, have been composed with the aid of a
library, not very large, but constantly growing, and always reinforced
with special reference to the work in hand; while I was able also, on
all necessary occasions, to visit Oxford or London (after I left the
latter as a residence), and for twenty years the numerous public or
semi-public libraries of Edinburgh were also open to me. This present
_History_ has been outlined in expectation for a very long time; and has
been actually laid down for two or three years. But I had not been able
to put much of it on paper when circumstances, while they gave me
greater, indeed almost entire, leisure for writing, obliged me to part
with my own library (save a few books with a reserve _pretium
affectionis_ on them), and, though they brought me nearer both to Oxford
and to London, made it less easy for me to visit either. The London
Library, that Providence of unbooked authors, came indeed to my aid, for
without it I should have had to leave the book alone altogether; and I
have been "munitioned" sometimes, by kindness or good luck, in other
ways. But I have had to rely much more on memory, and of course in some
cases on previous writing of my own, than ever before, though, except in
one special case,[2] there will be found, I think, not a single page of
mere "rehashing." I mention this without the slightest desire to beg
off, in one sense, from any omissions or mistakes which may be found
here, but merely to assure my readers that such mistakes and omissions
are not due to idle and careless bookmaking. That "books have fates" is
an accepted proposition. In respect to one of these--possession of
materials and authorities--mine have been exceptionally fortunate
hitherto, and if they had any merit it was no doubt largely due to this.
I have, in the present, endeavoured to make the best of what was not
quite such good fortune. And if anybody still says, "Why did you not
wait till you could supply deficiencies?" I can only reply that, after
seventy, [Greek: nyx gar erchetai] is a more insistent warrant, and
warning, than ever.[3]
GEORGE SAINTSBURY.
[_Edinburgh, 1914-15; Southampton, 1915-16_]
1 ROYAL CRESCENT, BATH, _May 31, 1917_.
ADDENDA AND CORRIGENDA
P. 3, _note_.--This note was originally left vague, because, in the
first place, to perform public and personal fantasias with one's spear
on the shield of a champion, with whom one does not intend to fight out
the quarrel, seems to me bad chivalry, and secondly, because those
readers who were likely to be interested could hardly mistake the
reference. The regretted death, a short time after the page was sent to
press, of Mr. W. J. Courthope may give occasion to an acknowledgment,
coupled with a sincere _ave atque vale_. Mr. Courthope was never an
intimate friend of mine, and our agreement was greater in political than
in literary matters: but for more than thirty years we were on the best
terms of acquaintance, and I had a thorough respect for his
accomplishments.
P. 20, l. 5.--_Fuerres de Gadres._ I wonder how many people thought of
this when Englishmen "forayed Gaza" just before Easter, 1917?
P. 46, mid-page.--It so happened that, some time after having passed
this sheet for press, I was re-reading Dante (as is my custom every year
or two), and came upon that other passage (in the _Paradiso_, and
therefore not known to more than a few of the thousands who know the
Francesca one) in which the poet refers to the explanation between
Lancelot and the Queen. It had escaped my memory (though I think I may
say honestly that I knew it well enough) when I passed the sheet: but it
seemed to me that perhaps some readers, who do not care much for
"parallel passages" in the pedantic sense, might, like myself, feel
pleasure in having the great things of literature, in different places,
brought together. Moreover, the _Paradiso_ allusion seems to have
puzzled or misled most of the commentators, including the late Mr. A. J.
Butler, who, by his translation and edition of the _Purgatorio_ in 1880,
was my Virgil to lead me through the _Commedia_, after I had sinfully
neglected it for exactly half a life-time. He did not know, and might
easily not have known, the Vulgate _Lancelot_: but some of those whom he
cites, and who evidently _did_ know it, do not seem to have recognised
the full significance of the passage in Dante. The text will give the
original: the _Paradiso_ (xvi. 13-15) reference tells how Beatrice
(after Cacciaguida's biographical and historical recital, and when
Dante, in a confessed outburst of family pride, addresses his ancestor
with the stately _Voi_), "smiling, appeared like her who coughed at the
first fault which is written of Guinevere." This, of course (see text
once more), is the Lady of Malahault, though Dante does not name her as
he does Prince Galahault in the other _locus_. The older commentators
(who, as has been said, _did_ know the original) do not seem to have
seen in the reference much more than that both ladies noticed, and
perhaps approved, what was happening. But I think there is more in it.
The Lady of Malahault (see note in text) had previously been aware that
Lancelot was deeply in love, though he would not tell her with whom. Her
cough therefore meant: "Ah! I have found you out." Now Beatrice, well as
she knew Dante's propensity to love, knew as well that _pride_ was even
more of a besetting weakness of his. This was quite a harmless instance
of it: but still it _was_ an instance--and the "smile" which is _not_
recorded of the Arthurian lady meant: "Ah! I have _caught_ you out."
Even if this be excessive "reading into" the texts, the juxtaposition of
them may not be unsatisfactory to some who are not least worth
satisfying. (Since writing this, I have been reminded that Mr. Paget
Toynbee did make the "juxtaposition" in his Clarendon Press _Specimens
of Old French_ (October, 1892), printing there the "Lady of Malahault"
passage from MSS. copied by Professor Ker. But there can be no harm in
duplicating it.)
P. 121, ll. 8-10. Perhaps instead of, or at least beside, Archdeacon
Grantly I should have mentioned a more real dignitary (as some count
reality) of the Church, Charles Kingsley. The Archdeacon and the Canon
would have fought on many ecclesiastical and some political grounds, but
they might have got on as being, in Dr. Grantly's own words at a
memorable moment "both gentlemen." At any rate, Kingsley was soaked in
Rabelais, and one of the real curiosities of literature is the way in
which the strength of _Gargantua_ and _Pantagruel_ helped to beget the
sweetness of _The Water Babies_.
Chap. viii. pp. 163-175.--After I had "made my" own "sie | 1,128.477113 |
2023-11-16 18:35:52.4581890 | 93 | 17 |
Produced by James Rusk
LITTLE NOVELS
By Wilkie Collins
MRS. ZANT AND THE GHOST.
I.
THE course of this narrative describes the return of a disembodied
spirit to earth, and leads the reader on new and strange ground.
Not in the obscurity of midnight, but in the searching light of day, did
the supernatural influence assert itself. Neither revealed by a vision,
nor announced by a | 1,128.478229 |
2023-11-16 18:35:52.4613190 | 2,691 | 14 |
Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV AND HIS COURT AND OF THE REGENCY
BY THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON
VOLUME 14
CHAPTER CV
For a long time a species of war had been declared between the King of
England and his son, the Prince of Wales, which had caused much scandal;
and which had enlisted the Court on one side, and made much stir in the
Parliament. George had more than once broken out with indecency against
his son; he had long since driven him from the palace, and would not see
him. He had so cut down his income that he could scarcely subsist. The
father never could endure this son, because he did not believe him to be
his own. He had more than suspected the Duchess, his wife, to be in
relations with Count Konigsmarck. He surprised him one morning leaving
her chamber; threw him into a hot oven, and shut up his wife in a chateau
for the rest of her days. The Prince of Wales, who found himself ill-
treated for a cause of which he was personally innocent, had always borne
with impatience the presence of his mother and the aversion of his
father. The Princess of Wales, who had much sense, intelligence, grace,
and art, had softened things as much as possible; and the King was unable
to refuse her his esteem, or avoid loving her. She had conciliated all
England; and her Court, always large, boasted of the presence of the most
accredited and the most distinguished persons. The Prince of Wales
feeling his strength, no longer studied his father, and blamed the
ministers with words that at least alarmed them. They feared the credit
of the Princess of Wales; feared lest they should be attacked by the
Parliament, which often indulges in this pleasure. These considerations
became more and more pressing as they discovered what was brewing against
them; plans such as would necessarily have rebounded upon the King. They
communicated their fears to him, and indeed tried to make it up with his
son, on certain conditions, through the medium of the Princess of Wales,
who, on her side, felt all the consciousness of sustaining a party
against the King, and who always had sincerely desired peace in the royal
family. She profited by this conjuncture; made use of the ascendency she
had over her husband, and the reconciliation was concluded. The King
gave a large sum to the Prince of Wales, and consented to see him. The
ministers were saved, and all appeared forgotten.
The excess to which things had been carried between father and son had
not only kept the entire nation attentive to the intestine disorders
ready to arise, but had made a great stir all over Europe; each power
tried to blow this fire into a blaze, or to stifle it according as
interest suggested. The Archbishop of Cambrai, whom I shall continue to
call the Abbe Dubois, was just then very anxiously looking out for his
cardinal's hat, which he was to obtain through the favour of England,
acting upon that of the Emperor with the Court of Rome. Dubois,
overjoyed at the reconciliation which had taken place, wished to show
this in a striking manner, in order to pay his court to the King of
England. He named, therefore, the Duc de la Force to go to England, and
compliment King George on the happy event that had occurred.
The demonstration of joy that had been resolved on in France was soon
known in England. George, annoyed by the stir that his domestic
squabbles had made throughout all Europe, did not wish to see it
prolonged by the sensation that this solemn envoy would cause. He begged
the Regent, therefore, not to send him one. As the scheme had been
determined on only order to please him, the journey of the Duc de la
Force was abandoned almost as soon as declared. Dubois had the double
credit, with the King of England, of having arranged this demonstration
of joy, and of giving it up; in both cases solely for the purpose of
pleasing his Britannic Majesty.
Towards the end of this year, 1720, the Duc de Brissac married Mlle.
Pecoil, a very rich heiress, whose father was a'maitre des requetes',
and whose mother was daughter of Le Gendre, a very wealthy merchant of
Rouen. The father of Mlle. Pecoil was a citizen of Lyons, a wholesale
dealer, and extremely avaricious. He had a large iron safe, or strong-
box, filled with money, in a cellar, shut in by an iron door, with a
secret lock, and to arrive at which other doors had to be passed through.
He disappeared so long one day, that his wife and two or three valets or
servants that he had sought him everywhere. They well knew that he had a
hiding-place, because they had sometimes seen him descending into his
cellar, flat-candlestick in hand, but no one had ever dared to follow
him.
Wondering what had become of him, they descended to the cellar, broke
open the doors, and found at last the iron one. They were obliged to
send for workmen to break it open, by attacking the wall in which it was
fixed. After much labour they entered, and found the old miser dead in
his strong-box, the secret spring of which he had apparently not been
able to find, after having locked himself in; a horrible end in every
respect.
The Brissacs have not been very particular in their alliances for some
time, and yet appear no richer. The gold flies away; the dross remains.
I had almost forgotten to say that in the last day of this year, 1720, a
Prince of Wales was born at Rome.
The Prince was immediately baptised by the Bishop; of Montefiascone, and
named Charles. The event caused a great stir in the Holy City. The Pope
sent his compliments to their Britannic Majesties, and forwarded to the
King of England (the Pretender) 10,000 Roman crowns, gave him, for his
life, a country house at Albano, which until then, he had only lent him,
and 2000 crowns to furnish it. A Te Deum was sung in the chapel of the
Pope, in his presence, and there were rejoicings at Rome. When the Queen
of England was able to see company, Cardinal Tanora came in state, as
representative of the Sacred College, to congratulate her.
The birth of the Prince also made much stir at the Court of England, and
among the priests and Jacobites of that country. For very different
reasons, not only the Catholics and Protestants, enemies of the
government, were ravished at it, but nearly all the three realms showed
as much joy as they dared; not from any attachment to the dethroned
house, but for the satisfaction of seeing a line continue with which they
could always menace and oppose their kings and the royal family.
[Illustration: Jacobites Drinking To The Pretender--Painted by F. Willems--1208]
In France we were afraid to show any public feeling upon the event. We
were too much in the hands of England; the Regent and Dubois too much the
humble servants of the house of Hanover; Dubois especially, waiting, as
he was, so anxiously for his cardinal's hat. He did not, as will be
seen, have to wait much longer.
The new Pope had given, in writing, a promise to Dubois, that if elected
to the chair of St. Peter he would make him cardinal. Time had flown,
and the promise was not yet fulfilled. The impatience of Dubois
increased with his hopes, and gave him no repose. He was much bewildered
when he learnt that, on the 16th of June, 1721, the Pope had elevated to
the cardinalship; his brother, who for ten years had been Bishop of
Terracine and Benedictine monk of Mount Cassini. Dubois had expected
that no promotion would be made in which he was not included. But here
was a promotion of a single person only. He was furious; this fury did
not last long, however; a month after, that is to say, on the 16th of
July, the Pope made him cardinal with Dion Alexander Alboni, nephew of
the deceased Pope, and brother of the Cardinal Camarlingue.
Dubois received the news and the compliment that followed with extreme
joy, but managed to contain himself with some little decency, and to give
all the honour of his nomination to M. le Duc d'Orleans, who, sooth to
say, had had scarcely anything to do with it. But he could not prevent
himself from saying to everybody that what honoured him more than the
Roman purple was the unanimous eagerness of all the European powers to
procure him this distinction; to press the Pope to award it; to desire
that his promotion would be hastened without waiting for their
nominations. He incessantly blew these reports about everywhere without
ever being out of breath; but nobody was the dupe of them.
Shortly after this, that is, on the last day of July, the King, who had
until then been in perfect health, woke with headache and pain in the
throat; shivering followed, and towards afternoon, the pains in the head
and throat being augmented, he went to bed. I repaired the next day
about twelve to inquire after him. I found he had passed a bad night,
and that within the last two hours he had grown worse. I saw everywhere
consternation. I had the grandes entrees, therefore I went into his
chamber. I found it very empty. M. le Duc d'Orleans, seated in the
chimney corner, looked exceedingly downcast and solitary. I approached
him for a moment, then I went to the King's bed. At this moment Boulduc,
one of the apothecaries, gave him something to take. The Duchesse de la
Ferme, who, through the Duchesse de Ventadour, her sister, had all the
entrees as godmother to the King, was at the heels of Boulduc, and
turning round to see who was approaching, saw me, and immediately said in
a tone neither high nor low, "He is poisoned! he is poisoned!"
"Hold your tongue, Madame," said I. "This is terrible."
But she kept on, and spoke so loudly that I feared the King would hear
her. Boulduc and I looked at each other, and I immediately withdrew from
the bed and from this mad woman, with whom I was in no way familiar.
During this illness, which lasted only five days (but of which the first
three were violent) I was much troubled, but at the same time I was
exceedingly glad that I had refused to be the King's governor, though the
Regent had over and over again pressed me to accept the office. There
were too many evil reports in circulation against M. le Duc d'Orleans for
me to dream of filling this position. For was I not his bosom friend
known to have been on the most intimate terms with him ever since his
child hood--and if anything had happened to excite new suspicions against
him, what would not have been said? The thought of this so troubled me
during the King's illness, that I used to wake in the night with a start,
and, oh, what joy was mine when I remembered that I had not this duty on
my head!
The malady, as I have said, was not long, and the convalescence was
prompt, which restored tranquillity and joy, and caused an overflow of Te
Deums and rejoicing. Helvetius had all the honour of the cure; the
doctors had lost their heads, he preserved his, and obstinately proposed
bleeding at the foot, at a consultation at which M. le Duc d'Orleans was
present; his advice prevailed, | 1,128.481359 |
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